Chapter Seven
HE ACTUALLY STAYED away.
It's been two weeks since that day Ronan came to the bookshop. We bump into each other once in a while, but he's kept his word all throughout. He stays away, and I know I should be glad of that. But I'm not. And I hate that I'm not.
I've managed to establish a routine in Hartland. Every morning, I wake up at six, shower, and have a light breakfast before bundling up for the fifteen-minute walk to Hartland Books. Thornton—my expressionless, intimidating boss who looks like he stepped out of a John Wick movie—barely acknowledges my existence beyond giving me instructions, while his wife is his exact opposite. She's adorable in every way, and she's the only one capable of making her husband appear somewhat human.
Even Wyoming's winters are something I've finally become accustomed to. The only thing I'm left struggling with, however, is the one thing I can never ask for help from.
And it's all about him.
I feel his presence everywhere even when I don't see him. His name is mentioned in my hearing all the time. I catch glimpses of his black truck driving past me, and it takes everything not to cry. I know I asked for this. I know I should be happy. But I'm not.
Hormones, I tell myself desperately. These are just the hormones that are making a mess—
Oh no.
Something hurts.
Badly .
Something feels wrong.
No. No. No.
I clutch at my abdomen as a sharp pain tears through me. I'm alone in the bookstore's back room, cataloging new arrivals, when it hits me like a freight train. I sink to my knees, my hand fumbling for my phone.
With trembling fingers, I dial the number for Hartland's taxi service—a quaint operation with exactly three cars serving the entire town. Thankfully, one arrives within minutes, and he takes one look at my face, and he takes me straight to the local clinic.
Breathe, Cay. Breathe.
The clinic appears through the frosted windows, a simple two-story stone building with a discreet sign.
But as soon as I'm past its doors...
Oh, sheep.
It's the poshest medical facility I've ever seen in my life, and I don't know whether to feel thankful or terrified. The marble floors gleam under soft lighting. The reception area looks like it belongs in a five-star hotel, with plush seating and abstract art adorning the walls.
Will I be forever in debt after being treated here?
This is the one thing I just don't get about Hartland, honestly. It's not the richest town around, but why are all the places here so, so... nice?
A nurse in crisp navy scrubs approaches immediately. "Acacia Greenway, isn't it?"
I just nod, no longer surprised that she knows my name. It's Hartland, and that's just how we roll here.
The staff moves with practiced efficiency. Within minutes, I'm changed into a hospital gown and settled in an examination room that looks more like a luxury spa than a medical facility.
"Dr. Slater will be with you shortly," the nurse—Abby, according to her name tag—informs me with a reassuring smile. "In the meantime, I need to ask you some questions for your chart."
She starts with the basics—name, date of birth, allergies, and current medications. Then come the pregnancy-specific questions.
"When was your last prenatal checkup?"
I swallow hard. "I... I haven't had one yet."
Abby's pen pauses above the clipboard, but her expression remains professionally neutral. "I see. And when did you confirm your pregnancy?"
"About two months ago. I used a home test."
"Any prior pregnancies or miscarriages?"
"No."
"And the father of the baby? Is he involved?"
Shame fills me inside even though I know I have nothing to be ashamed about. I love my baby—-
"I'll take it from here, Abby."
That voice.
My gaze jerks to the doorway, and I see a familiar figure... in an unfamiliar white lab coat.
Ronan is Dr. Slater?
His amber eyes lock with mine, and for a moment, time stands still. He looks different in his professional attire—impossibly more attractive, if that were even possible. The pristine lab coat over a light blue shirt and navy tie. The stethoscope hanging around his neck. The air of quiet authority surrounds him.
Abby steps out, and it's just the two of us.
He takes the clipboard. "You're five months along?"
All I can do is nod. Why is he being so gentle? Doesn't he hate me for lying to him?
"Tell me about the pain you're experiencing."
I tell him everything, my voice jerky. A part of me is still reeling. Ronan knows now. Ronan's a doctor. And Ronan...is so impossible to understand. Why isn't he angry?
Thirty minutes later, and I'm about to die of embarrassment.
Ronan—now my doctor at the moment—has to give me a physical examination. His touch is clinical and impersonal, but my body responds traitorously nonetheless. His fingers probe gently at my abdomen, checking for tenderness, while he listens to the baby's heartbeat with a Doppler.
"Everything sounds normal."
Uh. Yeah. Right. NOT!
"Baby's heartbeat is strong."
So's mine!
Ronan helps me lie back and prepares the ultrasound, his movements efficient. The gel is cold against my skin, but I still feel like I'm about to go up in flames any second.
"This might be a little uncomfortable..."
No kidding.
I'm about to die of embarrassment. I'm so tempted to run away. But as soon as Ronan points to my baby on the screen, everything is forgotten.
My baby.
"Is everything really okay?" I whisper.
"Okay would be an understatement," Ronan says with a smile. "He's the perfect size at twenty weeks." He says so many other scientific things, but I don't really hear or understand anything. All I can do is stare at my beautiful baby on the screen.
"Do you want to know the sex?"
The question catches me off guard. "Y-You can tell already?"
His lips curve. "You make me sound like I've just offered you a million dollars."
More than!
"But yes, I can tell, and in fact, it's already clear—-"
"Is it a girl?" I blurt out.
"Yes."
My eyes start to sting.
My baby.
My baby girl.
Oh, baby girl, hello.
After wiping the gel from my stomach and helping me sit up, Ronan explains what likely caused my pain. "Round ligament pain."
He says so many more things after that, but I'm unable to concentrate.
I'm having a baby girl!
Ronan hands over my prescription, adding, "No heavy lifting at the bookstore and make sure you're drinking plenty of fluids." He makes a final note in my chart before looking at me. "That's it."
Silence continues, and I finally ask, "Aren't you going to ask me who the father is?"
"No." His response is immediate but gentle.
"Why?"
"Because it's your choice if you want to tell me or not."
He scribbles something else on his prescription pad.
"Another prescription?" I ask blankly.
Ronan hands it to me. "A reference."
I blink, confused. "To another doctor? Why?"
His gaze bores through me. "Why do you think?"
"But I'm not going to make trouble—"
"You were trouble the moment you stepped foot in my clinic, Acacia."
Oh.
"I can't be attracted to my own patient."
I'm about to laugh this off when Ronan rises to his full height, and... oh.
That can't be a banana in his pocket, but...
Really?
"I'm five months pregnant," I blurt out.
"So?"
"You can't possibly—"
"But I can. I do." Ronan's amber eyes darken with desire. "Do you want me to prove it?"
Say no!
But instead I hear myself whisper the magic words. "Please, Ronan."
In one fluid motion, he locks the door and returns to me. His hands cup my face with exquisite tenderness, and his lips find mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly burns into something fierce and hungry.
"I've been wanting to do this since the moment I saw you," he growls against my mouth.
"In the bus station?" I ask breathlessly.
He pulls back slightly, a strange smile playing on his lips. "Something like that."
Then his mouth is on mine again, and I forget to question the cryptic response. All I can focus on is the feel of him—his hands in my hair, his tongue tangling with mine, the solid warmth of his body pressing against me.
"We shouldn't do this here," I manage to gasp out between kisses.
"Clinic's closed for lunch," he responds, trailing his lips down my neck. "No appointments for the next hour."
His hands are already working on the ties of my hospital gown, exposing my skin to the cool air of the examination room. I should be mortified—pregnant and half-naked on an examination table with a man I barely know but can't seem to resist. Instead, I feel only a desperate, clawing need.
"You're beautiful," he says roughly, his gaze taking in my swollen breasts, the curve of my belly. "So fucking beautiful."
I shake my head, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm huge."
"You're perfect." He places a hand against my round flesh, his touch possessive, and a shudder rocks my body.
My heart thunders against my chest as Ronan helps me lie back on the medical bed. He pays special attention to my breasts, now sensitive and fuller than before my pregnancy. His tongue circles one nipple, then the other, making me arch and gasp.
"Tell me if anything hurts," he commands. "Tell me to stop and I will."
"Don't stop," I beg. "Please don't stop."
His smile against my skin is all male satisfaction as he continues his downward exploration. He drops to his knees beside the bed, positioning himself between my legs.
"I've dreamed of tasting you," Ronan whispers as the heat of his breath tickles the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. "Every fucking night since we met."
His mouth is on me before I can respond, and my body arches up as his tongue works its usual devastating magic, thrusting in and out of my swollen core.
But just when I'm so close, Ronan slows everything down, and it's a never-ending cycle that soon has me biting back sobs of aching need.
He finally pulls back, and all I can do is stare as he gets rid of his clothes. Is it just me or has he gotten...bigger? And harder?
My fingers itch when I see the trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his pants, and my throat turns dry as his last piece of clothing falls away.
Oh.
No other word comes to mind. The sheer beauty of his naked body. The size of him. And oh, the violent way his shaft throbs!
My eyes close as his weight settles over me, and there are just no words, absolutely no words to describe when Ronan finally enters my body, and his length swells against my inner walls.
Amber eyes capture mine as Ronan pushes forward inch by torturous inch.
It touches me how he's doing his best not to hurt me, but I want more. I want everything.
"I'm not going to break," I whisper lifting my hips to take him deeper. "You of all people know—"
" Acacia —" He tries to slow me down, his control visibly fraying.
"Fuck me hard, please, Ro— "
I don't get to finish speaking.
His control snaps, and he's doing exactly as I asked. His thrusts become deeper, harder, hitting places inside me that make me see stars. One of his hands supports my lower back while the other finds its way between us, his thumb circling my most sensitive spot with each powerful thrust.
"You feel so good," he grates out, his rhythm becoming more urgent. "So tight, so fucking perfect..."
I'm still beyond words, beyond thought.
There's only sensation—the thick, hot fullness of him inside me, the delicious friction, the building pressure that threatens to consume me whole.
When my release comes, it's with an intensity I've never experienced before. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, leaving me gasping and trembling beneath him. He follows moments later, his big, hard body tensing as he finds his own completion with a guttural growl
We come together for the first time, and it's nothing like I imagined...and everything that terrifies me.
As soon as I sense his arms loosen, I pull away and start dressing myself in a hurry.
"Acacia?"
"I'm, um, grateful," I mumble without looking his way, "for the, er, um, service rendered—-"
Oh sheep, what am I saying?
"And I intend to pay you back, I promise."
Sheep, sheep, sheep.
I dash out of the clinic, dreading that he'd stop me from leaving, but hoping that he would as well.
Hormones, I desperately tell myself yet again. Hormones are always to blame!
I fight back tears as I call for another cab, and it's on the drive back to the bookshop that my phone suddenly vibrates.
Ronan: When do you intend to pay me back?
I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Why is this man so patient with me? Why?
My mind blanks out as I stare down at his message, and I find myself typing without thinking.
It's a surprise.