We talked about her plans, and I told her about the new improvements I’d made to my software. It was the perfect segue into my past, but before I could start, our food arrived.
Emma moaned at the sight of her meal as it was set in front of her, and my mouth dried up. She was so fucking sexy all the time, but when she made noises like that…all I wanted to do was strip her naked and fuck her senseless. No matter where we were.
She cut into her steak, and pink juices flowed onto her plate. The next second, she bolted from her chair, making a beeline to the restroom.
What the fuck?
Worried, I followed quickly behind her. She hadn’t bothered to lock the door to the single-person bathroom, so I was able to get in. I pulled her hair back and murmured soothing words as she lost the contents of her stomach. When it appeared she had heaved for the last time, I helped her up and gently wiped her face with a damp paper towel.
“I knew you should have stayed in bed today,” I scolded lightly.
She gave me a wry look. “I believe that is where I spent my day.”
“Yes, but I should have kept my hands to myself and let you rest,” I mumbled ruefully. Forgetting my purpose for taking her out in the first place, I concentrated on getting her home and taking care of her.
She fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, and since we hadn’t exactly rested despite spending the day in the bedroom, I decided to join her.
I woke up to the sound of retching a few hours later. Something was definitely wrong. I demanded to take her to the doctor and though she put up a fight, I refused to budge.
“This is ridiculous,” she complained as we sat in the waiting room later that morning. “I feel fine now. It was probably just residual effects from the scallops. She’s just going to tell me to rest and send me home.”
“That may be so,” I acknowledged. “But I want to hear the doctor say it herself.”
She huffed in annoyance but didn’t say anything more as she pulled her Kindle from her bag and started to read.
A few minutes later her name was called and, because I needed to touch her, I placed my hand at the small of her back as we walked to the indicated exam room.
The nurse took her vitals and asked for a urine test, then informed us the doctor would be in shortly and left us alone.
It didn’t take long before a blonde in a white lab coat knocked on the door and stepped inside. I nodded, pleased to see that the physician was a woman. I couldn’t stomach the idea of another man touching my wife, even a doctor.
“Mr. and Mrs. Deveraux, it’s nice to meet you,” she greeted us warmly. “I’m Dr. Leeman.” She shook both our hands before sitting on a stool in front of the table Emma was perched on.
Dr. Leeman perused Emma’s chart, then grinned as she looked up. “Well, the good news is that you don’t have food poisoning.”
I frowned and tensed in my seat. “And the bad news?” Suddenly, I was terrified, and every conceivable illness rushed through my head.
“Oh, there is no bad news,” she laughed pleasantly. “The great news is that you’re pregnant.”
Chapter Eight
EMMA
“Pregnant?” I echoed. It was a good thing I was sitting down, because my legs suddenly felt like rubber. I would have sunk to the floor if I’d been standing. Not that I should have been so surprised, considering the amount of unprotected sex Miles and I had been having ever since our wedding night. But for some inexplicable reason, pregnancy hadn’t crossed my mind as a possibility, even though it certainly fit my symptoms. I’d honestly thought it was those scallops from the other night, not a tiny life growing inside me. One Miles and I had created together.
Miles rose from his chair and moved to stand next to the exam table where I was sitting. He wrapped one arm around my shoulders, and I slumped into his hold. Then he slid his other hand around my body to cup my lower stomach, right over where our baby rested inside me.
The doctor’s gaze dropped down, and her smile grew wide when she looked back up again. “Yes, definitely pregnant.” She glanced at the tablet in her hands and swiped across the screen before continuing. “Based on the date of your last period, I’d estimate that you’re slightly under six weeks along.”
“But we didn’t”—heat filled my cheeks, and I stumbled over how to explain why it wasn’t possible for me to be any more than three and a half weeks pregnant at the very most—“umm. The first time…”