The Bachelor's Little Bonus (Proposals & Promises 3)
“We’ll even find a place with silverware this evening,” he assured her, then closed the door.
Watching him round the front of the SUV to the driver’s seat, she was relieved he’d put that momentary awkwardness behind them so easily. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Cole wasn’t one to let emotions rule his actions, something that was difficult for her even when she wasn’t flooded with early-pregnancy hormones.
This was all going to work out, she promised herself. It was only to be expected that there would be some compromises in the pr
ocess. But now that they’d gotten this first minor clash out of the way, she just knew the rest of their honeymoon would be nothing but enjoyable.
* * *
Cole stood beside the bed a few hours later, feeling helpless as Stevie curled into a ball and moaned. He’d dimmed the lights for her comfort, but even in the shadows her skin still seemed to have a slightly green tint to it. “Is your stomach still upset?”
The only response to his tentative question was another heartfelt groan.
He moved to the sink where he dampened a washcloth with cold water, then carried it back to her. “Let me put this on your throat. My grandma used to do that for me when I was nauseated and it always seemed to help.”
She shifted on the thick pillows and allowed him to press the cloth gently to her throat. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her eyes squeezed shut. “I didn’t mean for the evening to end this way.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m just sorry you’re ill. Are you sure we shouldn’t have you checked by a doctor?”
She shook her head and managed a weak smile as she peered up at him through barely cracked eyelids. “No. It’s just nausea. I guess I bragged too soon about not being sick a day so far. At least we made it to the end of the show.”
But only just, he thought with a wry shake of his head. He’d noticed Stevie had seemed subdued at intermission. At first he’d wondered if it was because he’d somehow annoyed her at the baby supplies store earlier, though they’d gotten along fine during dinner. But she’d confided that she was feeling a little queasy, so he’d bought her a soda to sip while the energetic young singers and dancers had taken the stage for the second half. He’d only halfway paid attention to the stage, surreptitiously watching Stevie instead as she’d wilted visibly in her seat. He’d all but carried her to the car afterward, and she’d barely made it into the room before bolting into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. When she’d reemerged, it was only to collapse on the bed, still fully clothed.
He slipped off her shoes and set them on the floor. “Would you like to put on your nightgown?”
Her eyes were closed again, but he thought there might be a bit more color in her face now. “I’ll change in a minute,” she murmured.
He moved to the dresser. She’d brought a couple of nightgowns—one made of black satin, the other a warmer purple knit splashed with cheery red flowers. As diverse as the two garments were, each somehow seemed perfectly suited to Stevie. Though his hand lingered for a moment on the black one, he pulled out the more comfortable-looking gown and carried it to the bed. “Here, let me help you,” he said.
A few minutes later, she was snugly tucked into the bed, the washcloth redampened and draped again on her throat. “Can I get you anything else? Some more soda?”
She shifted on the piled pillows, moistening her lips. “Maybe a little.”
Sitting beside her on the bed, he handed her the glass of citrusy soda he’d purchased from a vending machine down the hall. She took a couple of sips, then gave it back to him. “Thanks. I feel better now. Just tired.”
“I’ll sleep on the sofa bed.”
She shook her head and patted the bed next to her. “I’m hardly contagious. You’ll be much more comfortable here in this king-sized bed than on that fold-out.”
He wasn’t so sure about that, considering she’d be snoozing beside him, temptingly close but needing her rest. Still, as she’d said, it was a big bed. It had been a long time since he’d shared a bed with anyone, and he had to admit he liked the feel of a warm, soft body next to him even if only in sleep.
She was mostly out by the time he climbed in beside her, taking care not to jostle the mattress or otherwise disturb her. He’d hardly settled onto the pillows before she turned and snuggled into him, her hair tickling his chin, her small hand resting on his chest. He wore pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, but he could feel her warmth through the fabric. Too warm? He rested a hand lightly against her face, reassuring himself that she wasn’t running a fever.
“I’m fine,” she murmured drowsily, and he wasn’t sure she was actually awake. “I just never want to smell popcorn again.”
He stroked a wayward curl off her cheek. There was no need to reply. She wouldn’t have heard him, anyway, as she’d already drifted off again.
On impulse, he pressed a light kiss on the top of her head, then tried to relax. It wasn’t easy. Even discounting the distraction of having her in his arms, he was having trouble turning off his thoughts. He kept replaying the day, from the exhilarating wake-up sex to that terse exchange in the baby store. He still wasn’t sure exactly why she’d taken such exception to his offer to buy the bassinet and seat. He wasn’t very good at reading emotional cues, being the type who preferred issues plainly spelled out. But he thought maybe he’d unwittingly stepped on her pride.
He hadn’t tried to imply that she wasn’t capable of providing for her child. He hadn’t been trying to take charge or insist on having his own way. He’d simply wanted to show her that he shared her excitement about the baby.
Her baby, he reminded himself with a wince. It had been clear enough what she’d started to say before she’d swallowed the words. For all her talk about sharing the child with him, about commitment mattering more to her than biology, for all the nervous enthusiasm she’d shown so far toward their marriage even to the point of eagerly consummating their wedding night, there was still a part of herself she was holding back from him. A self-protective door that she hadn’t yet unlocked, perhaps because of her past disappointments. And she didn’t yet trust him enough to open that door for him.
He had to admit it had hurt when she’d snapped at him. When he’d realized what she’d almost said. Her baby. Not theirs. The words had hit him like a blow, though he’d tried to hide his reaction to keep the peace.
Because he wasn’t one to dwell on injured feelings, he relied instead on his usual method for dealing with uncomfortable emotions. Objective analysis. He needed to be patient. This was all so new for both of them. In the long run, he still believed he and Stevie would make a success of this marriage. That they and the child they’d raise together would have a good life. A contented life.
He’d have to proceed cautiously, prove to her that he was here for the long term. That he would not walk away from her when life got difficult. With time, he would convince her that she could trust him completely. And that she and her child—their child—could rely on him. Always.