Picking up her crystal water glass, she eyed him skeptically and stirred her straw through the fruit. “Okay, for now. Let’s revisit this once we’ve recovered from the surprise.”
“Sure,” he said, not that he intended to back down. She needed to be here. He kissed her forehead, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. “Rest. I have work to keep me company.”
“Okay, then,” she answered, yawning, her eyes already at half-mast. “I’ll be quiet...” Yawning again, she started to drift off in that near narcoleptic way he’d learned was common with pregnant women.
Exhaustion hit him hard and fast. Adrenaline letdown, no doubt. He eyed his computer across the room, but dropped into a fat recliner instead, snapping his fingers for his dog to join him. Tessie cast a soulful look at Naomi, then ambled over to him.
His heart turned over when he looked at Naomi, no question. He loved these two babies that—while not biologically his—were already his in all the ways that mattered.
But he was a man of logic and he couldn’t ignore the hard, cold truth.
As he stroked the Saint Bernard’s head, he couldn’t help but think about how fast he and Naomi had jumped into this relationship. Their chemistry had been powerful; the emotions had run high. They were in love long before realizing how damn different they were.
Now, watching her cradle her pregnant belly even in sleep, his heart turned over on itself. A new ache cracked open in his chest and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to close his eyes and rest even though he was exhausted. She was starting to talk about how different they were.
How long before she decided the compromises were too great?
* * *
Isabeau drank in the Alaskan wilderness from atop a horse, hoping to figure out a way through some of the recent tensions. After taking Naomi to the hospital, they’d regrouped at the Steele compound.
Jeannie’s home on the outskirts of Anchorage didn’t have stables, so they’d opted to gather at the Steele mansion to confer with the family on the pipeline accident and the resulting press nightmare.
She’d sent out some social media messages that calmed the storm, or at least refocused the attention. Footage of an interview with Royce the day after the incident had certainly helped. He’d been surprisingly calm and collected during his scientific statement of opinion on the pipeline—despite his pregnant fiancée’s health problems.
Now that Isabeau could catch her breath, she was struck again by how the sprawling Steele estate reminded her of an oversize—and far grander—log cabin, recalling the old days of Alaskan exploration. And as a light breeze cooled her skin, causing a flutter in the meadow grass leading up to the Steele compound, she felt as if they’d stepped back in time.
Trystan had given her a brief tour of the barn and an introduction to the horses. Even though he hadn’t grown up on the Steele compound, she couldn’t help but notice the way all the horses responded to him with perked ears and low whinnies. It seemed to her as if they recognized a kindred spirit. No matter that he’d lost his patience when he thought someone was crowding her, he was still the most even-tempered man she knew.
She fluffed the paint mare’s mane, surveying the land and the horses that populated the pastures flanking the barn. Tucked in a field to the left, two massive draft horses chased each other. Mars and Jupiter, Trystan had said earlier. With their titan size and powerful haunches, they were inspiring. They seemed ethereal as they galloped, feet barely touching the ground in an awe-inspiring display. Thick manes and tales caught in the wind.
During moments like this, she felt like she understood Trystan’s need to be away from the world of media and business. To sink into nature and horses rather than cameras and sound bites.
With a deep inhale, she rubbed the soft leather of the reins, thankful for this stolen moment away from the media storm.
“The ride was a good idea. I feel more...zen now.” Even if her thighs felt like liquid fire. Muscles she hadn’t used in years were alive, awake. Reveling in the release offered by hoofbeats and country sky.
“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”
“There’s something timeless about unplugging from the world this way.” Reaching down to the horse’s shoulder, she dropped her reins, stretching as Willow the mellow paint stretched her long neck, letting out a low knicker as they approached the barn.
Trystan remarked from the flashy bay Abacus, “Interesting comment coming from a media specialist.”
They walked a few more steps before Trystan stopped fifty feet from the barn. He slid off, dismounting with ease. She paused, taken by his natural grace and prowess with these creatures. Abacus stood at attention, ears alert and ready.
“I understand the importance of balance.” At a slight tug on the reins, Willow stopped, patient as Isabeau adjusted her weight to dismount.
She paused, hand fixed on the horn of the saddle as Trystan approached, reaching for Isabeau. Her body slid down his in a long tempting glide. His strong arms held her suspended for a moment as they stared eye to eye, and then he eased her the rest of the way to the ground. “I’m sorry for losing my cool back there, but I’m so damn glad you’re alright.”
He angled down to kiss her. Or maybe she arched up. But his mouth covered hers in a perfect fit that was becoming increasingly familiar. It felt so very right, and that gave her pause, made her wonder what it meant. For her job? For her future in his life? She trusted him, but did not want that fist-throwing kind of staunch protectiveness around her. She’d become careful to rely only on herself.
But oh, how his mouth on hers tempted her to give in. Her toes curled in her shoes as desire spiraled inside her.
He stroked her hair and spoke against her lips. “I need to check in with the family.”
“Do you want me
