One million dollars -- a dream come true for struggling college student Ashlynn Morgan. All she has to do is sign on the dotted line and agree to become surrogate mother for CEO multi billionaire Felix Dunnerson and his wife Deborah.
Yet, during th...
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I shift my legs around on the couch before wiggling to fit the pillow to the shape of my head. Finally comfortable, I soak up the scent of wildflowers drifting through the open terrace door. This is paradise.
"Did I tell you that your idea to spend some time at your parents' summer cabin was epic?"
Patrick looks up from the book he is holding in his lap. "Only about twice a day for the past eight weeks."
I laugh when he winks at me. Nothing is left of the worry wrinkles around his eyes, he looks utterly relaxed. His smile and the sparkle in his eyes suggest he is happy. His new job allows him to work from anywhere, even though he has been cutting down on his hours to spend more time with me. Two walks every day through the mountains to keep me exercised. The fresh air has been wonderful despite the increasing back pain and swollen ankles that go hand in hand with my expanding belly.
My gaze flicks around the spacious sunroom with the floor to ceiling windows all around. The view of the mountains is calming. I could see myself living here.
"Would you like more tea? Or some cookies?"
I shake my head. "All good."
"Are you comfortable enough? Do you need another blanket?"
I snicker. "It's okay. I'm just a little tired."
His forehead wrinkles. "Is that normal that you sleep all the time?"
"Yes, and I don't sleep all the time."
"You fell asleep during Vampire Diaries every night this week."
"It's because they were reruns." I hide my yawn behind my raised hand. "Trust me, sleep is good."
"Well, don't lie on your back for too long. It's not good for the baby."
"Yes, Dr. Patrick." His smothering is simply cute, even if it can be a little much at times.
"And don't forget, we need to leave in thirty minutes for your doctor's appointment."
I sit up straight. I actually did forget about the appointment—the part of my brain holding this type of information has been like a sieve. "I need to get dressed."
"Then let me help you."
The whole way to the bedroom, he keeps his hand firmly on my lower back to guide me. In front of the closet, he helps me with the buttons before peeling me out of my oversized blouse. Usually, I wouldn't have to change it, but I had spilled half of my carrot soup onto the front and had soaked my sleeve in the salad dressing. Blunderhead should be my new nickname.
Patrick strokes my bloated belly. "Is he kicking?"
"Not at the moment." I groan as I try to get my arm into the sleeve of the fresh blouse.
"I'm sorry, let me get that for you."
"I feel like a moron having to ask for your help all the time."
