“Or do you want me to come to yours?” he offers when I don’t speak. His voice has an edge to it now. “Gemma. You’re starting to worry me here.”
“I . . . yeah, could you come here?” I manage to squeak out. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. I just . . . I need to see you. In person.”
I hate asking him to drop everything. I know he’s up to his neck in work, not just with his usual corporate conquests but also saving the Comfort Cup charity from financial doom. It’s still surviving, thanks to Liam’s late nights trying to find a sustainable budget for it. I’m so proud of him, even if I do worry that he’s going to work himself into an early grave.
“I’ll be there in thirty,” he says, and hangs up. He’s probably already dialing the fire brigade and a team of paramedics.
I know it’s a huge deal for Liam to just drop everything on a Monday morning and rush to my side
I look down at Winnie. “What do you think, girl? How do I tell him? ‘Surprise, you’re going to be a dad!’”
True to his word, Liam is at my door in exactly thirty minutes. Lizzie scurries off to “get ready for work,” which in Lizzie-speak means “eavesdrop shamelessly from the next room.”
I manage a shaky “Hi” when I open the door.
He frowns, concern etched across his face as he steps inside. “Gemma, what’s going on?”
Before I can answer, he closes the distance between us, his hands gently cradling my face. “Darling, have you been crying?”
And then, before I can stop myself, the words tumble out. “I’m pregnant.”
His jaw literally drops. I can see the gears turning in his head as he processes what I’ve just said. “You’re . . .” He blinks, his brown eyes wide with shock. “Pregnant?”
I’m holding my breath, waiting for his reaction, terrified of what comes next. “How do you feel? Are you upset? It’s so soon, and it’s not something we’ve ever talked about.”
“It’s not too soon.” His expression softens instantly, and a slow, bright smile spreads across his face. “Upset? Gemma, I can’t believe you thought I’d be anything but ecstatic about this.”
“Oh, thank god.” I exhale, feeling like an elephant has been lifted off my chest. “I know we didn’t plan it, but—”
He cuts me off, pulling me into his arms and holding me flush against his muscular chest. His hand cradles the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair as he tilts my face up to meet his gaze.
“Shush, sweetheart,” he says, his deep, commanding voice filled with so much love, it makes my knees go weak. “This is the best fucking news I’ve ever gotten. We’re going to be parents. I’m going to be a dad, and I promise you I’m going to be the best damn father our kid could ever ask for.”
I laugh, happy tears streaming down my face as I gaze up at his grin. “I don’t even know how this happened. I’ve been religiously popping my birth control pills. Except . . . oh shit, it must have been that day I found Skipper Magee’s crusty sock on your boat. I was puking my guts out that afternoon.”
“It was probably that questionable taco you devoured on the same afternoon.” He chuckles. “Give the skipper a break. His socks have suffered enough judgment for one lifetime.”
“I’m going to be puking my guts up a lot more frequently now, I guess.”
“And I’ll be there with you, holding your hair back, rubbing your back and telling you how fucking amazing you are.”
“We’re not even living together,” I point out, swallowing the lump in my throat. “And now we are having a baby.”
“Then I guess we’ll have to change that, won’t we, sweetheart?” Liam says, his voice gruff but tender. “I was holding off on asking you to move in because I wanted to make sure you were ready, that you were all in with this, with us. But now . . .” His hand slides possessively over my still-flat stomach. “There’s no way I’m letting the mother of my child live anywhere but with me. I want you by my side, always.”
I nod, feeling like I might dissolve into a puddle of hormonal goo right here in the hallway. Pregnancy is turning me into a sap already. Or maybe it’s just the way Liam’s looking at me, like I’m the most precious thing in his world.
“Hey,” he murmurs, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Are those happy tears? Gemma, do you want to have my baby? Because I sure as hell want to have yours. I want to build a family with you.”
His handsome, chiseled face softens for a moment, a rare glimpse of vulnerability.
“They’re happy tears,” I assure him, laughing through the waterworks, my heart swelling with love for this incredible, complex man. “Terrified, holy-shit-we’re-having-a-baby tears, but happy, nonetheless. I want this, Liam. I want you, and I want our baby, more than anything.”
“We’ll figure this out,” he says, his voice full of fierce determination. “We don’t need to stay in London if you don’t want. We’ll move wherever you want, whether it’s closer to your parents or to some remote cabin in the woods. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you and our baby are happy and healthy. You got that?”
“I love you, Mr. McLaren,” I say, feeling like my heart might just burst with how deeply I love this strong, protective, utterly irresistible man.
Liam’s eyes darken, a possessive growl rumbling in his chest. One of his hands cups my face while the other splays possessively across my lower back. “I love you more, Miss Jones. And I can’t bloody wait to keep knocking you up until we’ve got a whole brood of little McLarens running around.” He grins, his eyes glinting with a mix of love and pride.
