Trust in Me (12 page)

Penelope’s knock came quickly and she slipped back into the room with just the whisper of her coat against the door. “So, so far, so good,” she said, sitting in the chair facing them. “In fact, with your history, this is much better than I anticipated. What you have is a perfectly developing twelve-week-old fetus. There’s plenty of amniotic fluid and the uterus is about the right size. You mentioned some severe tiredness and morning sickness.”

Susie nodded.

“Well, that’s normal at this stage. The good news is that you’ve made it to the second trimester, which is when things settle down and your body adjusts to the pregnancy. The sickness should taper off, but it’ll help if you have something in your stomach most of the day. Don’t go crazy, just healthy snacks like veggies or cheese. Try not to go crazy with the sugars, either. You’ve lost a bit more weight than I normally like for my patients, but I expect that will change as you go along. Lots of water, three balanced meals a day and plenty of sleep. Pregnancy can take it out of you, so don’t feel bad about needing a nap. Just give in gracefully and you won’t feel so rundown.”

Locke’s chuckle at that wasn’t wasted on the doctor.

“What about…um…” Great. Now her face was catching fire. It took all her control not to cover her flaming cheeks with her hands.

Penelope, thank God, could add two and two on her own. “Sex shouldn’t be a problem. I wouldn’t go for any marathons or anything, but there doesn’t seem any reason to abstain. Basically, as long as it’s comfortable, feel free. But,” she added, making sure to pin them both with a stern stare, “if there is any pain, or any bleeding occurs for any reason at all, you’re to call me. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. As healthy as everything appears, this is still an at-risk pregnancy simply because of your history. Keep your stress levels low, don’t push yourself too hard physically. Light exercise is fine, just be reasonable.” Her smile now was wide and happy. “It’s okay to be excited. You’re off to a great start.”

“So…” Susie risked a glance over at Locke. “In your medical opinion…”

Penelope waited, though she seemed to know this was the hardest question for Susie to ask.

“There’s a real chance this baby could survive?”

Compassion filled the doctor’s face. She rose to her feet, walking over to put a hand on each of Susie’s shoulders. “Susie, I’m telling you as a doctor and as a mother myself. There’s every hope in the world for this baby. She can make it, we just have to do our best to take care of her so she can get here.”

Susie slid her gaze to Locke, wanting to cry again at the determination burning in his even stare.

He won’t fail you.

But as clearly as she knew Penelope was telling her the truth, she also knew the specter of Malcolm hovered in the distance. A threat she couldn’t afford to forget. He could ruin everything. If he came, she’d have to run. She’d have to leave all of this behind or see it destroyed. Her happiness, her child, her love. And if he didn’t come? How long before she destroyed it all on her own?

How long until
she
failed
him
?

Locke took her hand, held it as if it were her heart, and led her from the room.

Chapter Eight

Locke’s house was too damn big. It wasn’t even the fact that she knew it to be an eight-bedroom Victorian behemoth. That didn’t even count the studio apartment over the garage Locke used as his carpentry workshop. A former rowing champion, according to his sister, Locke had turned his love of the sport and his father’s carpentry skills into a different kind of career. “The Boathouse”, as the siblings all called it, was strictly off-limits to everyone. It was where he made the precision watercrafts that had kept his family supported all these years. More important, it was his sanctuary. The one place in the world that was his and his alone to escape the craziness of his wild family.

She’d always found it ironic that his place of peace was full of sharp instruments and power tools, and no one else thought that might be a bit like pissing off a bull and then sending him out to get his horns sharpened.

No, what made the house too big was the scope of the rooms themselves.

“I think I just figured out what it feels like to be Alice in Wonderland.” She stared in awe at the huge couch in the middle of his massive living room while he locked the door behind them.

Despite her long friendship with Amanda, she’d never actually come into the Jackman home. Coming directly into Locke’s personal space would have been too dangerous to her control. A fact proven by that fateful trip to his cabin when he and Amanda had that bad falling out. Ten minutes alone with him and she’d already been in his arms, peeling his shirt off as fast as she possibly could.

The room was homey, no doubt about it, with the built-in bookshelves on either side of the man-cave-sized TV, but it was the giant sectional couch made out of some kind of suede material her fingers itched to touch that really sealed the deal. This was the land of giants. Lots and lots of giants.

A beige throw blanket draped the back of one end, the wide chaise and oversized pillows looking well used and already calling her name. Oh yeah, she could fit her entire body on one pillow and probably sleep the night away in comfort. For a whole second, she kicked herself for not letting Locke drag her here sooner.

That chaise section made her spine whimper in anticipation of sweet relief, fantasies of never sleeping on her iron bed at home ever again dancing like sugar plums in her head. A short dance, of course, because getting that thing out of this living room would probably require a crane. But a dance nonetheless, which was so not a good sign if she wanted to go back to her tiny apartment when the weekend ended.

Okay, that thought felt mildly ungrateful. That apartment was her refuge. Her bolt-hole. It was small, but it was cozy. Her space and hers alone. She had been able to sleep there, which said a lot for the place. She hadn’t been afraid someone would come into her room in the night. And when Locke was with her there, he was there by
her
choice. Her invitation, because she knew if she ever actually meant to throw him out he would have gone. Not far—Locke wouldn’t stop being Locke, after all—but far enough.

And oh, the nights he’d stayed… If she weren’t already hyperaware of his big body behind her, knowing she could finally have all of him again, the memories of those nights would have sent her hormones jangling.

How many times had he somehow managed to peel her nightgown’s gathered neckline down below her aching breasts because they “needed some fresh air”? How often had he “convinced” her he slept better with her leg draped over his hip, giving his fingertips room to wander? And when she’d wake him in the mornings, her hand a tight fist around his shaft, her mouth already sliding down over the round head of his cock, the music of his groans setting the tempo for her strokes?

It had all been mere foreplay for this moment.

Keys clinked onto a table just behind her, knocking her from those particularly steamy memories. But not quite the heat of them. Because here she was, in his space and so very aware of it. Of him, only a few feet behind her. Of why they were here in the middle of the day, without a single interruption in sight. She knew why Locke had driven them here directly, not even stopping at her apartment for her to get anything. The tension between them all these months was at the snapping point. The whole ride here, she’d been torn between her relief about the baby and her growing anticipation of what was to come.

All alone with a hungry man and her own desperate wanting.

Maybe it
was
a good idea to be in a place with sturdy furniture.

She pushed out a calming breath, listening for his movement, but it never came. Mr. Silence clearly didn’t want her to have a chance to skitter away. His warmth touched her first, easing up her back as the front of his body aligned to the back of hers. Fabric rustled, the crisp white button-down he wore so well grazing the thicker cotton of her serviceable black blouse. Or was she just listening too hard?

The scent of him curled around her, fresh and brisk, like ice in the treetops where she’d grown up. She could breathe in that scent for the rest of her life and not mind at all. Or maybe she just wished she could.

Two firm hands—huge hands, she thought with a grin—settled on her shoulders, drawing her flush against his chest. “I’m not going to just jump on you, you know. We can ease into this weekend slowly.”

Damn it. This would be so much easier if he’d pull the marauding Viking act, but he only used that aspect of his personality to bully his siblings into acting like regular human beings.

“You sure? That couch over there looks like it could handle some jumping.”

Locke scoffed. “That couch could handle Armageddon. In fact, I think it has. Twice.”

She could just imagine. All seven of the various Jackmans, sprawled across the luscious pillows, boots still on, arguing over whatever was lying around until someone started a wrestling match…

Susie blinked, looking around the oddly empty room without lust clouding her vision. Oh, there was plenty of furniture, worn spots in the rug under the wide coffee table, books and magazines stacked in neat piles. The whole place was clean too, in an untouched kind of way, though there was no noticeable dust buildup anywhere. Framed pictures filled in the mantel on the fireplace and the walls, showing this house to have been thoroughly lived in. But still, the emptiness felt pervasive.

There should be noise in a house like this. There should be people in the kitchen beyond that swinging door over there. Someone in the dining room where a gleaming table big enough to be a runway stood alone. She looked around, listening for some kind of sound beyond the hollow quiet. Not even the whistle of the wind outside came through.

“Creepy, isn’t it?” he asked, mild amusement tingeing his voice.

“Yeah…”

“Want a tour?”

She sputtered a laugh and turned to shake her head at him. “You are so weird sometimes.”

His slow, pleased grin just proved how perverse he could be.

“Okay, fine, show me around your creepily quiet house as your bizarre form of foreplay, but you’d better make it worth my while in the end, buddy.” She offered her hand, which he didn’t even hesitate to claim. So sue her, she sighed and leaned into his shoulder as he slotted their fingers together, completely ignoring his snort at her choice of words. To his credit, he didn’t follow that possible line of conversation, either.

“This isn’t foreplay,” he corrected instead, leading her into the massive dining room. “This is simply acclimating you to the house you’ll be walking around naked in. I want you to be comfortable here. For the nakedness, you understand.”

“For the
weekend
,” she made sure to reiterate, watching him for any sign of prevarication in his response. She wasn’t dumb—she knew Locke had his plans. He always had plans. If she let herself, she could fall in line with them and let him lead the way just like his siblings did. But doing that would be giving him promises she still wasn’t ready to make. Reminding him she couldn’t stay reminded her as well.
This can’t be your life, Susie.

But oh, if it could…

“How exactly did you guys find a house like this?” she asked when he led her into the kitchen. The giant, massive kitchen, with its center island and butcher-block table and cabinet upon cabinet lining the walls. It was as if the place had been
designed
for the pack of giant men to live in.

“My father built it.”

Of course he did. Obviously. What had she been thinking?

“He had a construction company,” Locke added when she didn’t comment.

Susie nodded, not sure what the right response should be. She had never known her father, and she couldn’t imagine her mother building anything that would last long enough to pass it on to her child. That woman had only just passed on her genes, and grudgingly at that.

“We actually lived in a small house off Addams Street until Mom was pregnant with Amanda. It must have occurred to him then that their dream of a big family was going to work out.”

“You don’t talk about them very much,” she finally said, walking over to the long cabinet door. She ran her fingers over the honey-colored grain, the beveled edges so perfectly, lovingly carved into the wood. “None of you do.”

Locke let her touch, standing in front of the island, arms loosely crossed over his chest. He took his time replying, but she knew his gaze never left her. She could feel his pleasure at finally having her in his home. His satisfaction at watching her move amongst his things.

If he expected her to
move amongst
his kitchen much, he was going to be in for some disappointment. She cooked well enough when she had to, but she had nothing on Amanda, who cooked like she loved it. Susie sometimes wondered if Amanda’s food was behind all that brotherly devotion. She gave it at least half the reason, anyway.

“We do,” he eventually answered her unspoken question. “With each other.”

“No one else?” Why she was pushing on it, she wasn’t sure. She knew she couldn’t be the person he confided everything to, not if she would have to run. And yet, she was starving for every piece of him she could take with her. For every second she could be with him longer. Selfish, she knew. But she couldn’t help herself.

“No one else really remembers them. Not the way we do. Even if they did, most people are uncomfortable talking about the dead with their children. I guess they worry they’ll hurt us or something.” She turned in time to see him shrug those big shoulders, his confusion evident. “It would have been better for the younger twins if people had been able to handle it better. They died in a plane crash, for God’s sake. It wasn’t like there was anything to be ashamed about. You wouldn’t know that from the way everyone we knew acted though. Like no one should say their names except in a whisper. All the younger twins have are
our
stories. Our memories. It’s not enough.”