Two Weeks in Geneva: Book Two (8 page)

Later that night, Alexander lay awake, Quinn soft and warm in his arms, and all was right in his world. His patience over the weeks had paid off, and while elated that he’d finally had Quinn again, even if not fully, he felt soul-deep satisfaction at the knowledge that they could move forward, all of them, together as a family. He had matters to attend first and knew that logistics would be tough, but in the face of happiness that lay ahead, the insignificant details wouldn’t stop them.

He nuzzled Quinn’s soft shoulder, her skin a whisper of silk across his lips, and she stirred under touch, snuggling closer to him, her back to his front. He stroked a hand down her side, tracing the dip of waist, the flare of her hip, and back up again to settle a hand on her soft stomach.

“Umm,” she said, her voice deep and scratchy with sleep, “keep doing that and I’ll forget to be embarrassed.”

“What would you be embarrassed about?”

She shifted and stretched, eyes still closed. “I’m not in fighting shape, so to speak. My boobs are saggy, my stretch marks have stretch marks, and my stomach still looks like there’s a baby inside it.”

He kissed her shoulder again and ran his fingertips up her stomach and across her full breast, tracing her nipple until she moaned and then gripping the fleshy mound. “They seem fine to me,” he said between dropping more kisses on her neck and shoulder.

“But it’s dark in here. If you see me in the morning sun, I have no doubt you’ll run screaming,” she said, half jokingly, half serious.

“That sounds like a challenge,” he whispered in her ear before tracing the delicate shell with his tongue. “You know how I love a challenge. I can’t wait to prove you wrong.” He punctuated the statement with a gentle nip to her earlobe.

“We’ll see.” She scoffed noncommittally and linked her fingers through his.

“Why didn’t you breast-feed?”

She went stiff as a board and pulled her hand away, so he reached for it and kissed her again. “No judgment, Quinn. I’m just curious.”

She turned her head to look back at him, and he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Incrementally, she relaxed and when she began the story, she was resting against him again, limbs fluid and relaxed.

“I finally got to take him home after about five days. I’d nursed in the hospital with relatively little trouble, but when we got home, it was a nightmare.”

She paused, the memories of those early days clearly flooding over her. Anxious to comfort her, he squeezed her tighter and rubbed his stubbled cheek across her shoulder, silently encouraging her to continue.

“I couldn’t get him to latch on properly, so he was hungry all the time. And it took forever, I’m talking hours, for each feeding. It was a vicious cycle where I’d feed him—or try to, anyway—for two or three hours, he’d get a little, fall asleep in anger and frustration, and we’d start the process over again thirty minutes later. I cried. He cried. It was an awful time. And I felt like such a failure. What kind of mother couldn’t feed her baby? I thought.”

The tremor in her voice shredded his heart, and he almost asked her to stop, but she continued after the brief pause.

“We went on like that for two weeks. My doctor assured me that we were both physically fine, so I tried
everything
, pillows, swaddlers, books, videos. Looked at every mommy blog and parenting magazine that I could find, certain that if I just tried harder, found the perfect tool, I could do it.”

“So what happened?”

“My mother, genius that she is, swooped in to save the day.”

He chuckled. “I bet she did.”

“One afternoon, she came over and found me and Ethan in the nursery, both of us crying like, well, babies. She gave me the look. You know the one?”—he nodded. He did indeed know the look—“and said, ‘Go take a shower and lay down, dear.’ I didn’t even pretend to put up a fight.”

“You needed rest. Both of you.”

“More than I’d even thought. I slept for like three and a half hours straight, which was longer than I had since he’d come home. I thought I was still dreaming when I woke up and there was no crying. I checked the nursery, where, to my shock, my baby slept peacefully for the first time. When I got downstairs, Ma handed me a can of formula. ‘Two scoops of powder plus eight ounces of water equals a full, happy baby and a sane mommy,’ she said. I never looked back.”

“Hmm.”

“What ‘hmm’? Let me guess, you thought I was a selfish career woman who didn’t want to wreck my body—more—by nursing, or maybe didn’t want to sacrifice my time or make the effort,” she said, defensiveness creeping into her tone.

“Nope,” he said, keeping his voice light. “I thought how strong you were to go through that because you thought it was best for him and how happy I am that Lily was there to help.”
And how sad I am that I wasn’t
, he added silently.

“I much prefer your thought to mine,” she said, her words again syrupy and sleepy.

“Good,” he said.

They lay together, their breathing the only sound in the otherwise-silent room, and Alexander used the quiet time to explore her, as he’d been unable to for so long. Traced the padded ridge of her collarbone, planted a kiss in the gentle hollow above, drawing a shiver from her, as it always did. Traced a hand over her breast, fuller now than before, but still firm and topped with the delectable dark brown nipple that he loved to lick, tease, and suck. Moved lower, over her stomach, which made the perfect handhold for him to grip when he fucked her from behind, and finally rested his hand near the tangle of curls that covered her mound. As he stroked her skin, the slightly puffy raised ridge that transected her abdomen moved under his fingertip. He’d seen the scar earlier but his attention had been focused on other things, but now, the pieces clicked into place. This was where they’d had to cut her to get Ethan.

After she’d told him the story, he’d thought about her without him, alone and afraid, and now, after hearing what she’d gone through after the birth, that thought only intensified. She’d reassured him that she’d had support, and he had no doubt that she had, but still, though he hadn’t known, he wished he could have been there to help her, to take a least some small part of the burden.

But he was here now.

He squeezed her tighter. He would be here from now on.

She squirmed and chuckled.

“I promise I’m not trying to get away. I can prove it,” she said, voice deep and throaty with sleep. And then she snuggled even closer, the rounded globes of her ass a welcome weight against his cock.

He hardened at the contact, and she sighed and shifted against him, rocking her hips in a slow, tantalizing motion.

“Quinn…”

“What? You started it,” she said as she laced her fingers through his and used their entwined fingers to part her labia and spread the cream she found there.

He was granite solid by the time she moved their fingers up to circle her clit, and he wanted more than anything to slam into her, feel her snug walls grip him, the smooth glide of her slickened flesh against his. Instead, he slid his cock between her lips, moaning as her cream coated him and then sandwiched himself between her ass cheeks.

He’d never had her without a barrier between them, and for months he’d dreamed of it. Now, here she lay, the heat from her pussy almost scalding, and it would be so easy to slide into her, to feel her welcoming clench pull him deeper and deeper. He curled the fingers of his free hand into her fleshy hip, needing an anchor in this tumult of desire that threatened to snap his self-control.

She rocked her hips against him, the motion shooting through his cock, and down to his balls, which were tight to his body, a sign of his impending release. But he wouldn’t go alone, and as he begin thrusting, he took control of their hands, curving two fingers, one his, one hers, into her welcoming heat while tracing her clit with his thumb.

“Argh—” She let out on a strangled cry, and at that same moment, his release hit him, and he came, his seed spilling onto her back and the tops of her cheeks.

Drowsiness overcame as his release subsided, so he pulled her close.

“Next time I’ll be inside you,” he whispered in her ear before sleep took him.

“God, you’re practically glowing. I fucking hate you,” Verna said in her typical understated fashion.

“Verna! I will not have that filthy language in my home, young lady,” her father bellowed from the living room.

“Let’s take this to the Palace, away from sensitive ears,” Verna said as she rolled her eyes and stood up from the kitchen table.

Quinn followed, not bothering to rein in her giggle. Visiting Verna was always like stepping back in time. In her mind’s eye, she could see the two of them over the years, seated around the same table, Verna as vulgar as she always was, her father issuing the same admonition, and Verna spiriting them away so that they couldn’t be overheard. The only real difference now was that instead of her old bedroom upstairs, Verna headed toward the anachronistically named “Palace,” which was actually just the basement. Verna had co-opted the downstairs, claiming she needed the separation, that it was time for her to “have her own space.” Quinn thought it more likely that Melissa, Verna’s layabout of a sister—something else that hadn’t changed over the years—had “suggested” Verna give up her room. Melissa’s boys, and Melissa when she wasn’t crashing at her latest boyfriend’s place, lived with Verna and her parents, and more than once, Melissa had hinted at how nice it would be if the boys had their own rooms. Not surprisingly, Verna had given in, brushing off the idea that maybe she shouldn’t have to uproot herself because Melissa thought it was a good idea. But then again, Verna had no boundaries with her family, and in an effort to keep the peace, Quinn tried not to poke and pry too much. It pained her to see her friend taken advantage of. Still, Verna was, as she so often reminded Quinn, a grown-ass woman, and Quinn had to respect that. She’d be there if Verna needed her, but ultimately, it was Verna’s life to live. Still, though the impetus for the move was annoying, Quinn was optimistic, hoping that the move to the basement was just the first step.

“It looks good down here, V,” Quinn said as she settled on the small sectional sofa.

And it was true. When they were kids, the Loves’ basement had been hang-out central for Mike, Verna’s brother, and his friends, strictly off-limits to the girls, but over the years, it had been filled with the family’s junk and other castoffs. But Verna had cleaned it up and made a pretty nice space. She’d painted the cinder blocks white and laid down a rug, had a colorful duvet on the twin bed and added pops of color here and there.

“Oh, this old place is nothing special,” she said with playful false modesty. “And don’t think you can distract me with compliments, however accurate they may be. What’s been going on with you and your new roommate Mr. Montague?” She plopped on the couch and bid Quinn do the same. “Ha! See what I did there? It rhymes.”

Quinn laughed. “And how did you know he’s been staying with me?”

“I can’t reveal my sources.”

“Well, I’m glad you and Joe could stop arguing long enough to talk, even if it was just to gossip about me.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny your assertions, but please proceed.”

“Things have been…good since the that day at the diner. Alexander is over the moon in love with Ethan, and the feeling is mutual. They’re two peas in a pod. And he’s been a dream really, wanting, insisting on actually taking an equal role in everything having to do with Ethan.”

“That’s not surprising, though right? He was in a bit of a state that first day, but at the café he looked fully engaged and ready to take on the world. It looked a little tense for a while there—not that I was staring or anything, ’cause I wouldn’t pry you know—but you seemed to leave in a good place, or at least as good as could be. Oh, and he totally wants back in your panties, honey.” Verna wiggled her brows suggestively.

“We did hash some stuff out and things have only gotten better. We’ve fallen into a bit of a routine. And my panties are not up for discussion, ma’am.”

“Uh-huh. You’re trying to hold out on me, which only confirms that it’s true.”

Quinn stayed silent under Verna’s probing glare for as long as she could, but the urge to talk to some one about this latest development, her mother and the baby being less than idea options, she didn’t hold out long. And besides, Verna was her best friend in the whole world, so there was no need to hold her tongue.

“We, uh, fooled around.”

“You mean you guys skipped class and made out behind the bleachers? You’re gonna get in trouble when your daddy finds out.”

Quinn smacked at her. “Funny, Vern.”

“Honestly. It took you long enough. You pined after that man for a year. Your restraint is admirable if not misplaced.”

“Huh. Not too much restraint, as the tiny human who now lives in my house rent-free demonstrates. We click in that department, more than click really…” She tried to keep what she knew would be a dreamy expression off her face, but based on Verna’s snicker, knew she’d failed. “It’s just…I don’t regret it, not at all, but I don’t know. This could get problematic.”

“Wait, so you got it on with the super-hot, super-rich, and did I mention super-hot, rich guy who has an accent to die for and just happens to be your child’s father? Oh, and he’s apparently forgiven you for failing to inform him that he had a child and seems to spend every moment trying to become a part of your and said child’s lives. I don’t know if I could bear such a hardship,” Verna said, dramatically throwing an arm across her forehead.