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“I think she likes sex already.”
Christian frowns. “Really?” he says dryly. He moves so his lips are against my bump. “There’ll be none of that until you’re thirty, young lady.”
I giggle. “Oh, Christian, you are such a hypocrite.”
“No, I’m an anxious father.” He gazes up at me, his brow furrowed, betraying his anxiety.
“You’re a wonderful father, as I knew you would be.” I caress his lovely face, and he gives me his shy smile.
“I like this,” he murmurs, stroking then kissing my belly. “There’s more of you.”
I pout. “I don’t like more of me.”
“It’s great when you come.”
“Christian!”
“And I’m looking forward to the taste of breast milk again.”
“Christian! You are such a kinky—”
He swoops on me suddenly, kissing me hard, throwing his leg over mine, and grabbing my hands so they are above my head. “You love the kinky fuckery,” he
whispers, and he runs his nose down mine.
I grin, caught in his infectious, wicked smile. “Yes, I love the kinky fuckery. And I love you. Very much.”
I jerk awake, woken by a high-pitched squeal of delight from my son, and even though I can’t see him or Christian, I grin like an idiot with my glee. Ted has woken
from his nap, and he and Christian are romping nearby. I lie quietly, still marveling at Christian’s capacity for play. His patience with Teddy is extraordinary—much
more so than with me. I snort. But then, that’s how it should be. And my beautiful little boy, the apple of his mother and father’s eyes, knows no fear. Christian, on
the other hand, is still too overprotective—of both of us. My sweet, mercurial, controlling Fifty.
“Let’s find Mommy. She’s here in the meadow somewhere.”
Ted says something I don’t hear, and Christian laughs freely, happily. It’s a magical sound, filled with his paternal joy. I can’t resist. I struggle up onto my elbows
to spy on them from my hiding place in the long grass.
Christian is swinging Ted around and around, making him squeal once more in delight. He stops, launches him high into the air—I stop breathing—then he
catches him. Ted shrieks with childish abandon and I breathe a sigh of relief. Oh my little man, my darling little man, always on the go.
“ ‘Gain, Daddy!” he squeals. Christian obliges, and my heart leaps into my mouth once more as he tosses Teddy into the air then catches him again, clutching
him close. Christian kisses Ted’s copper-colored hair, and blows a kiss on his cheek, then tickles him mercilessly for a moment. Teddy howls with laughter, squirming and pushing against Christian’s chest, wanting out of his arms. Gri
“Let’s find Mommy. She’s hiding in the grass.”
Ted beams, enjoying the game, and looks around the meadow. Grasping Christian’s hand, he points to somewhere I’m not, and it makes me giggle. I lie back
down quickly, delighting in this game.
“Ted, I heard Mommy. Did you hear her?”
“Mommy!”
I giggle-snort at Ted’s imperious tone. Jeez—so like his dad, and he’s only two.
“Teddy!” I call back, gazing up the sky with a ridiculous grin on my face.
“Mommy!”
All too soon I hear their footsteps trampling through the meadow, and first Ted then Christian bursts through the long grass.
“Mommy!” Ted screeches as if he’s found the lost treasure of the Sierra Madre, and he leaps onto me.
“Hey, baby boy!” I cradle him against me and kiss his chubby cheek. He giggles and kisses me in return, then struggles out of my arms.
“Hello, Mommy.” Christian smiles down at me.
“Hello, Daddy.” I grin, and he picks Ted up, and sits down beside me with our son in his lap.
“Gently with Mommy,” he admonishes Ted. I smirk—the irony is not lost on me. From his pocket, Christian produces his BlackBerry and gives it to Ted. This
will probably win us five minutes of peace, maximum. Teddy studies it, his little brow furrowed. He looks so serious, blue eyes concentrating hard, just like his
daddy does when he reads his e-mails. Christian nuzzles Ted’s hair, and my heart swells to look at them both. Two peas in a pod: my son sitting quietly—for a few
moments at least—in my husband’s lap. My two favorite men in the whole world.
Of course, Ted is the most beautiful and talented child on the planet, but then I am his mother so I would think that. And Christian is . . . well, Christian is just
himself. In white T-shirt and jeans, he looks as hot as usual. What did I do to win such a prize?
“You look well, Mrs. Grey.”
“As do you, Mr. Grey.”
“Isn’t Mommy pretty?” Christian whispers in Ted’s ear. Ted swats him away, more interested in Daddy’s BlackBerry.
I giggle. “You can’t get around him.”
“I know.” Christian grins and kisses Ted’s hair. “I can’t believe he’ll be two tomorrow.” His tone is wistful. Reaching across, he spreads his hand over my bump.
“Let’s have lots of children,” he says.
“One more at least.” I grin, and he caresses my belly.
“How is my daughter?”
“She’s good. Asleep, I think.”
“Hello, Mr. Grey. Hi, Ana.”
We both turn to see Sophie, Taylor’s ten-year-old daughter, appear out of the long grass.
“Soeee,” Ted squeals with delighted recognition. He struggles out of Christian’s lap, discarding the BlackBerry.
“I have some popsicles from Gail,” Sophie says. “Can I give one to Ted?”
“Sure,” I say. Oh dear, this is going to be messy.
“Pop!” Ted holds out his hands and Sophie passes one to him. It’s dripping already.
“Here—let Mommy see.” I sit up, take the popsicle from Ted, and quickly slip it into my mouth, licking off the excess juice. Hmm . . . cranberry, cool and
delicious.
“Mine!” Ted protests, his voice ringing with indignation.
“Here you go.” I hand him back a slightly less ru
“Can Ted and I go for a walk?” Sophie asks.
“Sure.”
“Don’t go too far.”
“No, Mr. Grey.” Sophie’s hazel eyes are wide and serious. I think she’s a little frightened of Christian. She holds her hand out, and Teddy takes it willingly. They
trudge away together through the long grass.
Christian watches them.
“They’ll be fine, Christian. What harm could come to them here?” He frowns at me momentarily, and I crawl over and into his lap.
“Besides, Ted is completely smitten with Sophie.”
Christian snorts and nuzzles my hair. “She’s a delightful child.”
“She is. So pretty, too. A blonde angel.”
Christian stills and places his hands on my belly. “Girls, eh?” There’s a hint of trepidation in his voice. I curl my hand behind his head.
“You don’t have to worry about your daughter for at least another three months. I have her covered here. Okay?”
He kisses me behind my ear and scrapes his teeth around the edge to the lobe.
“Whatever you say, Mrs. Grey.” Then he bites me. I yelp.
“I enjoyed last night,” he says. “We should do that more often.”
“Me, too.”
“And we could, if you stopped working . . .”
I roll my eyes and he tightens his arms around me and grins into my neck.
I roll my eyes and he tightens his arms around me and grins into my neck.
“Are you rolling your eyes at me Mrs. Grey?” His threat is implicit but sensual, making me squirm, but as we’re in the middle of the meadow with the kids
nearby, I ignore his invitation.
“Grey Publishing has an author on the New York Times Best Sellers—Boyce Fox’s sales are phenomenal, the e-book side of our business has exploded, and I
finally have the team I want around me.”
“And you’re making money in these difficult times,” Christian adds, his voice reflecting his pride. “But . . . I like you barefoot and pregnant and in my kitchen.”