Elley Arden - Baby by Design

Tony showered, shaved and thought some more. Nonna was dying. There was no question about that. Ma said ovarian cancer was tricky, sneaky, and symptom-free—until it was too late. There wasn’t much they could do, but wait. For her to die. And that wasn’t okay with Tony. Weddings and funerals, baptisms too. He had power here, power to give his family something to wait for besides Nonna’s funeral.

He buttoned his shirt, zipped his jeans, and shoved into his boots. Stopping in the kitchen, he grabbed a six-pack of Heineken, 100 percent certain Trish DeVign didn’t stock a fridge of beer. He wasn’t nervous but after the pressurizing news about Nonna he wasn’t feeling his usual carefree self either. Under the circumstances, he tried not to stress over it. He’d get to Trish’s, have a drink, settle her down, and then they’d have some fun.

Thinking again about Nonna, he knew…there were worse ways to spend an evening.

By the time Tony made it to Trish’s front door, he was ready. Having spent the last five blocks conjuring up images of her grinding in that grass-green dress and fishnet hose, he was halfway to a hard-on.

She opened the front door, eyes shiny and wide. “You came.”

“Not yet.” He smiled, unable to hold back the crass but teasing comment. She made it too easy for him to enjoy shocking her, making her blush. Somehow those little thrills wiped a lot of big worries away.

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.” She clutched the doorknob in her left hand as she smoothed her right hand up and down her cotton-covered thigh. Black stretch pants clung to her legs with only the shirttails of an oversized oxford hiding the goods.

“I’m not changing my mind.”

“Okay, then.” She released a shaky exhale and stepped aside, waving him in. “But before we get started you should know that I don’t actually ovulate for a few days. I read that sperm can live inside a woman for three to five days, so we should be good.”

She was walking away from him, toward the stairs, but he heard the quiver in her voice.

He itched to crack open a beer. “Hey, wait.”

She stopped on the first step and turned. “Yeah?”

“You’re going to take advantage of me without even offering me a drink?” He lifted the corners of his mouth and the six-pack of beer.

“Tony, I read it’s not good to drink alcohol when you’re trying to conceive.”

“You need to stop reading,” he said with a chuckle. “Relax. Remember? Come on. One bottle won’t hurt. Do you know how many babies were conceived because Mom and Dad got tipsy?”

She clutched the railing. “I don’t want to get tipsy. I want to remember every detail. This is a big deal.”

No pressure, Tony thought, rubbing his free hand on the back of his neck. Heck, he never felt pressure to perform when his performance was the focus. Here he was simply a cog in Trish’s baby-making machine, and he was white-knuckling the six-pack. “Yeah, well, I need the beer. Consider it foreplay.”

The corners of her eyes and lips drooped, and Tony had the distinct impression that he’d somehow insulted her without meaning to. “Fine. I’ll get a glass.” She bounded off the step and down the hall to her right.

“I don’t need a glass.”

“But I do,” she called. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

Okay. So much for the playfulness he managed to cultivate in her office today. Maybe after the beer.

He took the steps two by two, six-pack in hand, not knowing where he was going in a house this big. At the top of the landing, he saw one room with lights on. Walking there, he wrestled with weirdness. Angie would shit. Vin would shit. Heck, Ma would shit, too. But as much as he loved his family, there was no room for them in this bedroom—even though they were the reason he was here.

Standing in the doorway, he took it in. Opulent, feminine, floral, plaid, and gold. Decidedly Trish DeVign. He smiled, because she’d lit candles, dozens of them, despite her admission that she worried he wouldn’t come. And there was music. He wondered if this seduction scene had always been part of her plan, too.

“Maybe I went a little overboard. Sorry.” She pushed past him, pilsner glass in hand. “When I’m nervous I over plan. I mean, I’m a planner to begin with, but…” she waved her hand. “Never mind. Just give me a beer.”

His smile widened, because, damn it, if she wasn’t the most charming woman he’d ever met. He loved the way she flustered, but powered through. Setting the six-pack on a nearby table, he snatched two bottles, twisted the caps, and took the glass from her. As he poured the beer down the side of the glass and watched the golden liquid pool, the fun kicked in.

He stepped closer to her. “You know it’s all in the head, right? So pay close attention to that. How it looks. How it feels on your tongue.” He winked at her.

“Give me that,” she spat, and taking the beer, she polished off half before he had his bottle to his lips.

“You know, I was talking about the beer.”

“I know that,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “But there’s always a double meaning with you, isn’t there?”

“What can I say? I enjoy myself.” He set the bottle on the table beside him. “And you’re going to enjoy yourself, too.”

She drained the glass. “No pressure, Tony. I’m serious. Let’s just make sure it counts.” And with that, she turned, walked to the bed, dropped her glass on the bedside table, and crawled fully clothed beneath the covers.

He watched as she drew the comforter to her shoulders and shimmied beneath it. First the black stretch pants peaked out from beneath the blankets and dropped to the floor, followed by black panties.

“I’m ready,” she proclaimed with a crisp nod.

Just like that. “You can’t be serious.”

She sat up, clutching the comforter to her chest, even though she wore a shirt. “I am.”

“Why? Why would you want to do it like this? You have candles and music and…”

“You said downstairs that you needed a beer and the beer was foreplay. I get it, Tony. You’re doing me a huge favor. Huge! And you’re hoping to get something awesome for your family in return. This isn’t about you being attracted to me. I can live with that.”

But he couldn’t, because nothing could’ve been further from the truth.

Trish wanted a baby, she didn’t want to be a baby, and yet here she was with feelings hurt because Tony made a joke about beer being foreplay.

Come on. She didn’t recognize herself lately, not since the night of her cousin’s wedding when her usual poise under pressure crumbled in the face of Tony’s flirting. What was the big deal? He was a nice-looking guy who was always up for some fun, and now he was going to help her get pregnant. She shouldn’t be pouting because he wasn’t interested in her. She didn’t need him to be interested. This was a mission with one focus. Pregnancy.

He stood there, at the foot of the bed, beer in hand, and she wished beyond reason that she could send him away, go back to before, when he didn’t know her deepest secret, when he didn’t have her running scared.

“What makes you think I’m not attracted to you?” He walked to her, placing the beer on the bedside table.

“Honestly, Tony, I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t.”

He sat, narrowly missing her legs still stuffed beneath the covers. “But I do. And you know, making a baby together sort of entitles me to be heard.”

“Then let’s not do it.” She shoved at the covers and wiggled off the opposite side of the bed, fully aware that her bottom half was bare beneath the oversized T while Tony sat guard over her leggings and underwear. “This was a mistake. We have too much in common, like work and Ange. I got caught up in the possibilities and clearly didn’t think it through.” She walked the perimeter of the bed, eyeing her pants.

Tony lifted a foot and dropped it slightly to the left, pinning her clothes beneath his boot. “Fine. We don’t have to make a baby. But if you think for a minute I’m leaving here before I get something in return, you’re crazy.”

She stopped, narrowed her eyes, and punched hands to hips. “Is this another joke?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I think you should lift up the shirt.”

“Excuse me?” Pressure built inside her head, heating her face, and bugging her eyes.

“You’ve been teasing me for two weeks, ever since that birthday party and your comments about the cake.”

“My comments? What comments?”

He flattened his palms against the mattress and leaned back, just a smidge, not enough to free her clothes, but enough for his leather jacket to fall open and his fabulous chest to strain against his shirt. “You know what you said, and you know why you said it.”

She scoffed and wiggled a bit, hoping to shed the shivers from his stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was with Jackson that night.”

“Uh huh.” He smiled. “But you wanted to be with me.”

Trish shut her mouth so hard her teeth chattered. Had she been that transparent? “Tony, stop it. Give me my pants and go.”

“Okay. As soon as you lift the shirt and put me out of my misery.”

She rolled her eyes. These games might work on his usual conquests, but she wasn’t usual, and she wasn’t his conquest. “Never mind. I do own other clothing, you know?” She turned her back on him and walked to her dresser.

Before she could open a drawer, his arm looped around her waist and he spun her to face him while crushing her body against his. “Let’s get something straight.” His mouth hovered inches from the tip of her nose. “Long before you hit me with this crazy plan there was something brewing between us.”