The Alpha's Baby (8 page)

"Emmy, it's so good you're—"

"Got to go," she cried.

"Here."

Panicked, Emmy sprinted to the bathroom. She rushed into the back stall and threw herself onto the floor by the toilet. Vomit oozed up her throat, and soon a stream of sour stomach acid came pouring from her lips and into the basin.

She heaved until she was certain she was going to puke up her spleen, diaphragm, and kidney. Moments passed, and the nausea faded. Instead of getting up, though, she lay wrapped around the toilet, her heart aching. The smell of fresh-baked bread still snuck into the bathroom, torturing her instead of lulling her into a state of bliss.

Just when she was getting used to the whole I'm-having-a-baby thing, this happened. Her bottom lip trembled as she wrapped her arms around her legs.

I won't let this get to me.

I won't let this get to me.

I won't let this get to me.

Trembling from head to foot, she seized the bathroom wall and struggled to her feet. As she regained her balance, she took a shaky breath and stumbled out of the stall. After she disinfected her hands enough times that she was certain the skin on her hand was going to fleck off, she wobbled out of the bathroom and entered the kitchen. Donavon, who looked like he'd jump face-first into a vat of flour, stared at her as if he'd never seen her before.

"You okay?" he asked.

No,
she thought, even as she picked up a bowl of sugar.

****

By the time twelve o'clock rolled around, Emmy had no energy. Before she became pregnant, getting up at four o'clock in the morning hadn't been all that painful. Okay, it had been a
little
painful, but not nearly as painful as this. Right now, she felt as though her legs were as limp as the pastry dough she was kneading.

With a sigh, she slapped her hand against the blob of dough, causing an upheaval of flour all around her. Her arm throbbed, and she let out a sigh. Oh, damn it all to hell, she needed a break. The pastry could wait for five seconds. It wasn't like it was going to evaporate into thin air. Grousing, she washed her hands and headed for the door. Unfortunately, that was when she heard the sound of her coworkers talking outside.

"I heard that Emmy is knocked up," Annabelle said. "I heard she's been puking a lot."

"Oh, please, who'd want to touch her?" her other worker, Tina, asked. "I bet you anything it's just the stomach flu."

Emmy's fists clenched at her sides.

"I suppose you're right about that." Annabelle chuckled. "But maybe the guy was really desperate or drunk."

The words stung.

She opened the door. "Maybe she has a contagious parasite living in her lower intestines."

"Gross," Tina said. "Do you really think—"

The girls turned around and froze.

"So…"

Eyes widened in horror.

"I'm so sorry," Tina said.

Annabelle scrambled to come up with an excuse. "We were talking about somebody else."

"Oh, so you know another person named Emmy who has been sick all week?" Emmy raised an eyebrow at the two of them.

Annabelle looked as if she'd been smacked.

"Don't do this again." Emmy pointed at the girls.

After the duo exchanged glances, Emmy rubbed her shoulder and headed outside. Once in the warm air outside, she leaned against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut. Just as she was contemplating trying to bake herself in the oven, her cell rang. She answered it without checking the caller ID.

"Hello," she said.

"How's the bakery?" a man said.

She stared at her phone as if it had grown antenna. "Excuse me? Who is this?"

"Sebastian, of course," he said.

Oh, duh. "Sebastian…"

"Do you have that many male callers?" he teased.

"I have so many male callers I don't know what to do with them." She forced a smile, despite how bad she was feeling. "I'm hot stuff, you know."

"I've known that since the moment I met you." He chuckled. "That's why I'm working so hard to convince you to marry me."

She should have known he'd bring that up. "Well, you'll have to work a bit harder because I'm still not sure I'll say yes."

"Believe me, I'm willing to do whatever it takes," he said.

"Mmm-hmm." She shook her head. "So what if I said that I want you to bring me five hundred and twenty-nine balloons in the next, oh, thirty minutes? Could you do it?"

The man grunted in determination. "I'd give it my best shot." 

"You sound like a well-prepared man," she said.

"Always." He chuckled, then sobered. "By the way, are you feeling alright?"

She wasn't feeling well at all, but she didn't want to tell him that. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I've been reading online about pregnancy," he said. "It says that you'll be tired and sick to your stomach during the first trimester."

His dedication to the baby shocked her. "You read up about pregnancy?"

"I want to know as much as I can," he said. "You can't do this on your own."

The words touched her, sending all of her negative emotions flying out the window. She couldn't believe he'd taken the time to read about pregnancy.

"You're sweet." So sweet it was shocking. 

"I know."

"I thought you were going to say that." He and Mary Lou would definitely get along.

"See, you already know me so well," he said. "You can even predict what I'm going to say before I say it."

"I don't know about that."

"Hmmm." He paused, his voice laced with amusement. "Guess what I'm going to say next."

She thought hard for a moment. "You're about to tell me that you're an Elvis impersonator, and you're going to a convention in Napa Valley two weeks from now."

"Close." He chuckled. "I'm going to Vegas."

"Damn. I was wrong." She stared at the sky. "But seriously, I know you didn't call to impress me with your pregnancy-related knowledge."

"You're right," he said. "Actually, I was wondering how you felt about pasta."

"Doesn't everyone like pasta?"

He let out a pained sigh. "My brother loathes the stuff."

"Bastard," she said.

The guy chortled. "I call him that every day. He always reminds me that if he's a bastard, then I'm a bastard too."

"Smart man," she said.

"High intelligence runs in the family."

She rolled her eyes. "Yet somehow you managed to get me pregnant, Mr. Intelligence."

Silence fell.

"Kidding," she said.

"I thought you were, but I was worried I'd get smacked if I laughed."

"How could I smack you through the phone?"

"A woman scorned is a frightful thing," he said. "You'd find a way to do it."

She grinned. "Don't forget that next time you think about pissing me off."

"I solemnly swear to be on my best behavior at all times," he said. "And I'll especially be on my best behavior today if you let me take you out to lunch."

"So that's why you asked me about pasta." Here she was thinking he was just weird. "I wondered why it was so important to you."

"Are you kidding?" he said. "If you disliked pasta, it would trash our whole relationship. Pasta is
that
important to me."

"Yet I notice you still seem to be on okay terms with your brother who hates it."

"I tried to cut him off, but he keeps coming back." Sebastian gave a pained sigh, then brightened. "Though what do you say? Do you want to go out to lunch?"

"Fine. Is it a date?" she asked.

"Do I get to grab your butt?" he asked.

"No." Her eyes narrowed.

"Then yes."

"I'm confused," she said. "If I said yes to letting you grab my butt, would it not have been a date?"

"It still would have been a date," he said. "I just wanted to see if you'd say yes."

"You jerk!" Despite the jab, she gave a snort of laughter.

"Finally, you laughed," he said.

"That was the goal?"

"Naturally," he said. "So when do I pick you up?"

She stared at her bakery. Through the window, she could see that diners were eating rolls, croissants, pastries, and homemade cakes. She wasn't needed now. Most of the food was baked in the morning before the restaurant even opened. Even her pastry dough could wait until later. And besides, she was starving and tired. The chocolate-filled croissant she'd choked down that morning had come back up again a half an hour after she'd eaten it. She needed something substantial if she wanted to battle with her employees and her cook in training who couldn't even tell the difference between salt and sugar.

She bit her bottom lip. "Can you come, well, now?"

"Sweetheart, I'm already on my way," he said.

Sebastian ended the call. Sighing, she stared at the blue sky and pressed her hand against her abdomen. It would be nice if she could pretend that the light movement beneath her skin was the result of her baby swimming around within her, but she knew it was her churning stomach. Just as she was grousing about all of the pains she was experiencing, Sebastian drove a fancy black car into the parking lot. It was no BMW, but it was definitely not the vehicle of a poor man. She headed over to the window, and he rolled it down, giving her a grin that made her heart race.

"You were fast," she said.

"I was already in Seattle." He smirked at her.

She studied him. "Why?"

"I was just doing some work," he said.

"What kind of work?"

Suddenly, he couldn't meet her eye. "You know, just boring stuff."

"You're really great at giving nonanswers." She crossed her arms.

"I'm great at most things," he said.

"Are you really that conceited, or are you just pulling my leg?" she asked.

"I don't like the word conceited," he said. "I like to say I'm knowledgeable about my strong points."

"Okay, Mr. Hot Shot, name one of your weak points," she said.

"Humility." His grin widened.

Well, he had her there. "I'm going to give you points for irony."

"I'm good at being ironic too," he said.

"I'm never introducing you to Mary Lou," she muttered under her breath.

"Who's Mary Lou?" He straightened up, intrigued.

"You heard that?" What was he, a dog?

"I have—"

"You have good hearing," she interrupted, predicting what he was going to say before he said it. 

"See, you're reading my mind again." He winked. "Pretty soon, we're going to be finishing each other's sentences like we've been married for fifty years."

"I doubt that." She grimaced. "Now I'm getting in. I'm starving."

Before he could make another comment, she trotted over to the passenger door and climbed inside. She settled into the seat and smelled leather.

"New car?" She glanced around.

"Had it for about a month," he said. "I think I'm going to trade it in."

She gazed longingly at his sunroof. "Why?"

"I'm going to need something more practical." He put the car in reverse and backed out of the lot.

"Like a pickup truck?"

"Like a van." He glanced pointedly at the back. "I'm going to need room for a car seat and a stroller. I also like the idea of getting one of those cars with a mini-TV built in the back of the headrest. That way, the baby will always be entertained."

The words stunned her. Here she was running around like a chicken with its head, wings, and rear end cut off, and Sebastian was calmly talking about trading his fancy-schmancy car for a van with room for a car seat and a stroller. Sebastian was taking the whole I'm-going-to-be-a-father thing by storm. She, on the other hand, was just counting herself lucky that she'd managed to make it through the day without suffocating on her own vomit. The man was sure making her feel inadequate in the parent department.

"You okay?" Sebastian's grin faded. "You look pale."

She waved away his words. "It's nothing."

"Emmy." He frowned at her.

She stared determinedly out the window. "Really, there's not a problem."

"Tell me what it is." The man nudged her with his elbow.

"No."

He nudged her again. "Tell me."

"Oh, fine." If she didn't tell him, then he'd elbow her until she became blue in the face. "You're handling everything so well, but I feel like I'm lucky that I made it through today without falling down a flight of stairs…or pushing somebody else down them."

"That's why you got all quiet?" he asked.

"Well, this is a big deal." She sniffed. "You're a newbie parent too, but you're already picking out baby-friendly cars. At the rate you're going, I'm surprised you haven't childproofed your apartment."

"I have a guy coming to do that next week," he said.

"Sebastian." She rolled her eyes.

"Okay, okay." He blew out a sigh. "The truth of the matter is, I think this is easier on me than it is on you."

"Easier?" She studied him.

"If you happen to notice, I'm not the one with sore nipples," he said.

The imagery made her cringe. "My nipples aren't sore either."

"Still, you're the one who has to deal with the physical pain and everything else. It's harder," he said. "So can't you just see me as being a supportive dad?"

"A supportive dad who is going to have an awesome van," she said.

"With a mini-TV," he said.

"Yeah." She managed a smile.

Sebastian pulled over to the side of the road in front of a park. To her shock, he placed his hand on top of hers. "You're going to be a great mom, Emmy."

Suddenly, she couldn't look at him. "Thank you."

"I can't believe it," he said. "Ms. Tough Stuff is shy."

"Who's shy?" She faced him, eyes narrowed.

"You wouldn't even look at me when I touched your hand," he teased, then climbed out of the car.

She jumped out of the car too and met him on the sidewalk. "It just so happens that there was a bird on the sidewalk I was looking at."

"Where is it?" The sidewalk was empty.

"It flew off," she lied.

"Uh-huh."

"It did!"

"For lying to me, you're going to have to pay the penalty," he said.