Chapter 38

~ NICK ~

She’s adapting quite nicely.

I was not expecting it to be immediate. But Bailey does possess a strong constitution and a resiliency that sees her through adversity. And while the palace is obviously intimidating, she’s just taken her first flight ever, and she’s never left her own country before this—and she is, truly, in a foreign land—she’s also, as usual, taking it all in stride.

I don’t prompt her for any huge reveals here, just let her continue to assimilate, while I casually muse, “It was fortuitous to have Claire get your passport ordered months ago.”

“All the tiny details are accounted for—i’s dotted and t’s crossed. You are quite thorough. As is she.”

“And I want you fully refreshed for lunch and a tour.”

She snickers, sweetly. “You’ll have to leave breadcrumbs for me so I can find my way around.”

“It’s an easy layout, I promise.” I gesture to the hustle and bustle below us. “This main part of the palace houses administrative and operations offices, conference rooms, and executive kitchens/cafés. Resting areas. The entrance into the estate is the south end.”

Much as I’m loathed to disentangle us, I take her hand at my chest and lead her across the vast hallway to the other railing, which looks out on all the tall windows showcasing the lush grounds, courtyards, and fountains. There is a lake farther beyond, edged by a scenic mountain range.

She gasps.

“We’re facing north,” I explain, “and there are numerous outdoor seating and dining areas, courtyards with fireplaces, et cetera. Only for the family and guests.”

“Noted,” she murmurs, appearing a bit grateful for the privacy offered by the residential portion of the palace. Yet she’s also evidently overwhelmed again. 

I maintain a light tone as I continue, striving to keep her on an even keel. As much as possible, at any rate. “The two wings are categorically arranged. The east wing is for facilities—the fitness center, spa, salon, study. Well, it’s an actual three-story library, but… Anyway.” I clear my throat as her eyes widen. So much for that even keel. I additionally mention, “There are living rooms throughout that wing.”

“So… Basically… The estate is its own town?”

“Sort of.” I chuckle. “The west wing is strictly home amenities. Kitchens, formal and informal dining and living rooms, guest rooms. The top floor is reserved for mine and my father’s suites, our sitting areas, and dens.”

She whistles under her breath. At least she has one, as she lets this all sink in.

With my arm around her waist, I guide her to the left, toward the residences.

“There’s security at the entrance to each floor, at each wing. Also, with a few obvious exceptions, everyone coming onto the grounds is stopped at the monitoring station at the gate and must supply valid and active credentials—even if they’ve worked onsite for years.”

Apparently, this compels her to glance over her shoulder. My gaze follows. My primary bodyguard is a few steps behind us. As is hers.

My head bends and I murmur, “Don’t worry, we’ll be alone in my suites. But they’ll both be on the other side of the doors, in the corridor.”

She gives a faint nod. I don’t believe Bailey is fully accustomed to having bodyguards; however, she’s been well aware of their presence from the beginning.

Really, it’s more the opulence she’s in awe of at the moment, is my guess.

We pass through to the entryway of the personal staircase that is as regal as the ones in the core section of the palace. My grip on her is firmer as we ascend the marble steps.

Although she doesn’t say anything, I sense there’s a sardonic jest on her tongue that will make her feel more relieved if she just blurts it. But she fears she’ll offend me.

So I say, “It’s truly ridiculous, right?”

“Actually,” she stares up at me and smiles. “It’s stunning. And so elegant. I’d expect no less from you.”

“Well, bear in mind, I’m not the one who constructed the palace—or decorated it.”

She laughs, amiably. “That I realize. I’m just commenting that you would redecorate every square foot if it was the tiniest bit tasteless—if it was anything less than stellar.”

She has me on that one.

We keep climbing and it occurs to me we should have taken the elevator to the top floor. But Bailey seems content to stretch her legs and she’s not winded. She does pause occasionally to gaze out the asymmetrical windows—and each time she does, she’s mesmerized.

Pride of ownership over the palace is one thing. The fact that my country is, indeed, breathtaking is even more poignant for me.

It’s also incredibly significant to me that she finds it beautiful and worthy of the lengthy glances as she surveys each new area she catches sight of. Though her attention invariably always drifts off to the lake and the mountain range. The water appeals to her, naturally. But she’s churning over the peaks in the distance, as well.

I know she doesn’t ski. Or snowboard. Hike. Camp. Rock-climb. So I’m curious as to what captivates her so.

However, I’m not exactly sure she’s pinpointed that, herself. Therefore, I don’t press. Yet.

I lead her to the penthouses, but I don’t immediately take her to meet my father. That would be putting way too much pressure on Bailey, when she’s come all this way because of some mysterious beseeching within her and she’s still adjusting to all the ostentatiousness she’s consuming.

Plus, her pace is slowing ever-so-slightly and I’m certain the prospect of a nap is an enticing one.

The doormen open the heavy, ornate doors and Bailey marvels over them as we step inside. Bronze and champagne, with a hint of black and gold around the fringes is the overall color scheme.

She attempts to take in the foyer, but then laughs again and kisses my neck and murmurs, “I just can’t. It’s all too much to digest at once.”

“Come with me,” I say, and guide her to the collection of rooms that comprise my suites.

Grayson has already laid out a robe for her, from her suitcase, and has otherwise hung her additional garments. I suspect he’s arranged her toiletries in my bathroom and has stocked the wet bar with the sparkling water she prefers—because, knowing Grayson, he and Claire conspired to ensure anything and everything Bailey might require or request, or just plain crave and not speak up to ask for, automatically be at her disposal.

That is one more thing that ensnares me about this woman. For as much as she’s been a loner most of her life, she does a damn good job of endearing people to her.

I don’t bother giving her a tour of the suites, just point out the necessities and then help her out of her clothes. Though she’s more inclined to assist me with mine.

I chuckle. “The object here is to get you into bed… To rest.”

“Sure, sure,” she mutters. “I swear I will. But having made this great sacrifice to get to you, coming all this way—”

“Oh, the hardship,” I quietly joke as my gaze darts about the well-appointed room.

She smiles, beguilingly. Igniting everything within me. “Yeah, such a travesty to be surrounded by all this luxury. Now,” she flirtatiously queries, “are you planning on tucking me in?”

She’s divesting me of my jacket. Then her fingers are working on the knot in my tie, loosening the silk material, pulling it free, dragging it away.

I’m temporarily at a loss for words as she slips the buttons on my shirt through their small holes. And then her warm, glossy lips are grazing the inner swells of my pecs and…

“I’ve forgotten what we were talking about,” I whisper in her ear.

The tip of her tongue flutters over a beaded nipple. Then her mouth very gently suckles.

“Bailey,” I say on a low groan.

The purpose here honestly was to settle her in and let her recover before the entire day and evening ahead of her.

She’s having none of it.

She peers up at me from under sooty, velvety lashes.

I tell myself I’m not going to cave to her flirty expression and the shimmer in her beautiful blue eyes.

I tell myself I want her to relax and rejuvenate. Soak in my jetted tub prior to lunch. Anything she wants.

But that’s the crux of the problem right there.

When Bailey glides her fingers up my neck and curls them in the hairs at my nape… And she goes up on tiptoes to delicately whisk her lips along my cheek and then playfully nips at my earlobe… While her luscious body is pressing to mine and I can feel every fantastically feminine curve, every highly arousing touch…

I tell her, “You play dirty.”

She smiles—I feel her lips quirk against my skin. “We do dirty very well…together. And I sleep much better after multiple orgasms, so… Be of service to me?”

I smirk.

Yeah.

Like I’m going to say no to this woman…

Ever.

~ BAILEY ~

I know Nick believes I’m overwhelmed by the stunning scenery and the opulence surrounding us, but those are all periphery details. What I’m truly fixated on is how he’s even hotter than hell in this official/professional/commanding role of his. He is completely in his element, with people at his beck and call, close by, just waiting to do his bidding.

Well, except in the privacy of his bedroom.

Though… Grayson has already been here. He’s turned down the bed—because he knows I like that, even just for a nap.

But, back to Nick…

I sigh dreamily. With notable lust tinging the lengthy breath.

This makes him laugh, low and sensuous. The soothing sound ripples through me and has me cuddling against him as my lips brush his throat and my fingers remain coiled in his hair. He is above and beyond captivating this morning. Yes, I’m awestruck by the ambience. But he holds my entire attention. 

He has one arm around me. With his free hand, he pulls the shirttails from his suit pants and then unfastens his belt.

Ah… I’ve enticed him to join me in bed.

I rub my bare breasts against him, since he was quick to rid me of my clothing, earlier. We haven’t finished stripping him down, but with his shirt hanging open, I have the prime opportunity to continue seducing him.

“They’re fuller,” he murmurs.

“My belly’s rounder too.”

“I noticed.”

“Hey…” I bite his skin.

He groans, sexily. Then says, “You do realize I think you’re perfect? You look healthy. Luminous. And goddamn, do you feel good.”

“Missed me?” I can’t help but ask.

I instantly sense the shift in the air. I didn’t exactly pose that question as a light query. I was kind of serious.

Okay, total lie. I am deathly serious.

“Bailey.” He gazes down at me, intently. “Don’t ever doubt it.”

His expression is solemn, and I can see from the longing in his eyes that he’s as grave as I am.

Tears spring on the rims of my eyes.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “Didn’t mean for this to turn melodramatic.”

“It’s not melodramatic. It’s our reality. Problem is…” His intensity amps a bit more. “I fear you believe when you’re out of my sight, you’re also out of my mind. And that is absolutely not the truth. In fact… It’s the farthest thing from the truth. You’re never gone from my thoughts. You never will be.”

Oh, hell. The fat drops crest and trickle along my cheeks.

Yet… I smile. Shakily, but I give it a valiant effort. “You always say the sweetest things to me. I mean… When you’re not being naughty.”

He grins. It’s as slight as mine. Just to tell me he finds me amusing. His irises shimmer now with both yearning and a deeper emotion. Not just a physical response to me, but… A rawer, yet discernibly exquisite emotion.

He doesn’t exactly cave to it, though. Likely because he knows that will lead to full-on waterworks from me, especially given that I really am fatigued from traveling and the time change and the internal upheaval I’d previously experienced. Though the peanut has settled down considerably. So perhaps I won’t be delighting over the popcorn effect while I’m here. Not that it matters… It’d be too faint a sensation for Nick to detect anyway. That had only been wishful hoping on my part—I know he’d dig feeling the movement because it’s one more indication of the life growing within me. The life we’ve created.

Alrighty, Bailey… You are wrapped around every conceivably dangerous notion a surrogate could possibly encounter.

Duh.

I snicker inwardly. How could I not be? Look whose kid I’m carrying.

I smile again at that thought, and it’s suddenly steadier.

Being in love—even if you’re never going to tell a particular person that is your sincerest affection for them—brings on a certain giddiness, despite inherent thorns.

“What’s going on inside that pretty head of yours?” Nick asks.

“Just considering how we actually do manage to navigate our reality.”

“I promise to visit more often.”

I give a small shake of my head. “You have obligations—we’ve covered this. I acknowledge them. As such… I promise to visit more often.”

His gaze narrows on me.

“Until Dr. Shaw vetoes it and then the baby’s born. Of course.”

“Bailey, I’ve never made any demands on your time. I have no intention of taking you away from your restaurant.”

“And I have no intention of taking you away from your country. Your father. We’ve established this. But… I can make a few trips between now and the end of our agreement.”

This time, he groans with some annoyance. And carefully whisks me into his arms.

He takes me to the bed, gently places me on it, and leans over me, so our noses nearly touch.

He quietly, though emphatically, asserts, “I don’t want to talk about that.”

We both recognize that we’re foolish not to. That doesn’t stop us from sweeping the topic under the rug.

Given that he’s sort of laid down the law, I choose to follow his lead and stay on-point with where this interlude initially began.

Plus, he’s just too damn tempting to resist.

I shove his jacket over his broad shoulders, and he tosses the material aside. His shirt is next to go.

He combs his fingers through my curls and stares into my eyes. Then his head lowers and his lips tangle with mine and… Now, I’m the one who’s forgotten the discussion. And everything else.

Nick is well aware I like his more aggressive approach. But with my current condition and knowing I am a trifle fatigued, he opts for the subtle seduction. His kisses are tongueless and sensual at first. Then he adds a hint of flare, but only a hint. So that after the tip of his tongue merely glances over the tip of mine a few times, I pout.

“You’re toying with me.”

He kisses the corner of my mouth. Then my chin. Then my neck. Sending delicious shivers through me.

“Fine,” I mockingly say on a sliver of air. “You know you’re just making me wetter.”

Sinfully so…