Page 36 of Conail (Members From Money Season 2, #150)

"Conail, I really am sorry." She eased out a breath. "I wish things were different."

"They're not." He glanced at the empty doorway and realized how impatient he was to get back to Yasmine.

"Go and take care of your child. Goodbye.

" He hung up without a second thought and stood there for a minute.

He had to explain to her. Tell her what had happened in the past and assure her that he was over it--over Michelle.

And he would mean it. Shaking his head, he pressed a hand over where his heart was pounding.

He would mean every word, because it was the truth.

Putting away the pasta, he hurried from the kitchen.

*****

The tea had cooled. She could feel it only because her fingers were wrapped around the cup. She had not taken a sip for fear of choking. It would not have gone past the hollow in her throat. It was lodged there, just as the pain was spreading inside her chest.

She had heard him talking and knew instinctively that it was her. The woman he loved, the one who had caused him so much pain. The one she could not compete with.

When she heard the sounds in the sitting room, she sat up and pretended to drink the now lukewarm tea and wanted to convince herself that she was properly composed.

"I thought you were downstairs." His eyes scanned her face cautiously.

"I wanted to lie down for a bit. I'm just finishing this and then I'll--" She paused. "If you want to go to her, then go."

He came further into the room and sent her a frowning look. "Why the hell should I do that?"

"She's--she was--" She gulped the tea down and set the cup aside with enough force to rattle the saucer. "I don't care." She rose unsteadily and swayed, her hand pressed against her chest.

He was in front of her instantly. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Dammit! Tell me."

Her eyes flashed. "Don't shout at me." She bit down on her lip and felt the nausea rising. "Oh God!" Wrenching from his hold, she raced towards the bathroom and made it just in time.

Sliding down on his knees, he rubbed her back as she retched pitifully and blamed himself for upsetting her.

He waited until she was finished before wrapping his arms around her and sitting on the floor with his back to the wall as he cradled her. She wrapped herself in a ball and laid her head weakly on his chest.

"Baby," he crooned softly. His hand cupped her cheek and turned her face upwards. Moisture beaded her forehead and upper lip. "What can I do?"

"Nothing." She burrowed against him.

"I thought it was over."

"It never usually is. I feel better."

"More tea?"

She blew out a breath. "God, no."

"Water?"

"Not just yet. I just want to stay here for a bit."

"The floor is cold."

"You're warm."

He held her close, hands soothing her back. "What you said back there about me going to her--"

"I would have pushed you in the snow and buried you, if you had."

He chuckled, feeling the tension easing. "Then why--"

"I was jealous and feeling awful."

"There's no need," he assured her quietly.

"There's every need." She lifted her head to stare at him. "You love her."

"Loved," he traced one round cheek. "Past tense." He shook his head. "The thought never occurred to me to go to her. My place is with you."

"She's beautiful," she whispered.

"Yes." He would not insult her by denying what was fact. "But you're exquisite. Glowing from the pregnancy." He toyed with the ends of her hair. "It's growing. Are you going to cut it?"

"I don't know." She kissed the hollow of his throat and felt a thrill when his pulse skittered. "Maybe. What do you think?"

"It would be interesting to see you with long hair. Babe, the floor is cold."

She thrilled at the endearment.

"Okay. Help me up or try and get a crane."

He laughed softly as he eased her away and rose. "I think I can manage."

He made her soup and brought it to her in bed. When she had cleaned the bowl and drank two glasses of water, she declared that she felt a lot better.

She initiated the lovemaking afterwards--one which he tried to resist with no success. He was beginning to realize that he could never say no to her.

"Darling, we can't," he tried one last time to dissuade her. They had taken a shower together and it had started then.

"Why not?" She was also beginning to realize the power she had where he was concerned and was determined to use it.

"You were just violently ill." He moved his head so that her lips landed on his jaw. But her hands were already busy. One cupped a very susceptible part of him. He was as hard as steel. In fact, steel had nothing over that part of him. He could easily drill holes in the wall.

"I'm better and look." She squeezed and had him rearing up. "It seems you're ready."

"Look--Christ Almighty!" he swore when she proceeded to gently fondle his testicles and from there, moved up to slide just the edge of her finger over the reddened tip of him.

"I want you so deep inside me, it feels like you're touching my womb," she whispered.

"You're trying to kill me," he grunted.

"Just trying to get you to stop talking and take me."

His control snapped and with a low growl, he turned her around and drove into her.

*****

They were married a month later at the same chapel, in a very intimate ceremony. Unlike her brother's wedding, there were only their families present and afterwards, they flew to Europe for a two-week honeymoon.

Somehow the papers got hold of the details of their initial arrangement, but by then it did not matter to the couple. She was in love. Granted, he never said the words to her, but his actions indicated that he felt the same way.

Even in the throes of their most passionate lovemaking, he never allowed it to slip.

She was now Mrs. Conail McLaughlin and heavily pregnant with their son.

It should be enough. She told herself it was enough.

He treated her like a queen and showered her with gifts.

He took her to lovely places, like Tuscany in Italy where he had a vineyard and from there they went to Paris, France.

In Scotland, he introduced her to Isle of Skye, Loch Lomond, Loch Ness and the Scottish Highlands where they were regular tourists.

In Ireland, they went to the Cliffs of Moher, Killarney and the Ring of Kerry.

At night, he would make love to her with a feverish intensity that had her crying in his arms and shivering from the aftermath.

But he would not say the words. Conail knew he was hurting her by keeping them tucked up inside his heart, but each time he opened his mouth, he recalled a time when he had said them.

He knew she was different, there was no doubt about it. She was loyal and she was committed, and she loved him. She was not afraid to let him know.

But he was afraid. He had never loved like this, what he felt for Michelle was like a shadow compared to what he was feeling for the woman who was now his wife.

He was hoping that she was in no doubt about his commitment to her.

His vows meant everything to him. He would die for her, would kill for her and would annihilate anyone who would dare lay a finger on her to cause her harm.

It scared him--the intensity of what he felt for her scared him to death.

He had no idea that he had so much depth.

He was hopelessly trying to cut down on the amount of times he made love to her.

She was going on eight months, and he really should be stopping.

But each time he tried, he only had to look at her.

She was big with his son and showed no signs of slowing down.

She had a new project going on and whenever he was at the office, she would close herself in the one he had had renovated for her and go about doing her illustrations.

She refused to work whenever he was around.

Sitting back in his chair, he twirled the fountain pen between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully and admitted to himself that he was a coward.

*****

Maeve felt as if she was bursting. Her daughter, heavy with child and wearing an exquisite diamond and sapphire ring on her finger that declared she was Mrs. Conail McLaughlin, was sitting at her simple kitchen table along with her daughter-in-law who was also pregnant, discussing baby clothes and doctor's visits.

Maddy was living at the farmhouse and adjusting to life as a farmer's wife.

Her son was happy, and she had grandchildren on the way.

The spring had thawed the earth of a bitter winter, and flowers were blooming.

Her greenhouse had grown to such an enormous proportion that she had had to hire three more locals.

"Here we go." She placed a pitcher of lemonade, freshly squeezed in the middle of the table with lemon wedges floating on the top and mixed with honey and dark sugar. Watercress sandwiches followed and had both women leaping forward.

"It seems the more pregnant I am, the more I eat.

Conail said we're eating him out of house and home.

Which happens to be the truth." She took a big bite of the sandwich and accepted the icy glass of lemonade.

"Mama, this is so good." She rubbed a hand over her bulge and tried to ease the pain in her back.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." She shook her head and smiled. "Just pregnancy inconveniences."

She smiled at her sister-in-law. "Welcome to the club."