Page 18

Indi

“ I ’m still pregnant, dumbass,” I said, blinking in the sudden bright glare from Astrid’s headlights.

“What, are you eating for four?” she screeched. “Just wait until Finn sees you now.”

“He’d still want to fuck me and not you,” I said irritably. “Give it up, Astrid. You need to go. Surrender to the police. They're looking for you.”

I began to feel a little stab of fear as she revved her engine, her long red nails digging into the steering wheel.

“It’s a lie!” she cried.

Her car was blocking the exit and I was hemmed in by the hedge on the other side. Shit, I didn’t think I could make it out of the way of her peach Mercedes if she tried to pin me against the garage door.

“Give me Finn!” Astrid shrieked, drumming her hands on the wheel. “I’m sorrrrrrrry for having sex with your husband. I thought he was gonna be better. But you don’t have to punish me by taking away my DREAM MAN.”

“Finn doesn’t want you,” I retorted, trying to edge sideways, but with the size of my belly, I wasn’t built for edging.

“Oh, you’re not going to get away with this!” she cried, rolling the car forward so the hood was only an inch from pinning my legs into the garage door.

“Stop!” I suddenly heard my ex-husband order, and then Ambrose was there, pouncing up on the hood of her Mercedes and grabbing hold of the windshield wipers, ripping them off in his hands.

Astrid’s Mercedes was her baby and clearly, this was the only thing that could have distracted her.

She backed up and gunned the car at Ambrose.

“You will pay for those, you brute! They cost $500 apiece!”

She knocked the car painfully into his shins but Ambrose wasn’t even looking at her.

“Move, Indi,” he ordered, and once again, his commanding tone was not helping my revolting little secret arousal at his voice, making my knees feel weak and wobbly.

“I hate you so much!” Astrid shrieked. “What kind of man cheats on his wife and then goes crawling back to her? And you’re not getting away that easy, bitch!”

She spun the car back around to me as I tried to get out of the way but just as I started to move a huge Braxton-Hicks contraction tightened my belly painfully and I clutched it, wincing in pain.

Shit, too slow

Because Astrid was really gunning for me. Her face behind the twisted windshield wipers looked maniacal, her lipstick a crooked slash across her face.

But before she could touch me, Ambrose charged forward into the path of her car and swung me completely out of the way, only a second or two before Astrid jerked the Mercedes forward.

The movement trapped his legs against my garage door, but I was laid down as soft as a pillow on the other side of the hedge as he was ground into the fender.

“Give it up!” Ambrose gritted out to her. “Everything I ever did with you was a mistake I wish I could take back!”

I cast madly about for a weapon, anything to distract her, but there was nothing.

“Let him go!”

“Indi, do not make me tell you twice!” Ambrose bit out again, his eyes flaming at me. “She’s fucking nuts! Get out of here!”

“God, you’re such a wound-up asshole!” I seethed, my hormones clawing at me like tiny knives down my skin. “Calm down! I’m not going to just leave and let you get flattened.”

Suddenly, there was a firm peppering sound like a lot of smallish rocks hitting her windshield, and Astrid shrieked in horror.

“What—who the fuck? This is a $35,000 windshield!”

There was another spray of rocks, more this time, splattering across the glass and gouging little chunks out of the car.

I turned my head and there was Harold in an old-fashioned pajama set and nightcap with a slingshot he’d bought to keep my bird feeders free of squirrels but then been too soft-hearted to use.

“How dare you impregnate me with your ancient geriatric sperm? I’m going to kill you!”

In a rage, she reversed, the car brakes squealing, and then twisted the wheel toward Harold.

Ambrose moved like a flash, grabbing at something in my garden, and when he got up he had one of my sharp metal trellises for tomatoes in his hand.

With one smooth motion, he jammed it into Astrid’s front tire.

It immediately made a terrific popping sound and began to rapidly deflate, much like the lipstick melting off Astrid’s greasy face.

“Nice work, son!” Harold praised, because unlike me he did not hold grudges at all.

Ambrose yanked open the car door and pulled Astrid out by the back of her dress, then walked her firmly over to my compost bin and stuffed her head in.

“Dad, would you mind calling the cops? And then please go sit in Julian’s bedroom in case he wakes up. Indi and I will wait out here and make sure she doesn’t try to escape.”

My heart was in my throat as I walked over to him, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

“Remember how I used to complain that your compost bin stunk?” Ambrose asked me cordially as he held Astrid’s head firmly down so her face was smashed in a big pile of leftover lima beans.

“I take it all back. This is sheer genius. If you give me another chance, I swear I’ll help you put 10 of these around the house.”

“I don’t want to talk about—compost,” I said, feeling on the edge of strong hysterics and still a little out of breath. “Are you all right ? You literally ran in front of a car.”

“I’m fine! Who cares as long as you’r e safe,” he said, his brows drawn together sharply as he looked down at me.

“You’re such an idiot ,” I cried, involuntarily gripping his T-shirt, wanting to freaking strangle him for being so reckless.

My ex’s eyes burned down my body until they landed where my hands were twisted in his T-shirt, my frenzied motion pulling it up so I could see his flat belly and the deep V of his hips. For a moment I froze. Then Ambrose put his free hand on my chin and kissed me.

Damn, I hadn’t forgotten this at all, the way his fingers dug into my skin, the way it felt to have his lips on mine, his grip spanning my jaw.

There was something just raw and fucking feral about him and apparently I wasn’t as immune to it as I wanted to be.

“Fuck you both,” Astrid said in a muffled tone, and Ambrose only shoved her face down further into some rancid banana peels.

Somehow my arms were around his neck and I was pulling him down closer, my mouth opening so his tongue could tangle almost viciously with mine. He smelled like gold and frankincense, the thick strands of his hair feeling so familiar under my fingers that I wanted to grip them and yank . . .

Wait shit shit shit

My pussy was pounding with need and I felt slick arousal soak my panties as I ripped away from him.

Ambrose was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling so fast I thought he’d hyperventilate just staring at me.

“Indigo—” he began, putting his hand out to me as Astrid screamed with garbled rage.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” I told her as police headlights swung down the lane.

Because it was better than saying any of the things that were in my brain. I didn’t even want to acknowledge some of the things that were in my brain right now.

I just needed dick.

It wasn’t personal.

Ambrose stepped aside and the cops handcuffed Astrid.

“Unhand me!” she snapped. “All I did was burn down my house and try to run over my sperm donor.”

“Bye now!” I said politely as she was shoved into the back of the squad care. It looked like Astrid was going to be in jail for quite a while.

I turned and hastily waddled back inside before Ambrose could talk to me.

My back and hips ached. I was probably going to go into labor. Then Finn would fly back for the birth and I wouldn’t have to think about Ambrose or my feelings at all. In fact, I refused to have feelings until further notice.

I was getting Braxton Hicks like crazy, I couldn’t get comfortable at night, and my daughter had dropped so low I was having to pee constantly.

It was time to get her out!

And tomorrow was Thanksgiving, the notoriously least sexy holiday.

Everything was going to be fine.

So what if I was still a little bit attracted to my ex-husband?

So what if I wanted to grab him by any one of his silk ties and sink down on his cock until my ass hit his thighs and then grind on him until he shot cum deep inside me?

It was just a momentary madness. It would go away.

But the next day Ambrose was annoyingly competent and helpful. He had always been an excellent cook and we prepared the meal together with well-ordered precision while Harold watched model train repair on YouTube with Julian.

The turkey was just getting fragrant when the doorbell rang.

Since Ambrose was deep in peeling potatoes, I opened it to see Millicent, wrapped up to her throat in luxurious white furs and glaring at me, her thin lips tightened in disgust.

“ You !” she said in tones of unadulterated loathing. “I should have known you with your nasty dirty hippie ways was behind Ambrose choosing to do this ridiculous thing of raising this child instead of dropping him off at the nearest orphanage!”

I felt a fierce, hot defensiveness of my ex rush through me.

“Ambrose chose this on his own!” I hissed. “He would never drop Julian off at an orphanage! And you should be proud of what a good job he’s doing with his brother. He’s changed every diaper. Fixed every baby bottle.”

“Me? Proud? Of a man fixing a bottle ?” she asked in horror.

“That’s a job for the nanny if I ever heard of one.

It’s all your fault, Indi. Before he met you, he would never have done such a thing.

Before you introduced all this silly lovey-dovey crap he was focused on the things that would make Mother proud: money and intellectual prowess. I wish you’d never—”