Page 67 of Nine Months to Bear

Her hands are cold against my skin, but I don’t budge. “I’m not getting in the fucking closet,” I tell her.

“You wouldn’t fit, anyway,” she mutters. “Fine. Bedroom, then.” She rotates, digging in her heels and leaning back against me with her back like she’s trying to push a cement block up a hill.

All it does, though, is bring her tight, practically naked body flush with me. She shimmies, trying to gain some leverage, and my cock notches between the curve of her ass.

“I’m not sure that would be appropriate with your mother right outside the door,” I murmur.

She steps away, cheeks flushed pink. She crosses her arms over her chest, which does devastating things to her cleavage. “This isnothow I planned for you to meet my mother.”

“I didn’t realize ‘meeting the parents’ was in the contract.”

She glares, but there’s no real heat behind it. “It’s not. It— You can’t meet her. My mother is… a lot.”

“I already handled one Aster woman. I can handle another.”

Despite my own rules about mornings and women, I find myself enjoying this disheveled version of the always-perfect Dr. Aster—hair mussed from sleep, no makeup, utterly vulnerable and feminine. This Olivia is real in a way the clinic version isn’t.

I like it a bit too much.

There’s another knock at the door, and Olivia flinches. She looks up at me, silently pleading.

I sigh. “Relax. I’ll behave.”

Olivia looks suspiciously at me. “You won’t say anything inappropriate?”

My mouth quirks up. “I won’t mention the positions I had you in last night if you don’t.”

“Put on a shirt,” she orders, rolling her eyes before smoothing her hair and heading to the door.

Her shoulders rise and fall as she steels herself. She hesitates even after that, though. Hand hovering over the doorknob.

When she finally opens the door, her mother stands in the hallway, expression flat and serious. “Olivia, I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. You really need to check your messages more?—”

Margaret Aster’s words die abruptly as her gaze shifts past her daughter and lands on me pulling my sweater over my head. Fora split second, shock breaks through her mask as she processes the scene.

Then a wide smile spreads across her face.

“Mr. Safonov!” she says, recovering quickly but not completely. “Good morning. I wasn’t expecting to see you here… at Olivia’s apartment.”

Olivia’s shoulders draw inward. Her fingers twist anxiously at the hem of her shirt. “I— Er, he?—”

“Dr. Aster invited me for breakfast,” I reply smoothly. “We’ve been discussing her work. I’m impressed.”

“Of course you are! She’s a gifted clinician. I just wish she’d told me.” Margaret switches her attention to Olivia, who stands stiffly beside me. “Olivia, darling, I brought those journal articles we discussed. Though I suppose you’re too…occupiedfor academic reading this morning.”

Olivia shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I called when I was on my way. I thought I’d swing by.” Margaret turns to me again. “Mr. Safonov, I’ve followed your business ventures closely. The acquisition of Somerset Medical Group was quite exciting. What was it, three billion?”

“Three point two, actually.”

“The business pages called it the acquisition of the decade,” she continues, barely hiding the hungry gleam in her eyes. “I’ve followed your career closely.”

Olivia attempts to redirect. She steps between me and her mother like I might need saving. “Mom, would you like some coffee?”

“In a moment, dear.” Margaret waves her hand dismissively, eyes locked on me. “I’m curious what brings someone of your position to my daughter’s doorstep.”

The unspoken implication is obvious:What would someone like you want with my daughter?