A Partridge and a Pregnancy (Holiday Brothers, #3)

by Willa Nash

How had it come to this? How was I even here? I’d asked myself the same questions hours ago when I’d been sitting on the bathroom floor with a positive pregnancy test in hand. One night. One night with Tobias. A farewell. And now I was pregnant.

Our first goodbye hadn’t gone so well. There’d been crying—me. There’d been angry silence—him. There’d been heartache—us.

But avoidance could only last so long, and this week, when another day had passed without my cycle and my boobs felt as tender as my favorite medium-rare filet mignon, it had been time to face reality.

That must have been before the condom broke and his sperm had freestyled through my vagina and into my fallopian tubes where one of them had dominated an egg. Fucking sperm.

“On the third day of Christmas, my true love sent to me.” Tobias had always loved it in college when I’d make up stupid songs in the shower. He’d sneak into the bathroom and sit on the toilet to listen. He’d often scared the hell out of me when I’d pulled back the curtain and there he’d been, those blue eyes dancing at my ridiculous lyrics. “Eva, what the hell is—” I held up a finger. “Three French hens. Two turtle doves.” I opened my eyes, slid my hand out of my pocket and threw the stick at him. Tobias snagged it from the air. “And a partridge and a pregnancy.”

There was a truck in the driveway, parked beside my space. My heart did a little flip. It always flipped for Tobias. I wasn’t sure why he was here, waiting on my porch. But it was nice to come home and not be alone.

Kids needed homes. They needed a resting place. They needed roots and routine. I had all of those in spades. Which meant if she didn’t change her mind, I wouldn’t have a choice. Once this baby was born, he or she was coming home to Montana. I stared at my reflection, hating myself so much that I couldn’t hold my own gaze. If Eva was going to fight for London and the next move and the next move, then I’d fight her for my child. And she’d hate me. She’d fucking hate me. But my kid was worth the fight. And I’d just drawn the battle lines with a kiss.

Tobias was better than a vibrator with fresh batteries.

Every fucking time it was amazing. Like her body had been made to fit mine.

Why couldn’t she see how much sense we made? How good our life could be? How good we were together? I was a fucking fool. She’d leave me again. Just like she had before. This time, with my child.

“Fuck it.” I slammed my mouth on hers, my tongue sweeping inside. I devoured her, exploring her mouth, memorizing every corner. I held her to me, hoping that if I held tight enough, this might all make sense. She broke away first, her eyes hooded and her lips swollen. Fuck, but I wanted her. I wanted her for good. To keep. But she wasn’t mine. She was her own woman. That was what Eddy had called her that night years ago. Her own woman. So I took one step away. Then another. And this time, I made it to my bedroom without looking back.

“Inside.” I reached between us, fisting his shaft. Velvet and iron. Hot and hard. “Come inside.” “Not yet.” “Tobias—” “Not. Yet.” Each word was accentuated with the plunge of his finger. “I want to feel your pussy like this. Then with my tongue. Then I’ll give you my cock.”

Tobias was magnificent. He was mine. He’d always been mine, even when I’d let him go.

“Are you sure? What about your home? Your family?” I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m looking at my family. I’m staring at my home.” “I haven’t had a home, a real one, in a long time.” “You do now.”