Chapter 30 MAKE ME PREGNANT
Chapter 30 MAKE ME PREGNANT
Atarah Klyte
THE FIRST TIME I saw Rare Cedrick step out of the glass doors of St. Calisha, I had to remind myself to breathe.
I had been waiting in the parking lot for nearly 15 minutes, leaning against one of the concrete posts and pretending not to be worried. Rare had insisted I didn’t need to come with him, but I knew better. After spending an entire day in the operating room, performing surgery after surgery, he looked like a man held together by discipline and sheer stubbornness.
Even from a distance, I could see the tiredness in the way he walked. And no matter how much I tried to convince myself that he was only a persistent admirer and nothing more, I couldn’t bring myself to let him go through the night alone.
I had already texted Manong Lando not to pick me up. I was with Rare—my relentless, infuriating, dangerously attractive suitor.
He came out of the hospital wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. Dark fitted trousers emphasized his long legs, and in one hand he carried a sleek leather briefcase that made him look more like the lead in a Korean drama than one of the country’s most respected surgeons.
Good Lord.
Why there were men who were handsome, and then there was Rare Cedrick. The kind of handsome that made women forget their names and their better judgment.
I no longer believed in love, nor in marriage, nor in any of the romantic fantasies that once occupied my younger years. But appreciation was another matter entirely. I was still very much capable of admiring beauty.
And Rare was devastatingly handsome.
“Come on,” he said, his voice low and rough with exhaustion.
Before I could protest, he took my bag from my shoulder and led me toward a matte black Ferrari 458 Italia.
I stopped in my tracks.
“That’s new?”
He gave a small nod and opened the passenger door for me with effortless courtesy.
“Gentledog,” I muttered as I climbed inside.
He only smiled.
The moment he settled behind the wheel, his perfume enveloped the car—clean, masculine, and maddeningly familiar. It was the kind of scent that seemed designed to linger in a woman’s memory long after the man himself was gone.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To eat,” he replied, starting the engine. “I haven’t had anything since this morning.”
I frowned. “You’re exhausted and hungry! And you still have to drive?”
“I’m fine.”
The lie was obvious in the tension of his shoulders and the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
I fastened my seatbelt and glanced at him. “Why don’t we just go to my condo? I’ll cook for you.”
For the first time that evening, he looked genuinely surprised.
“You’d do that for me?”
“Do you not want me to?”
“No,” he said quickly, a soft smile touching his lips. “I want that very much.”
As he drove through the city, the streetlights painted shifting patterns across his profile—his sharp jawline, the elegant slope of his nose, the tired but impossibly handsome face that looked as if it had been sculpted by overly generous gods.
“What do you want to eat?” I asked.
“Anything you make.”
A yawn escaped me.
“I’m going to nap. Wake me when we get there.”
“Of course, baby.”
I groaned. “Stop calling me that, or I’ll start calling you ‘Beb.’”
A faint laugh rumbled in his chest.
I closed my eyes, and before I knew it, sleep claimed me.
WHEN I WOKE UP, the car was silent. The air-conditioning had turned the interior pleasantly cold, and outside the windows, I recognized the familiar underground parking area of my condominium.
Rare sat beside me with his eyes closed, one hand kneading the back of his neck.
I checked the time.
8:46 PM.
My eyes widened.
“Hey! How long have we been here?”
He opened his eyes slowly, his gaze heavy with fatigue.
“Thirty-five minutes. How’s your sleep, Baby?” His voice is so husky..
I stared at him. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
His expression softened.
“I didn’t want to disturb my sleeping princess.”
I made a face. “That is the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said!
But my heart, traitorous as always, skipped a beat.
Inside my condo, he seemed instantly at ease, as though he had always belonged there.
The security guard greeted me warmly and asked about the recent incident that had landed me in the hospital. I assured him I was fine before heading upstairs with Rare at my side.
The elevator doors had barely closed when he slipped an arm around my waist and drew me against him.
He lowered his face to my neck and inhaled deeply.
“You smell incredible,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “Sweet enough to drive me insane.”
I shivered and pushed him away, laughing.
“Bro! Shut up!”
“True, shut me up, Baby..” He admitted.
In my living room, I handed him a glass of water while he loosened the top buttons of his shirt and sank into the couch.
“You want a snack first?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“I’d rather wait for whatever you’re making.”
Then he glanced around the condo, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
“I love it here.”
“Because of my interior design?”
“No.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Because everything smells like you.”
I threw him a withering look and escaped to the kitchen before he could say anything more.
I decided to cook two of my comfort dishes—bistek Tagalog and pininyahang manok.
After washing the rice, I placed it in the rice cooker and pressed the switch before gathering all the ingredients I needed. One by one, I chopped the onions, sliced the chicken, and prepared everything on the kitchen counter with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before.
When I glanced at the clock, it was only 9:30 Pm.