Her Swedish Billionaire’s Baby

He was so damn gone on Samara. Like a house of bricks on sand, plundered by the waves. He had restrained himself, was cognizant of the fact that his inherent aggression would not serve Samara well, here.

The doctor was smiling, as if he knew this was difficult and was loathe to give this speech. “Of course, we will monitor her, and if the condition alters, we can lessen some restrictions. But your wife will not get better on her own. We need to jump start it, for her.” Bjorn grunted, and looked away from Samara for a second.

“She won’t like this. She’ll fight me every step.”

Dr. Lee grinned, the first real emotion that had flickered across his face so far. “She seems hard-headed. I wouldn’t enjoy crossing her.” His grin faded and was replaced with a calculating look. Bjorn sat up, hairs on the back raised. He could see that the doctor was determined, of a sudden, and he was not the cause.

“Man to Man, Mr. Fredriksen, I’m not a fan of imposing rules on mates. Not as a matter of routine, of course. But I would advise that you consider it, strongly.” He sat back down suddenly, forearms on thighs, and leaned into Bjorn’s space.

“She will die, and the baby too, if she’s allowed to continue on this way. It’s your responsibility to avoid that.” Bjorn nodded his full agreement, knew Dr. Lee recognized and accepted the response, because his shoulders sagged, and he relaxed minutely.

“The Clinic will provide nursing staff to the address you indicated when you filled out your paperwork. They’ll be by to set up everything needed for IV therapy.” The doctor seemed thoughtful, examined Bjorn’s protective crouch over Samara’s prone body. “I don’t foresee you having many issues.”

Bjorn rose, gave Lee a brief smile; he was a kind man, for all his personal advice and attention to details. The doctor walked him out, spared a wistful smile for Samara. “She’s a beautiful woman, Mr. Fredriksen. You’ll have very good looking babies.” He paused, laying a hand on Bjorn’s shoulder. “Once the baby is getting food again, it’ll perk up more. It is suffering from just as much fatigue as its mother, only it will become worse quicker, for it. It doesn’t have a lot of ways to combat this. Apart from decimating its mother.”

As Bjorn buckled Samara into her seat, resting her head delicately against the window, he wondered if there wasn’t some capricious God out there that needed Samara dead for his own endgame.

He kissed Samara four times on her head and left, striding purposefully to his car and called to ask when Alison thought she would be home.