Surprise Daddies (#1-4 Box Set)

by London James

  The bathroom door opens, and when she walks out, my breath catches. She changed. She let out the braids in her hair, and they curl in synchronization down her back and shoulders. A beautiful, cascading, waterfall of honey. Her cheeks are still a little pink from being outside for so long, but her lips are glossy, and her green eyes stand out from the mascara painting her lashes.

  “I’m going to the bar,” she announces.

  The hell she is.

  “Really? Come on, Everly. We need to rest for tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want to be here with you any more than I have to, Rowan. I need a break from you. I’m going to go down and get a drink.”

  “And look for someone to fuck,” I snarl.

  She deadpans me with a look that could kill, if it were possible. “Contrary to popular belief, Rowan. When I go to a bar, I actually go for a drink. It isn’t my mission to fuck every person I meet. If I meet someone, great. If not, that’s great, too, but my mission isn’t just to go searching for cock. And even if it was, it is none of your damn business.” She unzips her suitcase and pulls out a pair of blue flats.

  “Really? You packed to go out? How worried are you about your mom?” I chuff, adjusting the temperature of the fire.

  She marches up to me and points a finger at me as she stares down at where I am crouching. “You don’t get to judge me. You don’t get to talk about my mother. Your days of insulting me or caring, or whatever the fuck you do, are over. Stay away from me. And keep my mother’s name out of your mouth. You’ll just soil it with all the hate in your heart.” Everly turns on her heel, grabs her purse off the tan loveseat, and slams the door, leaving me in the vibrations of the aftermath.

  I rub my hands together and put them near the fire to try and get warm. Her words run over and over again in my head. She is right. I hold a lot of hate and resentment in my heart toward her, but I don’t hate her. I hate what she did to me, to us, to the rare friendship we had. This has to stop. I can’t take it anymore. It’s time to let her go and put the past behind me because the pain controls every decision I make.

  We are different people now. Making it work would be like trying to get oil and vinegar to mix. Impossible.

  I sigh when I stand, knees already cracking at the ripe old age of twenty-five and take my phone out of my vest to dial Gray and give him an update. While the phone rings, I walk over to the bar and pour myself a scotch.

  “Hey, bro-cha-cho,” he greets, bringing a smile to my face.

  Sighing, I bring the scotch to my lips. “Hey, man.”

  He whistles low, “I know that tone. That bad?”

  I let a moment of silence take a beat and sip my drink again. I have no idea what to say. I called him for a reason.

  “No luck finding your dad or Barbara?” he asks.

  “No. Nothing. We just got back from the search. It’s fucking cold, Gray. The snow is deep and just getting worse. There is no way they are alive. It’s impossible.”

  “Hey, humans used to live in fucking caves and shit and made fire with rocks and twigs. Give them more credit. You’d be surprised what people can do when they need to survive.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I plop down on the couch and watch the flames lick the logs.

  Gray must have leaned back in his chair because the familiar squeak of that damn thing is in the background. “How are things with Everly?”

  Just the sound of her name has me rubbing my temples from the onset headache she causes. “Just fucking peachy. On top of everything else.”

  “You guys haven’t talked yet?”

  “We did a little,” I say, murmuring around the rim of my glass.

  “You had sex with her,” he says with awe, but not shock. “I’m not surprised. The sexual tension between the two of you is sizzling. What’s the problem? Was it bad?”

  I snort into my drink, and it spews out of the glass, burning my nostrils and my throat. “No. It never is or was. I said something I shouldn’t have, and now we are on the outs, for good now. It’s what is best; I haven’t forgiven her for what she did.”

  “Because you haven’t asked her why she did it.”

  “I have too, Gray. She hasn’t told me.” I chug the rest of my drink and pour myself another glass.

  “Hmm, well, where is she now?”

  I clutch my glass too hard, and it shatters right in my palm. Scotch and sharp shards of glass hit the floor, but not before soaking my hand and leaving cuts all over my skin.

  “Fuck.” I shake my hand to get the scotch off because that shit burns, but that is a bad idea because it also flings blood everywhere. Great.

  “So, she is somewhere you don’t want her to be? Got it,” he continues.

  I run to the bathroom, phone to my shoulder so I can use my uninjured hand to hold my other wrist to try and keep my palm up. I don’t want to spill any more blood. I turn on the silver faucet with my elbow and shove my hand under the running water and hiss from the pain.

  “I don’t care where she is, what she does, or who she does.” That is a damn lie. If she is with someone else, and they make her feel how I make her feel, moaning, coming, screaming, I will lose my fucking mind.

  It isn’t my business. It really isn’t, but at the same time, the hell it isn’t!

  “You’ve always been a really bad liar.”

  “Gray, I’m not in the mood to talk about it.” I’m really not. I’m plucking pieces of glass out of my palm, and I reek of scotch now. I didn’t even get to enjoy the expensive liquor...

  “You never are. Well, just to let you know, while you’re up there, sipping your emotions away, she is chatting it up with some guy. Because she is. Everly is gorgeous. You can’t really think she is down there nursing a beer without attention.”

  I squeeze my fists again and hiss, forgetting I currently have glass in one. “I’m going to get off here. I need to go to bed early. The snowstorm comes soon, and if we don’t find my dad or Barbara before it hits…”

  “Then you aren’t going to,” he sighs. “Man, I’m so sorry. I hope you find them. Keep me updated, okay?”

  “Yeah, will do.” I bring my head off my shoulder and catch my phone before it falls to the ground and end the call.

  My head hangs with defeat over the sink, and I grab the countertop, squeezing it with all my strength. The blood running from one hand drips down the curve of the bowl, but I don’t care. I’m tired. I’m so tired. I’m drained of caring so damn much.

  From this moment on, I want my energy to be concentrated on finding my dad and Barbara. I know it will be hard; it always is. Even with all the stress, the horror, having Everly here is such a distraction. She makes my heart ache less with her presence. I know. It’s hard to believe when all we are is at each other’s throats, but she has taken the pain away with her company.

  When she is near, I don’t think about how I’m never going to see my dad again. And I know I won’t. This isn’t a rescue mission anymore. It’s a recovery for their bodies. Everyone is too nice to say they are dead, but I know. I feel it. Another chunk of my being is gone.

  I let out a shaky breath and wrap my hand with a towel, tucking the edges in and tying it off since I don’t see any tape. Next, I rinse all traces of blood out of the sink before cleaning up the mess I made in the room as best as I can. Then go back to the bar to pour me another drink.

  Tints of red peek through the make-shift bandage from the small cuts decorating my palm. A loud exhale escapes my throat as I lean against the bar. It’s all too much. I rub my temples with my fingers, not caring for the pinch of pain in my hand. What if I have to plan a funeral? I don’t even know if my dad left a will or something like that. I have no idea how to plan a funeral. Did he want to be buried? If so, what kind of coffin? There are a million different options these days. Did he want to get cremated? What do people do with the ashes?

  He better have something in his will or I’m going to do something he would never want, and I’ll always think about
it and wonder if he is disappointed, looking down on me. And Barbara? Hell, I hope Everly knows something because I’m lost when it comes to this. My dad dealt with the funeral arrangements for my mom, plus, I was so young when it happened; I couldn’t do anything about it.

  “Fuck,” I mutter underneath my breath and bring the scotch glass to my mouth.

  Giggles outside the door echo down the hall. I glance at my Rolex and see a few hours have already gone by since Everly left to go to the bar. I figure it is some other woman outside going to their room when I remember the penthouse is the only room on this floor.

  So, the laughter must be coming from Everly. I sit on the couch and cross my legs, trying to seem like I’m not worried about her or thinking of her. I want to look casual. I bring the burning amber to my lips and sip the hot, burning liquor until it is scorching my throat.

  “No way,” she says through a fit of little chuckles.

  “Come on,” a deeper voice answers.

  I uncross my legs, place them on the floor, and stand. When I walk by the bar with angry strides, I sit my glass on the dark cherry wood before going to the front door. Opening it, I see a tipsy, hot little number and a drunk man that isn’t much taller than Everly.

  His eyes are wide as he backs away. “I thought you said you didn’t have a boyfriend? I don’t do that. I don’t fuck up relationships. I’m no homewrecker.” He lifts his hands in the air, surrendering. “I swear, I didn’t know.”

  “Him?” Everly slurs. “He is just my stepbrother.”

  There’s that fucking word again. My jaw locks together in an angry snarl. It takes all I have to keep my mouth shut. My molars drag against each other, threating to crack under the pressure as she looks at me with narrow eyes. As if she has won this round.

  Oh, she wishes.

  “The stepbrother who fucks her,” I reply.

  It’s a little funny to watch her reaction. She gasps, but defeat is far from her mind. I can tell.

  She wraps her arm through his and puts a hand on his chest. Really? This guy? She can do better than him. “It was a mistake, though. Our parents didn’t get married until we were adults.”

  A mistake. The little minx is throwing my words back in my face.

  “Oh, so you guys didn’t grow up together?” the new guy asks.

  Well, that seems to be a slippery slope. We did grow up together, but not in the way he thinks.

  “No. He’s just someone I used to know,” Everly says, swinging the final blow from the sharp edges of her sword and stabbing my already jaded heart.

  And that is enough. I uncross my ankles and push off the door frame, yanking her to my side by her wrist. “Get out of here and go fuck with someone else.” I pull her inside and slam the door in the man’s face.

  “Just who do you think you are?” she stutters, stumbling and swaying left and right as she tries to take off her shoes.

  “I’m the guy you barely know,” I sneer.

  “Well, I’m the mistake you screwed last night, remember?” she yells.

  “You drive me fucking insane, Everly!”

  “You’ve already driven me insane, Rowan.” She curls her lip as she spits my name, as if it tastes as bad.

  I stomp forward and plant my feet in front of her. “Good, because that is how you have made me feel the last five or six years. That feeling of uncertainty you feel, that ache in your heart, the questions in your mind,” I tap the side of my temple. “That’s been my life for the last six years. So welcome to hell, Everly. Buckle up and enjoy the ride.” I spread my arms out, as if welcoming her to said hell.

  It looks like she and I are going to be swimming in hot flames for the rest of eternity. Since our hearts seem to be set on torturing one another.

  And last time I heard, the devil had a real sick and twisted way with hurting people. Hell, the devil isn’t in disguise. Maybe everyone has their own personal devils. And mine is five-foot-four, has long honey brown hair, bright green eyes, and even when she chips away at every nerve, she gets my cock hard, turning me on just as much as she drives me toward the edge of insanity.

  Yeah, if she isn’t the devil, she’s my own personal brand of demon.

  Chapter Twenty

  Everly

  Oh, the nerve of him!

  How dare he come at me like that. “Rowan, you have no right controlling me like that. If I want to hang out with another man, I will. You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me. It doesn’t work like that.” I try to point my finger at him, to show him who the boss is here, but I stumble, tripping over my own two feet.

  I’m positive I’m about to hit the ground, but big strong arms wrap around me right as the floor gets too close for comfort. He lifts me back to my feet, but the motion makes me stumble backwards.

  My back is against the wall, and our faces are inches from each other. Rowan’s nose touches mine. His breath ghosts over my lips, and I can taste the slightest hint of scotch. A white make-shift bandage catches my attention. It’s wrapped around his palm. Red splotches decorate it. I want to ask what happened, what marred his beautiful skin, but the snarl on his face makes me hold my tongue.

  The maddening man.

  He is so handsome. The kind of handsome that hurts your heart and makes you wonder how in the world can someone be that good looking. He just wakes up, and boom, he is the hottest, sexiest man I have ever laid eyes on. He has this tiny scar right above his lip from when we went fishing when we were eight, maybe nine. It’s my fault. I flung the rod back, and the hook got him right in the mouth.

  My fingers ghost over the scar, and I don’t even realize I do it. I go to pull my hand away from the curve of his top lip, but his hand lands on mine, to keep it there. He closes his eyes and leans into my touch. I trace the edges of the pale, slightly-puckered skin. It is hard to believe that little scar is all that is left from the accident.

  His lashes shadow over the tops of his cheeks, and his eyelids flutter from my barely-there touch. I could touch him forever. He only drives me mad because he is the one thing in this world I can never have. I push him away, but really, I only end up loving him more the harder I try not to.

  It’s cruel.

  He brings his lips closer to mine. The tease of his breath wisps over my skin like a cool summer night’s breeze. Warmth radiates from his skin, soaking into mine.

  “You need to sober up,” he mumbles against my lips.

  The tickle of the soft skin causes me to whimper. “Don’t tell me what I need to do,” I stumble over my words, but I make sure not to slur. Drunk or not, loving him and wanting him, seem to be out of my control.

  “We have another search tomorrow. We can’t do this. You need to rest.” He pulls out of my hold, taking his warmth away with him.

  “Don’t worry about me. You stopped caring a long time ago. Don’t start now,” I choke out, through the emotion strangling my throat.

  He marches forward and points his finger in my face. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to place blame on me when all of this between us is your fault. You! Not me. I loved you, Everly. Do you get that? Do you know what love actually is? I fucking loved you. You left me, remember? You stopped caring about me, remember? You didn’t answer your phone. You broke me, remember? No. You don’t get to stand there, half drunk, and point fingers at me.”

  My lip starts to tremble because I know he is right.

  His face pinches with sadness as he lays his forehead on mine and whispers, “You don’t get to fuck with me like this after so many years. No matter how many times I try and get away from you, to put you behind me, something happens and the memory of you surfaces. So just stop. Let me go.”

  “I can never let you go, Rowan,” I say through thick sobs. “I might have left you, hurt you, but I never let you go.” I break eye contact with him and slither out of his hold.

  I wipe my cheeks on the back of my hands and walk toward the couch to get ready for bed. I just want to sleep and fi
nd my mom.

  I go to pull my wrist out of his hand, but he keeps a tight grip on it. “Rowan, you’re right. Let’s just go to bed. Only a few more days and we never have to see each other again,” and the reality of that hits me hard. To only see him and his success through the newspaper and relive it through the scrapbook.

  It’s sad and pathetic.

  “I can’t live like that,” he says, yanking me into his arms.

  I thump against his chest and barely have time to place my hands on his chest before his mouth is on mine, taking me and owning me with one lick of his tongue.

  “I can’t stay away from you,” he mumbles through our kiss.

  “I know the feeling,” I answer. I haven’t been able to stop loving Rowan from the day I met him.

  I throw my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss. He tastes like scotch. The burn slides down my throat, but just slightly. Whatever he drank was the good stuff if it left a slow burn in its wake.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, breaking the kiss. Despite myself, I hold onto him tighter.

  “I know.”

  “We need to be smarter,” I moan as his lips travel down my neck.

  “I’d rather be stupid,” he whispers, bringing a smile to my face. “Now, shut up.”

  I nod as I tilt my head back, running my fingers through his hair on the nape of his neck as he ventures lower and lower, until he is kneeling on the ground. He lifts my dress, inch by inch up my legs.

  “So fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, like he is in a trance, feathering his fingertips over the pale flesh.

  I swallow, realizing what he is about to do. My entire body breaks out in a light sweat. No one has ever done this to me before. It has only ever been Rowan, and he has never tasted me down there. He throws my right leg over his shoulder and bunches my dress up around my waist.

  I’m not wearing panties.

  He growls, rubbing his thumb over the thicker than usual, bush. I keep it trimmed, but lately I haven’t. “I love your hair,” he says, giving it a soft tug. “I love this more, though.” He slides his index and middle finger through the wet folds, parting them to show my swollen pearl.