Lucky Stars

by Kristen Ashley

  “I’d like to take the time to explain things to you fully, Miles, so you’ll understand precisely how I feel about you right now and my intent that you and anything of yours you need is gone as soon as possible. But it’s more important I have the opportunity to speak with Belle. So I’m asking you nicely to go, call Olive, tell her what you need and where you want it to be. She’ll arrange everything,” Jack said to his brother.

  “You’re asking me nicely?” Miles queried spitefully.

  Jack’s voice dipped low with warning when he returned, “If you’d prefer, I’ll make my wishes clear not nicely. However, as I mentioned, I need to speak to Belle and, to make my wishes clear to you, I’d have to ask her to leave.”

  Without delay, Miles started to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, his eyes glued to Jack, and he challenged, “Then ask her to leave, Jack. I’d vastly prefer you make your wishes clear not nicely.”

  For the first time since Miles arrived, Belle spoke, she did it softly and with a good deal of disgust obvious in her tone, “I don’t believe this is happening.”

  Jack looked down to see she was staring at Miles with unhappy astonishment.

  Then before Jack could speak, she said to Miles, “You need to grow up.”

  “Run along, Belle. Jack and I have things to discuss,” Miles returned, his eyes not leaving Jack.

  “I won’t run along while you two beat each other to a pulp. What’s the matter with you?” Belle snapped and Miles’s eyes cut to her.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled sarcastically. “Maybe it’s the fact that my brother, who owns my fucking house and the stables where my fucking horse is housed, is standing with his arm around the woman I used to fucking date. A woman who had his fucking tongue in her fucking mouth not five minutes ago. And who’s also carrying his bastard fucking child, because, within hours of meeting her, she was so gagging for him she opened her fucking legs, that brother is telling me to get the fuck out. Don’t you think that might make you a bit peeved, gorgeous?”

  Jack heard Belle gasp but it didn’t register.

  He’d heard enough and it had all poured forth from his brother’s mouth.

  He was done.

  He pushed Belle behind him, his eyes locked on Miles and he muttered, “Go to the house, Belle.”

  He felt her hands wrap around his forearm in a firm grip.

  “Don’t let him –”

  But Jack turned, his eyes pinned her to the spot and he repeated, “Poppet, go to the house. I’ll be there shortly.”

  She stared at him a moment, her gaze soft and pleading, and she whispered, “Don’t do this, Jack.”

  He felt Belle’s use of his nickname slice straight through his gut.

  For some irrational reason he didn’t have the time to process, he realised the feeling was fierce and intensely satisfying.

  He still didn’t change his mind.

  Instead his hand went to her jaw and his thumb slid along her cheekbone.

  “Go to the house, love.”

  Her eyes moved to Miles then back to Jack.

  Then she nodded, turned on her heel and ran out of the stables.

  She stopped at the door and cooed at his dogs, patting her thigh. They ran to her and out the door she closed behind them.

  Jack faced his brother.

  “I’m going to enjoy this,” Miles sneered, slowly advancing.

  Jack very much doubted it.

  And, in the end, Jack was right.

  Chapter Nine

  Multiple Personalities

  Belle

  Belle woke on her side in her big, soft bed at The Point feeling for the first time in her week of living there, strangely pleasant, cosy and safe.

  Then it registered there was warmth at her back and a heavy weight on her waist.

  She opened her eyes and looked down to see a man’s hand (not any man’s hand, she’d know that strong, long-fingered hand anywhere, it was James’s) dangling at her waist. She saw in the sunlight streaming through her windows that the knuckles were raw and torn, painful-looking scabs forming at the splits.

  She no sooner processed this disturbing fact when she heard dog tags and two canine heads popped up on her side of the bed.

  One darker (Baron), one blonder (Gretl).

  She had not gone to sleep last night with the dogs in her room.

  She had also not gone to sleep with James in her bed.

  Indeed, she had only seen James once after she ran from the stables to tell Joy her two sons were fighting.

  Yes, she told on two grown men, what else was she going to do?

  Half an hour after she’d run from the stables, Belle, Rachel and Lila stood on the front steps and watched James load a far worse for the wear Miles into Joy’s Mercedes. Then James left Joy to drive Miles to the hospital, Rachel running down to the car to accompany her.

  James had walked slowly up the steps, fury in his eyes, as Lila and Belle watched him in open-mouthed shock.

  He hadn’t said a word but his glittering eyes sliced through them making them both take a large step away from the door

  Then he’d locked himself in his study.

  Several hours later, Joy and Rachel had come back.

  Miles had not.

  Joy had gone directly to her room.

  Lila made Rachel and Belle leave her alone. A half an hour later, Lila herself went up, taking a tray of soup, sandwiches and a bottle of wine with her.

  By the time Rachel and Belle went to bed, Lila nor Joy nor James had emerged.

  Now, somehow, James was in bed with her.

  Belle reached out an arm, curled her fingers around the edge of the mattress, preparing to catapult herself from the bed.

  Before she could succeed in this endeavour, James’s arm, resting lightly at her waist, became an iron band, hauling her into his hard body.

  Belle froze and felt his face burrowing into her hair.

  “We have to talk,” he growled.

  Holy heck, her mind breathed.

  “What are you doing in my bed?” her mouth asked.

  “Containment,” he answered.

  “What?”

  “Containment,” he repeated. “Given the chance, you’ll escape. I’m not going to let that happen.”

  Holy heck, her mind breathed again.

  Belle had dealt with a number of different James Bennetts in the last three weeks. The jerky one (at their first meeting, post-fling). The demanding one (at the doctor appointments). The broody one (the times he wasn’t being something else). The impatient one, which was a variation of the jerky one (at the stables). The sexy one (also at the stables). And the loving one (again, at the stables).

  This, she could tell, was an all new James Bennett.

  Therefore she thought it best to proceed with caution.

  “Can I please get out of bed?” she enquired.

  His body moved away and she thought that was an affirmative response.

  She was wrong.

  His hand pressed her so her back was to the bed and he loomed over her, up on an elbow, his other arm resting on her midriff.

  “No,” he replied unnecessarily.

  She looked in his eyes to see they were still slightly heavy with sleep but nonetheless alert. She couldn’t read them but she felt a curl of fear all the same.

  So her eyes moved to his ear.

  When they did, he murmured, “That’s a good sign.”

  She didn’t know what he meant but she also was not going to ask.

  “Um, I’m finding this a bit weird,” she confided to his ear.

  “Too bad. I have three things to say to you and you’re going to listen. Only then can you get out of bed and start your day.”

  “Oh… kay,” she replied hesitantly, hoping with all her heart this would be fast and relatively painless.

  He was weirding her out!

  “First, if you even see Miles, you get away from him and you call me immediately.”

  That curl of
fear did an ugly little twist.

  “What does that mean?” Belle asked.

  “This isn’t question time, Belle. This is me talking to you, you listening and giving a definitive indication that you understand exactly what I’m saying to you.”

  Belle went silent and just stared.

  Definitely weirding her out.

  “Do you understand what I just said to you?” he enquired.

  She understood.

  Oh boy, did she.

  All she could do was nod.

  “Good. Second, you’re avoiding me and it’s pissing me off. I didn’t ask you to move here so you could enjoy the seaside. I asked you to move here so I could share in the experience of your pregnancy.”

  “Actually, you didn’t ask at all. You told –” Belle started to correct him but then clamped her mouth shut when his brows drew together in a scary way.

  When he was assured she wouldn’t be foolish enough to utter another word, he continued.

  “You’ll spend time with me. You’ll eat breakfast with me. You’ll eat dinner with me. If you’re in the mood for a walk and I’m in the house, you’ll find me and, if I can, I’ll go with you. I’ll take you to your shop. When you’re finished, you’ll phone and I’ll come and pick you up.”

  As he spoke, Belle realised she was having difficulty breathing.

  “Now, is that understood?” he finished.

  “James –” she whispered and his eyes started glittering with anger so she stopped speaking (she didn’t know what she was going to say anyway).

  “You called me Jack yesterday,” he informed her tersely.

  Did she?

  She didn’t remember that.

  “I did?” she was still whispering.

  “Yes, you did,” he returned.

  “Oh,” she breathed, his eyes cut to her mouth and for some strange reason, his face darkened (this, she found, his face did a lot at the weirdest times) before his eyes came back to hers.

  “Apparently, if I kiss you, you’ll call me by my fucking name.”

  She didn’t want to be reminded of that kiss. In fact, last night, when her mind wasn’t occupied with worrying about Joy (and, she had to admit, James, and, she further had to admit, Miles), it had been occupied with doing anything but thinking about that incredibly delicious, mind-blowing kiss.

  Therefore, in an attempt not to discuss the kiss, she did something unwise.

  “I thought your name was James,” she said and she was still whispering but, even so, she’d forgotten to keep quiet because his eyes narrowed unhappily.

  Therefore, she again clamped her mouth shut.

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” he muttered.

  She knew he was ignoring her idiot comment and talking about his kissing her causing her to call him Jack and her eyes grew round at what that might mean.

  She vowed (silently) never to call him James again and kept her peace.

  “Now, give me some indication that you understand the second point,” he demanded.

  Belle nodded again.

  “Excellent,” he clipped, sounding like it was not “excellent” at all and then he kept talking. “My last point stems from our discussion yesterday. Regardless of what you witnessed between Miles and I in the stables, what happened between you and I four months ago was not an act. Miles may have been competing for you but I wasn’t. You clearly don’t realise how offensive your accusation was when you made it the morning after the night we shared. If you did realise, you wouldn’t speak of it as it’s no less offensive now. You won’t speak of it again.”

  Belle was finding it hard not to pant at the low and rumbly tone of his voice.

  It was a variation on the voice he’d used when he promised her she could trust him.

  It was also very like the voice he’d used when he’d threatened his brother right before he beat the crap out of him.

  This suggested to her there was not only feeling behind his words but deep emotion.

  And she didn’t know how to take that.

  She had no chance to figure it out, he spoke again.

  “Do I make myself understood?” he asked.

  Without hesitation, she nodded again.

  “I’ll be unhappy if we have to discuss any of this again,” he told her and she wondered what he meant by “unhappy” considering he seemed very unhappy at that precise moment.

  “We won’t have to discuss it again,” she promised.

  He stared at her so hard even though she wanted to, she couldn’t move her eyes from his.

  Then she felt him relax beside her.

  “Good,” he murmured.

  She was about to ask him if she could get out of bed but his chin dipped down, his eyes trailing her body and he shifted slightly back. His gaze stopped at the small bump at her belly and his hand went to rest there, heavy and hot.

  Belle caught her breath at the intimacy of this gesture and fought against the return of pleasant, cosy, safe feeling she had when she’d woken.

  “Does he move?” Jack asked gently.

  Belle knew instantly she had a new Jack and this one sounded like the loving one.

  She steeled herself against how much she liked the gentle, loving James Bennett and she steeled herself against the magnetic pull he emitted when he was in this mood.

  “No, he hasn’t moved yet,” she answered and Jack’s eyes came back to hers but his hand didn’t leave her belly.

  “You think he’s a he?” Jack asked and she nodded.

  “But I don’t want to know. I want to be surprised,” she told him. “You can know if you want.”

  His gaze moved back to her belly as he murmured, “I don’t want to know.”

  Belle swallowed at the sweet sensation his murmur caused and was about to ask if she could get out of bed again mainly because she really needed to get out of bed.

  And away from him.

  She was finding this taxing.

  Why she seemed to be able to handle herself more assuredly when Jack was being terrible and why she seemed entirely unable to cope when Jack was being anything but terrible, she had no idea.

  She just couldn’t.

  She wanted to cover his hand with hers

  She wanted to lean up and kiss his strong, dark-stubbled jaw.

  She wanted to run her hand down his bare chest.

  No, she wanted to run her tongue down his bare chest.

  While she was thinking these thoughts (and staring at his chest), Jack’s eyes came back to her face.

  “Have you thought of any names?” he asked, her eyes jerked to his collarbone as her thoughts, with some effort, focussed on his question and she licked her lips.

  She didn’t want to talk about baby names with Jack while they were in bed together.

  How she was talking about baby names while they were in bed together, she had no idea.

  She’d much prefer to write her list down in an e-mail and send it to him.

  “Belle,” Jack called and she knew the e-mail name exchange idea was out.

  Her eyes rose from their mindless study of his collarbone to his face and she blurted, “Lucas for a boy, Olivia for a girl.” Then worried he wouldn’t like those names so she went on, “I also like Harry.” When he showed no response, just watched her face silently, she kept going, “And Noah.” He again didn’t speak so she carried on, “And Nathan.”

  “Nathan.” he murmured and the way he said that name, the way it sounded with his deep voice wrapped around it, she knew she’d battle to the death to give her child that name.

  “Nathan,” she whispered and watched his eyes drop to her mouth.

  Then she watched his face grow soft and gentle, a look she hadn’t seen in four months.

  There was something profound happening. The kind of profound something that happened when a mother and father decided what to name their child.

  She felt it slide warmly through her, taking over, taking control and before she knew it (or could stop herself), her
hand moved to cover his on her belly.

  His eyes lifted to hers and her hand kept going, sliding up his forearm.

  “Belle,” he muttered and her hand glided up his bicep.

  “Jack,” she whispered and, as she was studying his mouth, she missed the flash in his eyes and her fingers curled around his shoulder.

  Still controlled by the moment and not her own neurotic mind, she lifted up and put her mouth on his.

  Then she kissed him.

  Kissed him.

  She didn’t know what she was doing. She wasn’t herself and she had no idea what this New Belle intended to get from her behaviour.

  But Jack knew exactly what he wanted and the minute her lips touched his, he took it.

  His torso pressed hers into the bed, his arm wrapped around her waist and he rolled to his back, taking her with him, his mouth locked on hers, his tongue sliding inside.

  His hands drove into the hair on either side of her head and held her to him as she tilted her head, her tongue dancing wildly with his.

  This felt so good, her belly flipped then melted and her body moulded to his. Her arm wrapped around him and she moved to her side, urging him to come with her (and he did) so her hands could roam the skin and muscle of his back.

  He felt good.

  Actually, he felt great.

  As she touched him, the kiss, mildly controlled, went out-of-control.

  She had invited it and when it came she welcomed it and gave back as much as she got, loving every second.

  Only when Jack’s hand yanked up her nightgown and slid into her panties at her behind did sanity return in an ice-cold, what on earth are you doing rush.

  She pulled from his arms, scrambled from the bed and stood at its side, staring at Jack who’d come up on a forearm but his body had gone still.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “So, so sorry. I’m sorry.” He just stared at her, she could see his chest rising and falling, his defined stomach muscles contracting with his deep breathing and she kept talking, “Hormones. It’s hormones. I’m so sorry.”

  She stood there feeling like an idiot and her gaze went from his passion-filled eyes to his chest which was something she liked. So it skittered to his nose which was something else she liked. So it went to his shoulder which was safe when he was wearing clothes, when he wasn’t it was all sinewy and luscious so she settled on his ear.