by Cari Quinn
“You wondered if I’d fallen into a baggie of blow.”
She lowered her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t really think it, deep down. I guess I still just worry too much.”
“You’re entitled. After what we went through, who can blame you? And yes, it was we. I was the one with the problem, but I dragged you down with me. And if you hadn’t been there, it’s entirely possible I’d still be in the same place.”
Her minty exhale puffed against his cheek. “You’re not mad?”
“No.” He tucked her hair behind her ears with gentle fingers. “I don’t blame you one bit for thinking that. It hasn’t been that long.”
“I know, but I’m supposed to believe in you. And I do, I swear, I just—” She shut her eyes, shaking her head. “I just keep wondering when I’m going to wake up and this is all going to go away.”
“Never. You’re awake, and it’s only going to get better from here.”
Her slow smile teased out her rarely seen dimples. “Not. Possible.”
We’ll see about that.
“Don’t feel guilty for feeling what anyone would. Besides, all it does is provide me with more motivation to become the man you always believed I was.”
“That’s who you are already.”
“Getting there.” He nuzzled her neck, lapping at the beads of water still clinging to her skin. So many spots he hadn’t come close to drying yet. And others he hadn’t begun to get wet enough. “Even if you want me to hang out here all day, singing dirty songs to you while I lick your—”
“Gray!” Her screech ended on a laugh as she covered her belly. “The baby can hear you.”
“Hmm. The baby’s about to hear and feel something much more dirty than what I just said. A live re-enactment, let’s say.” She grinned, but he didn’t miss how her gaze shifted to the envelope he’d set next to his hip. Sighing, he pulled out the paper and held it out to her. “You know you won’t be able to relax until you read it. Which is kind of a hit to my skills of sexual persuasion, but whatever.”
She snatched the paper and read it quickly, tugging her lower lip between her teeth while he shifted restlessly and cursed his jeans. He was never wearing denim again. Better, he was never wearing denim again and she needed to start wearing something shapeless like muu muus. That was the only way he could concentrate on not wanting to jump her. Especially now that she was pregnant.
“She’s living in San Jose.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s near San Fran.”
“Since we’re doing geography lessons,” he leaned forward and kissed her bare shoulder, “can I map out some new territory?”
“It’s not new. You’ve mapped all of my territories many times.” She gave him a distracted smile and went back to the letter. “She doesn’t mention mom.”
“No. She doesn’t.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Maybe your mom dumped her in the system when she didn’t want to deal with her anymore too.” He swore under his breath at the horrified glance she shot him. “I’m sure that didn’t happen.”
“It could have. What if she’s on her own? What if she’s been dealing with the same shit I went through, except she’s all alone?” She scrambled off the bed and crossed to the dresser to tug out a nearly sheer pink nightie. She pulled it over her head and pushed a hand through her hair, only messing it up more. “Why didn’t she contact me before now?”
“She could be just a normal teenager, living in a crappy apartment and hating her mom like a lot of teenagers do. That could be why she didn’t mention her.”
She spun to face him. “You don’t really think that.”
He rose to walk over to her, hating the tension radiating off her in waves. Yes, he worried too much, but Christ, he didn’t want her to be agitated when she was already so exhausted. It wasn’t good for her or the baby.
“Don’t,” she said before he could speak. “I’m not some fragile flower that’s going to fall apart if you blow on me too hard. I’m perfectly healthy. This baby is perfectly healthy. I have every right to be concerned about my sister.” She turned toward him and pressed her fist against his pec. “To be fucking pissed,” she said in an undertone that he knew was for the baby’s sake.
Unlike her own mother, Jazz never forgot her own child for a second.
“I know you’re both healthy. I also know that you need to get some sleep.”
“That’s not why you want me in that bed,” she said, punching his chest.
He winced. His woman had strong as hell hands. “Pleading the fifth.” Her exasperated sigh made him tip her face up to his. “What do you want to do? Tell me, and we’ll make it happen.”
She didn’t hesitate. “I want to go to the address she listed as soon as possible.”
He nodded. “Already on it.” The moment he’d read that San Jose address written in swooping purple ink, a plan had begun to form in his mind. One so perfect he wondered how he hadn’t thought of it before.
They’d been too busy, probably. Since he left rehab, everything had been non-stop. Between making up what he’d missed in the studio for the new album, and assimilating into regular life again as a sober person, not to mention finding out he was going to be a father—yeah, there hadn’t been a lot of time to get his romance on. Much to his regret.
Because if anyone deserved a lifetime of romance, it was the woman standing before him, her gaze pinpointed somewhere in the distance.
With her sister. Already.
“I have to head back to Ventura tomorrow. We’re in the middle of a song, and they want to nail down one more for the album, but then…what?” he asked as her shoulders drooped. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t you remember what tomorrow is?”
He searched his brain then turned toward the dresser where he’d dumped his phone. “Shit. I forgot.”
“You forgot when we’re going to find out our baby’s sex?”
He didn’t have to look back at her to hear the tears in her voice. His already frayed nerves thinned just a bit more. “Yeah, well, I’m failing all over the place today. I would’ve remembered.”
“When? After we missed the appointment?”
“Jesus, Jazz. Cut me some slack. You’re hauling the kid around. You can’t forget stuff like that.”
“You shouldn’t forget either. It’s half yours. Or maybe you don’t care. Maybe it doesn’t matter.”
He braced his hands on the edge of the dresser and prayed for strength. Times like this, he really missed being able to drink, though he’d never had much of a taste for the stuff. “You’re right,” he said, turning back. “It absolutely does not matter.”
Tears hovered in her huge eyes and made his gut clench. “How can you say that?”
“Because I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl or a mini Martian. It’s ours and it’s perfect and I’m going to love it regardless.”
Her chin wobbled. “I hate when you’re so sweet that I feel like a horrible wretch.”
He laughed and drew her into the circle of his arms. “You should. Thinking I don’t care? C’mon now. Have I or have I not worshipped your belly every moment since you told me you were pregnant?”
“You have, but I kind of thought that was like a fetish.”
“So?”
She hiccupped out a laugh. “Sorry. I’ve turned into Pregzilla.”
“No, you haven’t, honey,” he said in the most patronizing voice possible, causing her to laugh harder as she shoved him back.
“Who’re you calling?” She inclined her chin at the phone he still gripped.
“The band I worked with today.”
“This late?”
His eyebrow winged up. “You really have turned into Pregzilla. What music guys do you know who sleep before midnight?”
“Guys and girls. Sexist jerk.” But she grinned as she thumped him in the gut.
Shaking his head, he called Luc, the lead singer of The Grunge. After a quic
k greeting, he got right to the point. “Look, tomorrow’s jam session isn’t going to work. I have an appointment to go to. An important one,” he stressed for Jazz’s benefit. She stuck her tongue out at him from where she’d curled up on the bed, long legs tucked under her insanely hot frilly pink nightie. Yet again talking fell down his list of priorities and his voice sped up. “Can we wrap it up via—”
“What appointment, man? I thought we’d hit a good rhythm today. Lemme guess. You find some other bigger band to work with? Ain’t nobody gonna be bigger than The Grunge. Other than Oblivion, of course,” he added reluctantly.
Gray had to laugh. “Worst save ever. Actually, no. It’s a doctor’s appointment. We’re finding out our baby’s sex tomorrow.”
“Baby?” Luc growled. “What the actual fuck?”
Gray laughed again. “I told you about Jazz. If you were listening.”
“You didn’t tell me she was knocked up. Though she is one fine piece of—”
“Dude. Seriously?”
“Sorry. Just stating the obvious.”
“Yeah.” Gray cleared his throat. One day he’d learn not to get jealous about every man who noticed how gorgeous she was. One day far in the future. “Anyway, we can finish up via email. Or even FaceTime.”
“We’ll just do it the next day then.”
“Nah, I can’t. I’m sorry. Turns out I’m gonna be tied up for a while.” He licked the inside of his lower lip as Jazz reclined against the pillows, a smile spreading across her face while she slowly parted her legs.
This ridiculously sexy woman wanted to spend more time with him. That was what they’d argued about today? Hours, days, weeks he’d never get back if he didn’t take them now. She’d been his dream girl for so long, and now she was his.
Fuck work. Just fuck it. It would either be there when he got back or it wouldn’t, but he wasn’t going to screw up this amazing thing he’d found. Not for anything.
“I’ll email you. We’ll figure it out,” he said over Luc’s voice, hitting the end button and tossing the phone aside before he climbed onto the bed.
Her arms lifted to him and he slid into them, fitting himself against her with a groan. Her legs opened, cradling his hips, and her arms encircled his neck as she slanted her mouth over his.
This was what he’d been waiting for, probably his whole godforsaken life. Just this.
He pushed his hands under the silky material, desperate for her skin. The feeling of her all warm and still slightly damp tore another groan from his throat, one that mingled with hers when his fingers closed around her taut nipple. She’d always been so responsive but pregnancy had just turned that up to the nth degree. With a few plucks of his fingers, she was writhing beneath him, her hands streaking down between their bodies to work frantically at his jeans. She shoved them and his boxers down his hips, barely managing to push them below the curve of his ass before she gripped his cock and brought him home.
“Fucking hell,” he hissed, and there was no checking his language because she was so hot and wet that his mind blanked out. She fisted him on the first stroke, tightened impossibly on the second. His hips went into overdrive, moving of their own volition while he drove his hands in her hair and his tongue into her mouth. His surges dragged the base of his length over her clit piercing, making his balls draw up nice and tight. He had no clue if he was making it good for her, because Christ, he felt like a rutting beast. Mindless. Lost. She was everything, closing him in, enveloping him in heat and light and pleasure. So much pleasure that he couldn’t see his way through it to make sure she was there with him too.
Her nails scraped down his back, adding a wicked thrill to the pressure building at the base of his spine. He was already on the verge, a few thrusts away. Sweat blurred into his eyes and he dropped his head, running open-mouthed kisses down her throat. She clenched around him and arched upward, sinking her teeth into his shoulder as the first ripples of her orgasm traveled down his cock. Thank Jesus.
He slid his hand down her hip and between her legs, finding her clit with a speed and accuracy that belied his complete lack of awareness of anything but her spasming pussy. That had become his entire world. Circling his fingers around her clit and her piercing, he found a rhythm that carried her through her initial climax into a second. He pulled back and launched deep, so freaking deep. Forget stars. He saw comets and solar flares. His vision swam, contracting until her flushed cheeks and parted lips and lust-drunk eyes were all he could see.
Trapped within them, he braced a hand on the mattress and pushed into her again and again, letting the undertow of her endless orgasm drag him under.
Three
Jazz rolled over and glared at the alarm clock. Ten a.m. already? How could that be possible?
She shifted her legs and smiled at the delicious soreness between them. Oh yeah. So that was why.
The first time the night before had been quick and unexpected, like heat lightning. Then Gray had shifted into his usual mode, which typically meant a long session between her legs with his mouth before he finished her off with his cock. Was it possible to sprain your tongue? If so, he better be careful, because holy shit.
Her smile grew as she soundlessly swung her legs over the side of the bed and glanced over her shoulder to where he was sprawled on his belly, his face smushed into the pillow. She nearly leaned forward to kiss the smattering of freckles just below his shoulder blade before she caught herself. He needed to sleep too.
Whoa, did he ever after the night they’d put in.
Feeling more than a little smug and a lot happy, she padded into the bathroom to take care of her morning business. The smudges of light bruises around her wrists from his hands were like badges of honor. The reddened areas on her throat from his evening scruff were even better. She knew she’d find more of the same between her thighs.
Makeup hid the worst of the marks and helped with the dark shadows under her eyes. Perhaps she could sneak in a nap later. If she really was done at the studio, she might actually get a whole day off.
Despite what Gray had said, she wouldn’t plan on spending it with him. He had important stuff to do. He was making time for their appointment, and that was plenty. Anything else was just gravy.
She headed to their closet and bypassed the couple of maternity tops she’d bought several times before she decided why not? So she technically didn’t need to wear them yet. She wanted to. She pulled on a pair of denim shorts and the flowing white top with flowers embroidered around the collar and hem. It was super girly, not really her usual style, but maybe that was part of the whole new attitude she had going on.
Some changes were good. If she just managed to tone down the Pregzilla part a bit, she’d be happy.
A quick glance at the bed informed her than Gray was still dead to the world. She beelined downstairs for the kitchen, unsurprised to find it empty. The other boys in the house rarely dragged themselves out before noon. Fine by her. She’d happily enjoy her wheat toast and raspberry jam in peace.
The doorbell chimed before she’d even made it to the table with her plate of food. She frowned down at it as her belly rumbled. “Sorry, baby. No eats yet. Coming,” she called, noticing her bottle of prenatal vitamins on the counter again. What the hell. Simon was going to grow a third boob if he didn’t stop chowing down on those like they were candy. It was probably her fault for getting the gummy version, but jeez.
She set down her breakfast and grabbed her vitamins so she didn’t forget to hide them from Simon and aimed for the front door. She reached it just as it chimed again. “Who is it?” she asked, pulling the door open anyway because she was a little too used to living with a bunch of big strapping boys who could defend or destroy if need be.
Who waited on the doorstep posed no physical threat to her well-being, but her mental and emotional health was anyone’s guess.
“Mrs. Duffy.” Jazz swallowed hard, her gaze drifting over the other woman from the top of coiffed dark hair to the
tips of her polished pumps. She wore her typical country club chic, right down to the pastels and pearls. “This is…unexpected.”
Mrs. Duffy’s stilted smile lasted until her focus dropped below the neck. “Jasmine. You look—” Her gaze shot back up to her face and held. “Pregnant. Oh my, it’s true.”
“You knew? How did you know?” Almost as soon as she asked the question, Jazz answered the question for herself.
The frigging tabloids.
They’d yet to make an official announcement yet, though the rumors were running rampant and it was pretty much the worse kept secret in the rock world. Well, probably not. Lots of other way more important people than them tried and failed to keep big stuff under wraps. And they weren’t even trying that hard. Gray had obviously told that guy in The Grunge yesterday, and—
And Gray’s mother was staring at her with tears in her eyes. Oh God.
“You’re wearing a maternity top.” Mrs. Duffy grabbed her hand. “These are prenatal vitamins. That only means one thing.”
“Not necessarily.” As gently as possible, she detangled herself from Gray’s mother’s death grip. “Simon keeps taking them and he’s not with child. We all hope.”
“I saw an article yesterday at the store. I didn’t believe it at first. Surely Gray would call if—” She pinched her lips together and shook her head. “I’m sorry. My emotions are just getting the better of me. May I come in?”
Jazz blinked. What was happening here? The last time she’d talked to Mrs. Duffy, she hadn’t exactly been apologizing and fluttering. She’d been angry and blaming Jazz for everything that had gone wrong with her relationship with her sons, not to mention their relationship with each other. It had even seemed like Mrs. Duffy held Jazz at least partially responsible for Gray’s older brother Brent’s suicide, though Jazz hadn’t had contact with him in years. Now she was politely asking to come inside?
Harper’s voice sounded in her head, as if she was standing right behind Jazz. Dummy, she wants access to her grandchild. You are the keeper of the baby. Hello, power position.
