He lifts his head, and I release a low groan.
My entire body may burst into flames.
“I want to taste the milk, Georgie.”
He wants to fucking what?
“Um—”
Sliding my strap aside, he doesn’t give me a chance to tell him fuck no before his mouth covers my nipple, and he starts to suck.
“Ah!” I cry out at the hard draw, and the release of pressure Bryn’s little mouth can’t create.
He grunts and sucks more of the milk. Whimpering, I run my fingers through his hair. Pleasure bursts through me, but I resist it. My hands fall to my sides. I don’t want this to be erotic, nor do I want to find any pleasure in Sloane’s actions. Breastfeeding to me is sacred, for Bryn and I alone. He already has my heart and my soul. He can’t steal this one innocence left to me.
The other breast throbs and milk leaks from it. He moves the heat of his mouth to it while continuing to knead the first one.
He feels so good and smells divine. He’s everything familiar. Sex personified.
“I want pussy from you.”
“Because you’re an oversexed maniac,” I reply with laughter. “Bryn is ten days old, Sloane. Remember? I want you too, but I’m sore and…” I snap my mouth shut, embarrassment warming my entire body.
He lifts his head. I lose a little more of myself in the solid blue depths of his eyes.
“And?”
“Forget it.”
“No. And, what?”
I bury my face against his chest. “I’m not…you know. Down there isn’t…” My words trail off again and I feel like a moron. I don’t have a ‘down there.’ I have a pussy. I blow out a frustrated breath. “My pussy isn’t working right. You know what I mean! You’re reading the books, aren’t you?”
“I was but I haven’t gotten to that part.”
“I’m sore and it isn’t…I don’t feel…wet. I mean lubricated.”
I gaze everywhere but at him. The roots of my hair feel as if they’re burning up. I’m probably as red as a cherry.
He laughs, a rich, deep sound I love hearing.
We stare at each other and he brings his face closer, rubbing his nose against mine.
“You don’t want me to suck your tits, do you?”
Pulling the strap of my nursing bra up, I avert my eyes. “They’re Bryn’s.”
“I’m the reason your body is producing milk and is in the state it’s in now.”
Snorting, I roll my eyes. Though in a way, he’s right. “You’re so humble.”
Eyes twinkling, he moves away from me.
“Would you agree to Abby watching over Bryn while you come with me for an hour?”
There’s nothing I’d like more, but I still don’t trust anyone with Bryn. Abby’s been with me almost constantly, however, she’s still Sloane’s aunt and Sloane still intends to leave me and never look back, as soon as he’s free to go.
“If Bryn needs you before then, we’ll return immediately,” he continues, when I don’t answer him.
“No.”
Remorse settles into his eyes, and I know he understands why without me going into detail. “Georgie, sweetheart, she’ll be here when we get back.”
Sloane’s vulnerability is evident in his voice. How I wish I had the ability to ignore him, but his feelings matter to me so much.
“Would you agree to dress Bryn and we all go?”
Hesitantly, I glance at my sleeping baby.
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “When she awakens,” he clarifies.
God, help me. Sloane Mason will destroy me. I convince myself I’ll agree because he’s amended the invitation.
Hesitantly, I nod, and a brilliant smile is my reward.
Tents continue to shield the curved driveway and entrance to Dad’s house. Eyes in the skies—news helicopters—fly by periodically, which makes the concealment necessary. Kiln glares at me but helps to hustle Georgie and Bryn into a Nissan.
We aren’t leaving the property, so we should go undetected. More importantly, Kiln’s accompaniment is unnecessary. Lucky us. His big mouth won’t inundate us with further disapproval because I’ve taken Georgie outside in broad daylight, risking discovery.
Georgie waiting for Bryn to wake up allowed me the chance to have breakfast sent to the little cottage that was once Jaeger’s lair, located on the backwoods of the property.
Abby is in the front passenger seat, while Georgie’s in the back next to Bryn who’s in a car seat hastily sent for, so she’d make this trip.
I suspect even without the threat of the Paps honing in on us, Georgie would sit in the back seat next to Bryn. In less than five minutes, we’re at the place. Abby hurries and opens the front door so we can get inside as quickly as possible.
This stretch, from the car and into the house, will be the most vulnerable. All a lucky motherfucker has to do is fly overhead at this exact time and snap our photo.
Grabbing an umbrella, I open it, concealing Georgie as I help her out, once she’s unbuckled Bryn and has her safely in her arms. This is a shitty shield, but I’m working with what I have. Georgie agreeing to spend time with me was my biggest obstacle. Everything else in the way is a minor irritant.
Once inside the house, Bryn makes an unidentifiable sound and Georgie smiles, her eyes lighting up. Sitting on the sofa, Abby crosses her legs. I smirk at her, acting on my impulsive playfulness.
“What an unusual position for you.”
She lifts a brow, knowing I’m about to fuck with her, but takes the bait anyway. “Which is?”
I lock my hands together, palm-to-palm. “Legs closed.”
“Really, Sloane? Slut-shaming is beneath you.”
“A slut can’t shame another slut,” I retort, then immediately regret my words when Georgie’s face falls. Abby glares at me. She really likes Georgie and is quite protective of her. Popping to her feet, she goes to where Georgie stands in silence like a lost little kitten, who’s attempting to protect a tinier kitten.
When Georgie drops her gaze, Abby sends me another dirty look but keeps her mouth shut, placing her hands on each of Georgie’s shoulders. “Sloane wants to pull his foot out of his mouth and beg your forgiveness, Georgie. Let him grovel while I take Bryn.”
She clutches the baby and shakes her head in denial. As she sways with Bryn, she displaces Abby’s hands.
“I swear, I won’t go any farther than the first bedroom.” Abby points over Georgie’s shoulder. “Right down that very small hallway.”
I hold my breath, wanting the small modicum of trust, undeserving though I may be.
Another moment passes before Georgie gives the barest of nods and hands the baby over to my aunt. She digs in the pocket of her shirt and hands Abby a pacifier.
“It’s okay,” Abby soothes. “I promise.”
Georgie’s brows draw together in a frown, her gaze flickering between Abby and I. “Okay,” she mumbles.
Nodding to Abby in silent dismissal, I watch as Georgie follows my aunt’s every move. Once I hear the door close, I expel a noisy breath of relief that Georgie didn’t change her mind and walk behind her, aching to touch her. I keep my hands to myself, not wanting to repeat my loss of control like earlier. From her reaction, she resented my invasion of her space. Sucking her nipples and tasting the milk was unplanned, but oh so sweet.
Just the thought makes my cock rock hard. Fuck, even if we were still what we once were to each other, it isn’t as if I could fuck her. She’d still be healing from childbirth. The physical part of our relationship is over. I have to move on with my life. I can’t understand how I’ve gone from the biggest man-whore alive to not wanting anyone but Georgie. Is this what real love is? Only wanting one woman, despite the circumstances.
“I didn’t eat breakfast,” I tell her, to get my mind off getting into Georgie’s pussy and my feelings for her. “I’m starving. Are you?”
“I ate cereal while Bryn was sleeping,” she answers, sti
ll not looking at me. Tension radiates from her body. One pitiful glance toward the hallway tells me she’s still scared I have a trick up my sleeve regarding our daughter. I pull her into my arms and kiss her mouth. She doesn’t stop me, but she also doesn’t respond. Cradling her head at her nape, I smile at her.
She stares at me.
“Why did you name her Bryn?”
“You loved your mother and you lost her far too soon.” She shifts her weight. “I thought about naming her Stefanie Bryn. It…I thought that would be too painful for you. Her full name is Bryn Stefanie McCall. That way, we, I mean I, honor two women who are so important to you. I wanted her to have a connection to you, in case she never met you.”
I tighten my hold on her, speechless at her explanation. Taking her by the elbow, I usher her toward the back door, where a white wicker and glass table is already set beneath the covered porch.
While Georgie studies the walkway leading to the canopy of trees, I remain silent in the perfectly private setting. The day is already warm, although a tiny breeze blows periodically.
Allowing her to consider her surroundings, so she’ll feel more at ease, I don’t rush her. Once she turns toward the table, I hold out her chair. When she sits, I uncover the silver dishes and reveal bagels, cream cheese, and fresh strawberries. A decanter holds orange juice and a silver pot contains coffee.
Before I pour her a cup of the steaming black liquid, she shakes her head.
“I’m nursing, remember?”
I study her tits. “How the fuck can I forget?”
She smiles, but it isn’t good enough for me. I want an actual laugh from her.
“I can’t have caffeine, is what I mean,” she clarifies.
At one time, she wasn’t focused worth a fuck. Now, all her concentration is on the baby. She’s always needed something else besides Crowell and drugs to fixate upon. I gave it to her.
We eat in silence. Georgie goes out of her way not to look at me, which I change the moment we’re finished and she puts her chin in her hand.
“Lift your head. I want to see your eyes.”
She follows my order and after a heartbeat, asks, “Why are we here?”
“I woke up with you on my mind. I wanted to spend time alone with you.”
“If only I could be so lucky,” she mutters. “I’ve always had to share you.”
Her assumption can’t go unanswered. “That isn’t true. Once I took your virginity, I didn’t sleep with another woman—”
Even though she stays silent, the hurt and anger on her face shames me. Since I can’t undo my sex spree in Europe, I change the subject.
“I’ve attempted to contact the detective, but he’s no longer with the police department. The case has been reassigned.”
She narrows her eyes. “Have a fucking expert look into the recording.”
“Stop with the goddamn language.”
“Fuck you. Because, dickhead, I don’t fucking see what the fuck’s so hard about getting public fucking records. The fucking case is international,” she storms, using her language to piss me off.
I slam my fist on the table. “You opened your fucking mouth and talked.”
She flips me off and I scowl at her. Neither of us will back down from an argument, so I switch gears again. “The DNA results are back. My attorneys have scheduled a hearing to present the new evidence.”
“Right. DNA. From only the four men I fucked? Or you, too?”
“I didn’t agree to those accusations against you. It was supposed to be only one man.”
“One man, four men, ten men, it’s all lies, so go fuck yourself.”
“Georgie—”
“Save it, Sloane. One minute you think I’m the worst bitch on the planet. The next you’re all regretful and want to claim me. Make up your fucking mind, asshole. Do you hate me, mistrust me, or desire me? Do you even know?”
She keeps me in knots, so I don’t fucking know if I’m coming or going. “If the charges are dropped, you and I go our separate ways. My see-sawing treatment will never again have to confuse you.”
Her eyes widen, and she draws in a shuddering breath. Chin wobbling, she bows her head. “Is this our goodbye, then?” she whispers.
Jesus, is it? Goodbye sounds so permanent. But I’ve always known we’d go our separate ways. Didn’t I? We aren’t meant to be together.
Are we?
“This is our goodbye, isn’t it?” she guesses, when I don’t answer. She jumps to her feet. “Bye, Sloane.”
I stand too, moving fast to stop her hasty departure, and I wrap her in my arms. She stiffens for a moment before she sags against me.
“I love you,” she reiterates quietly. “I love you so much and I was so miserable without you.”
Slowly, her arms encircle my waist, her one small gesture giving me a fucking head rush. I start to dance with her, swaying to an internal beat that breathes life into me. She can’t sing, but her body is graceful in motion. I grab her hand in one of mine and use the other one to clasp her waist.
Stepping back, she smiles at me, and I hum. Adoration gleams in her eyes, pure but sure as fuck not simple. My fingers move from her waist and go to her face. I caress her skin.
“Georgie.” Her name is a chant on my lips. She consumes me. She always has and she always will. “You’re my inferno. You’ll always burn inside of me.”
The words resonate in my head. Lyrics, though I have no melody. She doesn’t care. She believes in me and my abilities. She stills, waiting for me. I brush my jaw on her hair. Breathe in her vanilla scent.
“Your amethyst eyes are the mirror to all that we share.”
They’re gorgeous. My soul. My conscience. My air.
I twirl her around and finish the verse. “You’re the only girl who’ll ever own me.”
A hot breeze catches the croon and carries it away, a whisper in the wind that will echo inside of me way after Georgie and Bryn are long gone.
Chapter Ten
“I’ll give you half an hour for you to dress Bryn,” Abby announces, as she arrives to help me out for the day. She holds up a baby sling. “We’re going on an adventure.”
An adventure? Not knowing what to expect, I hesitate. “I prefer hiding in this suite, than facing the world.”
“Absolutely not,” she snaps, interrupting her greeting to Bryn. “You can’t let a few assholes bring you down.”
“Did Sloane take the car seat out of the Nissan when we got back from the cottage yesterday? If not, I can’t go anyway. Bryn won’t be safe. Unless you’re driving that car.”
“I have a car seat for her, so come up with another argument.”
“I’m tired.” I didn’t sleep at all last night and have barely eaten after Sloane returned us to the room, kissed the top of my head and told me goodbye. I wish he never would’ve returned. Though I hoped every day he’d come back, I’d gotten used to his absence.
Depression is rapidly descending. The only thing I talked to Abby about was my OB mentioning a two-week check-up. I never scheduled the appointment before my release from the hospital. With all the craziness going on, it still isn’t a good idea, although I still don’t feel back to myself one hundred percent.
“We’re getting out for a couple of hours today. I’m going stir crazy only assisting you in this room.” She starts for the door, but I don’t move. She huffs in exasperation. “Georgie, honey, the way you’re locking yourself away isn’t healthy. I know you’re afraid but we’re all scared. Sloane most of all. For the first time in his adult life, his music isn’t front and center. Even when he was ruining his life with drugs, not a day went by where he wasn’t composing or writing or practicing.”
She hugs me and we hold onto one another for a minute, lost in a world of uncertainty.
“He’s brave,” I tell her.
“He’s just a man, Georgie. You have to remember he isn’t some God.”
“To me he is,” I say quietly, pulling away from her. “Is he pe
rfect? No one is. He has an addictive streak. He’s a womanizer. He holds fucking grudges. But he is brave. Not because he fights and is rowdy, but because he finds the courage to face what life tosses at him.”
I think about some of my favorite poets, unsure if I should offer a quote or not to better express what I’m feeling. Their words are so much more eloquent than mine.
“Do you know who Ralph Waldo Emerson is?”
Abby’s eyes widen in shock before they narrow. “Yes, but literature isn’t my thing,” she says breezily.
Rocking back on my heels, I shift my weight. “Oh.”
“Well, what about him? You brought him up and now, I’m curious.”
“Do you know he was into Transcendentalism?”
“Fuck, I can’t even spell that. What the fuck is it?”
“It’s really, really deep. But it’s a belief that wraps nature and religion into fundamental values about the universe and our responsibility to it and ourselves.”
Her mouth drops open and I bite my lip. “I m-mean, I think.”
“Okay,” she says, “but how does that relate to Sloane?”
“It’s…I was going to quote him—Emerson, I mean—but I got off track. Sorry.” Shame burns through me, and I turn away. “I’ll come with you. It won’t take me long to get Bryn and I ready.”
Abby huffs out a breath. “Okay, hun.”
Swearing never again to attempt an educated discussion and uncertain what to pack for Bryn, I shove several outfits into the huge baby bag along with a dozen diapers, baby wipes, powder, lotion, soft toys, pacifiers, blankets, and burping cloths.
When she sees the bulging bag, Abby screeches with laughter. “Where the hell do you think we’re going and for how long? You’re hilarious, Georgie. We aren’t going on a fucking vacay, girl.” Shaking her head and still laughing, she ignores my glares and assists me in putting on the sling and fastening Bryn into it. “Now, come on, and be quiet.”
Bag on shoulder, my baby secured against me, I tip-toe behind Abby. We make it to the front door before we hear Rand’s and Jaeger’s voices echoing from a nearby room. Nosy, I pause to hear what they’re talking about, but Abby jerks me outside.
Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series Page 48
