How To Have Surprise Quadruplets (How To... Book 2)

by Layla Valentine

  She’d looked beautiful all dressed up the first two days I’d seen her, but that couldn’t compete with how she looked then, the wind tousling her soft brown hair, her pink mouth filled with a pork bun, her eyes crinkling in a smile.

  About twenty minutes later, it started pouring again. We both jumped to action, shoving things haphazardly into the basket as quickly as we could while trying—pretty uselessly—to shield ourselves from the rain with our hands.

  “Is it me, or are these raindrops ten times the size of the ones in America?” Alexis shouted as she worked to get the blanket—the last piece of our luckily mostly-finished picnic—into the basket.

  “Eleven times. At least!” I shouted back.

  I stripped off my jacket and threw it to her, knowing that it would be put to better use on her narrow frame, and then grabbed the picnic basket. Once I had it in hand, I grabbed her hand with my other one and we ran for the stairs, in too much of a hurry to take them carefully. We slipped and basically fell down the last three, but managed to land on our feet, and then we were in the jungle again, sprinting back toward the hotel through what really looked like an actual curtain of water. We both ducked down so that we were running almost doubled over, instinctively trying to protect ourselves, but I could hear that she was laughing around breaths.

  “This is the stupidest thing in the world,” she huffed. “It’s impossible to run this way. Does it actually keep us any dryer to do this?”

  “Very doubtful,” I answered. “But I dare you to try to stand up and run that way!”

  She did—for three steps, during which she got a mouthful of rainwater for her trouble. A moment later, she was doubled over again, still giggling.

  “Note to self. It doesn’t keep you dryer, but it does keep you from drowning in the rain,” she said, laughing.

  We increased our pace, our unspoken agreement being that we wanted to get out of the rain as quickly as possible, and twenty long minutes later we were standing in front of the hotel, banging on the door.

  “This hotel’s policy of locking their paying customers out is really starting to get on my nerves,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Let’s go.”

  I grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the side entrance, my feet already starting to move back into a run.

  “At least this time we know for sure that we can get in,” she answered, quickly passing me in her need to get inside.

  We made it to the other door more quickly this time, jumping over the detritus in the alleyway like pros, and a second later, we were in the hallway that led to the lobby, soaking wet, dripping on the floor, and leaning on each other with relief and laughter, like we’d been friends all our lives.

  A quick hitch in her breath when I started rubbing her arms to warm her up told me that it wasn’t only friendship growing between us. And I wasn’t the only one who felt it.

  Alexis

  I ducked down, trying to stifle my giggles and keep myself hidden behind the cart. It was completely useless, of course; this cart was nothing but bars that led to trays, and there was nothing solid enough to hide me from him.

  That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try. Besides, he had to come all the way down the hallway to get to me. I’d be able to see him coming for miles—and I had a handful of whipped cream ready for him.

  “I know you’re down there!” he called from the end of the hallway. “I know you’re planning to ambush me!”

  “And what are you going to do about it?” I shouted back. “Admit your defeat at the hands of Charming Dinner Girl? Are you finally going to admit that I’m better at this game than you are?”

  “Never!” was the reply, and a moment later, he was rushing down the hall at me, his pajamas covered in a smattering of whipped cream and chocolate syrup—the remnants of the fight I’d started in his room when he dared to ask whether I was allowed to eat chocolate syrup on my room-service ice cream.

  I’d ordered extra whipped cream for just that sort of comment. And I had made good use of the first bowl of the stuff before he could figure out what was going on. Then, he’d taken to it like a duck to water, though, grabbing a bowl for himself and rushing after me into the hallway.

  We’d been at a standoff in this hallway for at least five minutes while he’d gone about some sort of planning phase. I’d been laughing too hard to bother with it. In my experience, the most effective weapon in a whipped cream fight was the joy of surprise. I’d already used that to my benefit, and I could guarantee that he was rapidly rethinking his opinion of me.

  With luck, he wouldn’t expect that I’d be hiding behind the cart. There was a perfectly good ice and laundry room right across from me, and that was by far the more superior hiding spot. If he turned in there and I could come up from behind him, I could get a handful of whipped cream right in his face, and I was willing to bet he’d concede the battle at that point. What choice would he have, really?

  Yes, it was silly. And yes, supremely childish. But we’d been stuck in the jungle by ourselves for the last three days—courtesy of more delays on those plane tickets—and we were going more than somewhat stir-crazy.

  And enjoying every second of it.

  Rian came skidding to a stop right in front of the cart then and I tensed, ready for him to discover me and shower me in whipped cream. Instead, he turned for the ice room, never even casting a glance at the cart I was hiding behind.

  Bingo.

  I leapt up, ran forward, and jumped on his back, reaching around to smother his face in whipped cream as I laughed like a maniac.

  “Cheater!” Rian’s voice was smothered by whipped cream, the word coming out fuzzy, but I could still understand exactly what he’d said.

  I laughed with glee, too excited at my victory to care. “All’s fair in love and war, darling!”

  Then, in some sort of jiu-jitsu move I hadn’t seen coming, he whirled around while managing to keep me in the same exact position, so that he was holding me straddled around his middle, facing him. A moment later he had me pushed against the wall, his face only inches from mine, his rock-hard cock pressed between my legs.

  Uh-oh. Oh man, oh man, oh man.

  I bit my lip and rocked against him, unable to stop myself. We’d been building up to this moment for days. And though my more rational side was screaming about how dangerous this was, I found that I couldn’t help myself.

  Nor did I want to.

  “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice husky.

  “Mmhmm,” I mumbled, not being able to form real words.

  The truth was, after so many days of being trapped in the hotel together, something had bloomed between us. Something I hadn’t been looking for—or even expecting. Something that felt both terrifying…and like home.

  He didn’t say anything else. Instead, he crushed his lips to mine, the kiss full of need and desire, his restraint leaving his body entirely. I wrapped my hands around his head and pulled him closer to me, sweeping my tongue into his mouth to deepen the kiss, my own head swimming with the heat of the moment.

  He pushed me harder up against the wall and brought one hand up to my chin, angling it so he could flick his tongue deeper into my mouth, and then our tongues were dancing together, my veins on fire, my center molten as he pushed against me, showing me exactly how much he wanted me—and what he wanted to do.

  Several minutes later, we broke apart, gasping, and the cold air rushing onto my face made me feel like a piece of me was missing. He let me slide down until my feet hit the ground, though he kept me pinned up against the wall, and gazed down at me, his eyes dark with desire.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer. I just nodded. And then, he swept me off my feet wedding-style and carried me down the hall toward his bedroom, my arms wrapped around him, my mouth already busy on his neck.

  I didn’t remember getting into the room, but suddenly he was dropping me onto the bed and then standing back and reaching for his shirt. I gasped when he pulled
it up over his head. Have I said that I find rock-hard abs to be kryptonite?

  Because his were harder than rock. Chiseled and defined and absolutely the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

  Until he reached for his belt and slid his jeans down to his ankles.

  I’ll say this, the man was talented in more ways than one. And the spot between my legs was now throbbing for him, hot and wet, and yearning for what came next. I scooted back toward the head of the bed, making room for him, and he climbed above me, forcing me onto my back and staring into my eyes.

  “Alexis,” he said in a low growl as he slid the hem of my sundress up over my hips, then off over my head, licking my sensitive skin with the tip of his tongue as he inched the fabric up.

  “Rian,” I answered, giving him the start of a smile. The smile turned into a moan as he released my bra and swirled his tongue around my hard nipples. I arched my back as his wet tongue trailed down my stomach, heat growing within me. His warm breath heated my skin as he slid my panties off. He prowled up the length of my body, groaning with admiration at my full nakedness.

  Then, he buried himself in me in one thrust, sliding in up to the hilt, and I gasped and arched up against him, my body begging for more, already reaching for that edge of ecstasy.

  “Rian!” I said again, this time with more need in my voice. “Please!”

  “Shh,” he said, starting to move in and out of me at a maddeningly slow pace. “I’ve been waiting days for this. If you don’t mind, I’m planning to take my time.”

  My body understood exactly the language he was speaking, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his face to me, kissing him deeply while my body learned his rhythms and what he liked, and started to move with him.

  He made love to me three times that night, and that was the only way I could think of it: making love. There was no mindless rutting, no hurried attempts to finish things off. No staring at the wall while our bodies took some pleasure in each other. No, Rian took his time, getting to know every inch of my body and paying homage to the areas he felt particularly passionate about. And I did the same for him, kissing every inch of that stomach, then forcing him to flip over so I could pay the same attention to his heavily muscled back. Taking my time to rub some of that lotion he’d stolen over his entire body.

  And the kissing. My God, the kissing. The man was an absolute wizard with his mouth and had a way of making me feel as if I was the only woman he’d ever wanted to touch in his entire life.

  “Have you always been able to kiss like that?” I asked breathlessly at one point, snuggled up against his chest as I caressed the lines of his abs.

  He chuckled, and it rumbled along under my cheek, making me smile. His laugh. That was the other thing that made him so sexy. That ability to pull the boyish chuckle out of anywhere, even in the midst of the sexiest night of my life.

  “I don’t know, I haven’t exactly done a poll on the question,” he answered.

  I stomped right down on the jealous thought that he’d kissed other women. That wasn’t my place.

  He noticed the silence and filled it immediately, squeezing me closer to him. “Why, do you have suggestions for me?”

  I got up on my elbow and gazed into his beautiful eyes. “Absolutely. Kiss me again. Kiss me until I forget that we’re leaving tomorrow.”

  Alexis

  Two Weeks Later

  I got to the end of the runway, did my trademark double-turn, arms extended so that the sleeves of my gown swept out over the audience, and then strutted my stuff back down the runway, smiling up at the rafters as I walked. When I got backstage, I hurried to get in line. That had been my last pass and I’d been the last model—which meant I’d be the first out when we did our final walk, together with the designer.

  This was the part I loved the most. The clapping, the audience on their feet, the pure adoration for what the designer had managed to put together and the show that had just gone on. This part, when joy and excitement ran through the building like flames—this was what I thrived on. This was the part that made it all worth it. The makeup artists constantly jabbing at you, the hair people who insisted on yanking your hair when they were trying to put on wigs, having to run around backstage mostly nude, trying to find the right set of shoes to go with your next outfit… those were the annoying parts.

  The cheering. The audience. It made up for every piece of irritation.

  I strode out onto the stage first, my smile no doubt lighting up my face, clapping as hard as I could and walking the runway once again, an extra bounce in my step. I waved at the crowd, welcoming them and inviting them to join the applause, and let my gaze sweep out over the people.

  It came to a screeching halt when I saw a familiar pair of blue eyes, framed by messy, spiky blond hair and a brown leather jacket.

  Rian.

  I almost fell right off the runway, it surprised me so much. I hadn’t seen him in two weeks. Since that morning when I snuck out of his hotel room while he was still asleep, too mixed-up over my feelings to be able to face him after we’d slept together. I’d gotten in way too deep—and I’d known it. I’d also known that he had a girlfriend and that I was stepping on her territory.

  Sleeping with a guy who had a girlfriend and falling in too deep with him, letting him see exactly who I was under the mask I’d spent years building, and letting myself believe, even for five minutes, that there was a chance we could make it work…

  Was there anything worse? What a freaking rookie mistake.

  I let my gaze slide to the seat next to him and took in the tiny punk-rock princess holding his hand, with her heavily eyelinered eyes and spiky pink hair. Then, I pulled my gaze away from them both and looked up into the lights, cheering with what hopefully looked like excitement at the show we’d just pulled off.

  I didn’t think about him again. I’m serious. The next day, I had a photoshoot for some over-the-top designer who specialized in faux fur, and it took nearly all day and left me completely exhausted. The crowds outside, all of them protesting one thing or another—the use of fur at all, the lack of real fur, you name it—was even more difficult. I didn’t have a say in what the designers did. That had never stopped the activists from attacking me for wearing their clothes. The day after that, there was another smaller runway show for a private party. Some rich guy who liked to see models strutting around while he and his fancy friends drank their vintage whiskey, or whatever it was they were drinking. The day after that was a different sort of business. I met with my business manager and agent to go over the contracts I had coming up, and to see whether I could take any time off in between them.

  I had a course I wanted to take at the New York Film College. Well, several courses. Hell, I had a whole major I wanted to pursue. But it would mean taking at least two months off just for a trimester of classes. I wanted to see whether I could swing it, or if it would have too much of an impact on my contracts.

  My agent, of course, was completely against the idea.

  “Lex, you’ll never recover if you take that much time off,” she said sternly. “You know how this industry works. The moment you stop working, you’re out of the industry’s eye and you stop booking jobs. No one wants to book a model unless the public is talking about that model. They’ll forget you in a hot second. You’re too old to make a fresh start.”

  Alvaro, my business manager and accountant, gave her a glare beneath his thick black eyebrows. “Sophie, I love you, honey, but you’re entirely too dramatic. Alexis is the most successful model of her generation! She’s got new contracts coming out of her ears, and contracts stacked up behind her, waiting for a chance to get her involved. Stop worrying about your percentage for five seconds and give the girl a chance to breathe. Let her think about what she wants to do with the rest of her life. Modeling isn’t everything, and it doesn’t last forever, you know.”

  He turned to me, his face gentle and encouraging. “Alexis, you have plenty of money. You could take an ent
ire year off and still be fine. Sophie is just worried that her biggest cash cow will find a different career and gallop off into the night.”

  I grimaced at that description—no girl likes to be called a cow, particularly not when you make your living with how you look—but I thanked him warmly for the good advice all the same.

  There was a reason I had him handling my money, rather than Sophie. He was very good with logic and numbers. He didn’t let emotion get in the way. He knew that, at some point, I’d be doing something different, and that I needed to start planning for that sooner rather than later. Alvaro had worked in the industry himself back in the nineties, and had set himself up nicely by going to school for business when he’d retired from the runway. I trusted him—he was like a father-figure to me—and it seemed like it might be time to start listening to him about setting up my future.

  That night, when I got back to my penthouse and finally had a chance to sit down with a glass of Malbec and think, I let my mind turn back to Rian. What had he been doing at that show, days earlier? That hadn’t been any big publicity event. It was an industry thing—just the release of a label’s new line. Not like it was something the public tried to get tickets for. Not something I thought he would have even known about from the usual billboards, TV ads, and such I was so often on since it wasn’t really advertised.

  Had he…had he been seeking me out? My schedule was generally in the public forum, if you knew where to look. Anyone who booked me would put it on their schedule, and if they were advertising, there would be a line about me being there. It was just part of the deal. So, I supposed, he could have been looking to see me, found out I was doing an appearance.