by M. S. Parker
I’ll pass on that…
I know Liam was hoping she’d have the baby before we headed back to the island in a couple of days.
We arrived at the address where the party was being held, but as the limo driver came around to open the door, both Raye and Liam got a text.
Raye beat Liam to the punch, squealing as she thrust the phone at Kane. “Michelle’s on her way to the hospital!”
I glanced up at the house, then smiled at Liam. “Which hospital?”
He told me, and I peered forward as the driver opened the door. “Change of plans,” I said. “A friend of ours is in labor, and we’d like to go to the hospital.”
The limo driver nodded and shut the door.
“We’re dressed pretty fancy for a night in the delivery ward,” Liam said, grinning at me.
I peered down at my feet and the four-inch heels I’d worn with my cocktail dress. “I think I’ll let you do my pacing for me.”
“Deal.” He leaned over and kissed me.
The drive to the hospital seemed to take forever, the driver navigating busy streets like a pro. We finally got there, and Liam opened the door, not waiting for the driver.
He held a hand out to me, still grinning.
“You look excited,” I told him.
“I am. I still can’t believe Jake is going to be a dad.”
Hooking my arm through his, I turned, and we waited for Raye and Kane to emerge from the limo.
We caught a few curious looks as we hurried inside.`
“I imagine Jake is still adjusting to the idea of fatherhood himself,” I said to Liam as we made our way up to the maternity floor.
“It’s a mind-boggling idea.”
As we slipped into the elevator, I looked at Liam. “What’s mind-boggling, Jake being a father or the idea of fatherhood itself?”
“Both.” He eyed me appraisingly. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. It still boggles the mind.”
“You’re thinking about being a daddy?”
Funny, but I’d been thinking about parenthood myself the past few months. Michelle’s baby shower had really done me in, and I found myself thinking of little shoes and rocking chairs at odd, random moments.
Liam’s eyes held a gleam as they met mine. “It’s crossed my mind from time to time.”
“Funny…I’ve been having thoughts about being a mom cross my mind quite a bit lately.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered, “Maybe that’s a talk we should have.”
He slid his arm around my waist as the elevator doors opened and we all stepped out.
The maternity ward was brightly lit, and Liam stepped closer to the sign indicating which rooms were where. He pointed to the left. “Her room is down this way. So’s the waiting room.”
We settled into seats, and Liam sent a quick text to Jake, letting him know we were there.
Then he looked at me, a bemused smile on his lips.
“About that talk?” I said.
He leaned in and kissed me. “We can have that talk.”
He was still kissing me when Jake rushed into the room a few seconds later.
We broke apart as Jake hugged his sister, then turned to pull Liam into a quick hug too.
“It’s going to be a while.” A look that spoke of panic and excitement lit his eyes. “You all didn’t have to skip your party.”
“We’re where we want to be,” Liam told him.
I leaned against him and threaded my fingers through his.
He squeezed my hand and looked down at me. “Aren’t we?”
“No place else I’d rather be,” I agreed. And I wasn’t just talking about the hospital or the baby’s impending arrival.
Liam got it.
He gave me a quick kiss and pulled me into his arms for a hug.
“Happy New Year,” I whispered to him.
He whispered it back against my lips before kissing me.
No…there wasn’t any place else I’d rather be than right here with Liam.
41
Liam
Mila stood in front of the mirror at her old condo in the city.
She caught sight of me looking at her and arched a brow.
“Just admiring your…outfit,” I said with a faint grin.
She wore a short, sassy skirt, tights, and a black bra. Nothing else.
“I don’t want to get make-up on my sweater,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t bring that many changes of clothes.”
We’d flown back here to have dinner with Raye and her boyfriend and Michelle, Jake and little Brant, Jake and Michelle’s son.
He was a month old today and Jake had called us a couple days ago, asking when we might be back in town.
Michelle is going stir-crazy and wants to talk to some adults…other than me, he’d said with laughter in his voice.
So here we were, taking a weekend away from the island to spend with family.
I leaned against the door frame, watching as Mila dusted something on her cheeks before picking up a tube of lipstick. Her eyes met mine in the mirror once more. “You should go…I don’t know…comb your hair,” she said.
I skimmed a hand back over my ruthlessly short cut. “There.”
She just laughed. “Go on, shoo.”
“You trying to get rid of me?” I asked.
“I’m trying to keep from being late.” She turned around, watching me as she applied her lipstick.
How women could do that without looking in the mirror amazed me.
Once she was done, she capped the tube and put it down.
“Why would we be late?” I let my gaze drift over her.
“Because of that,” she said, pointing at me. “I see how you’re looking at me. Now…go. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”
I had been contemplating pushing her skirt up over her hips. Instead, I left and made my way into the kitchen.
Mila joined me a few minutes later, carrying a pair of boots in her hand. I watched as she sat down to tug them on. “What are you going to do with this place?”
She shrugged. “I’m still trying to decide. I might just keep it, so we have a place to stay when we come visit everybody.” She grinned at me. “Or if I get the urge to go on a shopping spree.”
One thing she didn’t like about the island—she couldn’t shop until she dropped. I didn’t see that as a bad thing, but then again, I wasn’t exactly into fashion.
She zipped her second boot, then stood up. “We can go!”
I moved over to her and dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “You look beautiful.”
Her eyes softened, and she reached for me, but before she could tug me closer, I backed away. I winked at her. “We don’t want to be late, remember?”
We weren’t but Raye and Kane were.
We’d been standing around the kitchen, nibbling on some food Michelle had put out—canapes—she’d told me. Seemed like a fancy word for appetizers.
I didn’t care what they were called really, as long as they were edible. One in particular—I couldn’t get enough of. I’d already downed half a dozen of the little crackers piled high with spicy shrimp and avocado.
I was eying the last one when the buzzer went off, announcing Raye and Kane’s arrival.
As Jake went to let them in, I glanced at Mila.
She only had eyes for Brant, cooing down at him while he looked around with that wide, unfocused gaze of a newborn.
“Hey!” Raye rushed in. “Sorry we’re late!” She homed in on Mila and the baby. “There’s my guy!”
She passed her coat off to Jake, then washed her hands before turning to Mila, reaching out. “Gimme!”
Mila clutched him a little closer and pressed her nose to his head. “I hardly ever see him.”
I glanced at Kane. “I think we’ve been forgotten.”
The big man crooked a grin at me as he accepted a beer from Michelle. “Looks like.”
We settled against the counter, watching as t
he women cooed over the baby for a little while. Jake and Michelle finished up the food and soon we were sitting down in the dining room.
Brant had fallen asleep and Michelle retreated to put him down for a little while as we ate.
“What, can’t he have spicy…” I studied the food spread out in front of us. “Is that Szechuan chicken? No fried rice?”
“Very funny.” Michelle poked me in the shoulder as she returned to take her seat. “He’s still on very much a liquid diet.”
“How is nursing going?” Raye asked.
Immediately, Kane and I found something else to discuss and we kept at it as the food was passed around and we helped ourselves. I’d learned that Kane’s family was as big—and as boisterous—as mine, although he seemed closer to his mom and siblings than I was with my parents and various brothers and sisters. I was working on that, though, and usually called them at least once a week.
“Boys, we’re done discussing nipples and boobs,” Mila said, her voice dry.
My face heated and I grabbed the bottle of beer from the table. “How about a toast?” I suggested.
Everybody raised their beer bottle or glass of wine.
Michelle cocked her head, studying me. “What are we drinking to?”
I glanced at Mila and found myself grinning. “Us. Let’s drink to us.”
“Here, here,” Jake said.
“To us…and to my first glass of wine in forever,” Michelle added, grinning broadly. She winked at Raye and said, “We’ve been working on getting Brant to take a bottle and for the next twenty-four hours, feeding him is Jake’s responsibility.”
We clinked our drinks together, then drank.
Mila reached under the table and took my hand, squeezing lightly.
I squeezed back as I put my beer down.
“So, when are you two tying the knot?” Raye asked as she scooped up a bite of rice and chicken.
Mila and I looked at each other, then grinned.
“Actually…” Mila said, drawing the word out. “That’s one of the reasons we’re in town. We’re going to pick out my engagement ring.”
Gasps, laughter and applause broke out. I glanced at Mila and squeezed her hand once more, then leaned over to kiss her. She hummed softly as I drew back.
“Come on,” Jake said. “Let’s eat before these two decide they need to get a room.”
Once more, laughter echoed around the table.
As Mila laughed, I settled more comfortably into my chair and reached for my drink, silently lifting it in toast once more.
To us…to family. To the rest of our lives.
Turn the page to start reading my sexy Pure Lust series.
Chapter 1
Three steps into the white marble and glass lobby of the Bouvier building and I knew I was so out of my league. The skyscraper housed the largest fashion house in Manhattan and there I was, a tiny little country mouse, dressed in last year’s fashions.
Appointment or not, I didn’t belong here. The suited man behind the counter must have thought so too. I only had a few seconds inside the bright elegance of the lobby before he addressed me coolly, “All visitors must sign in. Name?”
“Gabriella Baine.”
The few people milling about a large square of white leather couches in the cavernous lobby looked up at the sound of my voice. Had I really spoken that loud?
Two bored models sipped sparkling water while a man in a close-fitting, tailored suit strode over to the windows, looking outside, then glared at his watch. The fourth person, a young man with a bright purple shirt glowing from underneath his conservative suit studied me from under his lashes, the look on his face caught between boredom and hostility.
He was wearing the same silver visitor’s pin the security guard handed to me. Was he here interviewing for the same job? Bouvier, the internationally known high-end fashion house, was looking for a new talent acquisitions assistant. I guess they could have been interviewing for several positions. I tried a polite smile as I moved to sit down in the sitting area.
The man in the bright purple shirt all but growled at me.
I’m in way over my head…
“Thanks, Kendra.” I muttered.
My roommate, native New Yorker and six feet of jaw-dropping natural beauty, was a model and while she hadn’t quite hit the big times—yet—she had a few connections. She’d set up this interview as if I was a shoe-in.
As if.
Speaking of shoes, I looked down at my patent leather heels. The sexy peekaboos had plenty of shine, but they weren’t designer shoes, and I was sure the people in the lobby had already noticed. Even the guy who’d opened the door for me had worn hand-cobbled loafers.
I took a deep breath and put on a fake pair of tortoise shell glasses. The stage fright trick I’d picked up studying improvisational theater in college was now a habit, though I liked to think of it more as a quirk.
It reminded me that what I really wanted out of life was to sit in a small room surrounded by other writers, arguing out the beats, hooks, and jokes of a new television show. Not trying to sell myself as being some sort of expert in acquiring new talent.
Wearing the glasses, I could make myself look at everything as possible fodder for my writing. This would be a typical fish-out-of-water scene. Maybe I could make it different—the heroine would bolt before it was too late. Take off running down the sidewalk in a fit of hysterical panic. Crash into Prince Charming.
I could use a Prince Charming, as well as a job.
Resisting the urge to huff out a dramatic sigh, I swept the room with another nervous glance. I should bolt, though, Prince Charming or not. But I needed the job. My current job was all about connections and experience, but the pay sucked and I needed the money.
“Ms. Baine?”
Too late to run now. I made myself smile as I stood.
It was time to teeter across a slick white marble minefield of possible embarrassments to interview for a job I knew nothing about. You’re paying your dues, I told myself. We all had to pay them. Kendra had paid hers and she was almost there. I had to pay mine.
“Gabriella?”
“That’s, ah, me.” I stumbled and tried to play it off as a quick dance shuffle in the doorway of what looked like a break room. The fake glasses slid down my nose and I hurriedly took them off. They might work to calm me, but I didn’t want to explain to people why I didn’t wear them all the time. That would really convince people I had a few screws loose.
He stepped aside, allowing me to enter. I edged in through the doorway, looking around nervously.
It was indeed a break room.
“I’m Simon Hughes.” He spoke in a brisk, borderline rude voice as he came around the table and sat down. He held a file in his hand and he flipped it open, gesturing for me to sit.
I did, watching as he skimmed the information in the file.
“It says here you’re from Tennessee.”
“Yes.” I smiled.
“I don’t hear much of an accent.”
I was used to this by now. It had seemed obnoxious when I’d first moved here, but one thing I’d learned early on was that the slow twang of the south wasn’t going to open any doors in New York—and it might in fact slam them in my face.
“I’ve been gone from home a while. The accent only comes out when I’m riled.” I winked, trying to lighten the tension.
The young man with the thinning blond hair just studied me with the same cool expression for a long moment. Absently, he smoothed down a skinny tie, brushed invisible lint off his tan suit and adjusted his cufflinks. Something about those gestures seemed familiar, like the way I wore my glasses. A ritual. Possible personality quirk, I told myself. I had an entire mental file of them.
“I’m sorry for the location,” he said, glancing back down at the file. “Bouvier is having a big launch meeting upstairs and the other conference room is covered in catalog work, but at least there’s coffee.”
He gestured towa
rd the counter along the wall in what I assumed was an offer. “No, thank you.”
I was jittery enough.
He flipped through my application, the silence straining on my nerves until I found myself measuring the steps between me and the door, then that door and the main doors. Could I make a break for it in these heels?
“So, Ms. Baine.” He reshuffled the papers in front of them, neatly stacked them, aligning the edges in a way that struck me as borderline obsessive. Then he did the tie, lint, cufflink check again.
The dude had enough quirks going on for a whole cast of characters all by himself.
Abruptly, he jerked his head up and pinned me with a hard look.
“Exactly what do you bring to the world of talent acquisition?”
“A need for talent?” I flashed him a smile.
“I’ll rephrase.” He tapped a finger on the thin file. “What is your experience in the talent industry, Ms. Baine?”
Aw, hell…
The horrible interview continued to go downhill from there. When the door flew open nearly fifteen minutes in—had it only been fifteen minutes—I could have cried in relief.
Then I caught a look of the intruder.
Oh. Wow.
A jaw-dropping gorgeous intruder. He swept aside a pile of files so neatly organized, I knew they had to have been Simon Hughes’ handy work and I watched as the man across from me went red in the face.
Then I slid the sexy storm another covert look. He was flinging open cabinets and grumbling. Then finally, he grunted, grabbing something from one of them, slamming the door with a resounding bang. He had a fistful of sugar packets.
He turned, studying us as he ripped them all open at once. Sugar spilled across the counter, only half of it going into the cup.
Simon Hughes clenched his jaw and focused on me. “I’m sorry. Please continue.”
I guess we were going to pretend we were still alone.
“Aren’t you Lee’s assistant?” The man who wasn’t supposed to be there grabbed a stirring stick as he spoke. “What are you doing on the main floor? Isn’t there some kind of attic all you assistants hang in like bats?”
