Rush

by Beth Yarnall

  “I’d like that,” she replied, meeting his gaze in their reflection in the doors. “I’d like that a lot.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The hotel room door closed behind Lucas with a quiet snick. They stood a few feet apart, a few feet from the yawning king sized bed. The air between them hummed, coming to life with all that lay between them. They drifted toward one another. There was no signal or glance, no plan or thought, just raw need drawing them together like opposite poles of a magnet.

  He touched the side of her face with his fingertips. Their gazes locked in a battle of what if’s and should we’s. In the end Mi supposed it didn’t matter. If they were in the same room they’d want each other. It was more of a when than an if.

  “It will always be like this, you know,” he said this with certainty.

  He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know. They’d waged a battle with no war. They’d conquered yet hadn’t won. They’d survived the world, but not each other.

  She reached for his wrist, laying her cheek against his palm. “I know.”

  He looked so lost. She was, too. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, a long, spiraling kiss that unwound the knots. His lips fit over hers, their tongues dancing a rhythm that beat back any residual doubt. He jerked at her clothing, a sign of his impatience. Smoothing her hands under his shirt, she drew it over his head. Her shirt hit the floor next to his. They wrestled with their remaining clothes, a flurry of movement punctuated with searing kisses and desperate touches. Their frantic hunger for each other mirrored their first time as though all their other times together hadn’t assuaged their desire.

  They hit the bed in a twist of limbs and roving hands. His mouth was everywhere, one breast then the other, her neck, her mouth and back again. She kissed a trail up his chest to the spot just under his jaw that drove him insane. He groaned, his hands sliding to her backside where he held her to him, his erection pressing insistently against her. She reached for him, wrapping her fingers around his long, hard length.

  Keeping his mouth on hers, he reached for his pants, fumbling through the pockets. He pressed the foil packet into her hand, then slid his fingers between her legs, stroking her to desperation. She fit the condom on with more speed than finesse. He growled, turning them so she was on top. She held him to her, then slowly sank down. Their gazes met, held. What she saw in the dark depth of his eyes both thrilled and frightened her.

  She set the pace, rising, then sinking down with slow deliberation, watching his eyes darken into black pools of pleasure. He grasped her hips, holding on, but not hurrying her. She bent and flicked her tongue over his nipple. God, that noise he made. She did again to the other side, eliciting the same half moan, half growl. She loved pleasuring him, loved making him crazy with need.

  She came down harder, faster, her own need a growing, gnawing thing. He met her thrusts, his hips flexing up in time with hers. She planted her hands on his chest, using the leverage to increase the pace. He writhed beneath her, holding her tighter. So close… He reached between them, his thumb sliding through her slickness. There… just there. She arched back, her fingers pressing into his chest and came with his name on her lips. Driving into her one more time, he came with roar, grinding deeper into her.

  She flopped down onto his chest, her hair trailing out around her. Still vibrating from her orgasm, she closed her eyes, shuddering in the aftermath. Her breath puffed across his chest, her heart banging against her ribcage. He was right. It would always be like this between them. It was like he was made for her, knew just how to please her. She understood him, wanted him, loved him. There would never be another man in her life like him.

  “I love you,” she whispered into his chest.

  If he heard her, he gave no sign. The stroke of his hand up and down her back never stalled or wavered. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I love you too, querida,” he said, almost too quiet to hear if it weren’t for her ear pressed to his chest.

  She closed her eyes, replaying his words over again in her head, savoring the shape of them and the way her heart sped up. For a few moments she imagined a life where they could say these words to each other everyday in passing as she’d seen other couples do. Throwing the phrase like invisible confetti to flutter and float about, blanketing the ground around them. Didn’t those other people know how lucky they were?

  She scrambled off him, mumbling that she needed the bathroom.

  “Oh, shit.”

  Something about the way he’d said that had her halting in her tracks. She turned.

  He was sitting up in bed looking down at himself, then up at her. His lips parted, his eyes wide with shock, and then he dropped a bomb that nearly took her to her knees.

  “The condom broke.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. No. This couldn’t be happening. She fumbled for the doorknob, needing it for balance. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  He shook his head back and forth.

  “How could you let this happen?” she wailed. “Oh, my God.” She sank slowly down to the floor, her back pressed against the wall. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” She couldn’t have a baby. Just the thought of it… oh, God no. She just couldn’t.

  He got up, removed the offending condom, wrapped it in a tissue and threw it away. Crouching down next to her, he stroked her hair. “It’ll be all right.”

  She batted his hand away. “How can you say that? I’m not on the pill. Don’t you get it?” She shoved away from him. What was wrong with him? “We have to do something.”

  He stood and watched her pace. Just stood there like it was no big deal.

  “Don’t just stand there, do something!” she shouted at him.

  “Calm down. It was just one time.”

  “That’s all it takes!” The bubbling broth of her emotions bumped the lid she’d so carefully kept over them, threatening to knock it off completely. “I can’t have this baby.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, calm as ever. “If you’re pregnant we’ll deal with it.”

  She stopped her pacing and stared at him. He wasn’t serious, they never were. All their promises vanished right about the time the possibility of pregnancy became the reality of a baby. She’d seen her mother go through it with Jason’s father and then Ethan’s.

  “I’ll get that morning after pill.”

  He launched off the bed toward her. “The hell you will.”

  “I’m not having this baby.”

  “There might not be a baby, but if there is we’ll work it out.” He actually looked like he might be happy about the possibility.

  She snorted in disbelief. “You say that now, but you don’t mean it.” Derision turned her words nasty and accusing.

  “Don’t tell me what I mean and don’t mean.” He swelled to his full size, more angry than she’d ever seen him.

  “You don’t get it.” She ticked points off on her fingers. “You won’t be the one raising it by yourself. You won’t be the one taking care of it day and night. You won’t be the one working all day just to come home to more work.”

  He edged closer. “You wouldn’t be alone.”

  “That’s what they all say in the beginning and then they leave.”

  “How many ways do I have to say it? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “They say that, too!” Her breath caught on a sob. “They say it over and over. They go and then they come back with more promises until finally they don’t bother to make promises at all anymore because they don’t come back.”

  “That’s what happened to your mom.”

  “And Lucy.” She swiped at a tear. “Her husband didn’t even bother to show up for his baby’s birth. Remember? So please tell me, why should I believe any of your promises?” She knew she was getting ugly, her face hot from crying, but she didn’t care. It was all coming out and she had no way to stop it. The lid was off. The brew of her emotions churned and frothed, boiling over the sides, spitting as it hit th
e fire below.

  He put a hand up like he was going to touch her, then dropped it back to his side. “I love you. And even if I didn’t, I don’t walk away from my responsibilities.”

  “And what happens… what happens if you die?”

  “Querida—”

  She shook like a drug addict denied her fix. “Are you going to promise me you won’t die like my father? And what happens when I go crazy? What happens when I can’t take care of myself?”

  The questions came fast and furious, pouring over the sides quicker than she could push them back in. “What happens when I can’t protect the baby? What happens when the baby is killed because I couldn’t stay awake? What then, Lucas? What then? Who’s going to be there when I fail? Who’s going to be there when the police come? Who’s going to lie to them? Who’s going to keep the secret? Who’s going to protect them? Who? Who?”

  Lucas caught her as she stumbled, then crumpled, sinking to the floor with her. He rocked her as she cried, her small fist pounding into his chest. Holy fuck. What the hell had happened to her? He soothed her as best as he could, mumbling nonsense words and cradling her against him. He’d never seen her like this and it scared the shit out of him.

  “I can’t have a baby,” she mumbled against his chest. “I can’t protect it. I can’t.”

  “Shh, querida. I’m here. I’m right here.”

  She hiccupped on a sob. “I can’t do it. I know you’ll hate me, but I just can’t do it.”

  He drew her back and smoothed the hair away from her face. “You’re stronger than you think. I know you don’t believe me now, but I’m here for you. If you’re pregnant we will work this out together. We will.”

  She shook her head.

  “You don’t have to believe me now,” he repeated, wiping her tear with the pad of his thumb. God. Seeing her like this nearly broke him in two. He put his forehead to hers, hoping she’d see how serious he was. “One day you will. I won’t let you down. I’ll do more than promise you, I’ll show you.”

  “I don’t want to be like my mother.” The pain in her voice reached down inside him and clawed, raking him raw and bloody.

  “You’re not like your mother.”

  “What if I am? What if I have a baby and become just like her? I can’t do that, Lucas. Even if it doesn’t happen with the first child, it could with the second or the third. I can’t do that to my children. I won’t have my children sleeping in the hall!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She pushed at him. “Never mind.”

  “No, not never mind. Tell me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll accept your apology on one condition. Tell me what happened to Ethan.”

  She started to pull away, untangling herself from him both physically and emotionally.

  “Who killed him?” he pressed, standing as she did.

  Her eyes wide, she put her palms up for him to stop. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You asked me what happens when the baby is killed. Were you talking about Ethan? Did your mother kill Ethan? Is that what you’re afraid of, killing your own child?”

  She shook her head, edging away toward the bathroom. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I need to get dressed.” She dashed into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her.

  He didn’t make an effort to stop her. Fucking hell. He ran both hands through his hair. No wonder she understood his feelings about his grandfather, she had the same about her mother. They had the same fucking nightmare in common. So much was starting to make sense, but there were still pieces missing. He wasn’t going to let her out of this hotel room until she gave them up. He slipped on a pair of boxer shorts and clicked the TV on to watch while he scanned the room service menu and waited for Mi.

  As for the broken condom… he would make good on his promise to be there for Mi and their child. They’d raise it together. Past that, he couldn’t think. He had enough to focus on at the moment with the woman hiding in the bathroom. It was stupid, but he knew if he let himself hope, he’d hope for a baby with Mi.

  He’d killed a man and possibly made himself a father all before noon. What a brilliant fucking day this was shaping up to be. None of that was on his to do list. And now he had to figure out how to get his girlfriend to tell him her deepest, darkest secret or they would never have a chance. Baby or no.

  He ordered five different breakfast dishes from room service, then sat back against the head board, alternating his attention between the TV and the closed bathroom door. The shower turned off right about the time breakfast arrived. He sat for another fifteen minutes or so before Mi finally came out of the bathroom. She stood in the doorway looking like she’d rather be anywhere but where he was. Her hair was wet, combed back from her face, and she’d wrapped a thick robe around herself. The color was back in her cheeks whether it was from the shower or lingering embarrassment, he wasn’t sure.

  “Are you hungry?” He motioned to the food spread out on the small dining table. “I ordered breakfast.”

  She gave him a glance that didn’t reach his face. “Yes. Very.”

  He shoved off the bed on the opposite side from where she stood and began lifting the covers off the plates of food. “Take your pick.”

  She moved toward him. Her robe covered her feet, making it appear as though she floated. She kept the table between them, sitting down in the chair furthest away from him. He gave her the space she wanted, biding his time before he resumed their conversation.

  “Pancakes? Eggs Benedict? Corned beef hash and eggs? French toast? Cereal? There’s some fruit and sausage as well.” He handed her an empty plate, then sat back and watched her debate the choices.

  When she’d taken what she wanted, he did the same. They ate in silence, the only noise the clink of silverware and the drone of the TV in the background.

  “More coffee?” he offered.

  “Yes, please.”

  Weren’t they just the perfect dysfunctional couple? He finished his food, then sat back and watched her take a second helping. She kept her focus on her plate, taking her time with each bite. She was stalling. He let her.

  “Would you like more pancakes?” he asked.

  She looked at the stack with a mixture of longing and revulsion. She shook her head slowly, reluctantly. Her time for procrastinating was over.

  “Now tell me about Ethan,” he said.

  She played with the corner of the napkin in her lap. “I overreacted earlier. I know you’d be there should anything…” She made a helpless gesture with one hand. “Well you know.”

  “If you’re pregnant.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I was beginning to think you didn’t know me at all.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her gaze traveled as far as his Adam’s apple, then away. “It’s just that a baby wasn’t something I ever wanted.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” She looked at him then, her eyes watery and full of self-recrimination.

  “Querida, I’ve met your mother. And you met my family. We couldn’t scrape together one descent parental role model between the two of us.”

  She sat back in her chair hard enough to jar it. “So you agree that we shouldn’t have a baby.” Something like disappointment flashed across her face for a moment before it settled back into grim lines.

  “No.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I said we didn’t have parents good enough to emulate ourselves after, but that doesn’t mean we wouldn’t make good parents.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Were you lying when you said I wasn’t like my grandfather?”

  “No, but—”

  “Good because I believed you. I can’t promise I’ll be a great father, but I’ll try. I think that’s all anyone can do. Don’t you?”

  “That’s you.”

  “Querida, I’ve seen you with Davy and Gooch. Hell, I�
��ve even seen you be loving and patient with Tracey and your mother and brother. I can tell how much you tried to take care of them and Ethan. And how crushed you get when you think you’re failing the people you love.”

  He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You care about the people around you. You don’t run from difficult situations. You were there for Lucy when she needed you the most. But most importantly, you care so much about being a good parent that you want to deny yourself the opportunity to be one on the off chance you couldn’t live up to your own expectations.”

  He got up, walked around the table and pushed her chair back. Crouching down in front of her, he took her hands in his. “There’s no one I’d rather be the mother of my child than you.”

  She choked back a sob, catching it in the hand she pulled from his. “Don’t.”

  “You were so young when Ethan died. Only fifteen. You did the best you could for him, for your mother. But now it’s time to let me help you. You need my help, Mi. Your mother needs more than you’re able to provide. Your brother needs to know what happened.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “You don’t… you couldn’t understand.”

  “I didn’t think you would understand about Abuelo,” he answered simply. “But you did.”

  “It’s not the same thing!”

  “No. It’s not. What were you talking about when you said you wouldn’t have your children sleeping in the hall?”

  “I never said that.”

  “Yes, you did. What did you mean?”

  He wasn’t going to let up, Mi realized. He would keep asking questions, keep after her to tell him what happened. Well, if that’s what he wanted. That’s what he’d get. And then he’d see how stupid it would be for them to have a child together. He’d leave her alone. He’d stop making her think she could have the things normal people had. He’d go and have a relationship and a baby with someone who wasn’t tied down to the past like she was.