The Mitchell Sisters: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

  My eyes snap up and hold his. “You got me a stationary bike? Really?”

  “Yes.” He smiles and I look away, frazzled like a little schoolgirl. “It should be here any minute,” he says.

  “So if it’s being delivered, why are you here?” I belatedly realized that comment might have been a little bitchy. “Uh, not that I didn’t want you to come. I mean, not that you shouldn’t have come. It’s okay that you’re here, but why would you come if the delivery man is coming?”

  Oh my God. Stop saying come, Skylar.

  “Ugh!” I cover up my eyes and wallow in embarrassment.

  He chuckles.

  Does that mean he knows the effect he’s having on me? I’ll bet all women go batty-eyed over him. I’m sure this is nothing new. He’s a hot photographer who probably has gorgeous models falling at his feet.

  “You’ll have to ignore me. Pregnancy hormones make me stupid,” I say, realizing once again, I’m blushing in front of Griffin. What is it about this one guy that makes my face bleed emotion whenever he’s around?

  “It’s fine,” he says. “I’m here to put it together. They’ll deliver the bike, but they won’t assemble it.”

  “Oh, well, thanks.” I try to sound grateful, but I’m not exactly happy that he’s going to be here for a while. The quicker he gets out of here, the better. Being around, and lusting over, Erin’s husband makes me feel all slutty inside.

  I look at my watch, praying for the doorbell to ring and ease the awkward tension I’ve created.

  “Can I get you a drink?” I ask.

  “Water would be great,” he says.

  I walk the short distance from the living room into my galley-style kitchen. I can see him looking around my apartment from where I stand at the refrigerator. He starts moving some things around, I suppose to make room for the bike. He clears an area in the far corner, behind the couch. It’s not where I would have put it, but I remain quiet as I’m mesmerized watching his muscles flex as he pushes the bookshelves out of the way.

  I emerge from the kitchen and hand him the bottle of water. “I was thinking over by the window would be better. That way I can at least see the outdoors while I ride.” And I can watch those muscles move the heavy shelves again.

  “You can put it there if you want, but the bike comes with a large monitor that you can program for almost any ride in the world. You can bike through the national parks, or do the Tour de France. Or bike to a volcano in Hawaii. It’s pretty cool, actually. I test-drove one in the sporting goods store.”

  My jaw hangs open. I know how expensive those things are. Plus, I think you have to buy a monthly subscription to use the programmed trails. “Fuck, Griffin. You shouldn’t have spent so much.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And don’t say fuck.”

  “You don’t say fuck,” I tease.

  “I only said fuck because you said fuck.” He shakes his head. “Why don’t we both stop saying fuck.”

  We share a laugh and sit down on opposite sides of the couch. I check my watch again.

  “Is everything okay with Erin?” I ask, trying to pass the time. “It seems like since the ultrasound, she’s been avoiding me. She’s not having second thoughts about Bean, is she?” I joke. Well, I think it’s a joke. I’m half-serious.

  “I’m not exactly sure what’s going on with her.” He leans back into the couch, hooks an ankle over one knee and picks tentatively at his shoelace. Then he furrows his brow and gives a small shake of his head as if something has just now occurred to him. He looks over at me. “She’s been acting differently since I got back from Africa. Maybe this whole thing is a little overwhelming. She’s wanted a baby for so long, and it’s finally happening. I think we need to give it some time to sink in.”

  I’m about to ask him how his trip to Africa went when the doorbell rings.

  Griffin hops up from the couch. “I’ll get it.” He strides over to the door and follows the delivery guy downstairs. A few minutes later, they carry in a large, heavy box that has their muscles bulging.

  The delivery guy is extremely good looking. Big. Burly. Blonde. Ripped. And he’s totally checking me out. The old Skylar would flirt with him relentlessly. Hell, the old Skylar would probably bed him here and now, giving him one hell of a tip. The new Skylar, however, would rather stare at the unavailable man standing next to him.

  “This for you?” the guy asks.

  “I guess it is,” I say.

  He stares at me appraisingly as Griffin watches. “Doesn’t look like you need it,” hot delivery guy says.

  “That’s exactly why I do it,” I tell him, giving him my best cocky smile.

  “Damn.” He turns to Griffin. “You’re a lucky guy.”

  “Oh, we’re not together,” Griffin says.

  Even though it’s true—and I know being with him isn’t even a remote possibility in any life—his saying that still stings my heart momentarily.

  Delivery guy raises an eyebrow. “Then you won’t mind if I ask her out.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  Griffin’s face hardens. “We may not be together, but she is carrying my baby,” he says.

  All the air gets sucked out of the room, taking what’s in my lungs right along with it.

  What the fuck?

  My jaw is still on the floor when Griffin hands the guy a twenty on his way out the door that he practically sprinted to.

  The door shuts.

  “What the hell was that?” I spit at him.

  “What?” He shrugs an innocent shoulder.

  “Don’t what me,” I raise my voice at him. “Why did you have to tell him that? He probably thinks I’m a slut.”

  “Why do you care what the delivery guy thinks?”

  “You’ve got no fucking right to say things like that!” I yell.

  “Quit saying fuck,” he says calmly.

  “I’ll say fuck whenever I want to say fuck. As in, fuck you, Griffin. You had no right to say that shit!”

  He laughs which only fuels my anger. “Are you telling me you would have dated the guy?”

  “No, I wouldn’t have dated the guy,” I say. “But you have no place taking the choice away from me.”

  “I’m only trying to keep you safe. He could have been a psycho killer for all you know,” he says. “And if I recall, you said you were done being promiscuous. It was one of the reasons you wanted to do this.” He nods to my still-flat belly.

  “Well, thanks Dad,” I say petulantly. “But I think I can handle myself. I’m twenty-four fucking years old, and I’ve made it this far without your goddamn help.”

  “Maybe I’d treat you like a twenty-four-year-old if you would stop cussing like a rebellious teenager,” he says, irritated.

  “Maybe I’d quit cussing if you’d stop cock-blocking me,” I retort.

  “Oh, so you do want to get laid.” His arms cross over his chest.

  “Ugh!” I kick the huge box with my foot and then wince at the bolt of pain that radiates up my leg. “No! I don’t want to get laid,” I say. “But, I’ll be the one to decide that, not you.”

  Oh, crap. My stomach heaves and I feel round two coming on. No time to run to my bathroom. I barely make it over to the kitchen trash can where I hurl the rest of the green apple I ate for breakfast.

  My hair hangs down into the trash can and before I’m done throwing up, I feel Griffin grab my hair and hold it away from my face. He places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

  How is it that I’m retching into a garbage can and all I can think about is the heat he’s sending into my body through the thin t-shirt I have on?

  I sit on the floor and let my abs recover. Griffin rummages through my cabinets, finding a glass to fill with cold water. He hands it to me along with a wet paper towel to wipe my face.

  I’m horrified that I threw up in front of him.

  On the other hand, maybe the sheer mortification of him seeing me like this will stop the erotic dreams I keep havi
ng about him.

  “I’m really sorry.” He holds out his hand to help me up. “Did I cause that by getting you upset?”

  “No.” I glance at my watch. “It was right on schedule.”

  “You have a vomit schedule?” He laughs.

  “Pretty much,” I say. “At least it’s predictable.”

  I pull the trash can liner out and tie it off, then take it to the door. He grabs it from me. “Let me take that.”

  “God, no,” I say, pulling it back. “I’ll do it myself. There’s a trash chute in the hallway.”

  “I think I can handle it, Sky.” He takes the bag from me despite my obvious mortification over it.

  “Lar,” I say

  “Huh?” he asks, opening the door.

  “It’s Skylar, not Sky,” I say. “Nobody calls me Sky.” I’ve always hated it. It’s too personal. Too much like an endearment. A pet name. A way to get close. I don’t do close.

  So, why then, does part of me want to kick my ass for telling him not to use it? Then the other part of me wants to kick that part’s ass for thinking it.

  “Oh. It seems like such an obvious nickname,” he says.

  I leave to go brush my teeth and take a long shower. The less time I spend with him the better. I’m just not sure if it’s because he’s so freaking hot, or because he’s figured out how to infuriate me.

  An hour later, when I emerge from my bedroom, the bike is set up and the packaging, along with Griffin Pearce, is missing from my apartment.

  chapter five

  Mindy watches in fascination as I inhale the greasy cheeseburger and chocolate milkshake she placed in front of me mere seconds ago. Her eyes go wide, presumably in wonderment as to how one small woman can annihilate a meal so large it would give a man pause.

  I don’t care. I’m freaking starving. Now that my morning sickness has waned, I crave meat. Lots of it. I have it all the time. My arteries are starting to beg for mercy.

  Thanks to the stationary bike Erin and Griffin got me, I’m keeping the pounds off despite my newfound obsession with animal flesh, and I’ve only gained two in twelve weeks.

  Twelve weeks is apparently cause for celebration, according to Erin, who has been more like her old self the past few days. She said this is when you can breathe easily and start telling people about the pregnancy. She’s on her way to the restaurant to take me shopping for maternity clothes during our Saturday afternoon lull. Not that I need them. In fact, my skinny jeans are only now beginning to feel snug. I mean, there’s still not much to the little bean. Erin says it’s only two inches long, about the size of a lime. But she has insisted we start shopping now so when the time comes, I’ll be stylish and chic. Two words I’ve never associated with pregnancy, but whatever.

  Coming from the bathroom after washing up, I see Erin walking through the restaurant. She’s holding two flowers. A red rose and some white flower. It’s an orchid or lily, or maybe a tulip. I don’t know much about flowers. As soon as any man presents me with them, it’s my cue to bail and run like hell. The only flowers I know about are the fake ones we keep on the tables at the restaurant.

  She approaches me with her arms outstretched, holding the flowers out to me, one in each hand. A bright smile curls her lips. “Pick one,” she says.

  “Why?” I ask, skeptically. “Is this a test?”

  She smiles in silence.

  I try to analyze what she’s asking me to do. The rose is the obvious choice. It’s the flower of love, the go-to flower for pretty much any occasion. The one most women would probably select. The white one reminds me of Easter. Or maybe funerals. I’m not sure which, but I like it. It brings back memories of the field behind our house growing up. The house that is now Baylor’s house. Piper, Baylor and I would run around in that field for hours playing hide-and-seek, and then we’d pick the pretty white flowers to bring to my mom.

  She giggles. “Just pick one, Skylar,” she says, rolling her eyes at my hesitation.

  I reach for the white one. I never did like to conform.

  She pulls me in for a hug. “Oh my gosh, we’re having a boy!” she cries.

  I let her hug me. I’ve gotten used to her hugs by now. Sometimes I even hug her back, because let’s be honest, it’s the only real human affection I’ve had in almost six months.

  And dammit, I’m horny. The vomit phase of this pregnancy has morphed into the insatiable phase. As in, I swear blood is being pumped to my lower half, causing my clit to swell at very inopportune times. Yesterday, I actually had an orgasm riding the stationary bike. All the vibrations from pedaling . . . I didn’t even bother to stop riding. I just reached down and pushed myself over the edge, slowing my progress momentarily as I squirmed around on the seat.

  Last Sunday at brunch, when Griffin leaned over, brushing Erin’s hair behind her ear to whisper something, I almost combusted at the table. I imagined what it would feel like with his hot breath flowing over my neck as he whispered into my ear. I actually had to get up from the table and go relieve myself in the public bathroom.

  I’ve become very proficient at silent orgasms.

  “A boy?” I ask, eyeing the flower in my hand.

  She pulls me over to an empty table and sits me down. “It’s an old wives tale,” she explains. “You present a pregnant woman with a white lily and a red rose. If she chooses the rose, she’s having a girl. If she chooses the lily, a boy.” She gestures to the flower I’m holding. “And white lilies just happen to be my favorite flowers, so that’s an added bonus.”

  “Hmmm,” I mumble. “Kind of a girly flower for a boy, don’t you think?”

  “Actually, Greek mythology holds the lily as a symbol of eroticism and sexuality, the long pistil of the flower suggesting a phallus.”

  “So you think the bean has a long pistol, huh?” I tease.

  “If genetics play a factor, a very long pistol.”

  Oh, hell. The last thing I need to know is how well-endowed Griffin is. My mouth waters as if the aroma of another cheeseburger had been floated under my nose. I can already feel the blood rushing downward.

  “Uh, Erin,” I say. “I really don’t want to hear about your husband’s phallus.”

  She laughs and grabs my hand, pulling me up and leading me out the door. “Okay, no more talk of Griffin’s incredible man member or his expertise where it’s concerned. Let’s go shop.”

  Oh, God, she did not just say that. I swear it’s like she can read my mind and is deliberately making an effort to feed my atrociously inappropriate fantasies. Maybe she’s trying to torture me because she knows I lust after him. He’s the proverbial forbidden fruit—with a long, talented pistol, apparently. Why is it ingrained in human nature to want what we can’t have?

  On the way out the door I remind myself that she’s only ever been with Griffin, having no comparison on the matter. Therefore I rationalize that he may not, in fact, be the sexual expert she touts him to be.

  We walk a few blocks over to an upscale maternity boutique. The whole time, while Erin is talking about how glamorous she’s going to make me, I’m thinking about the fact that for several weeks she all but checked out of my life, save a few texts and an e-mail. But she seems fine now. Happy even. Carefree. Whatever it was, I guess she got over it. Maybe Griffin was right and she simply needed time to adjust to her new reality after seeing the ultrasound.

  At the store, we’re greeted by a sales lady who proceeds to tell us exactly what’s in style. She shows me the dressing room which is outfitted with several sized ‘baby bumps’ that I can strap on to see what the clothing will look like as I grow bigger.

  Erin picks out a crapload of outfits for me to try. She gets everything from yoga pants to cocktail dresses. I can’t even imagine filling out the front panel in the designer jeans she hands me. Surely these must be for women having twins.

  The one thing I notice about most of the clothing she’s selecting for me is that they all show a good bit of cleavage, something I have a generou
s amount of for the first time in my life.

  “Erin, is there some reason you think I need to flaunt my boobs to everyone?”

  “Hell yes,” she says. I laugh because that’s as close to cursing as she gets. “You have awesome boobs now. Not to say you didn’t before, but you should enjoy your voluptuous curves while you’ve got them. You know, show them off a little.”

  I roll my eyes at her. “Why would I want to do that? Men don’t even look at me now. And that’s fine—it was one of the points of doing this whole thing, in fact.”

  “Are you crazy, Skylar? You’re oblivious. You turn heads all the time, everywhere you go. Including my own husband’s.”

  I stiffen and hope to God she doesn’t notice the heat dancing across my face. “I never, uh, Erin, I don’t—”

  “It’s okay,” she says, putting a reassuring hand on my arm. “You’re gorgeous, Skylar. Men are going to look at you. Griffin is going to look at you. It doesn’t bother me.”

  “You’re imagining things,” I say. “He doesn’t look at me. Not that way. And not when he has you, I mean you are hot. Like, Sports-Illustrated-swimsuit-edition-cover hot. Plus, I think he hates me, actually. Didn’t he tell you about our fight the day he set up the bike?”

  She laughs. “He did. I think it’s adorable how protective he is of you.”

  “Maybe you think it’s adorable. I think it’s annoying,” I say. “Last week at brunch, when a guy followed me to the bathroom, Griffin jumped up from the table and made a loud comment about pregnant women having to pee all the time. The poor guy wasn’t even coming on to me. He was just going to take a piss.”

  “You’re wrong,” she says. “After you left the table, we all heard the guy tell his buddies that he was going to come back with your phone number. Men do still want you, like it or not.”

  “Well, just wait until I’m fat. Then I won’t need your cock-blocking husband.” I point to my stomach. “Cock-blocking Bean will take over the job.”