Beau breathed hard through his nose, his insides running amuck. No, not his little girl, who was going to be as loved and revered as her mother.
He looked down at Lola, whose expression had morphed from anxious to horrified.
“What?” he asked. “Are you afraid of my reaction?”
Her face tightened up along with her jaw, her shoulders. “No.” The wetness in her eyes evaporated. “You want this baby, Beau Olivier. Whether you know it or not.”
He couldn’t help his chuckle, even if it did sound a bit stiff. “I know it.”
She opened her mouth.
Beau didn’t let her speak. He dropped to his knees and slid up her top to expose her stomach. He cocked his head, examining the flawless, porcelain skin, the utter flatness of her abs. He glanced up at her. “You’re sure?”
She nodded, slow but exaggerated. “Since before I even took the test.”
Beau blinked lazily, feeling like he’d downed an entire bottle of his finest Scotch. “It’s a girl.”
Lola reared back a little, but he didn’t let go of her. Her loud and sudden scoff skittered into a disbelieving laugh. “Excuse me?”
He got up again, brushing off his knees. “It’s a girl. I’ve seen her.”
She wrinkled her nose, pulling her head back. “Okay. You’ve finally…snapped.”
He held her gaze, trying to stay serious, but he gave in and grinned. “That’s possible. But if this is insanity, I like it here. Fuck, do I like it.”
Her smile became hopeful, her face upturned to him like he was her sun. He knew without a doubt—he would never forget the beauty of this moment.
“You do?” she asked.
He took her face in his hands, felt her cheeks, her hair, ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “Is this too good to be real? Did I die in a plane crash on the way back from New Orleans?”
She took one of his hands and kissed his palm. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. Let me make it better. This is real. This is how it’s supposed to be.” She laced her fingers with his, watching them with a look of fascination. “Except you have one detail wrong. It’s minor, really.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re having a boy.”
He arched an eyebrow, glancing down between them and back at her. “It’s too early for you to know that.”
“Call it a mother’s instinct.”
“Oh, mother’s instinct. Right.” He couldn’t wait another second—he leaned down and kissed her on the lips once, a second time. She tasted a certain way—a certain way he’d missed. “What should we name her?”
“Him.”
“Her.”
“I’m positive,” she said.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he said.
“I guess we’ll see then, won’t we?”
How could she even doubt him? Did she have any idea who she was dealing with? Once he described the details of his dream—the soft black curls of his daughter’s hair, her giggle-drunk smile—Lola would see. Beau never ignored his instinct. After all, that was how they’d gotten there, on a cliff, on the brink of their lives, as night fell over the Grand Canyon. He’d seen a girl on a stage under a spotlight, and he’d known. That one. I won’t stop until I have her.
Thank you
Thank you for reading the Explicitly Yours series. Find more titles by Jessica Hawkins at www.jessicahawkins.net
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Also by Jessica Hawkins
Learn more at www.jessicahawkins.net
White Monarch Trilogy
Violent Delights
Violent Ends
Violent Triumphs
Right Where I Want You
"An intelligently written, sexy, feel-good romance that packs an emotional punch…” (USA Today's HEA) A witty workplace romance filled with sexual tension and smart, fun enemies-to-lovers banter.
Something in the Way Series
“A tale of forbidden love in epic proportion… Brilliant” (New York Times bestselling author Corinne Michaels) Lake Kaplan falls for a handsome older man — but then her sister sets her sights on him too.
Something in the Way
Somebody Else’s Sky
Move the Stars
Lake + Manning
Slip of the Tongue Series
"Addictive. Painful. Captivating…an authentic, raw, and emotionally gripping must-read.” (Angie's Dreamy Reads) Her husband doesn’t want her anymore. The man next door would give up everything to have her.
Slip of the Tongue
The First Taste
Yours to Bare
Explicitly Yours Series
“Pretty Woman meets Indecent Proposal…a seductive series.”—(USA Today Bestselling Author Louise Bay) What if one night isn’t enough? A red-hot collection.
Possession
Domination
Provocation
Obsession
The Cityscape Series
Olivia has the perfect life—until she meets eyes with a handsome stranger across a crowded room. Playboy David Dylan awakens a passion she thought she’d buried a long time ago. But even though he may be her soul mate, she already belongs to another man…
Come Undone
Come Alive
Come Together
About the Author
Jessica Hawkins is a USA Today bestselling author known for her “emotionally gripping” and “off-the-charts hot” romance. Dubbed “queen of angst” by both peers and readers for her smart and provocative work, she’s garnered a cult-like following of fans who love to be torn apart…and put back together.
She writes romance both at home in New York City and around the world, a coffee shop traveler who bounces from café to café with just a laptop, headphones, and a coffee cup. She loves to keep in close touch with her readers, mostly via Facebook, Instagram, and her mailing list.
For more information:
www.jessicahawkins.net
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Lies
By: Kylie Scott
Playlist
“Fake Love” by BTS
“It’s a Heartache” by Bonnie Tyler
“Tear Me to Pieces” by Meg Myers
“Secrets” by Mary Lambert
“Here You Come Again” by Dolly Parton
“Bad Guy” by Billie Eilish
“Barracuda” by Heart
“Cuz I Love You” by Lizzo
“Piece of My Heart” by Janis Joplin
“Little of Your Love” by Haim
Chapter 1
“You’re going to break his heart.”
“No, I’m not,” I say. “That’s sort of the whole point. If I really thought leaving him would break his heart, then I probably wouldn’t be leaving him in the first place.”
My best friend, Jen, does not look convinced.
Boxes fill a good half of the room. What a mess. Who knew you could accumulate so much junk in only twelve months? At least we weren’t together so long that I can’t remember who owns what. One year is about the sweet spot for this issue in relationships, apparently.
“The fact of the matter is, we’re not in love. We have no business being engaged, let alone getting married.” I sigh. “Have you seen the packing tape?”
“No. He’s just such a nice guy.”
“I’m not debating that.” I climb to my feet, then head up the stairs to the second bedroom. Thom’s unofficial workout room/home office. Not a room I normally go into. But it only takes a bit of rummaging to find what I’m looking for. Whatever else
might be said about them, insurance assessors are organized. The bottom drawer of Thom’s desk has a neat stash of stationery. I grab a couple rolls of thick tape.
“And leaving him this way…” Jen continues as I head back down.
“How many times have I told him we need to talk? He’s always putting it off, saying it’s not a good time. And now he’s away again. I’ve been messaging him for the last week and he barely replies.”
“You know he has to drop everything once a job comes up. I realize he’s not the most exciting guy, Betty, but—”
“I know.” I smack down a line of tape with extra zest, sealing the lid of the last box. In this Operation Abandon Ship Posthaste, I know I’m definitely slightly the bad guy. But not totally. Say sixty/forty. Or maybe seventy/thirty. It’s hard to tell to what degree. “I do know all of that. But he’s always busy with work or away on some business trip. What am I supposed to do?”
A sigh from Jen.
“When you realize you’ve made such a monumental mistake, it’s hard to sit and wait to fix things. Nor is it fair on either of us to keep up the pretense.”
“Guess so.”
“And the fact that he’s yet again made no effort to prioritize our relationship and make a little time for me in his busy schedule is just further proof that I’ve made the right choice in ending this now before it gets any more complicated. End of rant.”
Nothing from her.
“Anyway, you’re supposed to be on my side. Stop questioning me.”
“You wanted to get married and have children so badly.”
“Yeah.” I sit back on my heels. “I blame it all on playing with Ken and Barbie’s dreamhouse when I was little. But it turns out that being in a relationship with the wrong person can be even lonelier than being alone.”
Jen and I have been friends since sharing a room in college. We’ve witnessed the bulk of each other’s dating ups and downs. For some reason, I’m the type of girl who guys will go out with, but don’t tend to stick with. Apparently, I’m fuckable—just not girlfriend material. Maybe it’s my smart mouth. Maybe it’s the whole not fitting current societal expectations of beauty i.e. I’m fat. Maybe I was born under an unlucky star. I don’t know; it’s their loss. Like anyone, I have my faults, but all in all, I’m awesome. And I have a lot to give. Too often in the past few months, I’ve had to keep reminding myself of this fact.
“There are just so many jerks out there,” Jen says. “I was happy that you’d found a good one.”
“I think I’d prefer a jerk who was genuinely into me than a nice guy phoning it in. Honestly, I’d rather go adopt a dozen cats and settle into old age and isolation than be with someone who treats me as if I’m an afterthought.”
She looks at me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Me too.”
“Time to start filling up the cars. Boy, do you owe me.”
I smile. “That I do.”
Jen stands and stretches before picking up one of the boxes labeled kitchen. “I just didn’t want you to do something you’d regret, you know?”
“I know. Thank you.”
Alone in the two-bedroom condo, everything is silent. My parting letter sits waiting on the coffee table with his name written on the front. A slight bulge in the envelope betrays the shape of my engagement ring. It’s a sweet, simple ring. One small diamond perched on a band of yellow gold. My hand feels wrong without it. Naked. They say there are different love languages and you have to take the time to learn your partner’s needs. It’s like he and I never quite got there. Or maybe I’m just crappy at relationships.
The bridal magazines I’d collected are in the trash. Perhaps I should have taken them into the florist shop where I work so someone could get some use out of them. But this feels more symbolic, more definite. My family are a couple of states away, and I have only a few of what I’d classify as good friends. Being an introvert makes it hard to meet people. A boyfriend, a husband, would mean I’m no longer alone. Someone cares about me and puts me first. At least part of the time. Only Thom doesn’t any of the time, so here we are.
I tighten my ponytail of long dark hair. Then, in a rare display of dexterity that my yoga instructor would be proud of, I stack three boxes in my arms and head outside into the hot afternoon sun. Jen’s Honda Civic is parked at the curb, the trunk standing open as she moves things about inside. My old Subaru sits in the driveway waiting to be filled. Birds are singing and insects chirping. It’s your typical mild autumn day in California.
That’s when the condo blows up behind me.
I come to on the front lawn, sprawled across crushed boxes. Guess they cushioned my fall. A ringing fills my ears, smoke billows up into the sky. The condo is on fire. What’s left of it, at least. This cannot be happening.
“Betty!”
I try to turn in the direction of Jen’s voice, but one of my eyes won’t open. When I touch the area, my fingers come away bright with blood. Also, my brain hurts. It feels as if someone picked me up and shook me around hard.
“Oh my God, Betty,” she says, falling to her knees beside me. She’s fuzzy for some reason, her familiar features indistinct. “Are you all right?”
“Sure,” I say as blackness closes in.
The next time I wake, I’m lying down in a moving vehicle. An ambulance, by the looks of it. Only things don’t seem quite right. A woman shines a small light in my eyes before tossing it over her shoulder. And instead of a uniform, she’s wearing tight black pants and a tank top.
“Lucky girl. Just a mild concussion and a small cut on her forehead,” the woman says with an English accent. Next she rips an antiseptic wipe out of its packet and starts cleaning up the blood on my face none too gently. “She’s certainly not his usual type.”
“What were you expecting?” asks the driver.
“I don’t know. Something a little less plump and homely, perhaps.”
A grunt.
“And she’s awake,” the woman says.
“That’s inconvenient.”
“I’m on it.” She drops the wipe and reaches for a syringe.
“W-wait,” I say, my mouth dry and muscles hurting. “What’s going on?”
Without any preamble, the needle is plunged into my arm, the stopper depressed. It all happens so quickly. I try to move, to push her away, but I’m no match for her strength. Not in my current condition. As darkness closes in once more, I see a discarded paramedic uniform sitting off to the side.
“Who are you?” I mumble, my lips, face, and everything else going numb.
“Friends,” she says. “Well, sort of.”
The driver just laughs.
Consciousness comes slowly. It’s like I’m underwater in an ocean of night. This time, however, I’m upright, seated on a chair in a large and dimly lit room. My feet rest on the cold bare floor since someone’s stolen my shoes. Everything’s woozy and horrible. My hands are tied behind my back, the restraints painfully tight. The shadows disappear as a blinding light is shone in my face. It’s dazzling and awful, shooting pain through my already pounding head. Next comes a bucket of ice-cold water thrown in my face.
“Wakey wakey,” yells the shadow of a man. “Time for us to talk, Miss Elizabeth Dawsey.”
I cringe and shiver. “Wh-where am I?”
“I ask the questions and you give me answers. That’s how this works.”
“Is all this really necessary?” the woman with the British accent asks. Her voice comes from farther back in the room. “He’s not going to be happy.”
“Keep your mouth shut,” growls the man.
With the light blinding my eyes, there’s little I can see. My bare feet rest on concrete and the air is dusty and still. I could be anywhere. “I don’t understand. Who are you people?”
Heavy footsteps come toward me; then smack! His hand connects with my cheek. Fothermucker. I’ve never been hit before. It’s a hell of a shock. My face throbs
and there’s the taste of blood on my tongue. I must have bitten it. But then everything pretty much hurts to one degree or another.
“I wouldn’t have done that if I were you,” says the woman.
But the man just ignores her, stepping back beyond the light. “What does the word ‘wolf’ mean to you?”
“Wolf?” I ask.
“Answer the question.”
“I don’t…what do you mean?” I shake from more than fear, ice-cold water sliding down my skin beneath the drenched clothing. “As in the animal?”
“What else?”
“Fur? Teeth? House Stark? I don’t know.”
Laughter from the woman.
“Tell me about your fiancé,” he demands. “Everything you know about the man.”
This makes no sense to my already-addled brain. “But why? Thom hasn’t done anything. He’s an insurance assessor, for Christ’s sake. Whenever there’s a fire or a flood or something, he goes and helps people with their claims. That’s where he is right now, assessing damage from that hurricane in Florida. It was on the news and everything.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“What are you saying?” A sudden surge of fear grips me. “Thom’s okay, isn’t he? I mean, he couldn’t have been in the explosion. He’s on the other side of the country.”
“He wasn’t in the explosion, no. Tell me more about him.”
“Ah, we met in a bar downtown, been together for just over a year. He’s a hard worker. He likes watching football and going for morning runs. His favorite food is lasagna and he drinks Bud Light even though it’s trash.”
Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5) Page 59
