I turned to my beautiful, blushing, bride. “Thanks, Poppins. I’ll love you forever.”
Rip stood, holding his glass aloft. “Let’s raise our glasses to Katrina, and to Stone, who probably doesn’t deserve her.”
“My God, Stone. This place. Have you seen the color of the water?”
Katrina stood on the deck of our bure built over the lagoon. We had our own jetty and complete privacy, the perfect honeymoon spot. She wore her bikini with a sarong wrapped around her. I tugged at the knot and tossed it onto one of the outdoor chairs.
“The water is the perfect temperature.” I took hold of her hand. “We’re going to run to the end of the jetty and jump.”
“I’m not sure,” she said, trying to tug her hand from mine.
“Come on, Poppins. I intend to take a leap of faith with you, somehow, every day of our life. Are you ready?”
Now, she beamed at me.
“On the count of three. One...two...start running, and...three, jump.”
We flew through the air together, hands linked, and hit the warm, tropical ocean. Surfacing, Katrina hooked her arms around my neck and kissed me, lifting her legs around my hips, the buoyancy of the water keeping her bobbing against my cock. Even after the long flight, I was hard for her.
“If every leap has a warm, soft landing like this lagoon, Mr. Logan, I’ll be more than happy to take that jump with you.”
“Good news, Mrs. Logan, because there’s another warm, soft landing I’m looking forward to.”
She wriggled her hips. “Actually, this landing’s become decidedly hard.”
I tugged at the ties at the side of her bikini, tossing it so that it hung from the deck.
“People will see, Stone,” she hissed.
I loved that she always had that sense of propriety about her to keep me in check, but it wasn’t necessary today. “Didn’t I tell you? We’re the only ones here.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Specialty of the island is no more than five sets of guests, and they do their best to make sure those guests never meet unless they want to. Do you see anyone around?”
She had a good look about, not taking my word for it. I loved that she was wise that way. “I think we’re alone.” Her voice was tinged with excitement, eyes sparkling like the ocean.
I tugged my board shorts off and sent them the same way as Katrina’s bikini.
“That’s better.” I took hold of my cock, nestling it in the slick cleft between her legs. “Let’s see if we still fit.”
“Oh, look, we do,” Katrina sighed. “Did I tell you I loved you today, Mr. Logan?”
“I believe you did, Mrs. Logan, but you’re welcome to tell me as often as you’d like.”
We spent the afternoon on a large bed with the tropical sea breeze blowing across our naked bodies. We dozed, made love, slept again, and as the sun set, we ate our evening meal on the small private jetty.
It had been a long flight, and that, added to the time difference and the aftermath of the wedding, saw Katrina yawning by eight p.m.
“Go and get ready for bed. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Moments later, Katrina called from the bathroom. “Come and look at this.”
On the bathroom wall was a small lizard.
“It’s a gecko,” I told her. “Do you want me to move it outside?”
“No, it’s okay, so long as it doesn’t walk on my face.” She shuddered.
I laughed. “It’ll probably eat any insects that come in. I think it’s a lucky omen.”
Katrina was pulling things out of her bag. “I think it’s a thief,” she said. “I can’t find my birth control pills.”
“Perhaps you forgot to pack them.”
Katrina looked at me in the mirror, the hint of a smile on her face. “I packed them, Stone.”
“Perhaps I unpacked them.”
She stared, long enough that I began to feel nervous.
“Are you serious?” she finally asked.
I nodded.
“You don’t want to use birth control anymore.”
“That’s right.”
“So...we’re going to try for a baby?”
“Yeah. And then we’re going to try again, and again, and again. And even when we’re successful, we’ll keep trying, just in case.”
She grabbed my hand, tugging me out of the bathroom. “No time like the present.”
Katrina
I found Stone and Buster in the kitchen going through their normal breakfast routine, Stone cooking eggs and sharing with Buster a slice of toast and peanut butter while they waited for me to arrive. I was later than usual this morning because I wanted to be triple-sure before I broke the news.
“Coffee?” Stone asked.
I was about to say yes, but suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I should be drinking coffee. “I’ll start with a juice,” I said.
On the door of the fridge was Stone’s list. The line that said fall in love hadn’t been crossed out. Instead, he’d drawn a big love heart around it, written our initials within the heart, and drawn a gigantic tick beside it.
Underneath, he’d written, make babies.
I stared at those two words, my heart thumping faster than Buster’s tail when he saw a tennis ball.
“Katrina?”
“Uh, yeah?” Stone had been speaking and I hadn’t heard a word.
“I said, two eggs, or one?”
“One...I hope.”
“You hope?”
“Stone, where’s the pen?”
“Buster chewed it. That’s why I’m late starting breakfast. I’ve been trying to get the ink off the floor tiles.”
I looked at the floor and saw the blue ink. The same color blue as the cross I’d just stared at on three different pregnancy tests. I rummaged around in the drawer and found another pen. Buster jumped to get it.
“Eat your toast, Buster. Pens are not dog food.”
Stone’s eyes were on me as I approached the fridge door, my hand shaking as I ticked the last item on his list.
“Poppins,” he gasped. “You’re kidding me.”
“Not kidding.”
“We made a baby?”
The spatula clattered to the floor, and I just managed to get an uh-huh out as Stone swept me into his arms.
“We’re having a baby. We’re having a baby,” he said over and over as he spun me around, kissed me, spun me again, then placed me carefully back to the ground. Buster was doing what had forever been known as his caviar dance, leaping around and barking.
Stone kneeled on the floor and lifted my t-shirt. “I probably shouldn’t have spun you around. Sorry if I made you dizzy, baby.” He planted a long kiss on my belly.
“A new chapter in our book, Poppins,” he said, his eyes glistening. “It’s going to be a bestseller.”
Thanks for reading Breaking Stone.
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CHAPTER ONE
April
The office bathroom was a shitty place to be caught crying.
You know what’s shittier? Finding out that the guy I invested more than three years of my life in had just gotten engaged, less than six months after breaking up with me.
The same guy I thought I loved. The one who dumped me, unable to commit to the ‘us’ of a relationship because “I’m sorry, April, I’m just not ready to settle down. I really don’t see that in my future right now.”
Whoa, right there. I hadn’t been talking about settling down. We were comfortable together, but I hadn’t been pushing for anything more permanent than what we had. I tried to reason, made an attempt to stop this whirl of emotions that were suddenly pouring out of him. He was prepared for this conversation and I’d been pole-axed. I scrambled to gather my thoughts, asked for reasons, before I saw it in his face. This wasn’t something he wanted to fix. That’s not why we were having this talk. In his mind, our relationship was already done.
“I feel trapped. We’re young. I need to…”
The only bit of dignity I pulled from that horror scene was managing to walk out of the apartment and slam the door before the man I thought was one half of my future could finish that sentence. I had a good idea about what was coming, but I didn’t have to stick around and hear it. Jeff would tell me that he needed to play the field. Sow his oats. Add some names to his fucked-it list.
To be honest, I’d been suspicious for a while. I had these nagging thoughts when he worked late, or stayed longer than he used to on his Wednesday meet-ups with the guys.
Well, fuck that.
Now, it seemed, Jeff had grown himself some balls. Except, I wasn’t sure where they hung because for some reason he thought it would make my day if he called me to share his fantastic news about his wedding. That’s what he said: “April, I have fantastic news.”
I would have blocked the call but I’d deleted Jeff’s details from my phone pretty soon after I walked out on him back in January, before the breakup speech became too humiliating.
That breakup speech didn’t come close to the thick frosting of humiliation that arrives with the “Guess what, we’re engaged!” speech.
For some reason Jeff thought we were still in the friendzone, and by some mysterious insight which was totally off the mark, he knew I’d want to hear the news of his engagement, right from the horse’s mouth.
More like the ass’s mouth.
The other thing he knew, was that I’d be happy for him. The man was deluded. Why he imagined I would want to know anything about his upcoming nuptials was beyond me.
The end of my nose goes red when I blow it too hard. In sympathy, my eyes develop a matching geriatric scarlet rim when I cry. I’m allergic to sad stuff and it shows all over my face.
Soft facial tissues were not provided in the bathroom I got to use at Bridge Literacy, the non-profit where I worked. This wasn’t the executive suite. The scratchy paper hand towels I used to try and clean myself up were like 40-grit sandpaper. So when Monique, the executive director’s PA, burst through the door, I was looking a total mess.
“What the hell, April, have you seen what time it is? Your meeting with Driscoll was scheduled to take place ten minutes ago. He’s fuming. Are you…oh, shit, April, what’s wrong. Has something happened? Your mom? Your cat?”
“I don’t have a cat,” I told her. “I have allergies.” Sort of true; I seemed to be allergic to phone calls from my ex. Or maybe it was an allergy to being reminded about something that hurt deep inside. I hadn’t picked at the band aid I plastered over my damaged feelings for Jeff, but hearing from him had ripped that thing right off. Sharp sting, flash burn, then the hurt fades, doesn’t it?
We lie to ourselves to ease the pain. Shrug, and say it’s not so bad, we weren’t really going anywhere, finishing the relationship probably saved me from years of mediocrity and eventual divorce. Even if that’s true, even if the relationship was doomed, it still hurt.
Monique took a step back, screwing up her face, as if my sorrow might be contagious. “Sounds nasty. Do you need a pill, or one of those pen things people inject themselves with when they get a bee sting?”
I flicked my hand, trying to shoo her out the door. There was nothing she could do for me, and I didn’t need an audience to witness my meltdown.
I needed cocktails chased by tequila shots. I needed a brainless hunk of eye candy to rub scented oil all over my lush body while I lay on a tropical beach. Someone totally dedicated to me. Someone who would only stop the massage to hand-feed me delicate slices of exotic fruits, and pay me compliments. I needed my rent money, and seven pairs of Louboutin heels, plus a week of lessons in how to walk in them.
I needed to save a puppy.
I needed anything, but to be reminded of how completely useless I was at relationships.
Monique took a deep breath. “Okay. Well, if you’re not dying, you’d better get into Driscoll’s office because he’s…you know, annoyed that you’re not there already.”
I nodded and waved my hand again. This time she left me alone in the bathroom. I splashed cold water over my face, trying to get the image of Jeff and his bride in some gorgeous romantic wedding setting, out of my head.
The reel wouldn’t stop playing, though. The outdoor location in the magnificent garden, rows of chairs dressed in white silk, adorned with flowers. The arbor covered in climbing roses, and Jeff in his tuxedo, standing, waiting, doing that nervous thing with his hands while mystery fiancé bitch walks to him along a path strewn with rose petals, wearing an amazing clinging white dress over the body of a goddess.
Wait.
She can’t wear white. That slut isn’t pure and virginal. I adjusted the scene and made the dress ill-fitting and a hideous drab mustard color, just as the bathroom door flew open again.
This time, Monique didn’t look quite so sympathetic.
“April, Driscoll’s office, now. Before we both lose our jobs.”
I hoped that was simply a poor choice of words, and that nobody’s job was on the line. I blew my nose one last time and followed Monique along the corridor to meet with the executive director.
Alan Driscoll was not as handsome as his office space, nor was his personality as welcoming. Not even close. I did my best to ignore his curt manner because I was rarely summoned by him, and I couldn’t help but hope, just a little, that I was in line for a promotion.
The head of the communications department where I worked as a publicist said how pleased the board was with the reach of our last fund-raising campaign. I’d managed to snag a prime time television spot for a heartwarming story about a family who’d been through our literacy program, highlighting the way their lives had changed as a result. The family were fantastic, made for television with the right amount of character and vulnerability, their struggle obvious, their triumph something to be admired. Our public awareness rating had shot up right at the time we were pushing our annual fundraiser.
That success had to be working in my favor. Promotion, or at least acknowledgment of my worth, was surely in the cards.
Seating myself on the opposite side of the large walnut desk from Driscoll, all thoughts of Jeff’s wedding vanished beneath my rising curiosity as to why I’d been summoned, along with the desperate hope that I hadn’t ruined any chances of promotion by being late for the meeting.
I started with an apology and a matching smile, neither of which were acknowledged by Driscoll.
Minutes later, I was back at my desk in a state of shock. Words like ‘changing tactics’ and ‘evolving in this modern world’ collided in my head. There had been emphasis on something about expert analysis by consultants. My position hadn’t so much been merged with others, as it had been entirely consumed by some monstrous creature otherwise known as restructuring.
I’d been r
estructured out of a job.
Fired.
I found myself with a white-knuckled grip on the edge of my desk, willing myself to breathe quietly lest someone in our open plan office ask me if everything was okay. If I had to speak or explain myself, I’d totally lose it.
Gradually my heart came back to a jogging pace and, still gripping the desk with my head low, I sneaked a glance around the room. Nobody made eye contact. They must have known. With that idea, betrayal swept through me for the second time that morning.
Anger surged with nausea so that I didn’t know what to tackle first. I pulled out my chair, sliding half onto the seat before my legs gave out. I dug around for some self-worth. I wanted to walk out of the office with a semblance of dignity, but there was nothing there. I felt defeated. My ears rang and I looked at the few personal items on my desk I was to pack up and take with me. Immediately.
My eyes drifted to my retro art sticky notes block, and I tore off the top sheet of paper because of the frighteningly prophetic message printed beside a vintage woman in one corner that read: Today is in dire need of Ctrl Alt Del. With the sticky note scrunched up in my fist I’d revealed the next message: I dreamed my entire desk was clean.
A clean desk for me normally was a dream, but right now the idea was part of my nightmare.
Clean desk.
No job.
My best friend and roommate, Kylie, had bought me the novelty sticky notes block when I got this job, and whenever it ran out, she bought me a new one. That and a zombie desk accessory—a flattened creeper I got to impale through the chest with my pen whenever I’d finished signing important papers. There was also a photo frame that originally held my favorite picture of Jeff and me. That photo had been replaced with a picture of a demonic kitten. I dropped it into the trash bin, grabbed my spare lipstick and a packet of mints from the top desk drawer, and noticed there wasn’t much more of me here.
I came here to work, and didn’t believe in turning the small allocated space into an extension of the way I lived at home.
Breaking Stone: Bad Boy Romance Novel Page 20
