by Holly Hart
“Mm....” He grips my waist with both hands, urging me on, faster, harder. I give him what he wants: a brutal, punishing rhythm that soon has us both sweat-slick and gasping for breath. When I take my hand off his mouth to support myself on the mattress, he throws his head back and pants.
“Can’t...can’t last long like this....”
“You’d better.” I press down on his scar again, just hard enough to make him stiffen and arch. His fists clench hard.
“That’s not—ugh!—not...helping!”
I can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside me, thrusting hard, on the verge of orgasm. His eyes are glassy, dim with pain and pleasure.
“Don’t stop....”
I let myself sink down on top of him, biting his lip, raking my fingers through his hair. I can feel every gasp, every hitch of his breath, every moan wrested from deep within. This...this is what I’ve missed, what I’ve needed. I grind my hips, quick circles, harsh jerks, chasing my own pleasure. Jack’s holding on like his life depends on it, one hand in my hair, the other on my hip.
“Yeah—yeah, that’s...ah!” I feel it when he finishes, the sudden stillness, the slow release of tension. I keep riding him till I follow him over the edge, eyes locked on his face, rapt and contorted with the aftershocks.
“You....” He shivers and sucks in a deep breath. “I’ve been wanting that for weeks.”
I push his hair off his face. He’s clammy in the aftermath, sweat cooling on his brow. “You all right? Sure you were up to that?”
“Mostly, yeah.” He gulps air again, falling back when he tries to sit. “Worth it.”
“I’ll get you some water.”
“Don’t go.” He pulls me down beside him. “Stay. Hold me. You’ve been all nervous lately.”
I pull the sheet over us. His hair’s still wet from the storm. “I should at least grab a towel for your hair.”
“No.” Jack tightens his hold on my wrist. “Hair’s fine. Everything’s fine. Can’t you feel it? We can relax now. Start planning our lives.” He shifts closer, head against mine. “You can finish your book. I can...start giving something back to the world. Whatever we want.”
Whatever we want. “We should find a place in the city. Together.”
“And have some kind of wedding. Before the baby comes.”
“Was that supposed to be a proposal?”
He curls a finger around mine. “Even comes with a ring.”
“Ass.” I nudge him gently, mindful of his side. “We should do it in Rome. Soon, so my grandmother can see.”
“Always wanted to see Italy.”
So that’s settled. It should feel like a letdown, being proposed to in the dark, sweaty and sex-drunk, but all I can feel is elation.
Whatever we want....
I drift off to sleep, wondering what that might be.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Epilogue (Jack)
Stella’s laughter wakes Sofia, who immediately takes possession of my finger. And puts it in her mouth.
“You’re too young to be teething.”
Sofia coos and giggles.
“Wanna see what your mother finds so funny?”
No, she doesn’t. She wants to gum my finger to death, and kick me a little bit while she’s at it. Same as every day.
Stella steps out on the terrace, still in her robe. She’s shaking her head, like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing—a postcard, from the looks of it.
“What’ve you got there?”
“Trade you?” She holds out her arms for Sofia, and we make the exchange. “Take a good look—anything ring a bell?”
It’s a home-printed postcard—light cardstock, not the stiff commercial stuff. There’s an amateurish shot of a lush green valley giving way, in the distance, to bone-white beach. Looks like it was taken from someone’s crappy, falling-down porch, complete with—
“Holy shit. Are those...? No fucking way!” There’s a birdcage off to the side, with a pair of lovebirds cuddling on the perch.
“Turn it over.”
I flip the postcard. The message is brief: Thought you were dead. Took these. Not bringing them back. —S
It’s postmarked Western Samoa.
“So... Starkey stole your birds?”
“Saved them, too.” She boops Sofia’s nose. “Yes, he did!”
“So he’s alive, out there....” When the weeks turned to months, and the cops never caught him, I figured Magnus must’ve done the job. It’s a relief to know he made it. Didn’t need him on my conscience too. “Can’t believe that guy. Blows my childhood friend away right in front of my face, gets in touch after almost a year, and what’s he got to say for himself? ‘Ha-ha; I took your birds’.”
“It’s not even addressed to you.”
I glance at the postcard again. She’s right: it reads Stella Brightman only. “He really hates me.”
“That he does.” Stella snuggles up next to me on the bench. “But I think he’d like you better if he met you now.”
Hope so. I’d say I’m shaping up. In the last six months, I’ve wrapped up my court-ordered community service and kept going on my own steam, invested more in veterans’ charities than in real estate, and decorated Sofia’s nursery. Even built the crib with my own two hands. Might not make up for how I got here, but it’s a start.
The sun’s all the way up now, casting a warm light over the terrace. Late summer’s always been my favorite time of year, those long, lazy days. Not too hot, not too rainy. Perfect. Though.... “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
Stella sighs. “Don’t want to leave her yet.” She leans down to kiss Sofia’s nose. “Feels like I miss something every time I walk out that door.”
“It’s only a couple of hours.”
“Two hours a day add up! In a year, that’s... That’s an entire month’s worth of hours not spent with her!”
It can’t be that much. I try to do the math in my head, get distracted by Sofia’s laughter, and lose the thread. “Yeah, well, your loss is my gain.” I pluck the baby from her arms, over her protests. “Go on—the sooner you go, the sooner—”
“The sooner she’ll, I don’t know...sit up on her own.”
“Not in the next two hours, she won’t.”
Sofia gets fretful when she hears the front door. Somehow, she’s already connected that sound with Stella being out of reach. I tickle her, but she’s in her angry kitten mode, all bitey and violent. That’s going to suck in a few months.
“Want to watch Mommy on TV?”
Sofia kicks me hard.
“C’mon. Let’s go in.” I queue up the DVR to last night’s show and fast-forward through the boring parts.
And now...Countess BeeBee’s New York minute!
“See? There she is!” I point at Stella’s image, all made up and glittery, dripping with costume jewelry.
Well, today, New York City’s a bit New York Sh...oops! Can’t say that on TV! But a ruptured sewer line caused quite a stink at Ghislaine Broussard’s landmark gallery opening, ironically titled...oh, dear—Movement. Well, Ghislaine, the tide of public opinion is in, and it’s a steaming river of poo.
“Hear that, Sofia? Poo.”
Sofia reaches for the TV, tiny hands flailing.
In more hygienic news, this rat’s found his own private shower. Too bad it’s in Rose and Rita’s Kitchen, over on Ninth! Ladies, unless that’s Ratatouille... Invest in a Cat-atouille.
The camera cuts to a clip of an exceptionally fat rat darting in and out of a stream of water dribbling from a leaky faucet.
“Can you say rat?”
Sofia says blah. Good enough.
Finally, in fashion triumphs and tragedies, what is the Mayor wearing? Is that—is that a persimmon? One of those special garbage bags, just for leaves? Donald Trump’s tanning towel? Darlings, this orange offence constitutes the highest of tragedies. Better luck next time, sir. I’m Countess BeeBee, and this has been your New York minute! Till next t
ime!
Stella waves and smiles, and the news logo expands to cover her face. She acts embarrassed, but I can tell when she’s having fun. This job suits her, for now: gives her all the time she needs to be a mother. And to finish her book—think it’s nearly done. I never did stop sneaking peeks.
In my lap, Sofia starts fussing again. I rewind the video: one more time won’t hurt. After that, a bath and a story, just in time for Stella to take over. Whatever Starkey might think, this is working. Stella’s happy; Sofia’s thriving. As they should be.
If I can do this right, maybe the rest can be forgiven.
Part II
The Baby Race
On your marks, Get... Pregnant?
My evil twin brother Evan has been behind bars for years, while I’ve made billions running the family firm. I figured the company was legally mine, so I enjoyed the perks. All of them...
Next on that list is Caitlin. She's everything I need in a woman: just the right kind of curvy, a hint of pluckable innocence... and an @ss that drives my c*ck wild. I can barely restrain myself around her - and I don't plan to...
But that fantasy comes to a crashing halt when I find out that Evan is getting paroled – and that he’s found a loophole in our father’s will. The first twin to have a legitimate child inherits the entire company.
I don’t have a wife, and sure as hell don’t have a kid… Suddenly everything I've built is at stake. Unless two can play at this baby game...
Now I need to find a girl, put a ring on her finger - and knock her up! Should be a piece of (wedding) cake, right? It's not like I need to fall in love - just put a baby in her oven.
It sounds easy, but it isn't. Because Caitlin is special: the missing piece I didn't know my heart needed. She's the One.
The race is on. First to the delivery room wins...
But Evan hates coming last.
And Caitlin is in his way.
57
Jeremy
Denver, Colorado
I stop a few feet from the massive Caldwell Building and tip my head back, taking a moment to admire the magnificent glass and steel building that serves as the headquarters for the massive business.
A familiar thrill quivers through me. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been the man in charge of this place for the past six years. Or that at the time, taking over the place was the last thing I wanted to do. Today, knowing what I’ve accomplished, how many lives I’ve changed for the better since moving into the president’s office on the top floor sends a thrill through me.
It doesn’t matter that my brother, Evan, was the one who was groomed to take over the family business. He’d been given all the tools needed to take over from my father, leaving me free to pursue other interests, but he’d screwed up. His actions forced me to take over the reins of the company, and it was only then that I’d learned the truth about my twin brother.
A vision of his smug, laughing face, so very much like my own, floats to the forefront of my mind and I instinctively recoil. Five and a half years have passed since the last time I saw him, and I’d be perfectly happy to live out the rest of my days without ever seeing him again. Life is easier without him. Better, too.
I shove the unwelcome image away. It’s too pretty a day to waste on thoughts of my brother. He’s done enough to destroy my life, and so many others, too. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let him taint anything else.
Squaring my shoulders, I let myself into the building. It’s already alive with people, each with their minds already full of the things they need to get done today. Most notice me and greet me with a friendly smile and a quiet greeting. I respond to each hello without breaking my stride until I reach the elevator door.
I poke the call button and the doors slide open after a few seconds’ wait. I step inside and slap my hand across the opening, holding the door for a young woman I’ve never seen before.
“Thanks,” she says, offering me a small, rather shy smile before pressing her back to the opposite wall, standing as far from me as she possibly can. Her grip on the smartphone she’s holding tightens, causing the narrow bones in her hand to press against her pale skin.
Probably a new employee. One that doesn’t want to make a bad impression – and just as importantly, one who didn’t plan on finding herself stuck in a small space with her boss.
I lean a shoulder against the elevator wall as the doors glide closed.
“Which floor?” I don’t have to consciously think about keeping my tone low and gentle. It’s an instinctive response to the waves of tension rolling off the slender woman.
She jumps. Her head snaps up and she stares at me with bright green eyes that, even though I’m positive I’ve never seen this woman before in my life, seem somehow familiar.
“What?” she squeaks.
I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent a smile and wave my hand at the control panel before me. “Which floor,” I repeat, “do you need?”
I wonder if I hadn’t asked if she would simply have stood in that corner and ridden the elevator with me all the way to the top, and not said a word. If she would have waited until I stepped off the elevator before finally selecting a floor…
“Um.” She looks at her phone. “The forty-ninth floor.”
“Nice.” I tap the corresponding button. “One floor below me. Looks like we get to ride together.”
She murmurs something inaudible and stares at some point on the wall like it’s the most amazing thing she’s seen in her entire life.
Amused, I cross my arms over my chest and study her, not bothering to disguise my curiosity.
She didn’t know what floor she wanted, meaning one of a few things: she’s either here for a meeting, or this is her first day or … I pause for thought. The floor directly beneath my penthouse office consists of primarily human resource offices. While it’s possible that she works in that department, I’m willing to bet a week’s pay that she’s actually here for an interview.
She’s tall, just a couple inches shorter than me. While she’s a few pounds heavier than the current fashion, I like the way the curve of her hip fills out the skirt of her budget hunter-green suit that is far more conservative than anything the women I know wear. Her long, auburn hair is swept back into a low ponytail that shows off her high cheekbones. Not a classic beauty, but pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. More than pretty, actually. Stirring, somehow.
She seems older than she looks, as well. I’d bet she can’t be more than a few years younger than my own thirty-five – but she looks a decade better for it. I reassure myself that I’m aging gracefully. I hope it’s true…
As the elevator hurtles upwards, I run through a mental checklist of what I know about her. Pretty. Nervous. Quiet. Clothes that are cheap but clean and actually drape nicely on her. My gaze drops down to her hands. No rings, so not married or engaged.
Good.
That last thought startles me, forcing me to look a little deeper at my observations.
Not being the kind of guy to downplay or hide from the obvious, I’ll admit it. I’m attracted to her. Really attracted. Attracted enough that I might need to do something about it. I’m not a man who likes missing out on adventure.
My mind plays out a little fantasy of me crossing to the opposite side of the elevator and pinning her to the wall, immobilizing her with my body as my lips lay claim to hers.
As her knees turn to butter, I’ll slide that cheap paisley-patterned scarf she’s wearing from around her neck and use it to bind her hands to the rail as she moans into my mouth. My hands will bunch in the fabric of her shirt, grabbing large fistfuls of it and pulling, make the buttons scatter as I shove it down her arms until her bound wrists stop me.
I’ll lower my head, taking the peak of one full breast deeply into my mouth. Her cries will fill the small elevator as she bucks and thrusts herself against me.
Beneath my feet, the elevator glides to a halt. A small bell chimes just a second before the doors sli
de open.
I jerk myself out of the fantasy and shift my weight, trying to find an angle that will disguise the fact that my cock is now tenting the front of my pants. A cough dies in my throat, and I glance around, wondering whether I’ve been caught.
I needn’t have bothered. The redhead scurries out of the elevator without casting a single glance in my direction.
“Nice meeting you – and good luck,” I call out as the elevator doors start sliding shut.
The woman gives no indication she’s heard me. Probably because that would mean acknowledging my presence, something she seems desperate to avoid at all costs.
I blow out a heavy breath and focus all my attention to trying to regain some control over my body. What the hell just happened? I haven’t had a reaction like this to the mere presence of a woman, especially one dressed so conservatively and just as clearly uninterested in me, since I was a teenager. And while this fantasy may have been brief, it was definitely more intense than any other fantasy I can remember.
Ever.
If the elevator ride had lasted just a few seconds more, I might have crossed the elevator and attempted to turn fantasy into reality.
Obviously, it’s been too long since I was last with a woman. Especially a woman like that. Hell, I don’t even know what it is about her that’s got me so…invigorated. Just a glimpse at this girl makes me feel like a horny teen all over again…
The elevator dings its arrival at the top floor and I step out, still feeling flushed and aroused.
I dig my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my contacts, searching for the name of the supermodel I had dinner with … four months ago. At the time, she’d made it abundantly clear that she was very interested in turning our little business dinner into something … less formal. I was too busy to take advantage of her offer, but maybe the next time she’s in town I should.
