Addicted_A Good Girl Bad Boy Rockstar Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  He turns to face me. “I want you to be happy, Harper. You told me you missed gardening during the time we’ve been married. I want you to have it back again.”

  My eyes blur and I blink back tears. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

  He pushes the hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear. “Say you’ll be happy here, with me.” Jayson pauses before adding, “Or say you’ll at least try to be happy. Seeing you mope around hurts me inside, agape mou.”

  I meet his gaze and the air around us crackles with anticipation. “Why does it hurt you? My sadness won’t hurt the baby.”

  Jayson runs a rough hand through his hair, betraying his frustration. “Not everything is about the baby. You are my wife, and I hate seeing you act like a prisoner serving a life sentence.”

  Closing my eyes, I struggle to form a reply. “I’m doing the best I can.” His gaze is still locked on mine when I look up. “I can’t promise you anything, except I will stay until the baby is older. I don’t know if I can be happy with you.”

  He jerks away, starting to pace. “You were happy on Trini Island. We were happy. Can’t we go back there?” Jayson stops in front of me, his expression a mixture of frustration and earnestness.

  I shake my head. “I can’t. I don’t know what was real and what wasn’t. Or isn’t.”

  Chapter 14

  Jayson

  “This is real.” I pull her into my arms, holding her still when she attempts to pull free. I can feel myself relax as I hold her tight, and soon she does too. She doesn’t try to get away when I lower my head to kiss her.

  I kiss her gently, coaxing her mouth open to slip my tongue inside. Sure, anger prompted the kiss, but the soft strokes are becoming persuasive, not punishing.

  With a moan, Harper threads her fingers through my hair, holding my mouth against hers. I’m sure part of her wants to stop. But I want her too much.

  Cupping her breast, I gently thumb her hardening nipple. She inhales audibly and I immediately stop. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Yes, a little, but in a good way.” A blush reddens her cheeks. Her heart is beating fast.

  “I want to make love to you, Harper.”

  She touches the tip of her tongue to moisten her lips, watching my eyes follow the movement. “Are there strings attached to your gift?”

  My eyes widen, and I shake my head. “The garden is yours to do with as you wish. I wanted to make you happy, not try to force you into something you clearly find distasteful.”

  As I step away, Harper moves forward, pressing her hand to my chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She rests her forehead against my shoulder. “I don’t trust you, Jayson,” she says into my chest, “and I’m not sure what you want, or why you wanted to stay married, but I know you wouldn’t force me into your bed.”

  Harper gasps when I wrap my arms around her once more, pulling her so tightly against me that it’s almost uncomfortable. The hard shaft of my desire presses into her belly, and she moves her hand slowly down my body to caress me.

  I growl, shaking my head. “No.”

  “I thought you wanted this?”

  “I do, agape mou, but not on the roof. I want you in my bed, where I’ve dreamed of having you since we got home.”

  Harper takes the hand I extend and walks with me back into the house. She casts a glance over her shoulder as we enter the room and I want her even more.

  We both forget about the garden as I press up against her, her new curves feeling incredible against my angles and hardness. The bedroom door closes with a resounding thud when I kick it shut, my hands too busy tugging at her clothes.

  She pulls my clothes from my body with just as much determination. When we’re naked, I lift her onto the bed, coming down on top of her. My touch ignites a firestorm in both of us that’s been pent up for the last weeks. The heat seems like it will consume us as we spend the next few hours kissing and touching, stroking and exploring.

  Afterward, she lies beside me, completely spent. Kissing her lightly, I lay my palm across her stomach. “You are so sexy to me, with my child growing inside you.”

  Harper’s lips curve slightly. “I’ll bet you won’t say that in a few months. I’ll be huge.”

  “You could be the size of a house and still be beautiful.” I lower my head to kiss the soft skin above her hand. “And sexy.”

  She can’t suppress a giggle when my lips tickle her. “I doubt that, but I’ll pretend like it’s true.”

  “No more pretending.” My expression turns serious. “We have to talk, about everything.” I stop. How to discuss all this? “I need to tell you…”

  Harper puts her finger against my lips. “Hold that thought. I hate to be indelicate, but I have to… you know.” She waves in the direction of the en suite bathroom.

  I shake my head, amused. “I am trying to pour my heart out to you, woman.”

  The moment stretches, the silence lengthening. Harper seems to want to hear what I’m going to say next, but finally she sits up. Separating from her is almost physically painful. I wonder how I made it almost three weeks without making love with Harper despite all the turmoil.

  She hurries to the bathroom, and I hope she finishes as quickly as possible. Then she appears at the door. Her thighs are slick with redness, and she’s frowning. Looking down, we both are frozen for a moment at the blood. My heart forgets how to beat as we stare at the blood on her legs and hand. I’m frozen as my mind processes the implications.

  Eventually, I break the paralysis and rush to her, pausing only long enough to grab a robe for her.

  “I’m bleeding,” she says, eyes wide.

  When I take her into my arms, tears well, and she sobs quietly.

  Rubbing her back, I try to calm her. “Don’t cry. That was pretty intense, what we did, Harper. There might not even be a problem.”

  She swallows hard, managing a shaky nod. “Maybe.”

  “Let me get dressed, and I’ll take you to the hospital, just to make sure. We’ll rule everything out.”

  She nods again. “Yes, it’s the sensible decision, but I don’t want to go. If there’s a problem, the hospital will discover it.”

  “And they’ll sort it out, and we’ll do everything that needs to be done.” If she’s losing the baby, I don’t know what we’ll do. She cups her stomach, and I place my hands over hers, desperate to protect our unborn child.

  The ride to the hospital is a blur. We take the BMW instead of waiting for the limousine or an ambulance. She closes her eyes for most of the trip as I speed through traffic, negotiating my way through confidently, but at breakneck speed.

  I leave the car idling in front of the emergency department entrance. Getting a ticket or the vehicle towed is the least of my problems. Harper leans against me when I put my arm around her, and I hope she’s drawing strength from my support.

  The waiting room has only a few people waiting, much to my relief. I check her in while she curls into a chair, hugging herself and with a face that looks as if she’s trying not to cry. She’s still in the robe, and she looks very vulnerable.

  When I return to her, I sit in the next chair, and we wait. “How are you feeling?” I ask her.

  “My stomach is fluttering and I’m getting some cramps.” By the time a nurse takes us back to a room, I’m quite sure that neither of us are feeling optimistic about the baby’s chances.

  Dr. Anderson enters the room a few minutes later. “I called her,” I tell Harper, noticing her surprise.

  Dr. Anderson performs an exam as she asks Harper questions. A few moments later, she sits on a stool by Harper’s bed. “Your cervix is still closed, so that’s a good sign. I want to get an ultrasound. The technician will bring in a portable machine as soon as he’s free.”

  “He had better be free quickly,” I say, with a hint of steel.

  The stool squeaks when the doctor stands up. “I’ll see what I can do to hurry the process, Mr. Satyros.”

  Wh
en she leaves the room, Harper manages a feeble smile. “You’re shameless, trying to intimidate them into preferential treatment.” I manage a little smile back.

  “What good is it to be a captain of industry if I cannot use my position for a few favors?”

  She starts to laugh, but a sob emerges instead. I rush to her, lying beside her on the narrow bed and taking her into my arms. “I’m so scared, Jayson.”

  “As am I, agape mou.” I squeeze her gently before saying, “I am a selfish bastard.”

  Harper turns her head to look at me. “What?”

  “Our child is in danger, and all I can think of is that you’ll leave me if you lose the baby.” I study her intently. “Promise me you won’t leave, even if the baby is… gone.”

  Harper sighs. “I can’t do this right now, Jayson. I can’t promise anything. I can’t even think clearly. I just need to know he’s okay.”

  After a second, I nod, drawing her close again. “Of course. I told you I am a selfish bastard.”

  She shakes her head against my shoulder. “No. You have done some things that might be wrong, but I don’t doubt you did them for reasons you believed justified the end results. You had to protect Sophie and the company. It’s her inheritance.”

  “Harper—”

  The arrival of an ultrasound technician interrupts anything I might say. He gives a frown of disapproval at seeing me in the bed with Harper, but at least he has the good sense not to say anything.

  The cold gel makes her wince when he squirts it on her stomach a couple of minutes later, and I want to yell at him. “I hope we can get this abdominally,” comments the technician. “The other way isn’t pleasant.” Harper winces again.

  Fortunately, the man gets a clear picture and spends a few minutes looking at the screen, not uttering a word. I can’t even discern where the baby is, so I know nothing more when the man leaves to get the obstetrician.

  The wait is interminable, though Dr. Anderson can’t have taken more than five minutes to arrive. Without speaking, she also performs an ultrasound. Harper studies the doctor’s face, but her expression is impassive.

  Finally, Dr. Anderson puts away the probe and scoots the stool closer. “I’m sorry, Harper, but the baby stopped growing a couple of weeks ago.”

  She shakes her head. “No. I still feel pregnant. I’ve had morning sickness, afternoon sickness, and fatigue.”

  Dr. Anderson seems genuinely sad. “The baby is gone. Your body just doesn’t know it yet.”

  I take her hand when the doctor finishes speaking. “What happens now?” I ask.

  “I can admit you to the hospital overnight for a D and C in the morning, or you can take medication at home to induce the miscarriage.”

  “No. I couldn’t bear the thought of that. I don’t want to have to know, have to feel it.” I understand.

  “Okay.” Dr. Anderson makes a notation on the computer before turning to me. “We’ll do the procedure around nine in the morning, and you should be able to pick her up by two.”

  My mouth tenses. “I’m not leaving her.”

  She doesn’t try to argue with me. “I’ll get you two into a room as quickly as possible.”

  Late the next afternoon, Harper clings to my arm as I lead her into the apartment building from the parking garage. The anesthetic has left her woozy, but it hasn’t dulled the emotional pain. Tears are intermittently streaming down her face. The elevator ferries us to our floor, and I open the door with my key rather than waiting for a maid to open it.

  As she crosses the threshold, tears slip from her eyes. “It’s unbelievable that I was pregnant the last time I stood here.” The tears intensify.

  I don’t try to get her to stop crying—I merely lift her, carrying her to our room. Putting her down briefly, I open the door before taking her to my bed. Harper curls into a ball of misery, curving into me when I lie beside her, holding her as she weeps.

  As she lets out her grief, Harper looks at me, I’m sure seeing the tears on my cheeks too. She cries harder, and I hold her tighter.

  Chapter 15

  Harper

  During the next few days, Jayson seems to throw himself into the task of distracting me from the loss. When I’m physically recovered, he takes me to all my favorite places. The Museum of Modern Art fills one entire day, a visit to the New York Botanical Garden another.

  The distractions do help take my mind off the miscarriage, but do nothing to help me with the dilemma of loving my husband. Loving Jayson without being able to trust him is almost as painful as losing the baby that bound us together. Jayson is so sweet and protective, hiding his own hurt to help me cope, that it’s proving impossible not to fall even more deeply in love with him.

  Over lunch at Nobu, I can’t stop staring at him. He carries on the conversation easily, but the dark rings under his eyes speak of sleep deprivation, and the lines around his mouth hint at the sadness still clinging to him.

  Impulsively, I put my hand over his. “Thank you.”

  He quirks a brow. “For what?”

  “You’ve made it your personal mission to distract me from thinking about… the loss. I know it must have been hell to rearrange your schedule so you could take more time off so soon after the vacation.”

  Jayson frowns. “I have no idea. I told my assistant to cancel everything. It might have been difficult for him, but I don’t care. You’re my first priority.”

  A surge of warmth melts my heart. The tears I managed to suppress that day threaten to fall. I blink them back, determined to comfort Jayson now. “I can imagine it’s been difficult for you to suppress your emotions in order to see to my needs.” My voice softens. “I know you wanted the baby very much.”

  He pales slightly. “Yes.” Jayson clears his throat, but his voice still sounds thick. “I wanted a little girl who looked just like you.”

  My lips tremble with the effort to hold the tears in check. “That’s funny.”

  Jayson frowns. “Why?”

  “I wanted a little boy with your features.” I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from crying, unable to tell him the idea had lurked in the back of my mind that if our son looked like Jayson, I would always have something to remember him by after the marriage dissolved.

  “Have you given any thought to what you’ll do now?” His words express curiosity, but the tone reveals the question goes much deeper.

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “You could stay with me.” His grip on my hand tightens almost imperceptibly. “Just for a while, even, until you figure out what you want to do.”

  I hesitate, because the truth is, I have no plan. The miscarriage has consumed my thoughts to the point that I never even thought about what I’ll do now that I don’t have to stay with Jayson.

  “Stay as long as you want.”

  “Thank you.” It probably isn’t a wise decision. The longer I stay with him, the deeper I’ll love him, making it that much harder to leave. It’ll also hurt more. I should leave soon, unless I want to stay permanently in this crippled marriage. Jayson as he is now is too easy to love, but I still have to reconcile his previous actions with the man he appeared to be before I can decide to remain his wife.

  Jayson has to return to work a couple of days later, and I immerse myself in setting up the garden and greenhouse. Choosing plants that will thrive in cooler weather by the time they mature, goes along with planting more delicate items in the greenhouse.

  The simple acts of gardening prove more therapeutic than any counselor, so I ignore the referral Dr. Anderson provided. The repetitive motions and the feel of the silky soil in my hands ease the loss, and I gradually spend less time thinking about the baby and what could have been.

  That leaves more time for thinking about our relationship, and I continuously rehash all my thoughts. I try to plan for the future. I make lists and consider my options, but Jayson somehow is a fixture in each scenario.

  Several days later, over the spinach salads and plates of
clam linguine left by the cook, I tell him, “I went to City College today.”

  Jayson pauses in the act of reaching for a glass of wine. “Oh?”

  I try to sound casual. “I looked at their botany department and spoke with an advisor. She gave me a packet of information. I think I’ll register for classes next week.”

  Jayson nods. “That sounds like a good idea.”

  I analyze his expression, but he reveals nothing. “You think so?”

  “Yes.” He takes a sip of wine. “It gives you something to do during the day.”

  “I’m not sure I have the time.”

  His brow furrows. “Why not?”

  “I have a mountain of things to tend to from the various charities I inherited from Ione. With the vacation, and then subsequent events, I haven’t done anything in ages.”

  Jayson swallows a bite of pasta before replying. “None of that matters. I can hire someone to deal with it.”

  I frown. “What? You nixed that idea when we first got married.”

  His dark eyes reflect warmth as he looks at me solemnly. “That isn’t your passion, but I didn’t take time to find out what was. I denied you the things you needed and wanted for too long. I want you to enjoy what you do. With Sophie away at college, you have more free time, and you should devote it to pursuits that pique your interest.”

  I draw a deep breath, mustering all my courage. I know what I want is a bad idea, but I can’t talk myself out of the desire. “I have some free time at night too.” My voice is soft and scratchy.

  He pauses in the act of swallowing for a second. “Indeed?”

  The gleaming cutlery becomes an object of intense focus when I find it too difficult to meet his gaze. “I have some ideas to pass the time.”

  He makes a rough sound, low in his throat, and drops the fork he was holding. “Such as?”

  It takes a moment to find the courage to look up at him and I squirm under the intensity of his gaze. This had seemed a better idea when I rehearsed it earlier this afternoon. I clear my throat with a gulp of wine. “I want you.” Removing the napkin from my lap, I devote meticulous care to folding it into a perfect square. The sound of his chair moving doesn’t make me look up, but I do when he comes to my side and takes the napkin from me, throwing it carelessly onto the center of the table.