by Cari Quinn
“It just is. At least now I know.” He smudged his fingertip over her delicate cheekbone before reaching up to undo her hair. It tumbled down around her shoulders, untamed and free. Then he reached for the tie of her robe. He pulled it apart slowly, his breath stuttering at the sight of her as it always did. Didn’t matter how many times he touched her like this. Each one was a revelation.
A gift.
He palmed her breast and rolled his thumb over the tightening tip, gauging from her face what she wanted. Needed. This was about her. If she preferred just a shower, to keep that much space for herself, he would give her that.
Anything she wanted, he would give.
But she rose up on her tiptoes to meet his mouth, kissing him with a heat he hadn’t expected. Before he could lose himself in her, she backed into the shower and turned on the warm water. He followed, already desperate to push her against the tiled wall and sink into her. Just disappear inside her clasping warmth while he gave thanks to the gods that she was his.
She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her generous curves against him, offering him enough softness to combat his jagged, rough edges. His kisses were wild, his hands unsteady. He couldn’t slow down, couldn’t temper his reactions.
She was everything.
When she dropped to her knees and took him in hand, he tried to speak. That was his job now, to make her feel good. But then her mouth closed over the swollen head of him and he stared at the ceiling, dragging in gulps of air as he sifted his fingers through her silky hair and hung on.
She knew just what to do. This was seduction and comfort both, and she was an expert. She drew on him while her hand squeezed and twisted and pulled everything out of him he couldn’t define in words. His bruised knuckles screamed as he fisted a handful of her hair and dragged her closer, needing to see that flutter of her lashes as her lips widened to take him. Knowing she could handle everything he gave and more.
Her deep, dark eyes stayed steady on his as he rocked forward on his feet, chasing that elusive high and the peace that came afterward. That moment where nothing hurt anymore and there was only bliss.
Only his Violin Girl.
He got there too fast. There was no holding it off, no warning her. But her quick head bob offered permission for him to let go. All of the need, pleasure, and pain flowed out of him and into her waiting mouth. The sound of her swallowing, taking every bit, made him bite off an oath and shut his eyes against the kaleidoscope of color taking over his vision.
Her name was a chant.
A prayer.
Even after, when the heat ebbed away and she drew back, she rose up on her knees to brush kisses over his abdomen. Over the marks his brother had brought to the surface but had lived inside him all along.
Permanent bruises that nothing could erase.
She stood and swayed against him and he caught her mouth with his, desperate to taste her mixed with him. To taste them. This was reality. His life. His heart.
Slipping his hand downward, he cupped her mound. She deserved the same as she’d given him. More. So much more. But she grabbed his hand and kissed his palm as she met his gaze with eyes starred with water.
God, he hoped it was only water.
If he’d made her cry—again, since she’d been crying when he arrived—he wouldn’t forgive himself. He already couldn’t.
“I love you,” he whispered, and she nodded, pressing her forehead to his as her soft hands rubbed the soreness away.
She was the only one who could.
Long after the water had run cold, they stood shivering beneath it, halfheartedly soaping, shampooing, and rinsing. Surrounded by the relentless pound of the water, cushioned in a wet haven where no one else could reach them.
There were no names here. No fame and no pressure. Nothing but the love he’d found and would never, ever let go.
He turned off the faucet and reached for the towel to dry her off. She did the same for him, and the muscles in his shoulders finally unknotted.
Until she reached for the first aid kit.
“I’m good.”
She gave him a narrowed-eyed look and got to work with the antibacterial cream and gauze on his knuckles and a few other choice places.
He was probably supposed to keep arguing, but she had the touch of an angel. And he was in a weakened state.
Also, she was still naked. So he couldn’t deny enjoying the view as she did her thing.
Once she was satisfied he was bandaged and taped sufficiently, they went into the other room and stretched out on the bed. Still naked. Still wrapped together.
Fucking heaven.
“He’s not finished with us,” he said after a while, brushing his mouth over her damp hair.
“It’s your choice what you want to do about it. About him.”
“Is it? Doesn’t feel that way.”
“No matter what he does to engage, you don’t have to.” She leaned up on her elbow and placed her hand on his chest, right above his heart. “You’re Simon Fucking Kagan. You make the rules.”
He smiled as a knock sounded on the connecting door between the suites.
“You better be in one piece for the show, Kagan, or I’m going to take a chunk out of you myself,” Lila called out.
His smile grew as he kissed Margo’s forehead. “We make the rules. Except with her.”
Nine
She was fully aware her husband was the one who’d gotten a beating recently and not her. However, Margo was pretty sure every muscle in her entire body was throbbing. And it wasn’t from the exceptional sex she’d had for the last two days.
Including a quickie after the show that night.
Ill-advised with Simon’s bruises, but they’d both been careening through an adrenaline high thanks to another amazing set. She’d been prepared for disaster, but Simon had been riding that same demon from the night before. Every member of Oblivion had been just as locked into the concert as her husband, feeding on his insane energy. In fact, he’d demanded a second encore from the band and the crowd.
Simon tonight had reminded her of the man who would monkey around the stage, climbing on every available surface. But he wasn’t in his early twenties anymore, and neither was she.
Simon’s hand brushed her shoulder and she smiled, shifting toward him. The monotonous swish of the windshield wipers had lulled her into that sweet spot between dreaming and awake.
“When did I turn forty?”
“You haven’t even made it to thirty, pal.” She glanced at her husband in the back of the black taxi cab they’d managed to steal away into. His head was tipped back on the headrest and stripes of silvery light from the old gas lamps on the street cut along his long neck. He’d scraped any trace of stubble away from his arresting jawline. Even in the dim light, she couldn’t stop staring.
He’d make a beautiful baby.
He’d made, she corrected herself with an absent hand along her middle.
They’d made.
“Hungry?” Simon gently stroked the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “You didn’t eat much before the show.”
She shrugged. She actually couldn’t tell when she was hungry these days. Everything felt twisted and knotted up. Not nausea per se, but wrong.
She caught his hand and held it tighter to her cheek. Wrong because she was keeping it from him.
This wasn’t the place to tell him.
But was there a right place? A right time? There were always distractions and interruptions. And dammit, she was so tired of holding this in. She wanted to talk to someone about it, but loyalty sat so heavy on her chest right now. She wanted him to be the first to know, the first to react.
Terrified.
Happy.
Shocked.
Angry.
She didn’t even know how she felt herself, so how could she guess how he would feel?
The Ian situation made the timing of her news even worse. But despite Ian—or maybe because of him—she wanted
Simon to know they had a growing family all their own.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
His face shimmered as tears that matched the rolling raindrops marched down her face.
He turned to her. “Violin Girl, you’re scaring me here. Was it because of earlier? I swear I’ll never do anything that epically stupid again.”
Fat chance on that one. One of the reasons she loved him so damn much. She laughed—or thought it was going to be a laugh, but it just rolled into a sob.
He gathered her closer. “Margo, please.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course, you can.” He brushed a kiss over her forehead, then leaned forward to the driver. “Do you know somewhere close by where we can have a little privacy?”
The bored cabbie gave him a look in the rearview. “Rainin’.”
“I’m aware.” Simon dug a few crumpled bills out of his pocket and held up two. “Does that buy us anything?”
The guy snatched the bills. “There’s a children’s carousel nearby.” He shrugged. “It’s covered. Old, but you can…” He paused as if he were searching for words. His accent was French and thick. “There’s privacy, yeah?”
Margo laughed.
Simon sat back with a frown marring his brow. “Sounds like the lady is happy with that.”
She wrapped her fingers around Simon’s clenched fist. Was she really going to do this? Finally? Her stomach twisted and for the first time, she wondered if she really was going to throw up. But as they drove toward the rundown little park, a peace stole over her.
The cabbie pulled up beside the warped gate. The ground was chewed up with ancient cobblestones poking between bits of pavement. It reminded her of one of the rides on the boardwalk across from their condo. Kind of perfect.
Simon flashed him another bill. “If you’re still here when we’re done, this is for you.”
“Sounds good to me, crazy American.” The cabbie turned off his light, leaned his seat back a few clicks, and pulled his hat down over his eyes.
“I guess that’s that,” Simon said and opened the door, helping her out into the drizzling rain.
She tipped her head up, letting the wetness coat her cheeks and wash away the tears that had made her face feel tight and dirty. Who knew if she was just one big smear of raccoon eyes at this point, but the rain felt good.
Almost cleansing.
Simon hustled her between the iron gates that were haphazardly guarding the ancient children’s park. There wasn’t much more than a carousel and ticket booth, but it looked well-loved. It was near one of the many bus stops that made up a large part of London’s commuter traffic. She liked to think there were women meeting their husbands or boyfriends after work with the kids and this was the perfect place for a touch of peace in the busy hub of this metropolitan city.
Simon climbed up on the dark carousel, his boots echoing on the warped and rusty metal. He held out a hand to her, pulling her into his arms for a moment. She wasn’t quite ready for that. If he held her, she’d lose her nerve.
Instead, she slipped away and dragged her fingertips over the bridle of the nearest horse. There was just enough light to see thanks to the street lamps and refracted mist of the rain. She smiled. A unicorn. She traced the pads of her finger over the little bit of worn sparkle on the horn, down to the chipped rainbow mane, and calmed for the first time in days.
The horses were a little beaten, the gold scraped from the rope-like poles connecting each horse to the motor. She moved on to the next one. A chocolate one with its feet raised in mid-kick, then another that reminded her of a palomino from her childhood days in the stables.
Another life, one she’d walked away from without a second thought. And hadn’t she ended up right where she needed to be?
Simon followed her. Worry furrowed his forehead and darkened his eyes, but he showed a patience she wasn’t aware he possessed.
“I know this is freaking you out. It’s freaking me out. I’ve gone over this again and again, trying to figure out a way to tell you.”
“Just tell me. You’re scaring the hell out of me. You’re not sick, are you?”
She let him get close enough for her to touch his hand before she backed away again. “No. Nothing like that.”
His jaw did that muscle clench thing that made her insides flutter for unknown reasons. She’d never been the kind of woman who followed the baser instincts of attraction. At least not until Simon.
Which was probably one of the main reasons she was in her current state. Her husband was a strong, virile man. Evidently way more virile than she’d even thought was possible if he managed to sneak by her birth control and plant a little miracle inside of her.
For the first time, it actually felt like a good thing. Maybe it was just the mania of too many babies around her. Or maybe it was her own emotions finally allowing her to bond with the idea of something growing inside her that would forever link her with Simon.
A year ago, the idea of that kind of forever would have driven her to the nearest clinic. But after the conversation with her sister today, it seemed even more important and profound that she’d ended up with this unplanned life change.
She only hoped Simon would feel the same.
Finally, she stopped walking in the circle of crazy doubts with a slightly disturbing bunch of plastic and metal horses staring back at her. She walked toward her husband with his billowing black leather jacket that danced along his thighs in the breeze. She reached back and tugged the band out of her hair so her hair was just as free as his was right then.
The lights from a passing car glowed on his starkly beautiful face. His slivery-blue eyes were pinched with concern and frustration.
“I’m pregnant.”
Shock chased the ghostly paleness to his features as his knees gave way.
She rushed forward and caught him close. “Simon.”
“Say that again?”
She laughed. “You heard right. And if you say April Fool’s, I’ll punch you dead in the baby-maker.”
“How?” He looked down at her, his unsteady hand going right for her middle.
“I’m aware that some of your education is lacking, Kagan, but you are quite adept at understanding the creation of babies.”
He rolled his eyes and stood taller once more. He hooked his hand around her back and tugged her even closer. “We practice lots, but we don’t usually sink that particular putt.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nice analogy. You barely play golf.”
He lowered his head until they were forehead to forehead. “Baby. In there?” With his other hand, his long fingers spanned the length of her midsection again.
“Generally where they stay until nine months pass give or take a few weeks.” He was taking it way better than she had. Especially with the metric ton of pregnancy tests she’d taken before believing it. And even then, she hadn’t allowed herself to let it sink in until she’d visited her doctor.
“How long?”
“Did I know?”
He frowned. “We’ll get back to that part. But when is this whole…thing happening?”
“Thing?”
“I’m catching up here. Give a guy a break.”
She smoothed her hand over his chest, soaking in the warmth that always seemed to radiate off of him. “I’m about two months in. At least that’s what my doctor thinks.”
“Doctor.” His voice was thoughtful and quiet. “You saw a doctor, so it’s not just a test.” He cupped her face. “You did this alone? Why?”
She couldn’t figure out what he was feeling. He seemed calm. An emotion she didn’t usually find in abundance with the father of her future child. In fact, he was more child than anyone she knew. “I didn’t think it was possible. We never talked about it. I’ve always been on birth control, so I didn’t even think about it. And everything with Juliet was so emotional.” She curled her fingers around his. “I couldn’t even breathe around the worry for my sister. I took my pills and
didn’t get my usual period. But sometimes I don’t with the kind of pill I’m on and I figured stress…” She trailed off.
“How long have you been dealing with this by yourself?”
“A little over a week.”
“Margo.” His voice was just above a whisper, then his eyes went wide. “Holy shit, we’ve been fucking like we’re trying out for the Olympics.”
“I’m pregnant not broken. In fact, this sturdy body is good for something.” Her lips slid into a smile. “Birthing hips evidently.”
His lips tipped up at one corner in the smirk that had gotten her into trouble in the first place. Some things had changed in the years they’d been together, but that cocky smirk had been one of the few constants. Sometimes it drove her crazy, sometimes it made her want to smack it clean off his face, and sometimes it reminded her of the man-child in the studio who had become her everything.
“But seriously is that good for the…it?”
“From what Li tells me—and mind you, she doesn’t share much—but nothing really changed there until late in the pregnancy. In fact, one night after too much wine, she told me she can’t wait to have those pregnancy hormones back. Evidently, the second trimester can be akin to something like Mardi Gras sexually.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Are you gonna flash me your tits and expect beads?”
“You’re a pig.”
He laughed. “Man, these are going to get bigger?”
She batted his hands away from her breasts. “That is your takeaway? And the only thing you’re going to say?”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and cupped her butt. He lowered his mouth until it was a whisper away from hers. “I think I’m kinda psyched.”
“Kinda?”
“Really.” His eyes crinkled in the corners as his smile grew. “If you only knew what my brain was conjuring up the last two days.”
Her breath backed up. “Tell me.”
“This crazy thing with Ian. I thought I was the only Kagan. And building the name up to mean something beyond a gutter rat with an alcoholic father, when I’d almost followed in his footsteps…”
