by Cari Quinn
She sighed and dropped her hands to her sides with a sniff. “My boobs are getting too big for every bra in my damn drawer.”
He left the hooks undone and tucked his hands under the lacy lilac cups. Her skin was like the softest water and was his favorite thing in life.
Well, next to the whole impending baby thing. He’d been sure he couldn’t love anything as much as his wife until she’d told him about the baby.
She leaned back against him. “What are you doing?”
“Well, you keep insulting these beautiful breasts. I just needed to give them a little loving.”
Margo snorted as she smoothed her palms over his forearms. “You gave them plenty of loving this morning.”
“They deserve it.”
“I’m just feeling blah and my clothes are starting to not fit.”
He coasted his hands over her still trim middle to the little curve she was hiding with one of the stretchy skirts that seemed to multiply in her closet. He didn’t have much to complain about—skirts meant easy access, and he was all about that. But right now, his job was to remind his stunning wife that she was still gorgeous.
“Lemon drop is growing, that’s all. You’re perfect.”
She peered up at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you placating me?”
“Nope.” He leaned down and dropped a kiss on her lips, then the nape of her neck as he pulled the cups of her bra back down. “Just speaking truth.” His wife didn’t need to know that he had to use the very last hook on her bra. Some things were better left unsaid. He glanced down at the bed and found her blouse. He helped her into it then tugged her over in front of the mirror to do up the buttons. “See, perfect.”
Margo tugged at the tiny gap between her glorious breasts then quickly unbuttoned her shirt and stripped it off.
Simon sighed, but let her go back into the closet. There were some battles he wasn’t going to win. When she came back out with one of her twin sweater sets, he resisted the urge to groan. He hadn’t seen those since before they were together. “You ready to go?”
She nodded. “Yes. The realtor said she’d meet us at the third house on our list.”
“Third?” He huffed out an annoyed growl. “We wanted to look at the Santa Monica one first.”
“She said something about a cleaning service for an open house.”
“What? We had first dibs on that house.” He’d looked through every listing for the house and every photo he could find. He was sure that was the one. Dammit, he didn’t want to look at anything else.
“It’s just an open house. It’s not sold yet, Simon.”
“I don’t want anyone else in there.”
She stepped into her heels before stopping in front of him. “Sorry, rockstar. It’s their house, they can do what they want.”
“I just don’t want someone trying to outbid us.”
Margo patted his chest. “We haven’t even seen the house.”
He covered her hand against his heart. “I know. I just have a feeling.”
She nibbled on her lower lip. “Me too,” she whispered and pressed a kiss to his chin. “Let’s go look at the other one to make sure that feeling is true.”
“All right.”
“Don’t pout.”
“I’m not pouting.”
“You’re totally pouting.” She grabbed her purse on the way out of their room. “Come on. We’re going to be late. Especially since you don’t remember how to drive with any urgency anymore.”
“I’ve got more precious cargo to worry about.”
She gave him a little side eye, but didn’t give him any more shit as they left the penthouse and headed for the elevators.
“How did it go with Ian?”
He stabbed the down button. “Fine.”
“Just fine?”
He shrugged. “The kid is as fresh as one of those dandelion things. And just as weedy.”
She tapped his lips lightly as she sailed into the elevator. “Your bitchy side is showing.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know why they needed me in there. I just watched.” And listened to that little shit with his near perfect voice. Then again, he’d had to tamp down the urge to gloat when the producer guy kept bringing Ian down a peg or seven.
He sighed as they exited the elevator and crossed the parking garage to his Audi. “The kid has some innate talent, but the studio frustrates him.”
“Must be a Kagan trait.” She patted his chest as he held the car door open for her.
He shut her door after she got in and rounded the car. That was enough about Ian for one day. He had a house to fucking buy.
An hour later, he resisted the urge to shout “I told you so” to their realtor. The house in Hermosa Beach was nice enough. It just felt too stuffy. He was still a musician, for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t some old timer with a fucking pipe. The house felt like Margo’s parents would approve of it, which made him immediately want to sprint back down the driveway to his car.
“Are you sure you don’t want to look at the second level?” Josie, their realtor, punched a number into the fancy padlock thing that hung on the front door and reengaged the locks.
“Nope.”
Margo slanted him a look.
“No, thank you.”
“What Simon means is we appreciate it, but it doesn’t really feel like us. We’re really excited to see the one in Santa Monica.”
Josie checked her phone discreetly before tucking it back into her purse. “I really think I could get you a better deal on this one.”
Simon resisted the urge to stomp his foot. “We’re not really worried about a deal. We want it move-in ready and more modern.”
Like the house in Santa Monica, dammit.
“The cleaning service is finished, so we can head over there now. I’ll be right behind you.”
When she got into her car, he let out a breath. “Finally.” Margo pinched him. “Ow, what was that for?”
“Stop being rude.”
“I’m sorry, I just know what I want.”
“What we want?”
“You know you’re just as in love with it as I am.”
Margo gave him a steely look and he let the subject drop.
The drive to the house was quiet, but once they arrived, her quick gasp of joy was all he needed to hear. He followed her gaze to the multi-level house tucked away in the trees.
Damn, it was beautiful. All those interesting windows and angles urged him forward to explore the space. “I told you—”
Margo slapped her hand over his mouth. “Just don’t.”
He shrugged and stuck his tongue out, brushing her palm. She let out a disgusted sigh before she scrubbed her wet hand down his pants. “Are you twelve?” She pulled a small packet of wipes out of her purse and cleaned her hands before climbing out of the car.
“No,” he muttered and got out after her.
But the vibe that had followed him ever since he’d opened the listing only got louder. He caught up to Margo and linked their fingers.
The property was lush and green with actual trees lining the front of the curb at the bottom of the long driveway. Triangular windows mixed with more traditional ones gave it an interesting front view. The way the stairs were tucked away along the side gave them privacy. And in their lives, privacy was more precious than even the open floor plan of the house.
They walked inside and the vaulted beam ceilings made the place feel huge. He could see right through the whole main living space to the backyard. He helped Margo down the stairs to the kitchen. The cabinets were warm and modern with frosted windows on a few of them. High-end appliances were appreciated even if he didn’t know how to use one.
He supposed he’d be learning with a baby to feed. Or maybe he’d just hire someone to take care of the three of them.
Combo nanny/housekeeper, maybe? Was there such a thing?
The house was split a little weird, but that made it more interesting. Stairs went up to the second
level and another flight down into the main part of the house.
Josie had joined them and babbled on about the key points of the house, but he was too busy soaking in all its perfection. The backyard was enclosed with high walls of pretty stone and tons of natural light. A deck and patio led to a small finished yard. It even had a garden, for fuck’s sake.
Were they supposed to grow tomatoes or some shit?
Wasn’t that a kick?
He wandered behind Margo and Josie as they talked square footage and bedroom sizes. The bathrooms were amazing and created for tall people. Halle-fucking-lujah. Both he and Margo were in the six-feet club. She needed a heel to get there, but considering his wife viewed heels as sneakers, it was a valid concern.
The house was made for them.
Margo was slightly more reserved with their realtor, but he saw the excitement in her bouncing foot whenever she stood in a room too long. Excitement thrummed through her, and he was feeding off of it.
“Why don’t you guys take a look at that last bedroom?”
Simon didn’t have to be told twice. He took Margo’s hand and pulled her down the hallway from the master bedroom. The room was light and airy like the rest of the house, but there was one marked difference. There was a bassinet in the corner.
“Oh, Simon.”
His vision wavered a little at her gentle sigh. Margo ran a trembling hand over the lacy fluff around the edges of the tiny baby bed. She glanced back at him, her eyes swimming. “A nursery.”
It was painted a soft yellow and had a few pieces of furniture staged to show what a baby’s room might resemble.
“Can’t you see it? One of those cute convertible cribs that can become a bed for a toddler?”
He didn’t before, but he could now. He followed her over and curled his arms around her. “In that dark wood you like?”
“Yeah.” She twisted in his hold. “Just like that.” She laid her hand on his chest and pressed her cheek into his neck. “God, are we really doing this?”
“What? Having a baby? I think we’re past the point of no return there, babe.”
She laughed. “No, I mean buying a house and being adults.”
“Eh, well, it had to happen sometime. I suppose we have to actually do it together.”
She looped her arms around his waist. “I love you, you idiot.”
“Your idiot.”
“Yes, my idiot. And soon to be a father—God help us all.”
He lifted her off her feet and swung her around. “This is going to be fucking amazing.” Her laughter filled the room, and he was so fucking happy he could barely hold it inside.
They would be a family here, the three of them.
Finally, he had his own family.
Twenty-Six
God save the Queen.
I’d had no clue what I was in for when Zoe came in to take more promo shots for the EP cover. And for the upcoming single cover. And for God knows what else, just that Sabrina needed a lot of “coverage,” whatever that bloody well meant.
I’d been at it with the guys all day, hammering out songs, doing and redoing takes of what we’d come up with so far. Simon ever watching from the fringes, not saying a fucking thing.
Now it was late in the evening, and I was wearing more of Roman’s finery. Somehow I was supposed to look sexy to boot.
“You know when I let you borrow Matilda, I was expecting a little more fun with her.”
She peeked around her camera. “Borrow? It’s my freaking camera.”
“Nope. Mine now. I’ll expect it back when you’re done.”
“Fat chance, rocker boy. Now stop thinking about whatever it is you’re obsessing over. You look constipated.”
No one had told me it was such hard work being a rockstar.
At least we’d been at it for a while, so that meant we’d have to be done soon.
I hoped.
“That’s it. Just that pose. Angle your head a little. Yes, yes. Fan out your hair on the cushion beside you. Rest your head on your hand. That’s it.”
I arched a brow. “Fan out my hair? Do you take me for a Fabio lookalike, love?”
She grumbled at me as I did as she’d asked, swallowing a chuckle.
Still in a crouch, she kept snapping away on Matilda. Pocketing each picture she took as if it was contraband. She scuttled sideways and back, rose almost to full height and then dropped back down.
My dick hardened with her every movement.
I patted the cushion beside me and tilted my head. “C’mere, Magic. You’re too far away.”
“I’m working. Look sexy.”
“As if I could look anything else.” The smirk that came to my lips had her swapping cameras for her SLR and snapping faster.
“Yeah, tell me about it. Probably why your overzealous fans have made my mail slot their litter box lately.”
The smirk slid away and I sat up straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged and stepped closer to the sofa before going into a crouch again and tipping sideways. It amazed me she didn’t fall over, but she maintained the pose while my heart hammered out of control.
“It’s just the usual, I’m sure. Part of being with a famous dude who’s wanted by legions of women. Not exactly what I’m used to.”
I leaned forward and clasped my hands between my knees. She hissed, but I didn’t move back into position. “Has someone been hassling you?”
“Not hassling. Just sending me shit.”
“Zoe. Spit it out. Shit like what?”
She lowered her camera and met my gaze head-on. “Pictures of us on the beach. My head’s scribbled out in heavy black ink. In another one, I’m at your show that first night. Someone caught a picture of me on the side stage. But I’m X’d out like I don’t exist.” She jerked a shoulder and lifted the camera again. “Actually, stay just like that. Broody rocker boy works too.”
“I’m not brooding. I don’t like people sending you things like that.”
“I don’t like it either, but it goes with the territory, right? Hey, can you angle your head a little? Lock your jaw? Yes. That’s perfect.” She went back to her rapid-fire pictures and I tried to hold the position while questions burned on my tongue.
“Does it? This territory is all new to me. It never occurred to me that they’d go so far as to find out your address—” I broke off and pushed a hand through my hair, making her swear. “Fuck, maybe you’ll need to move.”
She didn’t answer so I dropped my hand and laced my fingers together again to keep from picking something up and throwing it. Why not have a righteous temper tantrum? That would get her to listen to reason. If I even knew what reason was in this case. How did people handle this kind of thing day in and day out?
If only I could ask Simon. He’d had plenty of experience with this. Maybe I would. Just in case he had any…I don’t know…tips. It wasn’t as if I could shelter her away and protect her from the world.
Never mind the trouble I’d brought into her bed. If this was another piece of that—
No. This was just excitable women. Not something more sinister.
Though that was bad enough. By the time I’d realized how much more I was being scrutinized—and how Zoe’s picture was getting flung all over, and not just to my Instagram followers—it was too late. I’d tried to shield her from pictures during our Monterey show weekend, but the barn door was wide open there already. She’d been aligned with me, and now someone out there wanted her out of the way.
“Hey.” She kneeled in front of me and rubbed my thigh. “Where did you go?”
“We should just run away together.” I said it as a joke, but there was a part of me that was deadly serious. “Just say fuck the world and go off to some little isolated corner that’s ours alone and make mad, passionate love day and night.” I leaned forward and cupped her cheeks, well aware she was reeling from what I’d said. Some joke. “What do you say?”
“I say you’re absol
utely crazy. You’ve always wanted this life. And now you’ll just chuck it for the privilege of banging me?” She snorted and tried to ease back, but I dug in and held on.
She went still, her gaze turning sharp.
Not wary. Not afraid. Already she trusted me.
“I wanted music. I wanted to sing. To be heard. I’ve found I don’t need the world to hear me, not if I have one person who does. All I need is that one.” I wetted my lips. “I need you.”
Awareness sparkled between us, as potent as smoke. Thick and deep and drugging.
Almost defiantly, she lifted the camera she still held between us, forcing me back. I let her increase the space, but I didn’t tuck away any of the emotions I knew had to be on my face. If she wanted to study them through the safety of her viewfinder, she could. But she’d see them just the same.
She tilted the camera and pressed the button. And kept pressing it as she climbed on my lap, somehow still taking shot after shot. Then she set her camera aside—carefully, on the plump cushion beside us—and attacked the laces on my shirt, pulling them wide and lowering her mouth to my chest. She made quick work of my leathers, and then she wound her fingers around my cock. She gave it a firm stroke, no teasing whatsoever, and I let out a long, grateful groan.
It wasn’t a declaration of love, but I’d take this. I’d take Zoe any way she’d offer herself to me.
Almost unconsciously, I fumbled for her camera. I’d seen her playing with it enough that I knew what to do. I lifted it slowly, so slowly, as she licked my collarbone and rubbed my cock hard enough to make me bite off an oath. I couldn’t get the camera to my eye to check the view, but I knew the image she made was goddamn amazing. She’d tied her long white-blond hair back in a braid and the purple ends made it look as if the tail had been soaked in paint. Stupidly hot.
I managed to hit the button once before her head snapped up and she nearly broke my dick in half.
“Mind the jewels, love.” I barely managed not to gasp. “I may be a young stud, but an injury like that’ll put a man out of commission.”
“You’re not supposed to be taking pictures of me.” She reached for the camera and I held it out of reach. She shifted on my lap and brought up her knee, and for a second, I thought she might deliver the kill shot right then and there.
