by M. S. Parker
When she came out, I caught her in my arms and tucked her head against my shoulder. The only time I could breathe was when I was with her, and I didn't know if I could ever let her go.
“Like this,” she mumbled.
“Hmmm?”
“I want to stay like this for a thousand years.”
I chuckled, rubbing my chin on top of her head. “We may need to pause from time to time to eat.”
“Eat. Go to the bathroom…” She backed up and looked at me from under her lashes. “Ah…have a baby.”
I blinked, suddenly feeling nervous. Right. “Um, yeah. Commercials for those tests say they're accurate really early, but it still seems too–”
“They’re running a blood test. We’ll know soon. The blood tests always hit the mark, Kaleb.” She reached up and put her hand on my cheek, her expression serious. “If you…I mean, neither of us were planning this, so I understand if you–”
“I want to be with you.” I cut her off and pressed my mouth to hers.
She sighed against my lips. “Kaleb?”
“It’s insane, and I know it doesn’t make sense, but I want to be with you. And if there’s a baby, then I want the baby.”
“Really?” She laughed, the sound bright and happy, flooding the room. “Oh, man. Yes. Me too. Yes.”
I lowered my head to kiss her – really kiss her – but there was a knock at the door.
We turned as one.
A man in a white lab coat stood there, and he nodded at us. “I know it’s early yet, but you have some visitors, Ms. Van Allen. Their plane just landed.”
My stomach dropped out, and Piety stiffened.
“Your parents,” I murmured under my breath. “I’ll go–”
But it was too late.
Piety’s mother just barely beat her father through the door. She was, incongruously – at least I thought so – dressed in blue jeans and a blouse, her hair pulled back from her face.
“Piety,” she said, her voice trembling.
The moment I released Piety, her mother was there, folding her into her arms. I edged back, even as Piety tried to catch my eye.
Looking at the doctor, I nodded at him. “I’ll be in the waiting room.”
“Kaleb.” Silas Van Allan was standing in front of me.
Shit.
He held out his hand and I stared at it for what felt like an eternity before I shook it. “Mr. Van Allen.”
He had dark circles under his eyes, and his gaze flicked past me to linger on his wife and daughter before re-focusing on me.
“Kaleb, please. I owe you the deepest of apologies,” he said, his voice shaking for a moment before it firmed. “I misjudged you terribly, and I can never make up for that. You risked your own life to save my daughter. Please…will you…?”
He looked away, emotions warring on his face. Unsure how to handle this reversal of events, I reached out and took his hand again. He tightened his grip, eyes coming back to mine.
I waited for the cameraman to jump out and yell something like, Joke’s on you, mate!
But the only thing that happened was Silas jerking me up against him in one of those back-slapping hugs that left me feeling like he might have jarred a few teeth loose.
Then he let me go and went to his daughter, and I was caught up in an embrace from Piety's mother, one that smelled of a soft perfume. Oddly, it reminded me of my own mother’s scent, and my throat went tight.
“Please forgive us,” she said, pulling back and staring at me solemnly, her eyes so much like her daughter's that it was surprising I hadn't noticed it before. “We were unkind, but we’ve only ever wanted what’s best for her.”
“It’s…I understand.”
“I don’t see how.” She offered me a wobbly smile, then looked over at her daughter. “We would like to…make a gesture, if you would. We heard that your sister is going to be helping put away that awful man, and we understand that she will be needing some...care for a while. Silas and I want to help. And we’ll do everything we can to make sure the two of you can stay here in the US.”
Seventeen
Piety
Kaleb slid his mouth down my neck, teeth and tongue burning every place they touched. I wanted to grab him and rip his clothes away, but he wasn’t having any of it.
I’d spent the night at the hospital, plus half the next day, waiting for the doctor to look me over so he could discharge me. Now, we were on our way to a hotel. We'd fly home tomorrow, but for tonight, the Bellagio would do.
Kaleb ran his hand up and down my thigh on the drive over, and the need to touch, to connect, was overwhelming. I wasn’t sure how either of us could manage to hold on until we were through the door.
Finally, inside our hotel suite, his hands slid up my back, dragging my shirt with it, I unbuttoned his, with far more speed and far less grace than he showed. I needed to see him, touch him. I'd spent too much time recently thinking that I'd never get to do this again.
“Naked,” I said. “I want you naked.”
“Yes,” he said breathlessly. “I want to see and touch every inch of you. That’s the only way I’ll be sure you’re okay.”
His tongue flicked the corner of my mouth, and my knees went weak.
“These past few days have been hell,” he said.
“Absolutely,” I agreed.
He ran his fingers through my hair and tugged my head back, but the desperate, dark kiss I’d been anticipating – craving – didn’t happen.
Instead, he kissed me soft and slow, his lips gentle, tongue caressing mine. Instead of an explosion of passion, this was a slow burn, sparks being coaxed into flame. My heart swelled and tears burned in my eyes as he trailed a path down my chin, then my neck.
“Hold on to me,” he murmured, boosting me up.
He didn't have to tell me twice. I’d hold onto him forever.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and he held me close as he carried me to the bedroom. Without a word, he laid me down and slowly stripped away every article of clothing I wore, letting his fingers trail over my skin. When I was finally, deliciously, bare, he pressed his lips to my belly.
Before he could move his mouth lower, I tugged on his shoulders. As much as I loved having his mouth on me, the ache inside me needed more.
“Take me.” I could hear the desperation in my voice. “Please.”
I needed it, needed to feel him deep inside, moving against me, and I needed to see his face as he made love to me. Everything that had happened in the past few days made me realize just how much he meant to me, and I knew this moment between us was going to be pivotal.
He nodded, as if he understood exactly what I meant.
Maybe he did.
We were almost…careful with each other. It wasn’t something I could explain, the gentle way he touched me or the slow, almost teasing way he entered me.
By the time he filled me, we were both holding our breath, and it was almost painful to have him withdraw – we were part of each other.
But I needed more.
So did he.
He moved, finding a rhythm that kept him from being gone from me for too long, while I clung to him, my heels hooked over his ass, tightening every time he was too far away.
“Don’t let go,” he said, just as I started to come.
I wanted to tell him I wouldn’t, not ever.
But I didn’t have the breath.
So I just clung to him instead.
Epilogue
Piety
“Wow.”
That voice, hesitant and soft, was now almost as familiar to me as Astra’s and Kaleb’s.
I looked up, met Camry’s gaze in the mirror, and smiled at her. She smiled back, still hesitant and shy.
Things between us were…odd.
We were developing a friendship, but it was slow, and I was fine with that. I’d rather it be slow, real and enduring, than either of us faking it just because we were sisters-in-law.
<
br /> I was wearing my wedding dress, and not some sexy little party dress like the one I’d worn when I’d married Kaleb just to piss off my parents.
In less than fifteen minutes, we were getting married…again, but this time in an official ceremony.
Something fluttered in my belly, and I gasped, pressing a hand to the round bump beneath my dress.
“Wow.” Now, I was the one to say it.
“Nervous?” Camry offered a quick smile as she tucked her hair behind her ear.
She looked good. Much better than she had when I'd first met her. It'd been nearly three months, but she was clean now, and working on outpatient therapy as she made good on her deal with the Las Vegas DA.
“Um…well, yeah, but I think the baby just moved.”
Her eyes widened. “Whoa. Cool.”
I grinned at her, echoing her statement.
Astra came sailing in, wearing a dress of dusky gold, reminiscent of the glamorous twenties. She even had a band around her head, one that did nothing to restrain her curls.
She caught sight of me and caught my face in her hands, then kissed me. “Checking – gotta make sure the lipstick is kiss-proof, PS.”
I batted her hands away. “The baby kicked,” I said, grinning.
“Really?” Her eyes popped wide, and she went to put her hand on my belly, but I smacked her away.
“No. Daddy gets to feel it first.”
“Oh, fine. Spoilsport.” Then she did a quick circle around me before turning to look at Camry.
Astra was nothing if not fiercely loyal, and she'd been upset when I'd told her Camry would be released from her mandatory rehab in time for the wedding.
But, the first thing Camry had said to Astra when they met yesterday was, “If you want to punch me, I’m fine with that.”
Astra had huffed, saying, “I’d probably break you in half with a small swat.”
That'd established a tentative truce between them, and I trusted it would hold.
My mother knocked before slipping inside, checking to make sure I was ready before opening the door for my father.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
I barely recognized the warm, loving man he’d become over the past few months. Nearly losing me, and then finding out about the baby, had changed everything. There were still times when they frustrated the hell out of me, but I no longer felt like every choice I made disappointed them. Now, I had a family I was happy to bring a child into.
“I'm ready,” I said, smiling up at Dad as I wrapped my arm around his.
Kaleb was out there in the church, and I didn't intend to make him wait for me any longer.
Stay tuned for more Piety and Kaleb in Astra’s story, coming this spring. Click Here to sign up to my newsletter and get a notification on release day. Until then, turn the page and enjoy the free bonus story.
Bonus Book: Pure Lust
Note from the authors
Pure Lust is now also available as an audiobook. CLICK HERE to listen now. Free with a 30 day trial membership to Audible.
Pure Lust: Vol. 1
One
Three steps into the white marble and glass lobby of the Bouvier building and I knew I was so out of my league. The skyscraper housed the largest fashion house in Manhattan and there I was, a tiny little country mouse, dressed in last year’s fashions.
Appointment or not, I didn’t belong here. The suited man behind the counter must have thought so too. I only had a few seconds inside the bright elegance of the lobby before he addressed me coolly, “All visitors must sign in. Name?”
“Gabriella Baine.”
The few people milling about a large square of white leather couches in the cavernous lobby looked up at the sound of my voice. Had I really spoken that loud?
Two bored models sipped sparkling water while a man in a close-fitting, tailored suit strode over to the windows, looking outside, then glared at his watch. The fourth person, a young man with a bright purple shirt glowing from underneath his conservative suit studied me from under his lashes, the look on his face caught between boredom and hostility.
He was wearing the same silver visitor’s pin the security guard handed to me. Was he here interviewing for the same job? Bouvier, the internationally known high-end fashion house, was looking for a new talent acquisitions assistant. I guess they could have been interviewing for several positions. I tried a polite smile as I moved to sit down in the sitting area.
The man in the bright purple shirt all but growled at me.
I’m in way over my head…
“Thanks, Kendra.” I muttered.
My roommate, native New Yorker and six feet of jaw-dropping natural beauty, was a model and while she hadn’t quite hit the big times—yet—she had a few connections. She’d set up this interview as if I was a shoe-in.
As if.
Speaking of shoes, I looked down at my patent leather heels. The sexy peekaboos had plenty of shine, but they weren’t designer shoes, and I was sure the people in the lobby had already noticed. Even the guy who’d opened the door for me had worn hand-cobbled loafers.
I took a deep breath and put on a fake pair of tortoise shell glasses. The stage fright trick I’d picked up studying improvisational theater in college was now a habit, though I liked to think of it more as a quirk.
It reminded me that what I really wanted out of life was to sit in a small room surrounded by other writers, arguing out the beats, hooks, and jokes of a new television show. Not trying to sell myself as being some sort of expert in acquiring new talent.
Wearing the glasses, I could make myself look at everything as possible fodder for my writing. This would be a typical fish-out-of-water scene. Maybe I could make it different—the heroine would bolt before it was too late. Take off running down the sidewalk in a fit of hysterical panic. Crash into Prince Charming.
I could use a Prince Charming, as well as a job.
Resisting the urge to huff out a dramatic sigh, I swept the room with another nervous glance. I should bolt, though, Prince Charming or not. But I needed the job. My current job was all about connections and experience, but the pay sucked and I needed the money.
“Ms. Baine?”
Too late to run now. I made myself smile as I stood.
It was time to teeter across a slick white marble minefield of possible embarrassments to interview for a job I knew nothing about. You’re paying your dues, I told myself. We all had to pay them. Kendra had paid hers and she was almost there. I had to pay mine.
“Gabriella?”
“That’s, ah, me.” I stumbled and tried to play it off as a quick dance shuffle in the doorway of what looked like a break room. The fake glasses slid down my nose and I hurriedly took them off. They might work to calm me, but I didn’t want to explain to people why I didn’t wear them all the time. That would really convince people I had a few screws loose.
He stepped aside, allowing me to enter. I edged in through the doorway, looking around nervously.
It was indeed a break room.
“I’m Simon Hughes.” He spoke in a brisk, borderline rude voice as he came around the table and sat down. He held a file in his hand and he flipped it open, gesturing for me to sit.
I did, watching as he skimmed the information in the file.
“It says here you’re from Tennessee.”
“Yes.” I smiled.
“I don’t hear much of an accent.”
I was used to this by now. It had seemed obnoxious when I’d first moved here, but one thing I’d learned early on was that the slow twang of the south wasn’t going to open any doors in New York—and it might in fact slam them in my face.
“I’ve been gone from home a while. The accent only comes out when I’m riled.” I winked, trying to lighten the tension.
The young man with the thinning blond hair just studied me with the same cool expression for a long moment. Absently, he smoothed down a skinny tie, brushed invisible lint off his tan suit and adjusted his cuf
flinks. Something about those gestures seemed familiar, like the way I wore my glasses. A ritual. Possible personality quirk, I told myself. I had an entire mental file of them.
“I’m sorry for the location,” he said, glancing back down at the file. “Bouvier is having a big launch meeting upstairs and the other conference room is covered in catalog work, but at least there’s coffee.”
He gestured toward the counter along the wall in what I assumed was an offer. “No, thank you.”
I was jittery enough.
He flipped through my application, the silence straining on my nerves until I found myself measuring the steps between me and the door, then that door and the main doors. Could I make a break for it in these heels?
“So, Ms. Baine.” He reshuffled the papers in front of them, neatly stacked them, aligning the edges in a way that struck me as borderline obsessive. Then he did the tie, lint, cufflink check again.
The dude had enough quirks going on for a whole cast of characters all by himself.
Abruptly, he jerked his head up and pinned me with a hard look.
“Exactly what do you bring to the world of talent acquisition?”
“A need for talent?” I flashed him a smile.
“I’ll rephrase.” He tapped a finger on the thin file. “What is your experience in the talent industry, Ms. Baine?”
Aw, hell…
The horrible interview continued to go downhill from there. When the door flew open nearly fifteen minutes in—had it only been fifteen minutes—I could have cried in relief.
Then I caught a look of the intruder.
Oh. Wow.
A jaw-dropping gorgeous intruder. He swept aside a pile of files so neatly organized, I knew they had to have been Simon Hughes’ handy work and I watched as the man across from me went red in the face.
Then I slid the sexy storm another covert look. He was flinging open cabinets and grumbling. Then finally, he grunted, grabbing something from one of them, slamming the door with a resounding bang. He had a fistful of sugar packets.
