Due Date_A Baby Contract Romance

by Emily Bishop

  “Lasagna? Lamb casserole? Just like mamma used to make,” he said.

  “Maybe your mamma,” I replied.

  “No, definitely not mine.” He winked and sauntered inside, whistling under his breath, his hands in his pockets. It was a miracle those broad shoulders fit in the corridor beyond. Or rather, a miracle the massive ego fit.

  I did as he’d suggested and looked him up.

  Jasz Jing.

  Miraculously, my phone’s autocorrect deciphered what I’d tried to type and brought up a list of results.

  Jax King was a businessman and investor, all right. He’d bought up property across Miami and owned several… strip clubs! And restaurants. Ugh, no wonder he’d stared at me like that. He’d probably pictured me stripping.

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  I tucked the cell phone back into my pocket. Regardless, he didn’t appear to be an ax murderer, and just because he owned a strip club didn’t make him a bad person, did it?

  Now wasn’t the time to dwell on morality. Now was the time to either go in or get out.

  I squared my shoulders and walked into Jax’s apartment. I shut the door behind myself and the lock clicked, the pad outside giving a beep.

  Well, if that wasn’t final, then I didn’t know what was. Decision made. And I’d been particularly indecisive of late. I—hated that about myself. Entrepreneurs were supposed to make fast decisions, to take risks.

  Maybe this was my risk.

  I walked down the hall, following the gentle hum of music from the kitchen and the clanks of pots and pans. It was a homely sound and one I hadn’t heard in years. I didn’t cook for myself usually. I’d eat at Veronica’s place or stay home with a microwave meal. I was usually too pooped after work and stressed to do anything about it, and it bothered me.

  I entered the kitchen and stopped in front of the counter that banked the massive space. The room was done in silvers and whites, clean lines, with a massive fridge at one end and gas burners between two sets of granite-topped work surfaces.

  “Are you a chef?” I asked, and finally looked at him.

  Jax stood in front of a chopping board, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing off sexy, strong forearms, tanned and corded with muscle. His blond hair and bright blue eyes shone beneath the lights set into the ceiling above.

  He lifted his gaze to mine and pinned me to the floor. “No, unfortunately not. I’m just an enthusiast. It helps to like cooking and eating when you own restaurants.”

  “How does that factor in with the strip clubs?” I asked and dragged over one of the bar stools lined up next to the counter. I sat down and propped my chin on my palms, studying his every movement, the ripple of his muscles, the biceps straining against his shirt.

  He was in peak physical form. He couldn’t be that into food.

  “Are you judging me?” Jax asked and diced up a garlic clove. Good, that would keep me from kissing him or him me. Bad thought, Riley. “Because, I gotta say that’s rich coming from someone who teaches pole dancing for a living.”

  “A living,” I replied. “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

  He abandoned the garlic and fiddled with the burners, placed a pan on top, and heated it. After, he poured us each a glass of white wine, and we clinked on nothing but the smell of garlic and the potential for lasagna. We listened to music as he prepared it all, then put it in the oven. Finally, he came over and stood across from me, smiling. “Give it thirty minutes or so.”

  “Great,” I said. “Thank you for doing this, Mr. King, I really appreciate it.”

  “Mr. King? Am I your daddy?”

  “What?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m Jax, and you’ll call me that,” he said, and drained the last of his wine, set the glass aside. “Tell me, if the teaching thing isn’t working out to the point that you’ve got to sleep in the studio, why do it?”

  “I love it,” I said, immediately. “Not just pole dancing, but all dancing. I love it all, and I’m not going to give it up.” I’d had this conversation with others too many times—the words came out bitter and defensive now.

  “Easy,” he said. “I’m not suggesting you give it up, just that you need some help, and I happen to be in the position to offer it to you. You don’t have an apartment.”

  “Nah, I just sleep in the studio for fun.” I flashed him a smile.

  “What happened?”

  I didn’t owe him an answer. I could walk out of the delicious-smelling kitchen, a mixture of lasagna, cheese bubbling, and his sharp yet smooth cologne, away from his gaze right now. I could. But something about the way he’d asked it gave me pause. I licked my lips. “I couldn’t pay my rent. I’ve got savings put away, but I can’t access them for another thirty days.” I cut off then.

  Even when I could access them, I had a huge decision to make. One between two passions, two desires, and that made sleeping in the studio even more difficult. And being here just the worst.

  “Right, so you need some time to recoup your losses,” he said and laid his hand next to mine.

  Our skin didn’t touch, but the heat was there, and it streamed from that point up my arm and into my solar plexus, then lower, and lower.

  I studied his features up close—a slight crook in his nose, a freckle right below his lip but above his chin. His cupid’s bow wasn’t too defined, and his lips weren’t too thick. They were just perfect. His jaw could’ve chopped down trees, for heaven’s sake. It was angular and cloaked in a blonde beard, neatly trimmed.

  I didn’t have a type, but if I did, this guy could totally be it.

  “It’s settled,” he said, and brushed a pinkie over an eyebrow. “You’ll stay here until you’re back on your feet.”

  “Settled? That’s—not settled at all.”

  “It makes perfect sense. I’m hardly ever here, traveling most days, and you need a place to sleep. I’ll give you a good deal. Only gotta pay me rent at the end of the month when you’ve got the cash for it. Give you a damn good rate.”

  “That’s…” Generous? Troublesome? Super damn dangerous?

  Jax made my insides shrivel up with desire. I couldn’t picture myself hanging around here without wanting to pounce him, and that would seriously distract me from everything I had on my plate.

  “That’s—”

  “A great idea, I know. Those are the only kind I have,” he said.

  I managed a laugh.

  “Listen, sleep on it. We’ll eat, we’ll drink, you’ll take a shower, and I’ll show you to the guest room. You don’t gotta make any decisions tonight, princess,” he said.

  I wasn’t capable of it with him looking at me like that. In fact, if I didn’t excuse myself soon, I’d likely start babbling truth again, and he seriously didn’t need to know how hot he was. He knew that already.

  “Whatsamatter, Riley?” He asked, licking his bottom lip. “You never heard of the generosity of strangers?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that, so I drank my last gulp of wine instead. Decide tomorrow. Decide in thirty days. Whatever happens, you’ve got to do it. This is our future at stake. More than yours.

  “More wine?” Jax asked, his tone a deep grumble, leaning far too close to get the wine bottle.

  I fixated on his lips. “Please,” I said.

  3

  Jax

  I was a selfish, selfish man.

  Yeah, I’d taken her from the dance studio to save her a night of sleeping on a cold, wooden floor with stripper poles for company, but the roommate thing? The invite? Fuck, that definitely hadn’t been part of the plan.

  Riley sat across from me, wearing her sweats, a pale hand escaping the sleeve, clutching her wine glass, the last dregs of Merlot stagnating in the bottom of the bowl.

  My dining room afforded us a view of Miami, of the lights, the palm trees, the coast. This was prime real estate, and I’d definitely paid for the view.

  “Jax,” she said and electrified me with my name. She set dow
n her wine glass beside her empty plate—Christ, she’d almost licked it clean of lasagna—then scooched to the edge of her seat. “This place is amazing, it’s seriously the most gorgeous apartment I’ve ever been in. Are you sure you want me staying here? You don’t even know me.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Are you trying to tell me something? You’re the ax murderer?”

  “No.” She laughed, and it felt right in here, in my apartment. Those were dangerous thoughts. Dickhead thoughts.

  I’d never backed down from a challenge or set my eyes on a goal I couldn’t attain, and right now, she was that. “Then I don’t see a problem,” I replied. “We’ve already discussed this, and that conversation’s over. Got it?”

  “Do you always talk like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you think everyone will fall in line and do exactly as you say.”

  “It’s operant conditioning,” I replied.

  “So people obey you, and you act like they’ll obey you as a result. It’s a reward system for you to be obeyed?”

  “Wow,” I said. “I didn’t think you’d catch that.”

  “Why? Because I swing around a pole by day?” She flashed me a taut smile, all teeth and tension. “I majored in psychology.”

  “Oh? What’s a psychology major doing in a dance studio by day? And night.”

  “I don’t think you’re in any position to judge me. Don’t you own, like, ten strip clubs?”

  “Five,” I replied. “And I’m always looking for more talent.”

  Riley’s shit-eating grin vanished. She looked down at her empty plate, then rose and made to lift it. “I should—”

  “No.” I shoved my chair back and circled the vast table my interior decorator had stuck in here. It was meant to make me feel like a king at a fucking banquet, but it left me empty. Empty chairs brought only silence, after all.

  I reached Riley and took the plate from her. My thumb brushed the back of her hand and she stiffened. I did too. Just not in the same way.

  “I’ll take that,” I said and removed the plate from her grasp. I plonked it back on the table again, left it there, then faced her. “I don’t want you to be a stripper in my club, if that’s what’s on your mind, Riley.”

  She didn’t speak but chewed on her bottom lip instead. That mouth belonged on mine. I needed it on my dick, on my body. I needed it parted and moaning my name, over and over again.

  I dragged my fingers down her cheek, and she leaned into the touch, squeezed her eyes shut tight so the lids wrinkled up.

  “I wouldn’t want anyone looking at you like that,” I said.

  “Like what?” She met my gaze again, arched an eyebrow, but didn’t step away from my touch.

  “Like you’re a fantasy waiting to come true.” My fingers slipped beneath her chocolate locks, trailed around to the back of her neck and took hold of it.

  “I should get some sleep,” she said. “I have an early class in the morning. Thank you for your hospitality. I’ll consider your offer tomorrow, in the light of day, when there’s some—” she cleared her throat, then muttered, “distance.”

  I released her, immediately, trailed my fingers down her shoulder and stepped back. “Let me show you to your room.” I walked past her. Fuck it, if she caught a glimpse of my dick, raging against my pants, all the better. The woman wanted me, though she’d resisted me thus far.

  A first for me.

  I’d never had to try hard for women. I’d never had to chase.

  I entered the hall, listening for her footsteps behind me, soft on the hardwood in here. I halted in front of the guest room then opened it up and clicked on the overhead lights. It was clean and dust-free, well maintained, as was everything in my apartment.

  The queen-sized bed against the wall was outfitted in white sheets, and I pictured tearing off Riley’s sweats and dirtying those sheets. Showing her feelings she’d never had. Possessing her fucking soul.

  “Here,” I said. “There’s a bathroom down the hall, and I’m right next door to you if you need anything.” I nodded to my open bedroom door a few feet away.

  “Thank you,” she said, and turned her head, the light catching the flecks of hazel in her irises. I traced the line of that pale, swanlike neck, the soft skin peering out above her top. I caught her eye, and she flushed bright red. A tiny noise escaped her, almost a moan.

  I walked toward her, and she backed into the doorjamb, yelped, and let out a strangled laugh.

  “Good night,” I said, stopping inches from her body. Heat grew between us, and her breasts rose and fell, almost frantically. She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip, and I fixated on it.

  “Good night.” It came from her in a croak.

  I reached past her and flicked on the hall light at the switch, then winked. “In case you get scared or lost. You know where to find me.”

  “Thanks.” She slipped sideways and into her room, still flushing, then nodded once and shut the guest room door.

  She still hadn’t caved. This woman was the only one I’d wanted like this in… ever, and she was the only one who’d resisted. Usually, a look was enough. A smile. The rumble of my voice.

  I stood there, frozen in front of her door, and leaned my forearm against the jamb, balled my hand into a fist.

  Every muscle screamed for her. My dick ached. The scent of her was thick on the air, lavender and vanilla now, no sweat. She’d showered before dinner, and listening to the water hitting the tiles in the bathroom had been torture in its purest form.

  What is it about this chick? She’s just another woman. She’s not anything special.

  Except, she was. She was defiant, angry, sexy, sleek, and willing to sleep on the floor at her work without any fear. And she moved like a dancer, like a queen.

  “Idiot,” I muttered and made to push off the door.

  A tight, soft moan stopped me.

  Those tight muscles fucking liquefied.

  Had that been…?

  God is punishing me. I don’t know what it’s for. No, that’s a lie, ha. I’ll always be his favorite dickhead.

  Another moan, and my cock throbbed against my pants, scraping and begging for freedom. Moisture there, too. Precum. That hadn’t happened in years. I was so turned on I’d leaked.

  Yeah, definitely punishing me.

  I leaned in, listening hard, drawn to her sounds even though this had to qualify me as a stalker. Again, baby, come on. Let me hear you come.

  Riley’s voice lifted ever so slightly. The moan was louder this time and accompanied by the wet sounds of her pleasure. I pictured her on the bed, two fingers working that pussy, lips opening like a flower to the morning sun, and another one circling her clit, her legs shaking, her tits out, nipples slightly puffy, pink.

  Her face contorted, rapture tearing her apart from the inside out. Lips open, tongue trailing saliva across them, eyes open but glazed over, caught in her fantasy.

  Fuck!

  “Oh god,” she whispered. “Oh god, oh god.”

  Is that what they’re calling me now?

  “Oh god, baby, yes.”

  My fists were steel blocks, and the bar between my shoulders pained me. I held back so hard I was on the brink of snapping. One second more, that was all, and I’d have to turn and walk away or I’d crash in there like a devilish beast and ask her if it was me she needed inside her.

  Me she wanted to—

  “Jax,” she whimpered. “Jax, oh my god.”

  Stick a fork in me, I’m done.

  I spun on my heel, dropped one hand to my dick, and walked back to my room, gripping it hard, stroking my thumb over the outline of its tip. My hips jerked. I was almost there.

  Riley’s moans were muted now, thank god.

  If I heard what she said I’d turn back. I couldn’t turn back. Couldn’t scare her.

  My body screamed “beast,” while my mind restrained it.

  I shut my bedroom door and locked it for good measure then
unzipped and brought my cock out.

  It was so hard it’d gone red. It was fucking angry. It needed release.

  It needs Riley.

  She would be different from the others. Experienced, softer, sweeter.

  I walked to the wall that separated the guest room from mine, placed my forehead against it and exhaled, hard. No noise, but this was the closest point to her.

  Come for me, baby. Come hard. Break for me. Moan for me. Scream my name.

  I spat on my palm and smoothed it over my dick, the ridges, the veins, picturing Riley’s expression the first time she saw it. She’d gasp, her eyelids would flutter. She’d wonder how it’d possibly fit inside that tight pussy, between those puffy lips.

  I’d bend her over backward, wrap those legs around her fucking head, lift her up and work her on my dick until she came undone and pulsed around it, worked it for all she was worth.

  My strokes were steady but fast. My breaths whistled through clenched teeth.

  “Fuck,” I softly growled. “Fuck, Riley. You’re mine. You’re mine.”

  My balls tightened, lifted. My hips bucked on their own, cock thrusting against my palm, when really it belonged inside her. I turned and braced myself on the desk, still thrusting. Cum spurted from me, splattered on the wood, and I groaned, threw my head back.

  “Riley.”

  The room hazed into nothingness then came back again.

  Shit. This was insane. I’d never moaned a woman’s name before. And I’d just come on my desk.

  I hurried to my en suite bathroom, wet the end of a towel, then brought it back and cleaned up, shaking my head. I didn’t jack off, I fucked. I didn’t moan the name of a woman, I focused on my own pleasure.

  This was different.

  It left me with one conclusion.

  Riley would be mine. I had to have her. Had to dominate her, like I did everything else.

  And with her living next door, it would be that much easier. And that much more difficult.

  4

  Riley

  “What?!” Veronica’s voice shrieked over the thump of the beat from the stereo. “You went home with who? Who is he?”