Knocked Up

by Stacey Lynn

  “Anna—”

  “Whatever.” He grins. “Whoever. It’s not the point, and neither is she. You can be upset I would treat someone like her so callously, but it doesn’t change the fact that before she came home with me, she came on to me, she bought me a drink. She knew exactly what she was getting into when she slid into the car next to me and when I called her an Uber and sent her home. But don’t be upset that it all happened before you waltzed back into my life and told me you were having my child. That’s not fair.”

  It’s not fair, and he’s right. While everything he’s saying is upsetting, it’s the way of the world and one-night stands, things I know so little about except through others. And is it really any worse than how I treated him?

  All of my anger drains. Other than being embarrassed at her outburst, I don’t have a reason to be upset with Braxton.

  “This is humiliating,” I mutter, pressing my hands to his chest. “I get what you’re saying, but I still don’t like it, and I don’t think I like knowing she’s been with you. I have to work with her occasionally.”

  “And if I could change that for you, I would, but there’s nothing we can do about it except move on from it. Okay?”

  He makes it sound so simple. I might be naive when it comes to one-night stands, but I’m not naive to how women behave when they feel they’ve been scorned. And if Anna believes she’s been wronged in some way, she still has the ability to make my job a living hell for the next several weeks.

  I’ve been staring at his chest, at the dip in his throat where his dress shirt is unbuttoned because he’s gone sans tie. And now, I drag my gaze up the column of his throat, to his chiseled jaw and straight to his full, lush lips that have been all over me.

  My body responds and his black eyes fire with lust at whatever he sees in my expression. I can only imagine what it is, because my body is responding to everything I see.

  I’m flushed now, for an entirely different reason, so when he tilts his head and dips down, I don’t move away.

  And when he presses his lips against mine, almost tenderly, like he’s testing to see if I’ll push him away, I don’t.

  I inhale his masculine scent of spicy pine and man and my hands slide to his shoulder, seemingly on their own volition, and then my lips are parting as his tongue slides over my bottom lip and he dips inside.

  And for the first time in months, I’m tasting him, inhaling his scent and digging fingers into his suit at his shoulders, and all of this is so familiar from our first time, I’m unable to stop the sensations rippling through my nerves, making me crave more of him.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he yanks away from my mouth and tilts my head. He kisses my throat, sliding his tongue and his mouth along the side of me, right to that perfect, hidden, and invisible spot that shoots desire straight to my core.

  “Oh,” I whimper, fingers digging into his suit and gripping him harshly, pulling him to me as my hips roll, pressing against him.

  His length is hard against my stomach, his hands tight at my hips, and his mouth is doing such wicked things to my throat, my jaw, working back to my mouth, that I can visualize where all of this is headed…where all of this has gone before.

  But I don’t want it to be like last time, with so much uncertainty and complications between us, so even though I desperately want what he’s giving, I push his shoulders until he relents, leaning back from me.

  “What?”

  “I can’t.” I’m a gasping, breathless mess. “Not here,” I quickly amend.

  “Okay.” He grins and presses his lips to mine. “Not here.”

  “Not yet,” I quickly add, because sex isn’t on the table. Not tonight. Not this week or next.

  If Braxton wants to date me, he has to do it my way.

  Slowly. Intentionally. Not falling into bed because it feels so mind-blowing wonderful.

  “Not yet?” he asks, and his lips are tilting up at the ends.

  “No.”

  His eyes bounce back and forth between mine, his lips pressed together like he’s fighting a laugh, and then his arms are around me, holding me tight to him, flush to his body, my hands on his chest pressed and sandwiched between us.

  “I can take ‘not yet,’ ” he says, and I can hear the humor in his thick voice. “Because you’ve just told me it’ll happen again, and with how good we are together, trust me, I have no problems waiting until you’re ready.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” He pulls back, one of his hands sliding up my back to cup the back of my neck. His look is serious, full of intent and desire, but also honesty. “Yes, Cara. Anything worth having is worth the wait.”

  “Okay.” It comes out as a squeak, and Braxton laughs.

  He pulls away from us, and reluctantly, I let him go, dropping my hands only to have one of them taken in his palm.

  “Let’s go back out there, ignore Abby—”

  “Anna.”

  “Whoever, and get you home to bed. You need your rest.”

  * * *

  —

  I stretch in bed, lazily shoving my arms above my head, my eyes jumping open when they hit a wood headboard I’m entirely unfamiliar with.

  Sitting up, my stomach dips and a quick glance around settles my surprise, but not my stomach.

  I’m in the guest room at Braxton’s, although I have no memory of the trip to either his place or the bedroom.

  “Ugh.” I drop my head into my hand and groan. I must have fallen asleep on the way home. I barely remember saying good night to Luca.

  I do recall the searing glare Anna sent me on our way out the door. It was one filled with “You’re such a tramp, forgiving a man who can cheat on you,” based on the way she also glared at my hand clasped with Braxton’s as we left the gallery.

  Braxton had leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Ignore her. No one needs to know our story except those we choose to share it with. Okay?”

  I’d mumbled an agreement, slid into the passenger seat of his car after he helped me in it, and remember nothing else.

  “Damn,” I groan, and slide my legs out from beneath the thick, plush covers and stare at my legs.

  They’re bare.

  A quick check tells me I’m entirely naked save for the black satin underwear I was wearing the night before. I jump out of bed, my stomach rolling with such force I fall forward, slamming my hand onto the nightstand.

  Damn it. I have to remember not to move so fast. And eat, as soon as I wake up. My hand brushes against something that makes a crinkling sound.

  Yes. Damn, he’s good.

  Crackers. Juice. One of my antinausea tablets, and a note.

  Take me is scribbled on it. I shake my head and grin.

  He apparently thinks of everything, including how to see me naked again.

  My cheeks heat, and I quickly sit down on the bed, shoving a cracker into my mouth and almost draining the glass of juice before I take the tablet.

  Lying back down on the bed, I drape an arm over my eyes, blocking out the morning light. I have no concept of what time it is, but I’ve learned that even after taking my meds, it’s best to lie still for a few minutes, nibble on a few crackers, and rise slowly. This morning’s jolt to awareness has me queasier than I’ve been in recent days, so it takes me longer, but eventually, I feel steadier. Once I do, I use the restroom and wash my hands, and only then do I spy the makeup kit I’d packed in an overnight bag on the counter. It includes travel-size toiletries and hair products.

  A quick glance at my ruined mascara and matted hair tells me a shower is an excellent idea.

  Braxton might want to see me naked, but in no way am I prepared to show off my zombie-preggo-lady look. I shower quickly, throw on minimal makeup, enough to c
over up the still slightly green look from morning sickness complexion, and toss my hair into a messy knot on top of my head. It’s when I’m sliding into my most comfortable, stretchy pair of yoga pants that I catch my profile in the mirror and cringe.

  The pants are tight, digging into my stomach and sides above my hips.

  And it’s like the air stills while my hand settles on my stomach. It’s no longer just a nightly bloat.

  I’m showing. It should make me uncomfortable or scare me, shouldn’t it? But as I stare into the mirror, I catch my own soft grin.

  I’m having a baby. A real-life baby and it’s unexpected and with an unexpected guy, but so far, Braxton’s the kind of guy I’d imagine myself with.

  His idea of dating doesn’t seem so scary now. He’s definitely good at following through on taking care of me and he’s handled all of this with such confidence. He’s becoming my calm strength in the midst of what could be a brutal storm. I might not know him well, but I know enough to know he won’t let any hint of that storm come close to me.

  He’s not only a great guy, he’s also really, really sexy. A girl could do much worse, but I’m not sure it gets much better.

  I grab my empty juice glass and sleeve of crackers intent on heading to find him, but as soon as I open my bedroom door, I come to an abrupt stop, almost tripping over a waggling tail, sad puppy dog eyes, and a happy tongue lolling out of Lucy’s mouth.

  “Hey, girl,” I say, crouching down and going straight for her ears.

  She whines, bumps her nose into my palm, and licks me wherever she can reach.

  “She’s been waiting for you. Thought she was going to have at least three heart attacks this morning.”

  I look up as Braxton speaks and all that confidence, my newfound excitement at seeing him, spikes to immeasurable levels.

  He’s standing at the edge of the hallway, shoulder braced against the wall. His arms are bare. In fact, everything above his waist is bare. His ink is everywhere.

  It’s been so long since I’ve seen him like this, it takes all my will to resist jumping to my feet and tackling him so I can taste him all over.

  This is not pregnant hormones kicking into high gear, creating a throb at the apex of my thighs.

  This is simple, boy meets girl, girl wants to taste hot boy, physical chemistry.

  Chapter 14

  Braxton

  She’s beautiful, crouched down, ass to heels, a package of crackers in one hand and her other hand on the top of Lucy’s head where she paused as soon as I spoke.

  But it’s her eyes, like always, drawing me to her, pulling me closer as though the web of chemistry I’ve always felt between us has finally made its way to her.

  “Hey,” Cara says, giving Lucy another rub and pushing to her feet. “Good morning.”

  Good morning, indeed. Although it was a better night last night when I was peeling her skintight satin dress off her body and standing there like a jackass, admiring her body, thinking of the way it was going to change in the upcoming months. I only felt slightly disgusted with myself for doing it when she passed out and was unable to see my vast appreciation of her body.

  Shame, because with the way she’s eye-fucking me, I think we’re thinking the same thing…

  Desire.

  I’ve been pretty blunt with what I want from her, especially throwing a relationship with her down like a gauntlet, one she was clearly hesitant to pick up. Last night, after the run-in with the redhead, I’d considered stepping back.

  Now? Her gaze is glued to my chest and my abs, and I drop my arms from my chest, letting her look her fill. No way in hell am I backing down.

  It’s full speed ahead, picking up exactly where we left off the morning she snuck out on me.

  “You should eat.” I push off the wall and snap my fingers, calling Lucy to me, but like she’s behaved since last weekend, with Cara around, Lucy wants nothing to do with me.

  “I’m not really hungry. I ate some crackers.”

  Lucy wags her tail and nudges her face against Cara’s knee, pushing her forward.

  I arch a brow and nod toward Lucy. “Seems Lucy thinks you needs to eat.”

  Grinning, Cara shakes her head, a mixture of baffled and amused as she walks toward me. “Dogs are so strange.”

  I press my hand to her lower back and pull her flush against me. I don’t give her a second to hesitate before I press my lips to hers, tasting the lingering mint of her toothpaste. “Dogs are good judges of good people. Let’s get you fed.”

  “Speaking of feeding me.” She shakes the crackers back and forth. “Seems someone not only brought me food but removed my clothes last night. You wouldn’t know who did that, would you?”

  “You were passed out. Did you want to sleep in that dress?”

  “No, but…”

  “I didn’t touch you.” I grin, thinking of her body. The warmth of her soft flesh as I removed her dress. “At least not too inappropriately. You can scold me all you’d like, but I won’t apologize for taking care of you. Or thinking your body is sexy as hell.”

  She humphs, but it lacks impact. She looks too damn cute with her scrunched-up nose and lips.

  “Come on. Breakfast. Food. What would you like? I was making eggs and potatoes.”

  We reach the kitchen and I slide her onto a barstool facing the worktop where I’d been chopping potatoes before Lucy was alerted to Cara’s shower turning on and off.

  “Just potatoes,” she says, and although I want her to eat some eggs for protein, the muted green haze to her skin makes me not push it.

  “Potatoes it is. If you’d like more juice, help yourself to the fridge.”

  * * *

  —

  “So you’ve told me about your parents, and you mention you have a brother, but what is your family like?”

  My fork full of potatoes is halfway to my mouth when I pause. “What’d I say?”

  Cara’s lips are pressed together and she’s looking out the windows. We chatted while I cooked, we talked about the art gallery and how I got my start with opening my first tattoo place. Get-to-know-you bullshit that doesn’t feel like bullshit when I’m talking about it with Cara.

  Things have been going, well…easy.

  Her happy expression has evaporated and changed to utter sadness.

  “You okay?” She still doesn’t speak. “Cara?”

  She blinks, pulling herself out of whatever has grabbed her attention, and smiles shyly at me. “Sorry. Your question caught me off guard.” She clears her throat and takes a drink of water, and I notice her hand has a slight tremor to it.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing, really, I wasn’t prepared for you to ask about Jimmy.”

  She sniffs and I set down my fork. I give her a few minutes, keeping an eye on her. Slowly, a realization settles, because she has that faraway look I know I get in my eyes whenever Stella and I talk about Irvin, and it kills me.

  So instead of waiting for her to tell me about her brother, I start speaking.

  “I had a mom.” My voice is bland, as it always is when I think about her. “Got knocked up by someone she hooked herself to in order to get money for drugs.”

  Cara’s expression changes to surprise and I find myself smiling at the cute way her brows raise and her lips part. “What?”

  “Yeah.” I settle my forearms on the table. “Bet Dan doesn’t talk about that much when he talks about me, does he?” She shakes her head but I don’t need the answer. Dan would take my secrets and anything I’ve told him about my life to his grave. “See, I was born addicted to drugs. My mom was clean for a long while after she had me. She’s always said she quit when she found out she was pregnant, but I don’t think she realized she was pregnant for a long while so by t
he time she stopped, the damage was already done. She told me when I was little I spent six weeks in ICU, born more than a month early, unable to breathe on my own.”

  “Braxton—”

  “It’s not a big deal.” I smile lightly. It’s not, really. “But I figure we’re getting to know each other and there’s not much in my life I’m ashamed about, but I was always ashamed of that. Not so much anymore. I met this guy when I was twelve. Big old three-hundred-and-fifty-pound mammoth of a man. Irvin. He caught me and a couple buddies trying to shoplift from the 7-Eleven and hauled us out of there so fast, telling the guy at the counter he’d deal with it, I almost shit my pants.”

  I laugh at the memory. Irvin was so damn scary that day, I was sure I was either getting hauled off to jail or murdered in some lunatic’s basement. Cara’s face has paled and her mouth is gaping but not one sound comes out.

  “Anyway, I was running with the wrong crowd, but I lived in a neighborhood where there was the bad crowd and the deadly one so I was making the best choices I could at the time, and I don’t know what it was that day, still don’t, but Irvin took me in. He gave me a place to stay, made me come to his house after school to help me with my homework, all that shit my mom couldn’t deal with. Lived four blocks away from my own home but after that first day, there was something between us, and his home eventually became more of a home than my own.”

  “Wow, it’s good you had that. Good you have someone like that in your life.”

  “Yeah, well, Irvin’s son died in a gang when he was thirteen. Joined up despite the fact he had a dad in his life who gave a shit about him, which is better than most of us around there had, so I never really got it because Irvin’s a scary beast, but his heart was just as large. Anyway, I was struggling in school, barely passing, and it was pissing me off because all I wanted to do was get out of that hellish neighborhood and do something.” I paused, took a long drink of my coffee, and glanced out the window. “I couldn’t read, Cara,” I say when I look at her again. “Don’t know if it was the drugs, or I was born wrong, but I couldn’t read. Fucking killed me too, to have everyone think I was so damn stupid.”