Little Secrets--Holiday Baby Bombshell

by Karen Booth

  It was her turn to torture him, as she stepped away and admired him in the light.

  “Get over here,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I’m enjoying the view.” As heavenly as it was to touch him, looking at him was a close second. He was as solid as a man could be, a looming tower of muscle. At the moment, some parts of him were more solid than usual. She couldn’t wait to have him in her hand. She couldn’t wait to have him inside her.

  “No more looking, Charlie. Get over here. I need you to touch me.”

  She took her time breaching the few feet between them. She’d spent too many nights crying over Michael. If she was going to make a mistake and sleep with him, she wanted to at least feel in charge. She pressed her chest against his, letting him get another eyeful, as she reached down and wrapped her hands around his steely length. “Like this?”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat and his chin dropped. She studied his face as his eyelids fluttered shut for a moment and he seemed to grapple with the firm strokes she was taking with her hand.

  He cupped the sides of her face and kissed her, fast and loose. Their tongues wound in a dizzying spiral and she didn’t let go of him. She caressed softer, loosening her fingers and letting the weight of his erection rest against her palm. He buried his hands in her hair, making a huge mess of it. She couldn’t have cared less.

  “I have to have you.” Michael dropped their kiss and reached down to shimmy her panties past her hips.

  Charlotte planted her hands on his shoulders. “We need a condom.” No, pregnancy was not a concern, but she had no idea who’d he been with since they’d broken up.

  “Two secs. Don’t move.” He hustled into his room and Charlotte followed orders, staying put. He was back in seconds flat.

  “All better?” she asked.

  “All better. Now, where were we?” He lifted her up, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her bottom as he thumped her back against the wall next to the living room window.

  He positioned himself at her entrance and drove inside, strong and forceful. Charlotte wrapped her legs around his waist as her body came to terms with how completely he filled her. Her hands clasped his neck, urging his mouth down to hers. Having him inside her while his lips were on hers was the full-on Michael Kelly package—hot and wet.

  He had one hand at the small of her back, but the other hand went to the bustier she was still wearing. He expertly popped open the top three clips and peeled back the lace to reveal her breasts. He pulled her body closer and dropped his head, his lips taking in the taut skin of her nipple. He looped his tongue and she felt her body tighten beneath that touch. It was enough to make the pressure and heat between her legs double.

  He again pulled her close and lifted her back from against the wall. He turned and sat on the sofa, Charlotte straddling his lap. Now that he no longer had to hold her, he took care of the final hooks on her garment, and the lace fell to the floor behind her. He took both breasts in his hands and cupped them, rubbing his thumbs back and forth across her nipples, building heat and pressure inside her. He was so strong and nimble, he had no problem lifting her off the couch with his hips, taking strokes that went deeper and deeper. Charlotte thought her eyes might cross from the pleasure, it was so immense.

  “Are you close, darling?” His voice was rough.

  She nodded, closing her eyes, concentrating on how good and primal this felt. She’d needed this. Maybe this would get Michael out of her system. Hopefully, it wouldn’t make things worse. Hopefully, it wouldn’t deepen her attachment to him.

  He slipped his thumb against her apex and began rotating in small circles, using an ideal amount of pressure. Michael knew she needed some help, and he wasn’t afraid to give it. He was definitely the kind of man who wanted her to come first, sometimes more than once. It was one of his many, many selling points. She ground her body against his hand—it felt so good, the insides of her body winding tighter, her hips feeling fitful and restless. She was so close to the edge she could feel herself unraveling, and with a jolt, she gave way. She tossed her head back and called out, placing her hands on his thighs behind her. He followed while the waves of pleasure were still rocketing through her, unleashing himself into her in strong pulses. It was as hot as she could’ve imagined. She collapsed forward, burrowing her head in his neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, smoothing back her hair and kissing her cheek.

  She’d thought making love with Michael might help get him out of her system, but after their red-hot tryst, she knew it would take at least a few more tries.

  Eight

  In the soft light of morning, Charlotte’s eyes popped open, and she lay frozen in Michael’s bed. What did I do? The question to herself was quickly answered by a lightning-fast barrage of images from last night—their exodus from the wedding, the kiss in the elevator, the invitation to his apartment, the moment when clothes came off and, of course, the wall.

  She clutched the sheets to her chest, careful not to move or breathe too loud while she tried to sort through this in her brain. What did this mean? Did Michael want her back? She’d been very clear on their walk that there could be nothing physical between them when they were on such different pages. Had he changed his mind? Had a few minutes of Gabe Underwood–induced jealousy been enough?

  If Michael did want more, it could be the answer to everything she’d spent months worrying about. Single parenthood would no longer have to be the biggest challenge to come. She could switch to regular parenthood, which would be its own feat, but at least she’d have someone to hand off the baby to in the middle of the night if things got particularly hairy. It could be amazing if Michael wanted to pick things up again, but there was only one problem. Charlotte’s life did not magically work out that way.

  Then there was the not-small matter of what she wanted, a priority she was still learning to put first. Did she even want to get back together with Michael? Would things be any better the second time around? Would he appreciate her? Would he ever love her? There were no guarantees. Her old inclination was to search for meaning in his words, like a woman reading tea leaves. She was such a sucker for a well-delivered line, especially when it came from a mouth as gorgeous as Michael’s. Last night’s, out on the dance floor, had been a doozy. I made a mistake when I let you go. But no. She needed to stop judging a man first by his words and second by his actions. Fran had spent a good chunk of time drilling this into her head: It’s actions first, words second, Charlotte. Not the other way around.

  Judging Michael by his actions was Job One this morning. Would he offer to bring her coffee? That would be a point in her mental “yay” column. Be sweet? Want to make love again? Yay and yay. As exciting as the prospect was of things finally moving in the right direction, she needed to temper her expectations. And get on with it already. She needed to wake him up.

  Prepared to press a gentle morning kiss to Michael’s cheek, she carefully and quietly rolled over.

  To an empty bed.

  She tore back the covers as if all six feet and many more inches of him could possibly be hiding under there somewhere. “Michael?” she called, sitting up in bed. No answer. She patted down the mattress for a hint of residual body heat, but the sheets were as cold as if no one had slept there at all. She climbed out from under the duvet and hustled over to his dresser, pulling out a soft, worn T-shirt of his and threading it over her head. It lightly skimmed her legs, the hem coming down to the middle of her thighs. “Michael? Are you up?” She used her voice a little more forcefully now, but there was still no reply.

  Maybe he went out to get pastries and coffee. The passion-fruit Danish from the bakery a few blocks away. Yes, that was it. That had to be it. That was a nice and thoughtful thing to do. She walked into his bathroom, peed and washed her hands, then ventured out into the apartment, hoping to find a n
ote. Her search for evidence of a sweet, early morning scone run turned up nothing more than a neat stack of her clothes from yesterday on the end of his couch. He’d spent enough time milling around the apartment this morning to do that? What else had he done? And where had he gone? Her heart began to thump anxiously. Her heart knew what was up, but her brain was still computing.

  Abby was also gone. Aha! He’d probably taken her downstairs for a few minutes. That didn’t completely warrant a note, right? Maybe a text was in order. She pulled her cell out of her handbag.

  Hey. Where are you?

  As hard as she stared at her phone, no answer came. With every passing tick of the clock, and every lap she took in his living room, Charlotte realized more and more that she was making excuses for Michael. If the situation had been reversed, she would’ve left a note. She wouldn’t have slept with someone and dared to leave her apartment for more than two seconds without letting the other person know what she was doing. She would have replied to a text, no matter the circumstances. This was classic Michael and the problem with classic Michael was that he knew how to please her in bed, but everywhere and everything else was sorely lacking.

  She needed to put an end to her own idiocy. She needed to stop acting like Charlotte, and start acting like Michael—cold and calculating, taking what he wanted and leaving everyone else to fend for themselves. She scooped up her clothes from the wedding and decided it wasn’t even worth it to change. She and Michael were still the only residents of their floor and it was very early Sunday morning, only a few minutes after seven. She’d be fine to bolt down the hall to the safety of her apartment.

  She opened the door and first made sure the coast was clear. She doubted she’d run into a member of the hotel staff, but she wanted to be sure. Holding her head high, she marched down the hall, but she began to shrink with every step. This walk of shame reminded her too much of the night she and Michael broke up. It left her with the same empty feeling, but now it was more pronounced, leaving her feeling even more hollow. That time, she hadn’t been aware that she was pregnant with Michael’s child.

  Just as she passed the elevators, she heard it ding. Half-naked, her survival instinct kicked in and she ran to her end of the hall, but she stopped as soon as she rounded the corner and was out of sight. She poked her head out to see Michael, Abby and a woman step out into the hall.

  “Do you mind waiting here for a moment?” he asked the woman. “I just need to put my dog in my apartment, then I can give you a tour of some of the available units.”

  “Of course. I’ll wait.” The woman was statuesque and raven-haired, and although there was no hint of romance between her and Michael, the fact that she was beautiful irked Charlotte.

  A showing? He’s doing a showing? He’s impossible. Charlotte had seen enough. She keyed into her apartment and closed the door behind her, collapsing against it. She was still ruminating over what was going on when Thor yelped from the confines of his crate. She let him loose, thankful she’d thought enough to text Fran last night and ask her to take him out. He yipped and vied for her attention, so Charlotte invited him up onto the couch and endured countless licks and doggy kisses.

  “Abby’s dad is mean,” Charlotte said to Thor. “He’s a real jerk.”

  Thor stopped licking for an instant and cocked his head, making his ears flop.

  “I don’t think you should run down there anymore. Whatever it is that you think you have going on with Abby probably isn’t going to happen anyway, buddy. She’s too much like Michael. Too much on her own plan.” The more she thought about this, the angrier she got. He’d had an appointment for a showing? That was why he hadn’t left her a note. He hadn’t wanted her to know what he was doing. That was Michael, though—always selling and always competing. Why she should fault a duck for looking and acting like a duck was beyond her.

  Her phone beeped with a text. She anxiously dug it out of her evening bag while anger wedged itself in her thoughts. She was ready to give Michael a piece of her mind...only to see that the text was from Noah.

  Meet you in the lobby in fifteen?

  Oh, crap. She’d completely forgotten that the family was meeting for breakfast with Sawyer and Kendall before they left for their honeymoon. With Christmas almost here, they were only going away for a few days, down to Miami. They had a longer trip planned for January. Sawyer had been insistent that the three siblings were going to spend more time together now that he had a child on the way. Things were not going to be splintered just because their father seemed to want things that way. Charlotte agreed, especially with her surprise bun-in-the-oven.

  Make it thirty? There was no way she’d be ready to go in fifteen minutes.

  Plus, she had a text of her own to send. Another one, to Michael. Thanks for letting me know where you were this morning. So nice to wake up to an empty bed. Michael was fluent in sarcasm. It was one of the best ways to get to him.

  Noah replied, Moving a little slow this morning?

  Charlotte couldn’t help but think that a hangover would be better than the bitter sting of reality Michael had handed her this morning. Just primping. You know me.

  Okay. I’ll let everyone know you’ll be late.

  Where did you go? This time, the text was from Michael.

  She wrestled with how to reply—she had nothing in the way of a snappy comeback, although if she could come up with one, she’d find a way to include Gabe in it. That would get under his skin. But with only a half hour to shower and get downstairs for breakfast, she decided it was better to let Michael stew in his own juices.

  In world-record time, Charlotte showered, put on her makeup, dressed, zipped Thor downstairs for a pee break, begged a bellboy to return the dog to her apartment and was in the hotel restaurant, headed to the very back, where her family—Noah, Aunt Fran, Sawyer and Kendall—was nearly finished splitting one of the Grand Legacy’s world-famous cinnamon rolls.

  “So sorry I’m late,” Charlotte said, taking hugs from her brothers, who had both gotten up from the table. Consummate gentlemen.

  Sawyer waved it off. “We’re used to it by now.”

  Charlotte took her place in between her oldest brother and Fran, then ordered a cup of herbal tea and asked the waitress if she could bring another cinnamon roll. She’d missed out on too much of that yummy action. Kendall grasped Sawyer’s arm and rested her head on his shoulder. The one thing Charlotte had noticed yesterday at the wedding, which was even more noticeable now, was just how comfortable they were with each other. It was like they’d known each other their whole lives. Maybe that was the yardstick for a good relationship—when you find someone and you effortlessly fit together. It doesn’t have to mean it’s perfect. Every couple argues. But some people are simply meant for each other. Sawyer and Kendall seemed to be that couple.

  Charlotte couldn’t help but be at least a little bit jealous. It would’ve been nice if she could’ve gotten pregnant by the one man on the planet, wherever he might be, who was right for her. But at this point, lots of things would be nice, and as Fran had said a million times, dwelling on the past was going to get her nowhere.

  “Where’d you get off to last night, Charlotte?” Noah asked. “We missed you at the end of the reception.”

  Fran cast Charlotte a sly look and took a sip of her coffee.

  Oh, yeah. That. “I was tired. I didn’t want to bring down the whole party by falling asleep at the table.”

  “You didn’t seem tired. You danced for quite a while with Michael Kelly.” The tone in Sawyer’s voice was unmistakable, and Charlotte couldn’t help but recall the first time this subject had come up between the two of them.

  “He was rambling on about real estate. He can talk about it forever. I swear the man just likes to hear his own voice. I’d tell him to shut up, but sometimes he actually shares valuable information.”

&nb
sp; “You two are cute together,” Kendall added. “He’s really quite handsome.”

  “We’ve been married fewer than twenty-four hours and you’re already scouting out other guys?” Sawyer asked, cocking an eyebrow at Kendall.

  She swatted his arm. “Shush. It’s the truth. And I was talking about him in the context of your sister, not me. I’m sure Charlotte would love to meet a nice guy.”

  Charlotte nearly sputtered a mouthful of tea across the table. All she could do was nod and smile. Of course she wanted to meet a nice guy. She just wasn’t sure where exactly a girl went about finding one.

  A grin crossed Fran’s face. “Speak of the devil. Look who’s on his way over here right now.” She gave Charlotte a little kick under the table for good measure.

  Everyone at the table looked up, and sure enough, here came Michael. He was dressed in jeans and a black sweater, looking far more handsome than was fair. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your family breakfast. I was hoping to steal a moment with Charlotte.”

  “Can this wait until later?” she answered, looking up at him, hoping the tension in her face could convey how much she did not want to speak to him right now.

  “It’ll only be a minute. You haven’t been answering my text messages.”

  Sawyer cleared his throat and that sent Charlotte into a panic. She didn’t need to give her brother any more material to form an opinion of what may or may not be going on between herself and Michael. “Excuse me, everyone. I’ll just be a second.”

  Michael blazed a trail through the restaurant and Charlotte followed. Whether she was mad at him or not had no bearing on the fact that he looked better than amazing in a pair of jeans. “What happened this morning? I was gone for twenty minutes and you disappeared. Did you not enjoy yourself last night?”