The Rock Star’s Baby Bargain

by Lili Valente

  * * *

  Chip: Oh God… It’s always the quiet ones. Never trust the quiet ones.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later…

  * * *

  Chip: Dude. It’s good. It’s really good.

  I take it all back.

  Keep that girl as close to you as you can get her. If she inspires this kind of magic, it’ll be worth losing a foot in the end.

  Hell, it’ll be worth losing the whole leg.

  Chapter Eight

  Colette

  I wake up feeling like two million bucks covered in dark chocolate sauce and with no memory of where I am.

  I open my eyes, watching the unfamiliar ceiling fan whir and still…nothing.

  Then I turn my head to see my dress folded neatly on the bedside table, propping up a note that reads—Ran downstairs to grab coffee and chat with my manager. Text me when you’re up, and I’ll bring you breakfast, beautiful. Last night was amazing. XO, Zack—and a smile springs onto my face so fast it makes me dizzy.

  And fizzy.

  And before I know it, I’m rolling around in the rumpled sheets giggling like a crazy woman and throwing pillows into the air.

  I’m just so happy.

  So, soooooo happy, and not because Zack and I might have made a baby.

  The chances that I’m ovulating are pretty slim —I’ve been tracking my cycle like a ship’s captain charting a course during hurricane season, and I won’t be in my fertile window for at least four more days—but it doesn’t matter.

  Last night wasn’t about the endgame; it was about every incredible moment.

  Just being with Zack was enough to make me feel like I won the lottery, found a puppy under the Christmas tree, and learned that cheesecake doesn’t have calories—all wrapped up together and topped with a multi-orgasmic bow.

  Pondering what color an orgasm bow would be—Pink maybe? Or red? Rainbow with extra glitter?—I grab my phone from beside the note.

  I’m about to text Theo and tell her that she was so right about Zack, but I hesitate and then pull up Zack’s number instead.

  I’m usually a girl’s girl. I tell my girlfriends everything. If there’s a problem in my relationship, they’ll know about it at least two weeks before my boyfriend of the moment. I know some people think that’s strange, but all my best girls have been in my life for a decade or more. They’ve loved and supported me through good times and bad and never dumped me because they don’t care for my unconventional opinions or met someone they’d rather sleep with. No man I’ve met so far can say the same.

  But with Zack…

  I don’t know why, but it feels different. Maybe it’s because this is already about so much more than sex.

  We could potentially be co-parenting very soon. That’s a BIG deal. We’ll be making decisions for a precious little human together. That’s a sacred duty, and not something that should start with gossipy texts to my BFF about how amazing her other BFF is in bed.

  Additionally, Theo probably doesn’t want all the raunchy details about a man she’s known since she was in junior high.

  Additionally, additionally… I don’t want to share Zack. I want to keep all the steamy memories to myself, paste them into my mental scrapbook, and flip through them later when I’m alone and wondering if I’ll ever have sex that good again.

  I’m not a fool. I know that having a baby on my own is going to make dating even harder than it is already. Not only will it be harder to find time to go out and meet people, but I’ll have to find a man who’s excited about falling in love with me and my little one at the same time.

  I’ve been in the dating trenches long enough to know that that kind of man is a rare and extraordinary beast, indeed.

  But then I’m sick of selfish, ordinary beasts. I’d rather have my baby in my arms and hold out for Mr. Extraordinary, thank you very much.

  Oh my God…

  A baby.

  I know it’s a long shot, and that the benign tumors that put a wrench in artificial insemination are still latched onto my uterus like evil, embryo-blocking goblins. Getting pregnant the old-fashioned way will be a long shot, too, but still, I can’t help but feel giddy with hope.

  And anticipation.

  Grinning like a fool, I text Zack—Good morning, Lovely Person. I hope you slept well.

  A beat later, the phone rings. I see Zack’s name pop up on the screen and hit the answer button. “So you’re a phone call guy, huh?” I ask in a sleep-rough voice.

  “Not all the time. Only with people I can’t wait to see again. And I figured I can give you the breakfast options faster this way,” he mutters softly beneath his breath. “It looks like you have a choice of stale apricot pastry. Preservative-heavy, cardboardy bagel with cream cheese. Or diet yogurt.”

  “Yuck, yuck, and yuck,” I say pleasantly. “Don’t they use diet yogurt to poison rats?”

  “No, I think that’s this instant oatmeal,” he says with a laugh. “Maybe we should grab breakfast on the road? I bet we can find a diner with some greasy eggs and bacon.”

  I hum and stretch. “Yes, that sounds delicious. But there’s one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m starving, but…I’m also still naked and in bed,” I say, skin tingling as Zack growls softly on the other end of the line.

  “That is a problem. But I think I might have a solution.”

  “Oh yeah? Already? That’s quick. I like how problem-solve-y you are.”

  “A part of performing for a living. You learn to think on your feet. So here’s what I suggest. You get your sweet ass in the shower, and I’ll be there in five minutes. I’ll make you come while we’re getting clean, and we’ll both be ready to hit the road in search of breakfast by nine.”

  “A multitasker, too,” I murmur. “Be still my heart.”

  “Less talking, more getting the water running, woman. I’m already halfway up the stairs.”

  “You’re taking the stairs up seven floors?”

  “I don’t wait for the elevator when you’re ready for me to fuck you.”

  My belly flips. “Best sentence ever.” I end the call, swing my legs over the side of the mattress, and hop down onto the plush carpet. I race into the bathroom, brush my teeth, and am stepping into the steamy shower just as I hear the door slam closed out in the main room.

  Biting my thumb and smiling like a cartoon villain whose prey is about to walk right into the trap she’s set, I press back against the slick tiles, watching Zack’s hazy silhouette approach through the wavy glass of the shower door. He reaches for the bottom of his shirt and drags it over his head, making my heart beat faster.

  “Go away, we don’t want any,” I call out over the sound of the spray.

  Zack laughs as he continues to undress. “That’s not what I heard. I heard there was a woman in this room dying to get on my dick.”

  Smiling wider, I say, “That sounds about right.”

  Zack opens the door, looking way too delicious naked and hard for me to do anything but open my arms and welcome him in.

  “I missed you,” he says as he gathers me close. The feel of his wet skin as the water hits our shoulders and streams lower lights up every nerve ending.

  “So much,” I agree, moaning into his mouth as he kisses me while palming my breast with his hand, bidding my tingling nipple good morning. “What time did you get up?”

  He grins against my lips. “I was up all night. Turns out, I can’t sleep next to you.”

  “Oh no.” I pull back, torn between feeling awful for keeping him awake and delicious because his other hand is between my legs, reminding my clit why we like him so much. “Was I making noise or something? Flopping all over the bed? I don’t think I snore, but—”

  “You don’t snore. You’re perfect.” His finger pushes inside me, making my knees go gooey in the center. “I just like fucking you too much. My body refuses to settle down and rest in your sex goddess presence.”

 
; I purse my lips. “You could have woken me up, you know. I wouldn’t have minded. Not even a little bit.”

  “You were too pretty while you were sleeping, and you need your rest. So do I, so I’m thinking we should do separate bedrooms at the retreat.” He lifts me up, guiding my legs around his waist. “Just for the sleeping part. If that’s okay with you.”

  The hot length of him presses against my core, and I twine my arms tighter around his neck with a sigh. “Whatever you want, baby.”

  “Whatever I want?” he challenges, the thick head of his erection nudging against my entrance.

  “Anything,” I promise, wiggling my hips. I’m already on fire, dying to feel him buried inside me. “As long as you let me come on your cock at least once a day.”

  “Three times a day, minimum,” he says as he glides inside me, making me moan as he stretches the places where I’m still a little sore from last night.

  “Or more,” I agree, moving with him as he pulls back and pushes in again with enough force to make my tailbone grind against the cold tile.

  But the contrast of cool ceramic and the oh, so hot man in my arms is perfect. Sexy. Exhilarating.

  “More, please,” I beg as he moves faster, driving into where I’m getting wetter with every passing second.

  This man does something to me, something that makes me suspect it would be a good idea to have a spare pair of panties in my purse at all times.

  He shifts one hand, trying to reach between us, his fingers bound for my clit, but I shake my head and guide his palm back to my ass.

  “I don’t need it,” I pant between kisses. “I’m almost there. I just need you to tell me.”

  “Tell you what, beautiful?” he asks tightly as his fingers dig into my ass, and his cock grinds deeper, faster.

  “To come,” I whisper, my head already spinning and my skin flushed hotter than the steamy water. “Tell me when you want me to come.”

  “You like it when I tell you what to do?” he asks, his breath hot against my neck.

  “Yes,” I gasp, clinging to his shoulders. “Please, yes.”

  “Then come for me. Come on my cock, Colette. I want to feel your pussy tight on my dick. Right now.”

  My head falls back, and a primal sound escapes my chest as my body locks down around his cock. My inner walls squeeze as he jerks inside me, and feeling him losing control with nothing between us is every bit as hot as it was last night.

  I hook my ankles behind him and pin him to me, circling my hips as I coax every sparkle of pleasure from the moment.

  After a long beat with nothing but the hush of the shower spray hitting the tile and our ragged breathing to disturb the silence, he says, “I told my manager about the baby plan.”

  I pull back far enough to get a look at his face, but he doesn’t seem worried or plagued by regret. Still, I wrinkle my nose. “I’m guessing he thought it was a terrible, no-good, very bad idea.”

  Zack grins. “Pretty much, but it put things in perspective for me. It’s not something to worry about or a bridge to cross before we reach it. If it happens, I trust we’ll be grown-ups and put the baby’s needs first, no matter what’s going on between us personally.”

  “No doubt,” I assure him, brushing wet hair from his forehead with a smile. “I know you might have heard differently from Fernando, but I’m very easy to get along with.”

  Zack’s eyes darken. “Fernando is an idiot. No doubt in my mind about that now.”

  I arch a brow. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

  “He let you get away,” he says in a soft but intense voice that sends more shivers—and a hint of foreboding—prickling across my skin. “Now, I have a serious question for you, Colette.”

  I hold his gaze. “Yes, Zack?”

  “How do you like your eggs? I take mine over easy, and I like to dip my toast in the runny parts. My last girlfriend thought that was disgusting, but I’m not about to change. Not for her or anyone else.”

  Biting back a smile, I nod. “Nor should you. A man should be free to eat his eggs any way he sees fit. Even if it is disgusting.”

  Zack curses beneath his breath. “You, too? Why is everyone so against over easy?”

  “Because runny yolks look like diseased clown sperm and probably taste even worse? I don’t have any experience with clown sperm, but…”

  “That’s disgusting,” Zack says, but he’s fighting a smile as he sets me down and reaches for the soap. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “It’s not me,” I say, laughing. “It’s the eggs!”

  “I should wash your mouth out with this.” He holds up the tiny bar between us. “But I’m going to want to kiss you later, so you’re safe. For now.”

  I wipe a hand across my forehead and flick water against the wall. “Whew. Close one.”

  We continue to tease and kiss and laugh as we take turns in the spray, and by the time Zack steps out to dry off while I rinse the conditioner from my hair, I’ve almost forgotten about the flicker of fear.

  But the sight of my bare ring finger—the one Fernando wanted so badly to tag as his own—banishes the smile from my face.

  I love how possessive and bossy Zack is in bed, but the last thing I need is another controlling man in my life. I try to tell myself I’m reading too much into an innocent comment, but Zack’s tone when he said, “he let you get away,” keeps echoing in my head.

  He didn’t sound like he was teasing or offering a lighthearted compliment. He seemed like a man who refuses to let the things—or people—he wants slip through his fingers.

  Well, do you really want to slip through his fingers? Because as far as I can tell, his fingers are the best fingers. Best ever. If he wants to be more than friends, why not give it a try?

  Because he’s a rock star who’s on tour most of the year, I remind the inner voice, and I want a partner who sleeps next to me more nights than not. It would be doomed from the start.

  It’s not doomed. It’s too hot to be doomed. You just need to have more sex and stop worrying so much.

  I’m pretty sure that’s the last thing I need, but that doesn’t stop me from sneaking up behind Zack while he’s putting gel in his hair or tugging the towel from his hips. And when he returns the favor, I don’t try to cover myself back up.

  I run a hand down my belly, between my legs, while holding his gaze, and that’s all it takes.

  Before I can think about anything, I’m flat on my back on the towel I just tugged to the ground and Zack is inside me, getting me off so hard I scream loud enough to trigger irritated pounding on the ceiling from the person in the room above ours.

  “Don’t stop,” I beg, writhing beneath him. “Don’t ever stop.”

  “Never,” he promises, hitching my knee higher and finding that perfect angle, making it impossible for worry or fear to find a foothold in the pleasure washing over me, carrying every ugly thing out of sight and out of mind.

  Chapter Nine

  Zack

  There’s music rushing through my head.

  All through breakfast and the drive Upstate.

  I pull over twice to jot down lyrics, and just twenty miles from the retreat, I have to roll into the parking lot of a scenic overlook and fetch my guitar from its case in the trunk.

  “Sorry,” I tell Colette as I grab my Gibson, leaving the case open in the back seat. “I’ll be five minutes. Maybe ten. I just need to get this recorded before I forget it. Choruses stick in my head, but if I’m not careful, I’ll lose the bridge every time.”

  “No worries at all!” Colette shuts the passenger’s door, clapping her hands as she bounces up on tiptoe. “This is exciting! I’m so glad your creative juices are flowing. I’ll stretch my legs and give you some privacy. Take as much time as you need.”

  “Are you sure? You can stay if you want,” I say even though I would secretly prefer to be alone with the bridge.

  I know it’s superstitious, but until I’m sure the muse is going to trust me with the en
tire song, I like to keep it to myself.

  Colette waves a breezy hand as she slides her sunglasses on. “No, you do your thing. I’m going to go soak in the sun and the view.” She pulls in a deep breath that makes her gorgeous—and still bra-less—breasts strain the front of the strapless top she’s wearing today. “It’s beautiful up here. Glad I brought my hiking shoes for later.” Blowing me a kiss, she says, “Good luck,” and wanders away toward the trailhead at the edge of the parking lot, looking so happy and relaxed, I can’t help but feel proud of myself.

  I fucked that happy smile onto her face, and I intend to do it again as soon as possible.

  A no doubt goofy grin on my own mug, I give my Gibson—Quinn, named after my first crush, Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman—a quick tune and launch into the notes that have been skipping through my head since we turned off the highway. In a few minutes, I have the bridge solid enough to hit the record button on my phone and capture it for later.

  I’ll inevitably end up tweaking it as the rest of the song comes together, but it feels good to have it locked and loaded. Catching songs is the only thing as much fun as catching fish, something my granddad taught me to love at a young age. Sitting beside him on the boat, I’d dangle my line in the ocean next to his and wait for the magic to happen.

  Speaking of magic…

  Tucking Quinn back in her case and locking the car, I go in search of Colette.

  As I step onto the trail, the temperature drops by at least ten degrees. It’s hot in the mountains of Upstate New York this time of the year—a hell of a lot hotter than coastal Maine, even during the heat wave that gripped my hometown in the days before we left—but it’s beautiful in the shade. Perfect hiking weather, making me wish we had time to go for a real walk. But the caretakers are expecting us to check in between noon and two, and it’s already one thirty.

  I find Colette about a half mile down the winding path, standing at the edge, looking out across the lake-dotted valley and the mountains on the other side. With the sun turning her hair platinum and illuminating her silhouette through her top and flowing skirt, she’s so stunning my first thought is that someone should paint her.