“There’s the footage too, likely,” I said, and he nodded and let out a breath. He sat down next to me, his back against the wall.
“Let’s hope it shows Carlos in his glory.”
“I don’t know what to do with you right now,” I admitted. “I’m grateful to you for coming here with me and having my back. And yeah, I was scared of Carlos. I’m both pissed and happy that you hit him. I don’t ever want you to go. I’m a mess right now.”
“I wasn’t going to put up with that shit, Lucy, I’m sorry, but maybe I fucked up. Fuck.” He looked so remorseful that I felt bad for him. But I needed to think about this from the perspective of what was best for Rob, not what was best for me or Jake.
Then I did think about it. And what would be better for Rob than someone like Jake, who was willing to stick up for his mom?
I leaned my head on his shoulder and reached for his hand.
“I’m glad you were here tonight. I’m not happy you got in a fight, and it scared me. I’m freaked about what’s going to happen. But I’m just . . . I’m glad that you were here.”
And we sat in the hallway, not talking.
“No judge will take Rob away from me,” I said after a moment, willing myself to believe it as I said it. “Carlos is an idiot. He was neglecting Rob here, leaving him in a hotel room while he gambled away his child support money.” Then I smiled a rueful smile. “Good thing for the case that Carlos has made some mistakes, but bad for Rob. Fuck, I wish his dad were different. But he isn’t.”
“Should we get Rob?” Jake asked after a moment.
I nodded. I opened the door with the key I’d grabbed.
Rob sat in front of the television. He hadn’t moved.
“You okay, mijo?”
He nodded, and I let out a breath. Time to talk to my kid about what had just happened. I sat down next to him and looked him in the eyes.
“Look. Me and your dad, we don’t get along. This has nothing to do with you.” I reached over and stroked his face. “You are the most precious thing to me. Your dad and I fought just now, and I’m sorry you had to hear it. I can’t promise you that it will all be perfect in the future, but I can promise you that I love you, I always will love you, and I always will fight to make sure that you have the best life you can. Do you have any questions? Do you need to talk about it?”
“No, Mom.” He seemed quiet, but he was always quiet.
“You ready to come find our room?”
“I get to stay with you now?”
“Yeah,” I said. “And we’ll do something fun tomorrow.”
Rob’s eyes lit up. “Cool. I wanted to go to the Luxor. They have Titanic artifacts. I read it in the hotel guide.”
“Then we shall, mijo.”
We grabbed Rob’s bag and left for the Bellagio. Much better.
Despite the sumptuous surroundings, I knew it was going to be awkward to share a room with Rob and Jake, but I didn’t want to make Jake get his own room. I couldn’t say why. I just didn’t.
Perhaps it was because he was becoming part of my family.
We entered the room, which had two beds. Making an executive decision, I said, “Rob, you and I sleep here, Mister Jake on the other one. Are you hungry?”
He shook his head no.
“It’s been a long day. Let’s go to bed.”
Thankfully, it wasn’t awkward having Jake with us. We took turns getting ready for bed, and then I crawled into bed with Rob, cuddling him.
Jake came over to both of us, ruffled Rob’s hair, and kissed my forehead, saying “Goodnight.” And then he crawled into his own bed and turned out the light.
Sunday morning, I woke up early in the hotel room, squished into about six inches of bed, Rob curled up against me, pressed into my back. A vast expanse of bed lay undiscovered on his other side. I had forgotten how my kid took over the bed. One night of cramped sleep wasn’t the end of the world, but I preferred to actually have space in bed. But when children are asleep, they are the most perfect angels and can do no wrong. His little nose was upturned and he made a soft, whiffling noise as he slept.
I felt kind of crappy, like there was too much air conditioning in the room. I hoped it was just allergies.
Glancing over at Jake, asleep in the other bed, my eyes widened. Damn. Now he looked fine.
When he was awake, he looked like the romance heroes that I wrote about—tall, dark, and chiseled. Asleep, he was all of those things, but there was a softness to him. His lips pursed when he breathed and his eyelids flickered slightly, his black hair sleep-messy. He was so tall, he reached the end of the bed. Resting on his front, his hands under the pillow, I admired his muscular shoulders. He’d worn modest clothes to bed, a dark blue t-shirt and striped pajama pants, and there was something both comforting and arousing about his presence.
Perhaps sensing me staring at him, he blinked and opened his eyes, the color startling in the morning light.
“Hey,” he whispered, across the way from me, in his separate bed, just out of reach.
“Morning,” I whispered back. And I realized that I could really, very easily, get used to waking up to Jake.
“You and Rob sleep okay?”
“Yeah, though he takes up as much room as a baby elephant.”
He gave me a glorious, sleepy, morning smile. “Let’s make it a good day for him.”
We spent the rest of the morning visiting the Strip, going through the Titanic exhibit at the Luxor, and eating lunch where Rob wanted. Spoiled? Maybe. But he didn’t get to leave the hotel room yesterday, so I wanted to give him what Carlos should have given him (if he’d had permission to take Rob out of state). Then we drove home to Santa Barbara.
I called Amelia first thing Monday morning and told her everything. Carlos’s kidnapping, Jake’s punch, all of it. She told me that she would subpoena the surveillance tape, take Carlos’s deposition, and get a statement from me and Jake. She also said that because I had custody, she didn’t see this as being something that needed to be brought to the court on an emergency basis, but that we could bring it up at the next hearing, which took a ridiculously long time to get before a judge. It would be months before I had to deal with Carlos in a courtroom. But she made me email her the whole story so that she had notes of everything that happened. It was the best we could do for now.
A few days later, it was three days before Christmas. Despite my planning, it had still snuck up on me. House? Decorated. Presents? Wrapped. Rob? Excited. Me? That slight cold that I’d hoped was allergies back in the hotel room had bloomed into full-blown illness. I woke up with a fever, chilled, sweating, and coughing. I felt horrible. Really, death sounded better. Well, not really, but I was very sick. Rob came in my bedroom, worried when mom didn’t get out of bed, bringing me water and saltine crackers.
I needed to see a doctor. I didn’t have time to be sick. It was Christmas! After going to Urgent Care, where they gave me a prescription and diagnosed me with a form of pneumonia—which I’d probably caught in Vegas—I filled it and went home to bed.
When Jake called me from work, as he often did, I must have sounded dreadful, because he said, “Lucy, honey, give me your mom’s number, and I’ll have her bring you over some soup.”
Since Jake and I had gotten back together after the hearing, I’d continued to feed him dinner, although he had nevertheless been working a lot. He took the time to come over and see me, but still, he worked way beyond a nine to five schedule. Well beyond. That man needed to learn that he just did not have to do that anymore. But he’d taken to texting or calling me throughout his busy work day, which I loved. My man thought about me, he was taking the time for me, and he communicated with me.
Too tired to think or argue with him, I gave him my mom’s number.
A few hours later, she appeared at my door with a tureen of homemade tortilla soup, the spicy, clear-your-sinuses chicken broth its own medicine. Homemade soup is a form of love. I managed some broth and went back to bed.
Jake came by that night, earlier than usual, and checked in on me. Even though I was practically comatose, I appreciated his concern. He stroked my forehead, brought me ice water, and straightened my bedsheets. Then I heard him talking with Rob in the living room for a long time, and I dozed before falling asleep.
By Christmas Eve, I could tell that the antibiotics were doing something. I felt vaguely human instead of like death.
We were set to go to my parents’ house for tamales and a good Christmas Eve dinner. My sister Celia drove up from Los Angeles and Sara and Georgie were coming, too. My brother Gabriel couldn’t make it.
Jake wasn’t coming, even though he was invited, because he was going to visit his dad. But we were going to have Christmas together. I made it through the family dinner, barely, then wrapped up in a blanket and lay down on the guest bed at my parents’ house. After a while, my dad drove Rob and me home.
Christmas morning, I felt like a human being. I was still sick, but now living and human. Jake knocked on the door early and made us coffee. He and Rob made muffins out of a mix and cut up some fruit for a salad. It was the best thing ever. While our celebration was tiny and subdued, it still felt special.
I curled up on the couch with a cup of coffee, wrapped in a blanket, and watched Rob open his presents. I gave Jake a card that said, Good for one weekend trip away, my treat. Careful of how to act around Rob, he reached over and ran his finger along my hand. “Thank you. We’ll use this as soon as you feel better.”
He stood up, went to the tree, and pulled out two identically wrapped packages. Handing them to me, he said, “These are for you from me and Rob.”
Surprised, I slid my finger under the tape of the first one.
It was a framed drawing by Rob of me. Jake had clearly spent time with Rob helping him draw because the picture, although childish, captured me—my hair, face, clothes, expression. I was smiling in the picture and smiling in real life.
“Did you draw this, mijo?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
“You did such a good job. I want to know when you did this, and I want to know all about it. First come here and let me kiss you.”
“You sure you’re not contagious?” Rob looked wary.
“The doctor says no.”
“Mister Jake and I spent time drawing when he watched me and when you were sick. It’s fun.”
I shook my head. “It’s more than fun, son. It’s art. It’s wonderful.” And then I turned to Jake. “It’s so wonderful I might cry.”
He beamed. “Open the other one.”
I opened another drawing of me, framed and matted identically, but this one was by Jake. In it I was looking over my shoulder back at him, my ass in a mini skirt, my feet in high heels, and my mojo all on display. It was totally me—at least me when I was healthy.
“I love it, guapo,” I whispered. “Thank you. We’ll put them up today.”
Jake nodded, and Rob said, “We thought you might like a homemade present, Mom.”
“Yes, mijo, I do.” I didn’t know how to express how much it meant to me that a man, not Rob’s father, took the time not only to teach him how to do something but show that it mattered—by presenting his creativity in a way that gave it legitimacy. I was honored by the present, and I was honored to know him.
So instead of saying this, I leaned over and kissed Jake lightly, in front of my son. “Thanks. And Merry Christmas.”
The next day, I felt even better and took Rob to Carlos’s house. The order required a twenty-four hour visit from nine in the morning to the next day at nine. Obviously I wasn’t happy to leave Rob with his dad after what had happened the last time, but there was nothing I could do about it. Watching Rob walk up the pathway to the front door, my heart dipped down low and stayed there, even after I saw him wave at me and the door close behind him.
I drove back home, cleaned up the detritus from the day before, and then decided to indulge in a spa day at home. I gave myself a facial and a pedicure, took a long bath, and a nap. This was a definition of heaven.
Earlier, I’d heard Jake do his usual routine of getting up, going for a run, getting ready, and going to the office, even though it was the day after Christmas. I shook my head. He still needed to learn that it was okay for him not to work crazy hours. Easy for me to say, though, progress on my book was going well, despite an interruption due to my illness.
That evening, late-ish, he came over for dinner, dressed in his suit and tie. As we ate, we chatted about his day and how I felt. Then I asked, “When are we going to take your vacation?”
He looked at me thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I’ll have to get out my calendar and check my work schedule.”
“Seriously? Pick a weekend and we’ll go. It’s better if it’s a weekend that Rob’s dad is watching him, but if not, I’ll ask my parents to watch him.” It was too damn hard to convince him to take a break that wasn’t an emergency.
He looked at me, his cool dark eyes registering an emotion that I didn’t understand. “For you, I’ll do it.” And it felt like it was settled.
After dinner, he took off his tie and we sat outside on the patio, looking at the pool and drinking wine. At Christmas time in California, you had to put on the air conditioning to have a fire in the fireplace. Tonight was no exception—even though it was cool, it wasn’t cold. You could go swimming.
That gave me an idea.
“Come in the hot tub. Time to get some warm water on us. I think it will feel good.”
Unlike scheduling a vacation, on this he caved easily. “Alright. I’ll meet you out there.”
As Jake walked back into his home, I heard his cell phone ring. “Don’t answer your phone, cariño,” I whispered to myself, willing him to be stronger than it.
Dammit, he answered it.
So we still needed to work on that.
I headed into my house and changed into my bathing suit. I wore my navy blue string bikini this time, with high-heeled espadrilles. Toting a towel under my arm and taking my keys, I teetered down to the pool, set down the towel, slipped off my shoes, turned on the jets, and tiptoed into the hot tub.
Aaaaahhhhh.
The complex had quieted down and gone to bed for the night, although you were allowed to swim until ten. There were a few lights on in rooms, but otherwise it was a silent night.
A few moments later, Jake strolled down, holding a towel, barefoot, shirtless, wearing black swim trunks that sat low on his hips, tied with a white string. I wanted to undo that string. Between his work schedule and my time with Rob, even though I lived next door to Jake, I didn’t get to spend much time with him naked. But since shirtless Jake was yummy yummy, this would have to do for now.
He walked over to the side of the hot tub and hopped down next to me. In the cool evening air, the steam from the water lingered a constant foot or more above it, creating patterns in the night. A dim light lit the water beneath us, but instead of being clear, the stream of air from the jets made the water an opaque white.
I wrapped my arms around his toned tummy and put my legs in his lap, cuddling into his chest as he cradled me. He kissed the top of my head, and put his finger under my chin, lifting it up and kissing my nose. Leaning in, he kissed me for real, very softly, very slowly, and very deeply. “Um-yum-yum,” I moaned into his mouth, and the tone of our kiss went from cuddling to erotic. We bit gently at each other’s lips, tasted each other’s mouths, caressed the inside of the other with our tongues.
As the water bubbled around us, I ran my fingers up and down his back and his torso, while he held my back firmly. I could feel the stirrings of his erection under my leg resting on his lap, which made me feel oh-so-turned-on. He broke apart from our kiss.
Then.
“You had public sex down as a fantasy in your book, right?” Jake let his lips brush my ear as he spoke.
“Uh, yeah,” I responded tentatively.
“It’s dark and there’s no one around.”
I sh
ivered all over, even though I was bathed in the hot water, and shook my head in disbelief. Then I looked at him. “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Now.” And he pulled me into his lap so that I was straddling him.
Okay, now this was naughty. We were out in the middle of a housing development, where anyone could open up their window, look out, and see. They probably wouldn’t see anything but a couple making out, but still, it felt like we were going to go show everyone, and that felt über hot.
I ran my hand down his chest to his trunks, felt for that pretty white string, and tugged, loosening it. Then, under the water, I slipped his trunks down his hips, freeing his hardening cock.
“Yes,” I whispered back. “We’re gonna do his.”
Reaching between my legs, I started stroking his cock, as the water swirled around us, getting him aroused, letting him grow. The soft skin of his hard tip felt extra reactive beneath the water, twitching at my touch. He reached a hand into my bikini bottoms, at first grazing my clit, then rubbing it for real as he slowly and gently fingered me. He slipped two fingers into me, and I moaned again into his mouth.
Even though we hadn’t had sex with each other for a while, it felt like we had all the time in the world. Everything was slow—caressing, feeling, touching. After he was fully hard and I was bothered, he broke our kiss. “Ready?”
I nodded. He untied my bikini bottom and pulled it off of me, setting it on the pool coping. Then he held my hip with one hand, positioning his cock with the other, and guided me down onto him.
With pleasure, I sunk down onto him, enjoying the way it all felt, all of the sensations—the cool night air, the warm water, his strong arms, his big cock in me. Holding my ass, he held me down. Then he guided me up, slowly, and it was his turn to moan. Then slowly, down again, riding him. Repeated. Leisurely, but with focus, strength, heat.
All the Waters of the Earth (Giving You ... Book 3) Page 13
