If nothing else, one good thing has come from this pregnancy. I’ve turned into a total hottie.
Unfortunately, since Marge insists that I nap in the afternoon, I often find myself wandering around at night. Reading, looking at the gardens, or more likely than not, raiding the refrigerator.
“You’re supposed to eat those with tea, not orange juice.” A voice drawls from the door, and I spit out a mouthful of chocolate cookies and orange juice, as a bare-chested Cameron saunters into the room, his lower half covered in a pair of loose workout shorts.
Sweet mama. Who knew the man was concealing a deadly weapon, and by that, I mean his body is ripped and so smoking hot I feel like dying from a heat wave.
“You’ve got…”
He saunters over and gingerly swipes a thumb over my chin to remove the remnants of my coughing fit.
When he shoves that thumb into his mouth and sucks off my crumbs, I’m this close to swooning. Or checking his eyes for drug use or a body snatcher.
The only times I’d seen him in the last three months, or been near enough to feel his dislike, has been those rare occasions when he’s not away on business or isn’t staying over at his London apartment.
This guy…is so not the same guy who has been insulting me at every turn, and it makes me feel…unsure.
It’s like when you’re watching a scary movie and you psyche yourself up for the next big scare and then the credits roll and you relax, only for that scary face to pop up at the last minute and totally make you brown your trousers.
That’s how I feel, like I want to relax and see where he’s going with this, but I’m tensed for the next whammy of truly horrible comments.
His eyes are lighter, and yet they’re holding an emotion I can’t quite place, but I don’t want to place it or know what’s going on with him. I want to sit here in the dark with only the microwave for lighting and enjoy the peace and my midnight snack.
He joins me though and sits quietly for a minute, his eyes scanning every inch of my body—as if he’s only now seeing me.
“You’re looking much better than you did when I first saw you.”
“Yeah. The pills the doctor gave me took care of the worst of the sickness, and then your mom’s been tube feeding me so I’ve gained back almost everything I lost.”
And maybe your long absences.
He laughs, steals a cookie to go with the milk I didn’t even see him pour, and eats silently, never taking his eyes from me. It’s disconcerting and yet strangely comfortable to have him here and not have to constantly hide my face and try to pretend I don’t exist.
I’m so used to doing it with Mom that it’s no biggie, but now that I don’t feel under attack, and I get to really see him, I’m a little scared. This man, the quiet guy who seems to be seeing right into me, is attractive—and nothing like his lying, charming brother.
And I wish I’d met him in that bar all those months ago because, if nothing else, he would have been upfront and honest, and he would have broken things off neatly instead of just skipping out on me.
“My brother must have seen something in you.”
I snort and close my eyes in disappointment and gear up for the inevitable set down.
“Sure. That would have been my gullibility—and maybe my V card. Never met a guy who would pass that up.”
That gets his attention, and I blush and silently curse myself for letting that slip.
“You were untouched? And he just—?”
“Hit it and quit it? Yup. But not after making me feel like—”
I stop talking and shake my head. I don’t want him to know how vulnerable I am, or how much it hurt to have believed one thing while Robert had been playing another game.
And I definitely don’t want to talk about things that will, in any way, insult the exalted golden boy. Cameron just does not react well to that, and I’m too tired to put up shields against his cutting tongue.
“Making you feel like…?”
“I don’t want to talk about this if you don’t mind,” I say, crumbling a cookie onto the plate and looking away.
“Why?”
“Because you won’t believe anything I say anyway, and while I’m dumb enough to have gotten myself in this situation, I am still smart enough to know when I’m in over my head. Besides, what do you care? You still think I’m the lying cheat who’s trying to fleece your sweet mother.”
I rise and waddle to the door, very conscious of his dark eyes following my ever movement.
“Shaw.”
“What?”
“For your sake, I really hope you’re telling the truth. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Yeah. It’s no biggie. I’ve been hurt my whole life. What’s one more?”
Chapter Six
Cam
It’s hell watching Shaw and Mum chatter together constantly while all I have for company is Dad and his disinterested huffs every once in a while…when he can bare to drag his attention away from the sports pages.
It’s hell because I’ve been dying to talk to her since that night in the kitchen, but the bloody woman scampers off and avoids me at every turn. She wants nothing to do with me, and who can blame her.
I can’t, because while I’m curious about what she’d been about to say, I can’t promise that my intentions are good. I still won’t entertain the thought that the child in her belly is Rob’s, not until I have irrefutable proof.
But that doesn’t stop me from noticing her seductively swollen body, and the way her face has filled out from that gaunt, haunted pallor to a nicely curved, rosy cream.
And then I haven’t even begun on the list of things my cock has perked up and noticed. Like the way her tongue peeks out and worries at the top corner of her lip when she smiles or laughs. I’ve never wanted to taste a tongue so badly in my life, but the thought of sucking that pink muscle into my mouth and letting her take mine in turn makes me so hard I’ve spent whole nights jumping between tossing and turning and ice cold showers.
It’s sick, I know, but there is just something about her swollen body that has captivated me, and I can’t bloody stop. After having that small taste of her in the kitchen, I’d been so hard I couldn’t stand up to stop her from leaving, and then after an hour’s worth of pacing, I’d given into temptation and stroked myself to one of the best releases I’d ever had.
The need to touch her and taste every inch of her delicate skin has become an obsession that I hate. An obsession I’m starting to hate her for. It’s wrong and unfair, but I can’t help it.
She’s done something to me; she must have.
“What do you think, Cameron?”
I look up from my plate and focus on them, only catching a glimpse of Shaw from the corner of my eye.
“I was telling Shaw that we should accept that invitation to the Larson’s garden party. Molly sent it over today, and I think it’s a fabulous way to introduce Ducky to everyone.”
I finally allow myself to look at her fully, and her captivating eyes are trained on me, a plea I don’t think she’s aware of blazing in their depths.
She obviously doesn’t want to go and doesn’t have the heart to refuse Mum but too bloody bad. If she wants to be a part of this world, she has to grow up and face everything that is thrown at her.
“I think that’s a brilliant idea, Mum.”
Her shoulders sag, and I restrain the urge to laugh when she looks back up at me with a bland expression I’m starting to resent. It’s as if she doesn’t see me, something I would have appreciated months ago but despise now.
It’s immature and obnoxious, but I want her to see me—even if it’s only to acknowledge the barbs I throw at her.
“She’ll fit right in with Molly since they’re both on the larger side and not very sophisticated.”
“Cameron! You apologize to Ducky right now young man!”
“Sorry Mum, but my bullshit quota is quite full for the day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do if I’m going to be
expected to raise my dead brother’s child. If it’s his, that is.”
I hear her gasp and the sound of Dad blustering at me, but I keep walking, determined not to show the shame blazing on my cheeks.
***
Shaw
As the acrid taste of embarrassment and a not so little amount of outrage fill my mouth, I can do nothing but sit quietly and surreptitiously wipe at the tears spilling from my eyes.
The barb has hit its mark. Very accurately, and I look down at myself and take in the spread of my thighs and the huge barrel that is my stomach. It’s so easy to see myself in a bad light right now, especially with the way Mom used to put me down about everything, but I refuse.
I’ve worked hard to get myself back to a healthy size—okay so maybe it’s not hard to eat every sweet treat my eyes encounter, but you know what I mean—and I absolutely refuse to let Cameron Bloody Stone make me feel shitty about doing what’s right for my baby.
I’m not crying for the insult, I’m crying because I’m right back in that horror movie, only this time I wasn’t prepared. The kitchen incident had seriously messed with my mojo.
Now I’ll have to start all over again and learn to show him the ‘I don’t give a lump’ side of myself.
“Ducky, dear…”
“Don’t worry about it, Marge. I’m pretty used to people saying shitty things because they’re shitty people. I promise I won’t go into depression over one silly comment. Now tell me about this Molly. I might as well get to know her if I’m going to be parking my ‘fat ass’ with hers all day,” I muse, giving them both a mischievous grin.
Rule number one: Deflect attention if you want to survive.
“That’s the spirit, Ducky!” Vic bellows, his blue eyes twinkling back at me. “Now have you seen the latest editions of Antiques and Oddities?”
I shake my head and allow him to dazzle me with his next project in the titillating world of antiques hunting and buying and totally let go of Cameron’s insults.
Too bad he can’t be a nice person. With his looks and a better personality, I’d bet an organ he’d be as attractive, if not more than, his sleazy brother ever was.
“Victor darling, that’s quite enough of that for now if you please. Ducky and I need to discuss the garden soiree, and we need to start planning ensembles.”
Oh no. I hate it when Marge goes all designer duds on me. Every time she buys me something new, Cameron spots it and smirks sardonically at me as if to say ‘See, I knew you were all about the money.’ I half expect to wake up one night with the lunatic trying to collect ‘samples’ from me like some version of the crazy Dr. Frankenstein.
“Uh Marge, could you maybe not go on an all-out spree this time? I have so many things in that room you guys call a closet that I’ll never get through them all before sprout makes an appearance. Can’t I just wear that nice purple thing you got me last week? It doesn’t make me look like a cow dressed in Clingfilm.”
Seriously, everything she gets me is “fitted” and by that I mean I’m covered fully, but everything is on display with the tight fit. Now I don’t know about other pregnant women, but having my ass and belly all out and proud while still trying to keep my two girls out of your face is not my idea of a confidence-boosting outfit.
“But Ducky, I saw this amazing baby blue St. Laurent yesterday, and the shop girl said they can resize it for your petite figure.”
“Er, firstly, though I adore you for saying it, there’s nothing petite about my behind. No, don’t start. I was a chub before I got pregnant, and I’ll be the same after. I like food and being alive more than I like looking good for the meatheads that are today’s modern man.”
“But Ducky—”
“Aaand secondly, I don’t want another dress. Please? I’m not really into the whole fashion thing, and it makes me feel like an imposter when I wear something I can’t even pronounce the name of.”
And I don’t want Victor Von Doom having anything else to say about me, I add silently.
“Oh alright. So let’s talk about this event, and then you should retire early. You’re looking pale to me.”
Twenty minutes later I’m showered, dressed in a long silk nightgown and in bed. Sleepless. With a huff, I reach over and flick on the light to get at the phone next to the bed, my hands shaking as I lift the handset from the cradle and punch in the numbers I’ve been avoiding for months.
“Hello?”
The voice is achingly familiar and sleep roughened, and it makes me long so much my eyes water and I have to stifle a hiccup of a sob.
“Alec?”
“Shawsie? Is that you, honey?”
“Yeah. It’s me.” I whisper, smiling when I hear a rustle and a feminine groan that tells me my brother is not the angel I keep telling myself he is. “You busy? I can call you back.”
“Naw, just a one and done babe, and she’s out like a light after I finished her off.”
“Gross Al, just gross,” I mutter with a smile that he hears and makes him chuckle softly.
“Talk to me, babe. I haven’t heard from you in three months and that tomb we gestated in together is worse than useless when it comes to answering her phone.”
I crack up at the usual reference to Gloria’s womb and spend a minute collecting myself before taking a deep breath and plunging ahead.
“I got into some trouble, Al. I lost the internship and my apartment and I had to move in with the zombie eater.”
There’s more rustling on the other end, and then I hear a door close and what sounds like the refrigerator opening and closing before he answers.
“Where are you? I’ll come and get you.”
And this is why I’ve let myself be humbled. This is why I’d elected to move an ocean away. My brother is one mean-assed football playing law graduate, and he also happens to be my fiercest protector.
He’d drop his whole life on a dime if I needed him.
“Ah no. That would be a negative, Captain Kirk. I’m in England with my baby daddy’s family, and they’re taking good care of me.”
“You’re pregnant!”
Oh Lord.
“Yes,” I say in a croaking voice, squeezing my eyes shut, as he takes a long drawn out breath that lets me know what he’s thinking.
“Shaw.”
“I know, Al. I know, okay. I messed up and lost everything I’ve been working for. Mom already gave me the lecture about being young and dumb. I get it.”
“Why didn’t you call me, and why did you leave mom’s place?”
Oh, trust him to focus on that. Have I mentioned how much Alec despises our old uterus? Well, he does. A lot. Could have something to do with her never taking care of us, or the fact that he worked since the age of fourteen when she stopped feeding us regularly.
“Well, I didn’t so much leave as she kicked me out,” I mutter, picking at the bedspread and leaning back when I hear him grunt.
This is going to be a long conversation so I may as well get comfortable.
“She tossed you out? In your condition? That fucking—”
“Don’t worry about it, Al. Earl gave me a few dollars, and I went to Sister Fran. I’m good.”
I don’t tell him that I’d been sick or living at the shelter and subsisting on one meal a day, if I could keep it down, for a full month.
Sister Fran is great, but she’s just one person, and she has more charges to look after than just her favorite sometimes-believer.
“You find that son-of-a-bitch who knocked you up?”
“Yes. And no.” I sigh, biting my lip when he stays silent, waiting for me to continue. “He died. That’s why I couldn’t reach him.”
Nope. He’d avoided my calls those first months and then died, but I can’t tell Al that or the man will go nuts and be on the first plane out of the U.S.
“Shaw.”
“I’m fine, Al. I got in contact with his brother, and he came to get me. I’m doing better. The doctors are taking care of me and really, I love hi
s family. They’re so kind, nothing like Gloria.”
I hear another snort, and this time he lets out a small laugh.
“Yeah, I can just imagine her face when she found out. That woman acts like babies are the plague or something.”
“Yup. So how are things? You still doing good?”
“Better than. I got a spot at one of the top firms, and I got to take the bar since I finished early. Just waiting on the results and then I should be golden.”
“Oh Al, I’m so happy for you,” I whisper.
“Thanks, babe. You sure you’re good? No one’s treating you bad or nothing?”
Oh, ever the protector.
“I’m perfect. Promise. Now go back to bed. I’ll call you in a few days and then I want a full report on the life of my amazing lawyer brother.”
Chapter Seven
Cam
As the line goes dead, I replace the phone and lean back with a vile curse that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I’m not in the habit of listening to others’ phone conversations, but the minute I’d seen Shaw’s extension light blinking on the phone, I’d been helpless to stop myself.
Expecting her to call whatever loser boyfriend she has back at home, maybe to report about her progress and laugh about my family’s gullibility.
I am floored by the fact that she’s talking to her brother, a twin I’d known about but never paid much attention to since he’s away at school and seems to be keeping his head down and in his books.
The thing that’s throwing me is that she could have told her brother everything about my treatment of her, and he would have been over here and to the rescue like a shot.
Instead, she’s sugar coating everything to make it sound as if she’s having a great time, something I know to be untrue since I watch her more often than not and see that dull look in her eyes that tells me she’s not entirely happy.
Of course, she could just be plastering over the cracks with Alec so that she can stay here in the lap of luxury instead of going back to live in near poverty.
Maybe I’m being unfair and attaching another’s sin to her, but I can never forget the treachery that women are capable of, and no matter how much I want to forget it and allow myself to have a shot at Shaw and her magnificent, lust inducing body, I can’t allow myself to get soft.
LUCI (The Naughty Ones Book 2) Page 14
