LUCI (The Naughty Ones Book 2)

by Kristina Weaver

We’re laughing like loons by the time lunch rolls around, and I spend the hour winking at Shaw and throwing anticipatory evil looks at Letitia.

  Let the games begin.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Shaw

  “Oh, I so love this movie.” Molly sighs as we cuddle up on her bed, watching Hope Floats and eating the chocolate cake Millie smuggled up to us earlier.

  I love girls’ nights with her. This is the first, but I’m going on record saying that it won’t be that last because she is officially my favorite girlfriend.

  Okay, so maybe she’s the first and only, besides Sister Francine, but she doesn’t count since she’s headed for Heaven, and I’m not one hundred percent sure I’m even in the running. Plus, Molly is hilarious and likes eating as much as I do.

  We fit.

  “I love this movie, too. Know what my favorite part is?”

  “Harry Connick, Jr.?” she says and giggles, making cow eyes at the screen.

  I snort and check out his fine ass in those jeans and just about swoon when he twirls Sandra Bullock into the slow dance and sort of sniffs at her like he loves her smell and everything about her.

  Damn, that man is fine looking in that getup.

  “Yes, but I really love the end.”

  “Oh boo! The end means we don’t get to see his delicious arse anymore,” she gripes, crawling closer to the screen and sighing dramatically.

  “Dummy. I like the end because of what she says. You know about how the beginnings are scary, the endings are sad, but the part that really counts for everything is the middle.”

  I eat another piece of cake and stare dreamily at the fine man candy while she crawls back up to me and lays her head beside mine.

  “That’s deep, Mallory. You have something on your mind, or is it just the hormones talking?” she asks, stealing my bite from my fork and moaning at the flavor.

  “No. Yes. I dunno. I’m so confused about things, and I don’t know what to do. Cameron wants to get married and I—”

  “You don’t?”

  She gives me a look, as if she thinks I’m crazy, and maybe she’s right, because if I have to objectively look at Cameron, I would say that he is undoubtedly a good catch.

  But I’m still annoyed with him. I feel…stuff that I won’t let myself delve too deeply into. And I’m scared. He doesn’t love me, hell, up until very recently he didn’t really even like me and he wasn’t into me.

  Now that everything has changed, I’m afraid to take this huge step in case it ends up blowing up in my face. I could marry him and give him rights to the baby only to have him decide later that it wasn’t me he wanted and that’s he’s splitting up the package deal.

  I can handle a lot of things, but losing my child is not one of them. And neither is divorce. The few times I went to church, I learned that divorce is not an option, and I agree.

  Breaking a vow to a person is wrong but survivable. Breaking a vow you make in front of and to God, not happening for me. Ever. If I marry Cameron, that is it. We’ll be together for life whether we end up hating each other or not.

  I’ll live through it just to keep my one value sacred. And to ensure that the baby never feels a moment of insecurity.

  “I didn’t. At first. He is a really overwhelming man, and he can be…difficult at the best of times. I got a call from my old boss and they offered me my job back. It’s a great opportunity for my career, and I was thinking about it, but then he went and fudged it all up and I lost it.”

  Molly nods in understanding and bites her lip.

  “The Stone men are truly a force to be reckoned with and don’t I know it. Even Kent, with all his laughter and games, is a really hard man when crossed. I finally had to decide whether my fear of being ruled was stronger than my fear of losing the love I need. As you can see, I’ll take a good domineering man any day over losing him.”

  “So you’re saying I should just give in?”

  “No, you nincompoop! I had a talk with Mum, Millie, not my mum, and she gave me a few good tips to live by, the most important being that I need to give as good as I get. Kent is controlling and very iffy about certain things, but I keep in mind that he loves me and only does what he thinks is best for me. If that doesn’t work, I tease him to distraction and have my wicked way with him. Let me tell you, he seems like a tiger, but in the bedroom, he is my pussycat.”

  I freaking wish. I can’t touch Cameron without him turning into a wild animal. The man does not understand the meaning of the word mutual, and I freaking hate it.

  If he’s going to use not only his body, but my own against me—yes please, against me some more!—then I think I should be able to touch him, too. No such luck.

  Last night he’s almost killed me, he’d gone so hard and long. Not that I’m complaining about that, but just that when I’d had the temerity to try to explore him afterward, he’d rolled me over, taken my wrists in one of his hands, and done it all over again, not stopping until I was so done I couldn’t have moved without a hurricane blowing through the room.

  Control freak.

  “I’m glad you’re having fun. Cameron won’t let me take any control. Like any!”

  That sets her to laughing, as if my complaints aren’t serious.

  “And plus, we’re not in love.”

  That shuts her up immediately, and she stares at me agog for so long I chuck her chin to close her mouth.

  “At all?” she asks, her voice dripping with horror.

  “Nope. Nothing there. Nada. Zip. We have sex, really good sex, considering I would have thought my junk would turn him off. But that’s it. We don’t talk unless we’re in public or his parents are in the vicinity. The most we’ve discussed in the last few days is whether I want a chicken or beef wrap. And he only did it because I threatened to chew his leg off in the car if he didn’t feed me. Apparently, you don’t eat in an Aston Martin.”

  Cue major female eye roll.

  “Do you…think you can love him?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. He’s nothing at all like the man I thought I’d end up with, and he is very frustrating. Most of all, I don’t think I can even begin to fall for a guy who doesn’t trust me. He still thinks—”

  “What?”

  I shake my head and cringe at the almost slip. No one knows that Cameron is not my baby’s father, and he threatened to muzzle me if I even so much as thought to mention it.

  “I think he still thinks of me as an…opportunist or something. Hell, I don’t know, just he doesn’t talk to me about anything besides what, er, what he wants in…”

  “Bed?”

  She bursts into a fit of giggles and starts rolling around as if I’ve just made the biggest funny ever.

  “For someone as pregnant as you are, you are really prudish, Ducky.”

  Oh, now she’s calling me that, too? The freaking horror. I don’t have the heart to tell Marge the name makes me feel like an unattractive mallard, but this will not be borne.

  “Stop calling me that. And shut up. You have no idea what an animal he is in the sack.”

  Oh, and what a fine, wild beast he is.

  “But Ducky is a term of endearment. Anyway…I think I know all about ravenous beasts, thank you very much. Kent is no stodge you know. Why, the ways in which I never knew I could bend,” She says, waggling her eyebrows. “But seriously now.”

  Uh oh, she’s getting that hungry expression.

  “What’s up with you two? He watches your every move. My God, today is the first day of the ‘fun and games’…and if I didn’t know better, I’d be searching for a leash and collar. The man is positively obsessed with you.”

  If by obsessed, you mean he likes having me on a short leash and within spitting distance so he can make sure I don’t do a runner. Sure.

  “He’s just scared I pull a Julia on him and run my ass home before he can Beyoncé me,” I say, discarding my cake when my stomach churns.

  “Aaah, but that rock on your finger tells the
tale. He definitely put a ring on it. Not to mention….” She pointedly looks at my stomach.

  God, I feel guilty lying to her. Things would be so much easier if everybody knew the truth. So what if they all looked at me as if I’m the Whore of Babylon? So what if they all looked at him as if he’s the savior of the free world.

  I should be able to tell the truth and hold my head up high and not worry about…

  And then it hits me. Cameron isn’t getting very much out of this deal is he? I mean sex he can get anywhere, especially him being as hot as he is. And if he wanted a baby, he could probably put out an ad and have the droves storm his home, salivating for the chance to carry his holy seed.

  The only person getting a break here is me. I get to legitimize my kid, and I will never have to worry about anything else. Not money, or doctors’ appointments, or late night feedings, or anything.

  I’m the only one benefitting here besides Marge and Vic.

  Cameron isn’t getting anything out of it.

  And then that brings me to the sex. Part, well, most of the problem I’m having revolves around guilt for sleeping with my dead Robert’s brother and liking it a heck of a lot more than I did with him.

  And then I’m also confused as to why Cameron would even want me.

  I’m no oil painting for one, and pregnant or not, I’m on the heavier side and nothing at all like the supermodels and celery eaters that most men go for nowadays.

  Doubts bombard me as we watch the rest of the movie. Molly keeping up a salacious commentary the entire time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Shaw

  “She’s so huge; I can’t believe he’d still want her. I mean, really, she looks like she’s two people and then I won’t even speak of that horrid hair. I always looked my best even when I was pregnant.”

  I hear the two skeletal corpses giggling and roll my eyes. Mostly because I know that they know I’m close enough to hear and that’s just so immature. Partly—and this part shames me half to death—because I’m having trouble with my eyes. Must be something in the suckers because they’re all watery.

  I know what you’re thinking, but no, I’m not crying at their hateful words. Well, I’m mostly not crying at least. I can’t help it; it hurts that they’re so mean and I have absolutely no defense against these kinds of things.

  Short of going ape shit crazy and yelling at them, there’s nothing to do but pretend I don’t hear or don’t care. Problem is, I care. A lot. No, I don’t want to be Lindsay Lohan and get in with the mean girls who treat me like poop under a shoe; I’m not that pathetic. And Molly is more than enough friend for me.

  I just wish people wouldn’t assume things about me and do their best to put me down.

  “I know, darling. You looked so good.” Fanny preens, licking that rim, as if she’s going at a Popsicle and not trying to crawl up Letitia’s ass.

  “Because I kept my diet the same. No carbs or sugars.”

  Poor kid who grew in her tomb must have come out half-starved and stunted because I’ve seen this woman eat a grape and declare herself positively full.

  “And did you see what that dreadful Molly is wearing? Purple is most definitely not her color.”

  “No, but green is yours, my dearest Fanny.”

  That lazy drawl makes me smile, and I have to suppress a chuckle when Dougal Stone saunters up, his icy blue eyes going hard even as his mouth curves seductively.

  “Why don’t you come along, dear? I’ll keep you too busy to spit poison. Lettie, Griff was looking for you.”

  She goes a lighter shade of corpse and leaps to her feet, fleeing God only knows where to the sound of Dougal laughing hysterically.

  “Cameron set the pair of them on the women.” I hear from my left, turning to see a grinning Molly standing beside me, her eyes alight with mirth.

  “Why?”

  “Because Letitia positively despises Griffon Stone, and she makes no bones about it. If she’s too busy hiding from that rogue, she won’t have time to torture you or sink her claws into Cam. Kent got Dougal on Fanny because, as he said, ‘The little idiot needs a distraction.’ Apparently, Dougal likes doing the ‘bitter pills.’ Don’t ask because I don’t know what that means. I’m just grateful I don’t have to deal with them.”

  “Me, too.” I sigh, hooking my arm in hers and following her into the back hall to the kitchen. “No offense but Millie could have just as soon left her off the list. Fanny too.”

  “I agree, but the old dear has a love of shall we say, ‘sticking it to them’…so she refused to even entertain my objections.”

  We’re in the kitchen by this time, and she lights up when we see Kent coming her way holding a covered dish and a wicked grin.

  “We have some business to attend to Carrot snap.”

  “Is that your idea of pillow talk?” I ask drolly, grinning when Kent blinks and his grin widens.

  “Pillow. Sofa. Shower. Any clean surface really.”

  That has Molly blushing so fiercely the guy laughs and ducks, throwing her over his shoulder with a flourish.

  “Have a lovely afternoon, Ducky! We’ll be down…well, eventually.”

  I hear her giggling all the way to the stairs before a masculine chuckle and the sound of running steps start fading.

  Have I said how disgustingly jealous I am right now? Kent adores Molly, like obsessively, and would do just about anything to make her happy. My guy’s idea of happiness is getting me fired and holding me emotionally hostage with his parents.

  “You’re looking unusually pensive, baby.”

  I jump and turn to Cameron, almost sighing when I see him leaning against the doorjamb, his arms folded over a black t-shirt that shows off his muscles perfectly.

  He looks smug and self-pleased, and I find myself smiling back before I know it.

  “Naw, I’m fine. I had a snack date, but Kent caught us and swept old Mol away.”

  Lucky bitch.

  “And now you’re at sixes and sevens,” he drawls, making me narrow my eyes suspiciously.

  “Who says ‘sixes and sevens’ anymore? I think the last time I heard that was when my grandma was alive, and she died at the age of eighty-seven. Whatcha doing?”

  I have to ask because he’s still smiling; only now he’s prowling towards me with a purpose that looks evil and way too smug to suit me.

  “Stealing my very own woman…though I doubt it would be a good idea to throw you over my shoulder.”

  I squeak and struggle when he lifts me into his arms—I’m a girl, I always think I’m too heavy—but he just swats my butt and starts walking, not even breaking a sweat when he takes the stairs.

  You know me, so by now I’m into the thought of being carried off and ravished in the middle of the day. So totally into it that I feel my nipples bead and the slick slide of arousal gush out to coat my sex.

  “Oh, Cameron dear could you—oh there you are Ducky! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We have a match on the south lawn. Griffin finally found that horrid woman, and they’re waiting for us to start.”

  “Er, I’m a little—”

  “Nonsense. I was going to be your partner, but now I see you have Cameron. You two run along and go trounce that wretch won’t you. I have a wager going with Millie, and I don’t really want to lose the emeralds Vic gave me for our tenth anniversary. Put on a good show. There’s a good lad.”

  She sweeps away, leaving us looking at each other. I don’t know who’s more horrified at the thought, Cameron or me, but he finally gives in with a sigh and lets me down, his eyes focused downward ironically.

  “Make sure to rub him every once in a while, won’t you, baby. Can’t have that woman thinking he’s sniffing after her skinny arse.”

  ***

  “Oh God.”

  I’m useless at organized activities, and this one is no better. I mean, what’s so hard about taking a mallet and hitting a ball through a few rings?

  Not much if you discount my rag
ing need to use said mallet against a certain blonde’s piñata.

  “Aim Ducky,” Cameron hisses, throwing his head back to eye the sky when I scowl and grip the mallet tighter.

  “I am.”

  “Well, it doesn’t bloody look like it! Mum’s very fond of those bloody emeralds. Not to mention that if you lose to that woman, she will never let you live it down.”

  “Look buddy, I’m not exactly in fighting form here! You try aiming with this in your way,” I hiss back, waving at my stomach.

  Really, it’s like trying to take aim with a very enthusiastic monkey strapped to my front, and then I haven’t even factored in the fact that I am shit at sports in the first place.

  And Cameron is the world’s worst loser. Like ever.

  But he’s right. I’m playing for Marge’s jewels and the very real chance to rub Skeletor’s face in it.

  “Just…”—he runs an impatient hand through his hair—“…shit, watch what she does and do it better. You’ve beat her in all other areas already, so you might as well take this one too, baby,” he says, giving me a slow-eyed once over. “Hands down the sexiest mama I’ve ever seen.”

  Goddamned flatterer.

  I do as he says and watch her like a hawk, taking in the way she cants her hips and the easy fluidity of her swing. I’m an imitator, have been since I was little enough to realize that Gloria was worse than useless as an example so I’ve learned to do by watching.

  On my next go, I don’t just get the ball near the target but sail it through. Thank God for that physics class and my professor’s obsession with using sports to apply theory to real life.

  Gradient and drag are important, or so he’d always told me, and now I guess I’m going to have to apologize for calling him a nut.

  It helps that the other team starts losing, something I suspect is a direct result of Griff sliding the occasional hand over her ass or between her legs in a teasing fashion that has her prancing around like a cat on a hot tin roof.

  We win, but only just, and I see Cameron and Griff grinning at each other while Miss Ants-In-Her-Pants throws her mallet my way and stomps off, screeching like a three year old.