by Lauren Layne
“No,” Taylor breathed. She’d known it was coming, but hearing it play out like a real-life soap opera hurt. For Nick’s sake.
“The shitty part of it was, I think I knew. My heart resisted it, because I loved the kid, but she looked like him. She never looked like me, not even a little bit. It also explained why Kelsey never held my gaze, why she hadn’t wanted to get married…”
“But babies sometimes don’t look like either parent. How can you—”
“We got a paternity test. Probably should’ve done that from the start, but until then I hadn’t thought it was necessary. I didn’t…didn’t realize Kelsey hadn’t been faithful. Nick Ballantine, zero. Shawn Key, the douchey personal trainer, one.”
Taylor looked up at him, her heart aching. “What did you do?”
He shrugged. “I moved out. He moved in.”
“They’re still together?”
“Getting married next month.” He gave a snort. “She invited me.”
“I’ll go with you,” Taylor said. “I’ll wear my sluttiest dress. No, better yet, I’ll wear white and slutty. It’s the ultimate revenge, trust me.”
“Tempting. But I’m doing my damnedest to put it all behind me.”
“You know that’s going to be hard, right?” Taylor said, propping herself up on an elbow to look down at him. “As long as Kelsey keeps bringing Hannah by whenever she’s in a pinch?”
“I told her,” he said gruffly. “As much as I liked seeing the kid, keeping me in the picture is only going to get more and more complicated as she gets older. Once she starts remembering things. Remembering people…”
His face was shuttered as he said it. He was clearly trying to block out the pain to himself in an effort to do what was best for Hannah.
Knowing he needed a distraction, Taylor walked her fingers over his chest and sighed. “You know how annoying it is, right? That you’re insistent on being a good person when I’ve been so determined for so long to hate you?”
“You never hated me,” he said with a short smile. “You were just pissed I figured out you have a heart.”
“Possibly.” She dropped a kiss to the center of his chest. It was a playful, casual gesture, but she felt his response.
She glanced up, raised her eyebrows.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said irritably. “What the hell are you wearing? It looks like pink Kleenex.”
“I always sleep in this,” she said, brushing her lips again over his chest.
He groaned. “I did not need to know that.”
“Rethinking your one-month-no-sex rule?” she asked, her mouth drifting lower, over his ribs.
“Every damn day,” Nick said on a growl, fingers tangling in her hair.
“Less than two weeks to go.” Her fingers found the blankets bunched around his waist, started to ease them downward. “You going to make it?”
“Are you?” he asked huskily.
She snickered, because they both knew who was in control of the moment.
Then her hand halted its descent. She met his gaze and asked the question that had been lingering in the back of her mind. “Kelsey…was she the one you were seeing when I asked you to dinner?”
He gave a regretful smile as he ran a palm over her hair. “Yeah.”
She rested her chin on his shoulder. “I didn’t know. I sure as heck didn’t know that you had a baby.” Or thought you did.
His chest rose and fell as he inhaled deeply. “Strangely enough, it was just a couple of days after that day in the Oxford kitchen that I found out about Hannah not being mine. A few weeks after that, I realized there was maybe a silver lining to the whole thing. It freed me up to pursue the most interesting woman I’d ever met, but…”
“I was with Bradley,” she finished for him.
“Never said I was talking about you,” he teased.
Taylor tweaked his chest hair, and then gave him a naughty grin as her hand continued tugging down the sheets.
They could both use a distraction.
Taylor had been hoping he slept in the nude, but the fact that he was wearing only boxers wasn’t a bad compromise. Her fingers accidentally-on-purpose brushed over the front of him as she eased the covers down further.
He hissed out a breath. “Taylor.”
She slipped a hand beneath the waistband, wrapped fingers around the long, hard length of him. “Feel free to stop me at any time.”
He didn’t stop her. Not when she stroked him from tip to base. Not when her thumb brushed over the velvety head of him, spreading the bit of moisture over him.
He didn’t stop her when she slid further down his body, taking his boxers with her until he was wonderfully naked, and all hers.
Taylor didn’t rush. She let her hair trail over his stomach as she dropped kisses along his hip bones, teasing him, wanting him to beg for it.
She should have known better. Nick Ballantine didn’t beg. Instead he gathered her hair in one hand, the other clenching the sheets beneath him as he waited her out. His straining breath was the only sign he was affected.
Taylor’s lips brushed the top of him, and his hips bucked. She smiled and repeated the motion, lingering this time.
His fingers tightened in her hair. “Fuck.”
It was as close to a plea as she was going to get from him tonight. She’d take what she could get.
Taylor took him in her mouth, easing him in inch by inch as his hips arched up with a needy thrust, urging her to take more, deeper.
She did. She gave him everything, and he gave right back, alternating between pumping into her mouth and staying perfectly still so she could take control.
“Pull your nightgown down,” he said gruffly, looking down at her. “Let me see your perfect tits.”
She did as he asked, pulling away just long enough to slide the straps down her shoulders until the nightgown pooled at her waist. Taylor stayed where she was for a long moment, loving the way his eyes glazed over at the sight of her.
He reached out a hand to touch her, but she batted it away. “My turn.”
Then she returned her mouth to his cock, even more eager this time.
A minute later, his breath quickened, and his fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her up. “Taylor.”
She looked up his body, met his eyes to tell him she understood what he was saying to her. And told him right back what she wanted.
This time when he said her name, it was a plea and a prayer, and with one last thrust, he came in her mouth, finally giving her what she wanted: Nick Ballantine was all hers.
For the moment.
A moment later she slid back up his body, settling against him.
His arm came around her. “Feeling pretty smug, aren’t you?”
She smiled against his chest. “Maybe.”
He sighed and sat up just enough to reach the covers and pull them up around both of them. “There’ll be no living with you after this.”
“I would never gloat over oral sex, Ballantine. It’s unbecoming of a lady.”
His lips brushed her forehead. “Are you lying?”
She laughed. “A little.”
Taylor felt his smile. “Thought so.”
Her eyes felt a little heavy, and she gave in to the urge to close them. When she’d snuck in here, it’d been with the intention of distracting him from painful memories with a world-class blow job and then returning to her own bed.
She certainly hadn’t envisioned staying here with him. Hadn’t let herself imagine how nice it would be to sleep cuddled against his warmth.
It was just as well. Nothing her imagination could have conjured up would have been even close to the reality.
Chapter 21
The scream Taylor let out when the shower curtain was pulled back while she was in mid-shampoo was not the least bit dignified.
“Jesus, Ballantine,” she said, laying a soapy hand over her frantically beating heart. “Psycho much?”
In response he merely
grinned and dropped his boxers, stepping into the shower uninvited.
“Really?” she grumbled as he crowded her under the stream of warm water. “You won’t sleep with me, but you’ll shower with me?”
“I slept with you. All night.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. You’re sulking because I won’t yet make a woman out of you.”
She laughed. “Whatever.”
“I can do other things,” he said huskily as he pressed against her.
Her heart beat a little faster in anticipation, but she was most definitely not expecting his hands to lift to her head, the pads of his fingers massaging the shampoo through her hair.
Taylor couldn’t help the moan. “Why does this feel so much better when someone else does it?”
He didn’t respond, simply pressed his fingers gently against her scalp in a gesture that felt more like a caress than anything she’d felt in a long time—maybe ever.
Nick tipped her head back, and she obliged, letting the stream of water rinse her hair clean.
She opened her eyes to find him watching her with an unreadable expression.
“Conditioner?” she asked. She aimed for cheeky, but it came out…quiet.
One corner of his mouth lifted, and instead of reaching for the conditioner bottle, he slid a hand behind the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his for a kiss.
He tasted like toothpaste and Nick, and she drew him closer, pressing her wet body to his. Nick groaned, his hands slicking down her back to cup her butt, pulling her all the way against him.
Taylor went on her toes, tilting her hips to rock against his erection, and he smacked her ass lightly. “There you go again, trying to rush my timetable.”
“Just want to get to the good stuff.”
His grin was wicked. “You want the good stuff, hmm?”
Taylor didn’t object as he slowly turned her toward the wall of the shower, although she gasped when he pushed her gently all the way against the cold tiles. “What are you—”
Her words dissolved into a moan as he moved her hair to the side and trailed hot kisses from the tip of her shoulder to between her shoulder blades and all the way down her spine.
His hands cupped her ass, and she could have sworn she heard a whispered “Perfect” before he nipped a cheek lightly, then soothed the spot with a kiss before turning her around.
Nick’s eyes found hers a split second before he pressed his tongue to her melting core. Taylor gasped his name, hands going to his head, fingers holding on to his damp hair for dear life.
Nick wasn’t the least bit shy, and refused to let her be either. His hand lifted her left leg slightly, opening her all the way as he licked her.
As on the day she’d worn the trench coat, he seemed to know everything she liked, every touch she needed, even before she knew it.
The pleasure became almost unbearable, his mouth hot against her body, the shower wall cool against her back. The sound of her panting mingling with the splash of the shower was like their own erotic soundtrack.
Two fingers slid inside her as his tongue circled her clit, over and over until she broke. She shattered like a piece of fine china, her body, her soul, everything shattering in a million different directions.
His hands held her steady as he stood, lips trailing up her body until he nuzzled her neck.
“Conditioner time now?” he whispered against her ear.
Taylor laughed, a ragged, exhausted sound. “Something like that.”
And then, before he could stop her, her fingers wrapped around him. She was turned on all over again by how hard he’d gotten from pleasuring her.
He pulled back, resting his forehead on hers as she touched him in slow, hot strokes. It was wonderfully intimate, watching his face as he got closer and closer to the edge. She found herself strangely emotional at the way he let her observe him, as though refusing to let either one of them deny what was happening between them.
She watched as the cords of his neck strained and his teeth clenched. Watched as his eyes turned from warm brown to molten chocolate. Waited until his eyes finally slammed shut as he yielded to the pleasure with a quiet roar.
When he stopped gasping, he opened his eyes and looked at her with bemusement. “What are we going to do with us, Carr?”
“Not a clue.”
Smiling, he handed her the conditioner bottle and shampooed his own hair before putting shower gel on her loofah and washing both of them with short, effective motions that were so guy-like it made her laugh.
Minutes later they were in the kitchen, her in her robe, him with a towel knotted around his waist as he poured them each a cup of coffee.
“Got plans tonight?” he asked, pulling his usual box of Chex out of the cabinet.
She took a sip of her coffee. “No. I was supposed to go get drinks with Brit, but she’s got the flu. Another friend’s having a birthday party, but it’s the tequila-shot and dance-all-night crew, and I don’t know if I have that in me. Am I getting old? Don’t answer that.”
He went to the fridge, pulled out one of her raspberry yogurt containers, set that and a spoon in front of her. “Go out with me.”
She froze in the process of opening the yogurt. “Be more specific.”
He glugged milk into his bowl. “You. Me. Dinner.”
Taylor gave a very slow smile. “Are you asking me on a date, Ballantine?”
“Depends. You gonna put out?”
“Hey, I’m not the one holding out on us,” she said, waving her spoon in his direction before dunking it into her yogurt.
“Didn’t feel like either one of us was holding out just a few minutes ago.”
She cleaned her spoon, considering. “Dinner sounds nice. If I pay, then will you put out?”
He grinned and shoveled a bite of cereal into his mouth. “Wear something sexy. Just in case.”
Chapter 22
In the end, she wore something sexy—a short backless black dress.
But she didn’t pay for dinner.
Nick had refused to let her even touch the bill before dropping his credit card into the folder.
“My idea, my treat.”
“This means I’m not gonna get lucky, huh?” she said, scraping her spoon around the side of the dish to get at the last of the crème brûlée.
He made a clucking sound. “Is sex all you think about?”
She set her spoon down, a little chagrined. “I guess I must be making you feel like a piece of meat, huh?”
He looked at her curiously, and she rushed on. “I’m sorry. I’m really not as sex-fixated as I seem. I guess it just feels easier to focus on that. On sex.”
“As opposed to…?”
Taylor looked away. “Other stuff.”
“Other stuff?” he said, voice teasing as he leaned forward. “Do tell.”
“No,” she said stubbornly.
He smiled. “Carr. Talk to me.”
“I’m not good at this,” she said, fiddling with her nearly empty wineglass. “I’m really good at hookups, but relationships tend to blow up in my face.”
“You did okay with Calloway,” he said, his voice hardening slightly.
“Did I?” she said, giving him a look. “Anyway, that was…different.”
“Ah. Got it.”
Though his jaw was tense, his eyes looked almost…hurt.
“No, that’s not…” She blew out a breath. “See, this is what I mean. I make a mess of anything that involves delicacy.”
Or emotion.
There was a moment of silence as the server brought back the bill and Nick’s credit card.
“I’m not delicate, Carr,” he snapped, picking up the pen to sign the slip. “Just say whatever you need to say.”
“Fine,” she snapped, crossing her arms and sitting back in her chair. “I think I like you. Sort of. Like, a lot. When I’m not hating you, I mean.”
Nick’s pen went still, and then he looked up, his expres
sion stunned.
Taylor swallowed. The silence was…awful.
It wasn’t like she’d professed undying love or anything, but she felt a heck of a lot more raw with that random babble to Nick than she’d ever felt in any proclamation to Bradley.
Nick returned his attention to the credit card slip, and her heart sank. He added tip and total, scrawled his signature, then tossed the pen into the folder and stood.
“Okay, then,” she muttered under her breath, accepting the hand he extended to her.
He led her out of the restaurant, not saying a single word as he collected their coats from coat check, and helped her shrug into hers.
The restaurant he’d selected was just a couple of blocks from their apartment, so they’d opted to walk.
Taylor was about to snap at him that she wasn’t digging the silent treatment, but before she could, he reached for her hand, twining her fingers with his.
The gesture was sweet and unexpected, and she was so busy trying to figure out if it translated to I like you too that she didn’t even realize they were back in their apartment until he was shrugging out of his jacket.
“Okay, Ballantine,” she said, peeling off her own coat and tossing it on the back of a chair. “I realize I’m not very good at all this, but you’re apparently not very good at it either. What are you thinking?”
As Nick walked toward her she started to step back. Instead, though, she decided to hold her ground, and she lifted her chin stubbornly.
“I’m thinking”—he reached out and took her face in his hands—“that it’s time you and I stop playing games. That we stop letting whatever’s happening be about a timeline or sticking it to Calloway, or getting over Calloway, or winning some sort of stupid battle.
“I’m thinking,” he continued, stepping closer, “that we do what we want. What we both want. Not because it’s a certain time, but because it’s right.”
She lifted her hands and gripped his wrists. “Does that mean…tonight…?”
His smile was slow and sexy as hell. “That’s exactly what it means.”
Taylor met his kiss halfway, expecting it to be torrid and frantic, but was surprised to find it unhurried and a little bit sweet.
They stayed as they were for long moments, pressed together, his hands on her face, hers on his wrists as their mouths moved slowly together, their tongues flirting shyly.
