by Naima Simone
“No,” he countered. “You said you liked Call of Duty. Not that you could kick ass in it.”
She grinned, and Ronin covered the tug in his gut at the sight of the big, carefree smile on her beautiful face with a snort. He rose from his chair, taking her controller and shutting off the game. In the last few hours, he’d discovered several things about Kim that he hadn’t known before. She sucked at poker, was a video game savant, and had the curliest, sexiest natural curls that God had ever gifted a woman.
The sight of them had shocked him when he’d walked into her bedro—the guest bedroom earlier. Every time he’d seen her, the dark strands had been straight, sleek. Now they were wild, untamed. And fuck if he didn’t love them. They reflected the woman from the hotel room. The uninhibited woman who fucked on her office desk. The vulnerable woman who allowed him to carry her, care for her.
There were two sides of Kim Matlock: the cool, controlled reserved businesswoman. And the one who had sex like she played video games—no holds barred, take no prisoners.
Wait. He took that back. There was also the soft, sensitive woman who had fears, insecurities, and hurts.
And all three sides fascinated him.
All of them hardened his cock to the point of pain.
All of them scared the hell out of him.
This…connection to her… He could so easily place it on the shoulders of the child they created. But the woman… Fuck, she drew him. Fascinated him. And the guilt of enjoying it—wanting it—sat so heavily on his chest, sometimes he couldn’t inhale a breath without tasting the bitterness of disloyalty and betrayal. It was ridiculous; the logical side of his brain argued that Grace wouldn’t begrudge him this—the baby, the slices of happiness. But his heart…
Damn it, he needed to fall back. But, goddamn, with Kim lying in bed, those fuck-me curls surrounding her lovely face and tumbling around her slim shoulders…
St. Ronin, patron saint of blue balls. That was him.
“What do you want to do now?” he asked, mentally patting himself on the back when the strain of masochism didn’t enter his voice. “Movies?”
“That sounds good,” she agreed, and from behind him, he caught the rustling of covers.
He swallowed a groan. Everything she did reminded him of sex. Using the control, he switched the TV to Netflix. When he turned back around, she’d moved over in the bed, leaving a space for him beside her.
Hell. She wanted to kill him.
I got this. I’m fucking twenty-eight years old. I’m a man.
Gritting his teeth, he settled on the bed, and her sweet, citrusy scent immediately teased him, taunted him. His “I’m a man,” speech meant shit in that moment. Not when he wanted to swan dive into that siren’s fragrance and lick it off her skin.
“Since it’s close to Christmas, how about a holiday movie?” she suggested.
“Close to Christmas?” he scoffed. “Please tell me you’re not one of those people who completely skip Thanksgiving.”
“No, but tell me a famous Thanksgiving movie, and we can watch one.”
Okay, so score one for her. Speaking of Thanksgiving, what was she doing for the holiday? She didn’t have family here and, other than Renee, no close friends. Maybe she’d want to join his family… He shut down the train of thought. That was one of those personal lines he couldn’t cross. Especially since Grace’s family tended to join his on the holidays. How would they feel about him having a baby with another woman when it’d been their dream to have a grandchild of their own? Would they be happy for him? God, he hoped so.
“I’m taking your silence as a concession to my point,” she drawled, snatching him out of his thoughts. “So what’ll it be? What’s your favorite movie?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d rather not answer on the grounds that I might have to check in my Man Card.”
“Ooh.” She rolled onto her hip, gaze light with laughter. “Do tell.”
He sighed, tipping his head back and frowning at the ceiling, and mumbled the answer.
“What? Care to repeat that? I left my grumble-to-English dictionary back at the apartment.”
“Smart ass. Fine.” He lifted his head and glared at her, daring her, beforehand, to laugh. “Love Actually.”
She shrugged. “I’ve never seen it.”
He gasped. Yeah, he did. Her admission was gasp-worthy. “Who hasn’t seen Love Actually? Is that rock you live under comfy?”
“It’s a rom-com, right? I don’t really care for romantic comedies.” She gave another little shrug.
“It’s more than that. It’s connection, forgiveness, love, fate, serendipity… What?” He stared at her wide-eyed gaze. “Shaddup.” He threw up his hands. “Well, let me have it. What’s your favorite holiday movie?”
“That’s easy. Die Hard 2,” she declared. “And yes, it is a Christmas movie.”
Rolling his eyes, he muttered, “Why am I not surprised?” He aimed the remote at the TV screen. “We’ll watch your pick first, then mine.”
Hours later, as the credits for Love Actually rolled, he turned to her, waiting for her to praise one of the best movies of all time.
“Well?” he prodded when she remained quiet.
“Umm.” She scrunched up her nose. “The porn couple was cute.”
“Porn c—” He snapped. “They were body doubles, not porn stars. Seriously?” he demanded. “That’s all you liked about it?”
“Now ‘like’ is a stretch.” She did that scrunchy thing with her nose again. “Okay, how is it romantic that the guy is hitting on his best friend’s wife? And if I was Karen, I would’ve slapped the shit out of Harry with that Joni Mitchell CD; I don’t care if he was Alan Rickman. God rest his soul. And yeah, I wasn’t buying the British guy shacking up with the three American women just because of his accent. That was a bit of a stretch.”
Ronin gaped at her. For several moments, he was speechless. Utterly speechless.
“How does it feel?” he finally asked, cocking his head to the side.
“How does what feel?” she repeated.
“When your heart grows three sizes? I’ve always wondered. Does it hurt or just tingle?”
Her face blanked, then she tossed back her head and burst into laughter at his reference to the Grinch. It was the first time he’d heard her laugh, and the delighted sound echoed in the room. Delighted and…horrible. Like a cackle. Of a dying dingo.
He grinned. It was terrible and adorable.
“I have a heart. Take John McClane, for example. He blew up a plane full of mercenaries and fired up a runway to save his wife’s life. That’s true love.” She arched an eyebrow.
Damn it, he hated when she was right.
Time to fight dirty. He jumped off the bed, rounded it, and knelt at her side, placing his palms across her slightly rounded stomach. The almost imperceptible bump sent a thrill through him. As did touching her again.
Kim started, sitting straight up on the mattress, but he gently shushed her, bending his head over her.
“Shh. This is a conversation between Peanut and me.” It would be several more weeks before Kim felt the baby move, but he’d read on several sites that babies could hear and recognize their parents’ voices. Maybe not this early, but he liked the thought of it. “This is your dad. Your mom and I can’t wait until you get here, but you have to hang in there and grow before then, so don’t give her a lot of trouble, okay? Except when she says crazy things like insulting my movie choices and T-shirt collection. Here’s a promise: you stay healthy and happy in there, and when you’re finally here, we’ll wear matching Transformers T-shirts to the strawberry festival where I grew up. You’re going to love it. And we love you.”
He pressed a kiss to Kim’s belly then leaned back, glancing up. She stared down at him, her dove gray eyes glistening with tears. Well, shit. Making her cry hadn’t been in his game plan. But damn, those eyes were going to break him. So lovely, so much emotion. Just. So much.
; Rising, he sat on the mattress and pulled her into his arms, onto his lap, and held her, brushing his lips across the top of her head. Jesus, she made him feel. And he didn’t know how to handle it, what to do with it. So he did what came naturally…
“Don’t worry, hala,” he murmured. “I’ll get you a Transformers shirt, too.”
As her muffled chuckle reached his ears, the vise around his chest loosened.
Laughter, he could deal with. The fist squeezing his heart?
Not so much.
Chapter Thirteen
Kim ended yet another call, her fifth that morning, and it was only eleven.
She fell back against her desk chair with a sigh. Three days out of the office, and the work had piled up. She’d returned to the office Friday, but it was Tuesday of the following week, and she was still firmly in make-up mode. On the second day of her bedrest, before he’d headed to practice, Ronin had gone by her apartment and picked up her laptop for her. So she’d been able to answer emails and do some work remotely. But she’d had visitors, as well. Renee, who’d alternated between browbeating her about keeping the pregnancy a secret and crying because she was happy for her and Ronin, and the other two women she’d met at Doyle’s, Sophia and Tennyson.
The two women had been extremely friendly, and she’d enjoyed spending time with them. Especially since Sophia brought along her eighties movie collection. The woman had great taste. Other than Morgan and Renee, Kim hadn’t experienced too many friendships with women. She’d traveled with her mother when she was younger, so by the time she’d settled down in Chicago, Kim had been shy and awkward when it came to being social. And the WAGs world had been as cutthroat and competitive as the game their husbands and boyfriends played. So talking and laughing with the three women had been novel and fun.
Then, when Ronin returned home in the evenings, they’d eaten dinner together, watched movies, played video games, and talked. God, did they talk. She’d learned more about his childhood growing up on Vashon Island, the only son in a family of women. He’d talked about his circle of friends here, including how the rift and animosity between Renee and Jason hurt him. She’d confided more about having a supermodel for a mother, Kim’s relationship with Alex, and how he’d met Morgan.
The three days had been almost idyllic, a pocket of time for her. Or rather, out of time. Of course, it couldn’t last. Reality called, and both of them had to answer. She’d returned to work and her apartment, and he’d had practice and game day. Though the team played at home, they had to report to the local hotel on Saturday, where they stayed on evenings before game day. She and Ronin had remained in contact through texts and calls, but she’d forced herself to place it all in perspective. Her time with Ronin, staying in his home, laughing with him, talking with him—she couldn’t willingly fool herself into not remembering why she was in Seattle in the first place.
To recover because her marriage had ended due to an unfaithful husband who loved the lifestyle that came with football more than her.
To focus on her career with the company her half brother had inherited, and to prove to an absentee father that she could turn around and save the hotels that were his pet project. Then he would finally have to admit she was damn good at her job and not just the unqualified recipient of nepotism.
To forget that she was once so broken, so devastated, so…weak. And to never be that woman again.
Ronin threatened all those goals. No, she couldn’t cut him out of her life because of the baby. But she also didn’t have to fall for him. She wouldn’t fall for him.
Yet, maybe, just maybe, she would trust him. He’d proven that he would be there for her, especially these past few days. While she could never give him her heart, she could start with believing in him. Which was more than she’d believed herself capable of.
Even as she thought that, memories of him murmuring against her stomach, talking to the baby, flirted with her mind. She pressed a palm to her chest, over her heart. Watching him, hearing the tenderness in that low, deep voice had caused cracks to zig-zag over the shield barricading her heart. Cracks that she feared would break further into fissures and holes.
Releasing another sigh, Kim stretched and stood. Now that she was back in the office, she had to focus on work. The staff and her colleagues had seemed to accept the flu excuse, but she couldn’t afford to appear as if she were slacking off. She had less than a year left on this project, and though they’d made a great start, they still had a way to go.
Less than a year…
A sharp twinge spasmed in her chest. In months, she would leave Seattle and Renee, and the people she’d come to think of as friends…and Ronin. She shook her head. Her sojourn here had never been planned as a permanent move. And even though circumstances had changed—such as getting pregnant by a man who lived here—back East was her home. She’d once molded her life—molded herself—around a man and his job and needs. She refused to do that again. They would work it out. Somehow.
A hard, quick rap on her office door was her only warning before it opened. Irritation at the rudeness and the interruption surged within her, but when she glimpsed who strode into her office, she shoved the emotions down and paved them over with a layer of thick ice. One of Malcolm Bishop’s tools-in-trade was rudeness. It derived from the arrogance that he wore like one of his perfectly tailored Armani suits. As the one-time CEO of Bishop Enterprises, and father of the current one, he behaved as if he owned the world. And everyone who had the benefit of existing in it should bow down and thank him.
Including the daughter he didn’t recognize or claim.
“Kimberly,” he stated, lowering himself into the visitor’s chair in front of her desk.
“Malcolm,” she replied, her tone as cold and impersonal as his. “I wasn’t aware we had an appointment scheduled for this morning.”
A bite of frost entered the gray eyes he’d bequeathed to her—probably to his utter disgust. “If I wanted to schedule a meeting, I wouldn’t have been able to find you in the office, would I?” He delivered the pointed dig at her absence, and it struck home. “Just because my son has a misplaced and misguided sense of loyalty toward you doesn’t mean you can take advantage of this position. You were sent here to work, not vacation and”—he paused, a slight sneer tilting his hard mouth—“play.”
Fury flared hot and bright in her, damn near burning her alive. She interpreted that “play” just as he’d intended. He referred to Ronin, and the evening they’d had dinner in her office. Platonic, except for that kiss. But that Malcolm would insinuate that she wasn’t doing her job, when she’d been busting her ass on it, enraged her.
Part of her wanted to yell at him that she’d been out of the office for most of last week because of her pregnancy with his grandchild. But that would’ve been pointless. If he didn’t recognize her as his daughter, he damn sure wouldn’t care about a grandchild.
“Since I haven’t been vacationing or playing, I won’t dignify that with a response. And I apologize if my recent illness has inconvenienced you. What did you need to see me about?” If she just got him to cut to the chase, then he would leave her office sooner. Meaning there was less chance of him detecting how his presence affected her.
“Never mind now. I handled it.” He plucked an imaginary piece of lint off his perfectly clean and straight pant leg. Maybe she’d inherited her neat freak gene from him along with her eye color. God forbid anything else. “I increased the advertising budget to place a full-page ad for the next six months in a local financial magazine. There’s a business convention for area investment companies next year, and the Grand would be an ideal place to hold it.”
Stay calm. Stay calm. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you angry.
She inhaled a deep, silent breath, struggling and finally grabbing a hold of her temper by the flimsiest of threads.
“Malcolm,” she stated flatly, when inside she seethed. Fucking seethed at the blatant disrespect. “You should have waited
until we spoke. Our budget has allotted for advertisement space targeting the corporate demographic. We have also offered discounts to local businesses for booking their events with us. But we have agreed and settled that our primary focus for the Grand is on the women-centric organizations as well as on bridal events. If you had conferred with me, I could’ve shown you how this switch in targeting has already resulted in an increase in reservations, bookings, and publicity.” Of course, he possessed that information. She’d made sure he received it.
“I haven’t seen anything significant,” he lied. “And as this is the chain I brought on and have been intricately and personally involved in from the beginning, I know the business better than you. And I never agreed with this direction in the first place. So I made a sound financial decision. You wouldn’t understand that aspect of it.”
His derision was crystal clear. He’d never respected her, her talent, or her position as Vice-President. Resented, yes, never respected.
What have I done to offend you so badly? What have I ever done to you except exist?
The voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like a little girl’s echoed not just in her head but her chest. Squeezed her heart. Kim curled her fingers into tight fists on her lap. Thank God, the desk hid the tell-tale sign of her anger and hurt.
“Since canceling the ad would only bring negative reprisal and hurt our reputation, I’ll let it stand. But from this point on, please do not change anything on the budget or make unilateral decisions without discussing them with me first. Yes, you’ve been with the hotel chain since its inception, but I’m the Vice-President of Public Relations, and this is my field of expertise.”
“I’ll do as I see fit and what is best for the hotel and the company,” he said. Smirking, he cocked his head to the side. “What do you intend to do? Run to Alex and tattle on me?” The smirk deepened. “I ran this company, and now my son does. Your vice-presidency was a gift, a show of guilt or rebellion by Alex—I’ve never been able to decide which one. But you cannot tell me what to do with my birthright, my family’s business.”
