Pretty Dirty Secrets: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 3)

by Jeana E. Mann

  I HAD no idea how badly I wanted to hear those words from her lips until she said them. You’re a good man, Beckett. It was all I ever wanted to be, really. For her. For the baby.

  Thanks to Maxwell and the firm, my reputation had suffered a hit. I didn’t care. People were fickle, and it wouldn’t take long to rebuild the damage done. My stellar record spoke volumes about my work. Besides, I had a change of career in mind. Sam had something cooking. I could tell by the gleam in his eyes that he was ready to make a comeback, and I intended to be by his side.

  A few days into the new year, I was about to cross the street, when V called my phone. The sight of her name on my caller ID tightened all the muscles in my groin. “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey, yourself.” I liked the sweet, soft tone she used when it was just the two of us. “Can you stop by the store and pick up some toothpaste? I think you’re out.”

  She stayed at my apartment almost every night these days. Once, I would’ve cringed at the idea of a woman in my space, but now I enjoyed the sprawl of her cosmetics on my bathroom sink and the sight of her panties in the dresser drawer next to my boxers. The lease would be up on her penthouse in a few months, and I intended to have her move in with me once the baby came.

  “Yep. Be there in fifteen.”

  “And Beckett?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Can you hurry?”

  The hopeful tone of her voice prodded my feet to jog down the street to the nearest convenience store.

  A few hours later, we were in bed, a proper bed with a frame, the one she’d purchased with my credit card a few weeks earlier. She reclined against the headboard, a copy of Architectural Digest propped on her knees. The sight of her in my bed, all soft curves and femininity, warmed my heart and hardened my dick.

  “Did you turn off the coffee pot?” She poked me in the ribs with a fingertip. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “Because I like you in my bed,” I said. “And yes, I turned off the coffee pot.”

  Her blond hair was piled into a messy bun on top of her head. A few long strands escaped and hung down her back. Fresh pink polish tipped the toes of her feet and fingers and matched the flannel nightshirt outlining the prominent swell of her belly. I turned on my side and propped my head up with my elbow to see her better. The baby had grown into a round basketball over the past few weeks.

  “Are you listening to me?” she asked.

  “Sorry?” I took the magazine from her hands and tossed it to the floor.

  “What are you doing?” She frowned, an adorable crinkle in her nose. “I was reading that.”

  “Come here.” I tugged her down beside me.

  “Beckett. You’re going to smudge my nails.” She wriggled in protest.

  “I’ll repaint them for you.” My hands found purchase on her breasts and gave a gentle squeeze. She squirmed, but I kept going, if only to hear more of her laughter. The musical lilt of the sound buoyed my spirit more than a goal by my favorite team or winning any divorce case. “Just one kiss.”

  She pushed playfully at my chest as I attempted to pull her against me. “I know how you are. One kiss, and I’ll be naked again.”

  “And what’s so wrong with that?” Once my hand found her bottom and squeezed, she stopped protesting and melted into my chest. The baby pressed against my abs, a round, welcome intruder into our circle. Then I felt it. A gentle jab against my belly. I looked up at Venetia. Her eyes had gone misty and soft.

  “Did you feel it?” she asked on an exhale.

  “Yes. Was that her?” A tremor of pure excitement flooded through my core. I’d been trying for weeks to feel one of the kicks but had missed out every time.

  “Or him,” she said, just to tease me. “And yes. Give me your hand. Here.” She pressed my palm to the left side of her belly, where I a second, confident poke prodded my hand.

  “That’s amazing.” Our eyes met. Nothing had ever been more right or perfect in my life.

  Chapter 45

  Venetia

  BECKETT PULLED up my nightshirt, baring the growing mound of my belly, and pressed a kiss above my navel. His big hand circled around the bump, loving and tender in its touch. The puff of his breath tickled against my skin. I bit my lower lip and squeezed my eyes shut to hold back tears of happiness.

  Little by little, with Beckett’s help, I’d begun to put my future together. I rented an office space in a quiet neighborhood and hired two more assistants, putting Helena in charge. I had a long way to go, but with time and effort, I felt confident I’d succeed. None of that mattered without Beckett at my side.

  “You’re going to be so loved, little one,” Beckett whispered to my belly.

  My chest constricted to hear the emotion in his voice. I ran a hand through his hair. The dark strands had gotten longer than his usual short, spiky cut, but it looked good on him. His kisses traveled farther down the slope of my stomach, nearing the patch of hair below my pelvis. He swept a hand along the bare skin of my inner thigh, pushing my legs apart to allow his mouth better access.

  “Ah,” I murmured as his tongue teased my clit.

  He paused and lifted his head. “Still worried about your manicure? I can stop if you want.”

  “No. I’m good.” I nudged his head down and felt his wicked smile against my thigh.

  He knew exactly the places to lick, the right amount of pressure, the perfect time to slow down or speed up. The texture of his tongue on my sensitive flesh caused my legs to twitch. Tingles of pleasure radiated from my hips down my legs to my toes.

  One of his fingers slipped inside me, then two. Combined with the slide and glide of his tongue, the pressure of his lips, and the heat of his breath, he undid all my self-control. I writhed against his mouth, needing more, ready to rush into climax but hoping it would never end.

  The first time I met Beckett, he was the object of my teenaged fantasies. When we met in New Orleans, I had no idea how one night of passion would change both of our lives forever. During our relationship, I lost my father, but I gained a wonderful man. It was all worth it—the sleepless nights, the tears, and the uncertainty—because it led me to him.

  Epilogue

  Venetia

  ON A cold spring day in early April, I met Beckett for lunch at the bistro near his temporary office. He planned to merge with Sam and create a new corporation. After the baby arrived, I planned to join the team as an investor and partner. Together, we’d build a new Seaforth empire. In the interim, Beckett continued his family law practice.

  After a chicken pasta salad and iced tea, we walked side by side along the street, back to his building. He looked dashing in a long black trench coat with a sky-blue scarf around his neck and polished Italian shoes on his feet. The guy had a sense of style, and I was proud to be seen at his side. By the number of admiring female glances tossed his direction, I wasn’t the only girl who noticed. I pulled together the lapels of my coat, conscious of the twenty pounds I’d gained over the past few months. Between water retention and a ravenous appetite, I’d gone up two dress sizes and felt like a fat cow. His gaze never wandered from the sidewalk ahead of us though, not once, not even a flicker in the direction of the smiling college girls or the model-like twin brunettes.

  “Are you cold?” Beckett regarded me, concern etched in the lines around his mouth. “I’ll get a cab.” He raised an arm and waved at a passing taxi. The crazy spring weather had bounced between sunshine and snow for the past week. Overhead, pear and cherry trees boasted bright blossoms. Irises and hyacinths poked through the thin layer of snow that dusted the green grass.

  “No. I’m fine.” I caught his forearm with my hand and pulled it down to my side. “I need the exercise.”

  “Are you sure?” He stopped walking and turned to face me.

  A shiver snaked down my spine. Not from the cold but from the heat in his eyes. No man had ever looked at me like that, only Beckett. And I realized the others no longer mattered, because he
was the only man I needed in my life. I trusted him, and I knew he’d always be there for me. “Yes, I’m sure.” A surge of giddiness lightened my heart.

  “I can’t have you catching a cold,” he said and touched the tip of his finger to the end of my nose.

  I savored the moment, unsure when or if the next one might appear. I needed to grab each and every instance of happiness, enjoy life, and take each moment with Beckett as a precious gift.

  Several snowflakes fluttered through the air between us and spiraled to the pavement. I followed their trajectory to our feet. One of them landed on Beckett’s shoe and melted. When I glanced up again, Beckett’s attention had snared on a couple standing at the crosswalk. A small child, two or three years of age, was suspended between his parents, each of his little hands secured by one of theirs. The light changed, and the parents lifted the little boy into the air. His delighted squeals brought a smile to Beckett’s full mouth.

  “I can’t wait,” he said. His low, textured voice caused all the muscles below my waist to clench. “I can’t wait until our little one gets here.”

  “Really?” I found it difficult to catch my breath with him looking at me so intently.

  His smile turned his dark eyes to liquid chocolate. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I thank God every day for that night in New Orleans.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead. My pulse tripled. “Our child is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “What if he’s ugly? What if he has a hump on his back or three eyeballs?” I teased.

  “Are you kidding me? Have you seen his mother?” Beckett wrapped an arm around my waist and began walking again with me tucked into his side. “She’s gorgeous. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He cast a cocky sideways glance beneath his lashes. “There’s no way this kid could be less than a knockout.”

  “I hope he looks like you,” I whispered.

  It all felt so right, his arm around me, the way I fit into his shoulder like I belonged there. The fullness in my chest threatened to break my ribs. I blinked back the sting of happy tears and tried to keep my feet from floating above the sidewalk. Things like this just didn’t happen to me. Me. Venetia Seaforth. The forgotten one.

  “Have you thought about names?” he asked.

  “No. Have you?”

  “Sure. Horatio,” he said. I cringed, making him laugh. “Or Ophelia, if it’s a girl.”

  I sucked in a horrified breath. “Are you kidding me? That’s terrible.” By his smirk, he was teasing. “After a lifetime of being named Venetia, I could never do that to my kid.” I relaxed and smiled back. “What about something simple like Jane? Jane Seaforth,” I said, testing it out.

  “Don’t you mean Jane Beckett?” The smile slipped from his lips. “This is my child. I want him or her to have my name.”

  I’d assumed our child would take the Seaforth name, my name. It never even occurred to me that Beckett might want the kid to take his name, too. Even though I wasn’t a Seaforth by blood, I felt a loyalty to the name, my mother’s name, Sam’s name.

  We stared at each other, at an impasse.

  “What about Jane Beckett Seaforth?” I offered.

  “Or Jane Seaforth Beckett?” he countered. By the set of his shoulders, he wasn’t going to budge on this point. I lifted my chin and stared back. At my gesture of defiance, he shook his head and chuckled. “There’s plenty of time to discuss it. Why don’t we table this for later when we’ve both had time to think on it?”

  A strand of hair fluttered away from my temple. He tucked it behind my ear. The simple brush of his fingers on my bare skin sent tingles along my neck. “Okay. Later.” I’d never been good at compromise, but I wanted to please him. His smiles did something unspeakable to my insides. I resolved to keep an open mind and at least hear him out when the time came to revisit the topic.

  “Wait. Take a look at this.” He changed direction suddenly and led me to a nearby storefront filled with children’s toys. “I’ve got to buy that.” He pointed toward a miniature baseball glove, no bigger than a deck of cards.

  “Beckett, you can’t be serious.” I laughed at the bewilderment on his face. “Don’t you have to go back to the office?”

  “I do, but in a minute.” He tucked my hand into his elbow and pressed his lips into my hair, voice insistent against my ear.

  “You know I love you, right?” The glimmer in his eyes made me regret not saying it more often, for waiting too long to say it the first time.

  He smiled and brushed his fingers beneath my chin then gave me a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth. Tender, loving, and gentle. “I know, baby.”

  Ten minutes later we resumed our walk, with Beckett’s wallet a good deal lighter and my mind whirling from the frenzy I’d just witnessed. Beckett had bought so many toys, the store had offered to deliver them to his apartment.

  “Where are you going to put all that stuff?” I asked, thinking about the open concept of his studio apartment.

  He threaded his fingers through mine, lifted my hand and brushed his lips across my knuckles. “In our house. The one I’m going to buy.” He tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow and smiled down at me. “The one you’re going to live in with me after we get married.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Piers Beckett. Is that your idea of a proposal?” I stopped in the street and propped my hands on my hips.

  His eyes twinkled with mischief. “No.” Deep laughter rumbled through his chest. “I’m just warning you. When you least expect it, I’m going to ask. And I hope you’ll say yes.”

  “I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” I teased but I already knew my answer.

  We walked on, comfortable in our silence. When we stopped at the corner to cross the street, something warm and wet trickled down my leg. A sharp, twinge followed, low in my back. I drew in a hissing breath.

  “What is that?” Beckett frowned and stared at the puddle around our feet.

  “I think my water just broke.”

  Beckett

  Ten fingers. Ten toes. I counted them over and over, unable to believe the tiny miracle in my arms. She was perfect in every way from the top of her fuzzy blond head to the tips of her kicking feet. My daughter. Mine. I had no idea the way my world would shift with the arrival of this new bundle of life. Too many intense feelings tangled together inside me as I held my baby girl for the first time. Protectiveness. Joy. Relief. I blinked against the burn of tears, startled by the flood of emotion.

  “See I told you.” I turned to Venetia, angling the infant so we could both admire her cherubic face. “She’s a knockout, just like her mom.”

  Venetia held out her arms. Her hands trembled. She was exhausted from sixteen hours of hard labor, and no wonder. The last few hours had damn near killed me, and I’d been a spectator. I placed the baby on her chest then smoothed the damp strands of hair away from her forehead. She smiled, and my heart swelled until I thought it might burst.

  “Have you decided on a name yet?” one of the nurses asked.

  “I was thinking about Ellen,” Venetia said, casting a questioning glance at me. “If that’s all right with you.”

  “I think it’s a perfect name for a perfect baby.” I bent and pressed a fierce kiss to Venetia’s forehead. “Do you have any idea how much I love you? Both of you?”

  She smiled, and it was the bright, brilliant smile I cherished. “I love you, too, Piers Beckett.”

  I kneeled down on one knee beside the bed, ignoring the hardness of the cold floor, and dug a hand into the breast pocket of my shirt where I kept the ring. I’d been carrying it around for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment. “Marry me, V. Maybe this isn’t the best time, but I can’t leave this hospital without knowing you’re mine. Both of you.”

  A tear slid down her cheek and quivered on the point of her chin. “I can’t think of a better time,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the last word. “And the answer is yes.”
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  --The End.

  Before You Go

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  Other books by Jeana E. Mann

  Felony Romance Series

  Intoxicated

  Unexpected

  Vindicated

  Impulsive

  Drift

  Pretty Broken Series

  Pretty Broken Girl

  Pretty Filthy Lies

  Pretty Dirty Secrets

  Pretty Wild Thing

  Pretty Broken Promises (Dec 2016)

  Published by Ishkadiddle Publishing

  Copyright 2016. Jeana E. Mann Author.

  Cover by Ishkadiddle Publishing

  Edited by Rhonda Helms

  Ebook

  ISBN-10: 1-943938-05-9

  ISBN-13: 978-1-943938-05-6

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at jeanamann@yahoo.com