by Rie Warren
I looked Chase up and down. “Well, you’re probably not much older than the little tyke.”
Chuckles ranged all around except for Chase who scowled. “Very funny.”
“He’s seven. He’s about yay-high.” I hit my hand about mid thigh, not that that meant shit because I was a tall dude. “Has her hair color and blue eyes.”
“So, you really didn’t know about this? She didn’t mention Caleb before?” Revenge’s brows beetled together.
“No.” Glowering at my friend, I clenched my beer bottle tight. “Did you know?”
“Old Sol knew.” The man himself winked, baring a smile that flashed bright white.
Of course he had.
“You said you and Honoré had a fight?” That came from Angel.
It was like fucking therapy hour, MC-style, with a baby in the middle of it all.
“Got through it.” I shrugged. “We made breakfast together after. I think I persuaded her I’m not completely bad news where her son is concerned.”
Nods all around.
Cool.
“Saint, do you want to hold Haven?” That was Grace, and I looked at her like she must’ve lost her mind.
Didn’t she just hear all that shit about how Honoré apparently didn’t think I was good enough for her son, and now Grace was gonna let me hold her brand new daughter?
“Uhm, I guess? If it’s okay?” My palms started sweating as soon as I agreed.
What if I dropped her?
What if I made her cry?
I didn’t know what to do with an infant. For that matter, I didn’t know what to do with a seven-year-old boy.
Baby steps.
“Hand sanitizer first,” Grace ordered, and Mercy produced a bottle of clear gel.
“No doubt.” Revenge snorted. “No telling where his hands have been.”
“Me? I’m not the one doing the Doublemint Twins.” I let Mercy squirt the cold stuff into my cupped palms, then I slathered that crap all over to get good and sanitized.
“Hell, I’d take a bath in the gel if Slade would let me hold the little princess again, but he says I’m hogging her,” Revenge grumbled.
Revenge. An MC mystery. Big bad double-dipping dude who got all overprotective about Grace and googly-eyed about the baby even though he was a bystander to the newly minted family just like the rest of us.
Made me wonder what I didn’t know about the man I’d spent years in lockup with.
Bystander or not, I held my arms out when Grace carried Haven over to me. “Do I need to be sitting for this?”
“No. But probably lose the beer bottle.” There was an amused gleam to her hazel eyes.
I passed the beer to Revenge then Grace passed the baby to me.
I nestled the sweet infant in my arms, amazed she wasn’t even as long as my forearm. And my inked sleeves looked out of place next to the light pink blanket she was wrapped in.
She squirmed in my arms.
“Oh shit. She’s moving!”
Everyone chuckled, and Grace laid a steadying hand beneath mine. “Baby’s do that, Saint.”
The dark-haired little one was all pink-faced and she looked powdery soft. Lips like a tiny rosebud, Haven was pretty goddamn captivating.
Her eyes blinked open, and she stared up at me.
“Hey there, Haven. It’s Uncle Saint.” I didn’t know where the words or the soothing tone came from, but it felt right.
When I rocked her a bit, her lids fluttered down. So tiny and so unbelievably fragile. She really was a miracle.
“Give her a sniff. Nothing like the smell of a new baby.” Slade moved in to stand at my side when Grace sat back down.
He pressed his huge-looking thumb into Haven’s palm, and she immediately grasped it.
I heard him suck in a deep breath.
If that fucker started leaking tears because of his new daughter . . .
Carefully hefting Haven a little higher, I drew in a deep breath. Then I screwed up my nose.
“Yeah. I think you frigging got that wrong. She done shit her britches or something.”
Slade barked a laugh that startled Haven, and I was still reeling from the smell that had nothing baby-sweet about it.
“Give her to the prospect. I volunteer him to clean up all the crap.” Revenge made sure to twist the knife just that little bit more.
“Assholes,” Chase muttered.
“I got it.” Slade easily one-handed Haven from me, seemingly unaffected by the odor wafting from her diaper.
I watched curiously as he scooped her up to his shoulder, settling her there, while he grabbed a bulging soft-sided bag on his way to the couch.
Angel formed a barricade with his arms. “Might wanna back up.”
Mercy and Grace laughed together, saying something undertone about men.
“Uncle Saint made you drop a load, huh? You’ll get used to him.” Slade quickly unwrapped her before unsnapping the one-piece outfit between her plump thighs.
All the while, Haven sucked on the side of her fist and stared up at him like he was the original baby whisperer.
“Daddy’s got you. Gonna get you all cleaned up, princess. Then back to Momma.” Slade nudged his nose along her temple, and his face eclipsed hers.
The former tough guy Marine babbling at his daughter had a stone lodging in my throat and a great big lump forming in my chest.
I glanced aside only to see Grace swiping away tears, Mercy’s hand in hers.
Goddamn. What was with the feels?
I wondered how Honoré had been with Caleb. What she looked like when she breastfed. If the first days were as glorious for her.
I reckoned so.
“There you are.” Slade gently picked up the newly swathed and better-smelling baby. “Fresh as a daisy and just as pretty.”
He swayed with her a little, placing his thumb inside her tiny ring of fingers again. After a moment, he looked up to find us silently gawking.
With a shrug and a smile, he carried Haven to Grace. Their fingers connected, and pure love freaking poured off the two of them.
The three of them.
Without turning back to us, Slade quietly said, “Grace and Haven are tuckered out now.”
“Bien, bien.” Angel began herding us from the living room and the hushed scene, the silent heaven . . . the perfect haven. “See you at the bar tonight, Slade?”
But he was too busy kissing his woman to reply, the baby cuddled between them.
****
After Thunder Road shut that night, I lay in my bed, wishing Honoré was with me.
Clicking on my phone, I texted the woman:
Just wanted to say g’night. Missing you like fuck.
I didn’t even care if I sounded pussy-whipped. Seeing Grace and Slade and Haven together put a few giant things in perspective.
Seconds later, my phone pinged.
From Honoré:
It’s late.
No shit.
I messaged back:
Why r u still up then?
She replied:
I can smell you on my sheets. Still feel you in my body.
Oh damn.
My cock rose to pole position immediately.
I sent back:
Baby, you’re fuckin killin me here
There was a moment’s lapse, and I wondered just what she might be doing to herself.
I hoped it was hot.
I hoped she was naked and touching herself when she thought about me.
Her text came in:
You’re making me feel like I want to be bad
I released my cock from my jeans and stroked the rigid rod once while tapping out:
Good.
My phone chimed in my free hand, and I read Honoré’s message:
Good . . . night?
Flopping back to the mattress, I released my cock. I didn’t wanna do the dirty with my woman via texts. I wanted my hands all over her, and her body beneath mine.
I texted a fina
l:
Goodnight, Honoré. Be seeing you real soon
My phone buzzed once more:
Told Caleb you like his drawing. He told me to tell you he’s making one for you. ’Night Saint.
Well, whaddya think about that?
I went to sleep with a giant hard-on for Honoré and a great big goofy grin.
Chapter Sixteen
HONORÉ
“HOOWEE! SURE MUST’VE BEEN some adult sleepover with Saint if you’re still blushing three days later every time I mention his name.” Momma Joan cackled, her head bent over her emery board as she buffed her nails.
I ignored her, taking a sip of sweet tea and looking over a piece of music I’d been trying to compose. Unfortunately, the only thing I couldn’t compose was myself. Damn interfering woman.
She was right. Every mention of Saint’s name made me flush with heat, and I hadn’t even laid eyes on him since Tuesday morning.
I’d been surprised he’d been so mad I’d withheld the information about Caleb. Shocked he was even interested in my son at all. But that was nearsighted in retrospect, considering the way all those Blood Legion men had reacted to the birth of baby Haven Elizabeth.
Aside from Caleb being the son of his loins and his stupid Death Dealers legacy, Reggie had never been much of a father.
In addition to Saint now being in the know, he’d also been in my bed. So, yes, I got a little flustered whenever Joan brought him up. In fact, I couldn’t even rub my wrists without remembering how he’d put me in bondage and made me beg for his cock.
I felt him on me, in me, and still caught the hot masculine musk and leather scent of him in my bed.
I’d opened the can of worms with the naughty texts though. And lord but Saint took dirty imagination to a whole new level. He’d explicitly detailed how he wanted me perched on my stool in the music room, completely nude, legs open. That he’d skim his palms up my calves, spread me wider. He’d begin licking me, but he’d stop every time I faltered a note on the violin, which he swore he’d make me play while he ate me out . . .
Heat suffusing my cheeks, I glimpsed at Joan. She wore the kind of smug smile that said she could read my mind even though she didn’t directly look at me.
Saint might’ve learned about Caleb, but I swore he wouldn’t find out about Reggie.
Who’d want to be with a woman who had willingly lain with that piece of trash?
“Mommy?” Caleb appeared in the doorway to the living room, lolling from one side to the other like a drunken sailor. Or a seven-year-old unable to stand still.
“Yeah, baby boy?”
“What’s an adult sleepover?”
I glared at Joan. She pretended to wear an air of utter innocence.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to answer Caleb because he quickly followed up with another question.
“Is Saint your boyfriend?”
“What? No.” Placing the sheet music aside, I stared at him.
“More like a booty call,” Joan muttered.
Grrrrrr.
“It’s cool, Mommy. I have a girlfriend.” Caleb hopped into the room and dropped to his knees next to me.
“What? You do not.” My eyes probably bugged out of my head.
Even Momma Joan watched him as she blew across her newly buffed nails.
“Sure I do. Mary Mayfair Calais.”
“How old is she?” And what the hell?
“Same as me. We text all the time. Do you and Saint text too?”
“No.” My face flamed again remembering the hot texts that were more like sexts . . .
“Give me your phone right now.” I held out my hand.
With a shrug of narrow shoulders, Caleb passed me his iPhone.
“You need the passcode, Mommy.”
“I already have it, thank you very much.”
“I changed it.”
“Caleb Jeremiah Parrish, you did what?”
Joan sent her chair rocking, watching the show go down like she just needed a bucket of popcorn to complete her entertainment.
“Security reasons,” Caleb explained as if that made everything all right. “It’s now my birthday backwards.”
After pressing in his new code, I opened the Messages app and immediately found a thread with MMbemine
At least it wasn’t MMSmashThat.
As I skimmed through their texts, I had to press a hand to my mouth.
My eyes watered.
I withheld giggle after giggle.
They talked about ugh parents, which was to be expected at any age.
Then there was a whole mess of emojis . . . like line after line after line of rofl faces.
Just because.
A few hundred memes about cute animals doing silly things.
And a massive conversation planning their Fortnite builds and arranging times to get online together to play the game that I didn’t understand at all.
So, at least he wasn’t sexting Miss Mary Mayfair.
I could live with this.
I gave him the phone back, then he said, “Sometimes we get on the Houseparty app too.”
“What the heck is that?”
“You let me sign up for it.”
“I did?”
The recognizable rumble of a motorcycle right outside cut our conversation short.
Lord god, please don’t let it be Reggie.
I glanced at Joan—her face had sobered too.
I barely had the time to stand up before a man shouted, “Hello? Y’all home?”
Then Saint let himself in, came around the corner, and hefted a big paper bag in one hand, a six pack in the other. “Brought some dinner by.”
“Speak of the devil.” Hopping up from her chair, Joan quickly checked her appearance in the little compact she carried around with her at all times.
“But his name’s Saint.” Caleb frowned.
“It’s just a figure of speech.” Tousling his hair, I moved to greet our unexpected guest.
Caleb itched at a bug bite on his knee. “But in the Bible—”
“Nothing saintly about this man. And I bet he speaks in tongues too,” MJ murmured, and I knew she was referring to cunnilingus.
Yes. I was going to strangle her soon.
“Hey, Caleb. How’s it hanging?” Stepping up to my thoroughly confused son, Saint peered down at him.
Caleb honest-to-god answered, “Cool, man, cool.”
Tonight was going to be interesting.
Momma Joan swanned up to Saint, gave him a peck on the cheek, and then took the food from him. She grabbed Caleb’s hand and led him to the kitchen.
Left alone with the buff giant of a man, all those hot memories flooded back, and I couldn’t look him in the eye.
“Hey, baby.” Even the deep intonation of his voice made my insides liquid.
“Hi.”
He brushed a loose strand of hair back from my temple, causing chills to erupt along my neck. “Feeling shy with me all of a sudden?”
“No,” I snapped, glancing up to see his teasing smirk in place.
“There you are, my feisty vixen.” He chuckled then slyly palmed my ass.
“Behave.” I removed his roaming hand at once.
“Yes ma’am.”
Mm hmm, there was a definite devilish gleam to his dark green eyes.
Lacing our fingers together, Saint tugged me down the hallway. “Brought Sol’s brisket, hushpuppies, and coleslaw. Sound good?”
“Is that really why you dropped in unannounced?”
“Didn’t know I needed an excuse to see you after last time, but, sure if that’s how you wanna play it.”
Last time. Tied to the bed. Fucked senseless.
My pussy clenched with wanting.
I’d stopped in my tracks just beyond the kitchen, and Saint leaned over to whisper, “You better stop looking at me like you’re aching for me to mount you, baby, or I’m not gonna be able to behave as promised.”
Mount me. God yes. My entire body screame
d for him and the hot unquenchable passion he unleashed.
Muttering to myself, I tried to will the burning flush of desire away.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Sometimes you make me feel like a teenager again,” I admitted before biting down on my lips.
“Is that right?” One of his eyebrows shot up, and his mouth spread in a grin.
“You don’t have to look so damn pleased with yourself all the time.” Huffing out a breath, I stalked into the kitchen.
He was hot on my heels and sidled up to Joan. “Can I help?”
She beamed a smile at him. “Pop open some beers?”
Setting down the six pack, he cracked three bottles open.
“Can I try it?” Caleb hopped up and down next to him, doing an impersonation of a pogo stick.
“Uhhh.” Saint hesitated, glancing at me.
I shrugged, because I’d been through this game with Caleb before.
“Oh-kay.” Drawing out the word, Saint passed his bottle over to my boy.
He must’ve been trying to impress Saint, because he took a pretty big swig.
Then he spat the mouthful right into the sink, moaning, “Ew! Tastes like cold pee!”
I giggled, Joan chortled, and Saint barked a loud laugh before saying, “I guess I don’t even wanna know how you know what pee tastes like.”
“It’s one of those figures of speech, right Mommy?” Caleb’s round cheeks plumped up, and he looked as pleased with himself as Saint had earlier.
“Pretty close.” I took my own sip then said, “Although, there was one time when I was changing your diaper, and you started whizzing and it shot right up to your mouth.”
“Mommm! Don’t haveta embarrass me.”
“Just stating a fact, kiddo.”
Saint watched with warm eyes that heated me in a different way.
“Is anyone else eating or is all this for me?” Momma Joan began carrying tinfoil platters of Sol’s barbecue into the dining room.
I grabbed the plates, Saint brought the rest of the beers and a handful of napkins, and Caleb helped himself to a juice box before scurrying between us to plop into his chair.
Joan claimed the seat next to him—not her usual chair—leaving Saint and me on the other side of the table.
Surprisingly though Saint remained true to his word. As we tucked into the savory brisket and mouthwatering hushpuppy morsels, the man kept his hands to himself.
