“I’m taking a bath. Wanna join?”
“You were under water.”
I shrug. “It’s just quiet.”
He sighs, releasing me and taking a seat on the edge of the tub. He pinches the bridge of his nose, laughing a little as he shakes his head. “God. Sorry. I just… I thought…”
“I hate physical therapy, but I don’t hate it that bad,” I tease.
He gives me a grim smile. “It’s just… you’ve been different lately. You’ve been… distant.”
I grimace. “I know.”
“Did I do something? Did I… did we rush into getting married and now you’re regretting it?”
I balk, sitting up so fast some of the water splashes onto the edge of the tub. “Oh, my God, no. Of course not.” I squeeze his forearm. “Baby, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been now that I’m Mrs. Church.”
His shoulders release again, and he covers my hand with his. “Is it your shoulder?”
I chew my lip, knowing I can’t keep it from him any longer.
All I can do is pray this won’t be the end of our fairy tale.
“My shoulder is sore,” I confess. “PT is kicking my ass. But… there’s something else. Something I need to tell you.”
“Okay…” Brandon swallows. “Tell me. Anything.”
I take a long breath, releasing it fully before I grab his hand in mine. Slowly, I sink it into the water, pulling him forward a little until he’s touching my stomach.
He frowns at first, and then heat glosses his eyes, those dark irises flashing with want when he looks at me again. He smirks, just a little, and slides his hand down farther.
“Is this what you want, Mrs. Church?” he asks, his fingers brushing against my clit as he leans in for a kiss.
My pussy flutters at the touch, legs clenching, but I laugh in his face before pulling his hand back up. “No, pervert.” I pause. “Well, at least, not right now. Hold that thought. First…” I hold his hand to my stomach again, pressing my palm over his and holding it there.
He looks down at the water, at where he’s holding me, frowning when he finds my gaze again. “I don’t understand.”
I swallow, applying a little more pressure so that his palm is splayed flat against my belly. My eyes search his under lifted brows, waiting, not able to say the words.
And just like it did for me, I see the exact moment it hits him.
His frown disappears, the line between his eyebrows wiped clean as his eyes double in size. His lips part, gaze falling to my stomach before slowly crawling back up to my eyes.
“You’re…”
“Pregnant,” I finish for him, and my eyes water with the admission, with the weight of releasing the truth. I nod. “Yes.”
He lets out a short breath through his gaping mouth, but it’s slack, no emotion one way or another evident in his eyes or lips. He looks as if he’s seen a ghost, or has just been told the meaning of life and finds it impossible to fathom.
His eyes slowly trail down again, sticking to the spot where his hand is pressed against my stomach. His fingers curl, just a centimeter, the tips of them indenting my skin softly.
Then his eyes snap to mine, brimming with tears, and he makes that same sound again — the short puff of air through his open mouth.
Only this time, it’s a laugh.
“You’re pregnant,” he whispers, the first tear slipping free. It falls so quickly off the apple of his cheek that I don’t even have time to reach for it.
“I’m pregnant,” I repeat, and I blame the damn hormones for the way my eyes instantly water, too.
“We’re having a baby.”
My heart pinches to the size of a penny before exploding into a hot air balloon. “We are. I mean… if… if you want to.”
All emotion leaves his face then, frown back in place. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I just… I understand if you don’t want to be a part of this. We didn’t plan it. I know you’ve been avid about me taking my birth control and being careful. We haven’t even talked about kids and…” I rub my belly next to where his hand still rests. “I can do it on my own, if you—”
I’m swooped out of the tub in the next instant, the words stuck in my throat as water sloshes out of the tub and off of me, soaking the rug and the bathroom floor and all of Brandon’s suit.
“You are fucking mad if you think you’ll ever have to do it alone,” he breathes against my lips before kissing me, punishing and promising all at once. “You’re mine, Ashlei Church. And that little boy is ours.”
“Boy?” I say on a laugh, the release of which seems to deflate my anxiety in one fell swoop. “How do you know if it’s a boy?”
“I just know.”
“Well, I think it’s a girl,” I say as he carries me out of the bathroom and plops me into our sheets, not a care in the world that we’re both soaking wet.
Brandon takes a moment to appreciate my body splayed out on the bed before he lowers down over me, gently, carefully, and starts peppering my stomach with soft, slow kisses.
“Should we make a bet?” he asks between them.
“Only if you want to lose.”
“I think I win either way,” he argues, those kisses trailing up over my breasts, my neck, my jaw, until he’s at my lips. “Because boy or girl, they have you as a mom. And I have you as my wife.”
I can’t help the visible swoon that rolls off me at his words, and he chuckles into my mouth as he kisses me, rolling over to the side a bit so his hand can splay on my stomach once more.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” I whisper, arching a little into his touch as his hand inches down.
“Why does knowing you’re carrying my baby make me want to fuck you so goddamn bad I can hardly breathe?”
My legs squeeze together of their own accord, but Brandon reaches down to grab my thigh and pulls it toward him, spreading me once again.
“Because you love to own me,” I say, biting his lower lip. “In every. Single. Way.”
A growl is affirmation that I’m right, and then Brandon squeezes my thigh before jumping off the bed. His eyes bore into mine as he unfastens his belt, shoves the button of his pants through the slip, and rips the zipper down. He tugs at his tie next, undoing the knot with expert hands as I spread my knees wider for him, one hand palming my breast as the other slips between my legs.
His breathing turns wild, erratic as he watches me, but he doesn’t fumble with his clothes. He takes each layer off with precision and power radiating off him, just like always, until he’s nude and hard and pulsing with need.
He descends on me like a wolf, his mouth crashing into mine before he sits back on his heels, admiring the view of me spread before him. He trails a finger down one of my legs, pulling my ankle to his lips before setting it on his shoulder. He does the same with the other leg, hiking it up high, until my back is flat in the sheets and both ankles are balanced on his shoulders.
I’ve seen Brandon lust for me — ever since that first day in the elevator at Okay, Cool, I’ve seen how badly he desires me. But this… the carnal way his hands grip me, the somehow careful yet relentless way he fills me as I stretch and arch and cry out his name?
This isn’t just want, or need, or dominance.
It’s love.
It’s the kind of love that drives a man mad, that sends soldiers to war, that breaks up continents and rains down hellfire on earth.
It’s the damning, redeeming, torturous and ecstasy-inducing rush he’ll never get enough of, an always-present yearning that will never leave him sated.
But I’m the lucky woman who gets to watch him try.
Brandon makes love to me for the rest of the evening, and well into the night and early morning, until we’re both so sore and weak we can barely move to give ourselves sustenance.
Turns out my fears were unfounded.
Turns out this man of mine is everything I knew he was and more.
&
nbsp; Turns out I’m going to be a mom.
And boy or girl, my baby is going to have the best dad ever.
IT’S AN UNBEARABLY HOT night for December, sweat beading at the base of my neck and dripping down my spine as I walk through downtown. It doesn’t help that work was chaotic today, holiday weddings being of a special kind of demanding nature all their own. I thought we would have a lull in the season until spring, but since Florida is about the only state not covered in snow right now, we’re a hot spot for winter weddings.
In a way, I appreciate the workload. Because while my heart and soul feel at peace for the first time in months, keeping busy has helped me avoid one unfortunate fact.
I have to tell Jarrett my decision.
Kade assured me there was no rush when he saw how anxious I was after our night reunited. He even offered to do it for me, to take the brunt of his brother’s pain so I wouldn’t have to. But it’s not his battle to fight.
I got myself into this mess.
I have to be the one to crawl out of the mud.
My heart beats loud and off rhythm in my ears as I approach the building where Jarrett’s office is. The building itself is owned by a bank, the floors above it occupying small and large businesses alike, everything from tech companies and law firms to advertising agencies and nonprofits.
I take a seat in the lobby at five after five, crossing my legs and balancing my hands in my lap as I wait. I didn’t have the lady balls to ask him to meet me. Hell, I didn’t even know today was going to be the day I’d break the news. I just felt it. About halfway through the afternoon, my stomach flipped violently, chills breaking on my skin, and I knew it was time.
At five-thirty, I start to wonder if he’s already gone for the day. The holiday season seems to be a weird one for anyone working in a nine-to-five. It’s like the month of December allows permission to leave early, come in late, and take longer weekends without explanation.
But just as I’m thinking maybe I should text him, the elevator dings, and he walks off with a group of four other individuals.
Two of them are laughing at something on a phone screen while Jarrett and a middle-aged woman converse quietly, Jarrett speaking animatedly with his hands as she listens.
The first sight of him makes my stomach drop.
Dressed in relaxed navy slacks and a crisp cream button down, he looks every bit relaxed as he does business-ready. His head is freshly shaved, beard trimmed neat, and though he’s smiling as he talks with the woman, I see the same evidence in him that I saw in Kade, that I’ve seen in myself, proof that sleep hasn’t come easy.
Dark bags under his eyes.
Slumped shoulders.
Strained concentration as he tries to listen to the woman’s response to whatever he’s said.
Emotion tries to strangle me as I stand, tries to tear me from where I stand on that marble floor and steer me outside before he can see me.
But I’m tired of running.
I’m ready to face him — even if I know it will hurt like hell.
He almost blows past me, and I’m fully prepared to chase him out into the streets. But just as his colleagues sweep through the revolving door, he stops dead in his tracks, stilling like a deer spotted by a hunter before he slowly, carefully, cranks his neck to look at me.
A myriad of emotions wash over him in a split second, everything from shock and delight to pain and fear. I watch each of them show themselves in his eyes, his lips, his stature before he takes a tentative step toward me.
The woman he was speaking to pops her head back to check on him, and he tells her to go on, that he’ll catch up. Her eyes skirt to me suspiciously before she leaves, and then it’s just the two of us in the vast, echoing lobby.
His eyes warm the closer he gets, one hand holding a messenger bag, while the other slips into the pocket of his slacks. He takes his time trailing the length of me, no doubt noticing that while I wear the same pained expression as he does, I look better than I have since the day he showed back up at Palm South.
I think he knows already, before I can say a word.
“Hello,” he says after a long pause.
I offer a small, apologetic smile in return. “Hi.”
Jarrett sniffs, looking away from me and out the large windows before his gaze reluctantly travels back. “I think I need a drink for this.”
He doesn’t say another word before turning for the door, and I follow him outside, the two of us walking silently next to each other until we duck inside a small bar a block over.
It’s already filling up with patrons in business-casual dress, each of them eager for happy hour after a hellish day. Jarrett orders himself a rye whiskey neat, and I opt for a glass of red wine, knowing I won’t be drinking much of it so I can say what I need to with a clear head.
I wait until Jarrett takes the first sip of his drink, hissing through his teeth a bit when he does. And when he finally looks at me again, his dark eyes shielded under bent brows, he sighs.
“Well,” he says. “You’ve been ignoring me. I guess I should have known this was coming.”
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I… I’ve been a coward.”
He shakes his head once, frowning even more, but doesn’t say anything else.
“I don’t know where to start,” I admit.
“How about by telling me you’ve made your choice,” Jarrett says, and then his eyes hit mine again. “And that it’s not me.”
My nose stings. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He nods, looking away again, his eyes on the bottles lining the back of the bar.
“I loved you,” I start, not knowing where the right place is, just knowing I have to say something. “And… I love you still.”
His eyes shoot to mine.
“Maybe that will never change,” I confess. “I think… I think there’s a part of me that will always belong to you.”
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing hard in this throat.
“But what we have,” I continue, circling the rim of my glass with my fingertip. “At least, what we have now… it’s purely physical. It’s chemistry and carnal need,” I say, meeting his gaze once more. “But it’s not real love. I think we both know that.”
“It could be.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But… I’m not sure what we have anymore, Jarrett — past that desire to fuck.”
The words slap him across the face, the sting visible to anyone around us.
“I don’t trust you,” I admit on a cracked voice. “And I don’t think you trust me, either. Do we want each other? Yes. But you broke me. And I broke you, too.”
Jarrett nods, taking a long pull of his whiskey.
He doesn’t say a word.
“I’ve done a lot of thinking in the past few months, a lot of self-reflection, a lot of thinking about why I feel the way I do, why this has been so hard for all of us.” I tilt my head a bit. “It’s the strangest thing, thinking back to that time when we were together. Because… so much of the time, we weren’t actually together.”
Jarrett opens his mouth to argue, but I continue.
“Think about it. The first time we met, we fucked in a parking lot. Then, we found out you were the graduate assistant for one of my professors.” I wet my lips. “I became your mouse. You wanted me because you couldn’t have me, because I was off-limits, and I loved to play that game, to make you want me, to parade other guys in front of you to drive you mad until you snapped. And it worked. You did snap, and then…”
“We dated.”
“Kind of,” I admit. “But think about it. For a long while, we played games. Mostly me, I admit that, but even when I showed up at your door and confessed that I had deeper feelings, I remember being so scared I nearly vomited on my way up to your place.”
His brows fold in at that.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I whisper. “Because I knew, even then, that you aren’t the kind of man who is kept by any woman.”
I know the look washing over him in this moment, that realization, that uncomfortable feeling of being viewed under a microscope and having someone peg you down in a way you didn’t even know yourself.
“When we were finally official, you left. And I don’t blame you for that,” I say quickly when I see him growing on the defense. “You were going after your dream job, what you want in life, and you should. But that’s what I’m saying. How much time did we really spend together, where it was truly us?” I pause. “How much do you really know about me, other than the way I moan your name?”
“Jess…”
“You wanted me so badly when you couldn’t have me,” I whisper, tears blurring my vision of him. “And then found me an annoyance as soon as you did. When you were in New York, I felt like a stain on your shirt that you couldn’t get rid of, like a rash you so desperately wanted to hide.”
“I came to visit you,” he argues. “I took you and your friends out, I—”
“Once, Jarrett,” I interrupt. “One time. And we fought even then.”
Silence.
“The only reason you want me now is because you came back and I was taken. You get a rush over me being off-limits to you — especially when you can break those walls and prove that I still want you, despite the consequences.”
He swallows hard.
“It’s toxic — to both of us. And I won’t do it. I refuse to participate any longer.”
Jarrett’s shoulders slump, and he shakes his head, an argument building on his lips.
“If you wouldn’t have had to come back to Florida for work,” I say, reaching over to squeeze his forearm and make him look at me. “You never would have thought of me again.”
“I thought of you every day.”
His words kick me in the chest.
“Maybe so,” I say softly. “But you don’t love me. You love the chase.”
His jaw tics, and he shakes his head, but tears his gaze away from me, unable to stare the truth in the eyes.
“I want happiness for you,” I say after a long while. “I do. You are such a—”
Greek: A New Adult College Romance (Palm South University Book 7) Page 28
