Текст книги "Bad Boy's Baby"

Автор книги: Sosie Frost

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

Chapter Thirteen – Zach

My vision haloed, blurred, then went black.

I dropped the barbell. It crashed into the carpet. Didn’t shatter the cement beneath, but I couldn’t be sure.

I couldn’t see. Anything. At all.

“Fuck.” I groped for a towel. “Damn it!”

The rough terrycloth brushed my fingers. I gripped it in a shaking fist and ground the towel against my face. Didn’t do shit, but I pressed hard against my eye sockets. It hurt almost as much as the fucking headache. At least my eyes were still there.

Christ, this was bad.

Fucking bad.

“Son of a bitch!” I pitched the towel across the room. I didn’t know where it landed. Didn’t care.

The migraines sucked, but this was something else. Shitty luck and shittier timing. I blinked hard. That helped. Another rub to my eyes, and the nothing shifted into grainy shadows. At least I wouldn’t fall on my ass trying to get to the bench with my stuff.

I downed half of my water. The rest dunked over my head. I was probably overheated or some shit. I pushed myself hard. No doubt I fucked something up lifting too much weight. I acted like a jackass.

My vision slowly returned. No need to bitch like a baby. At least the men in the squad weren’t around to witness such a weak-ass moment. I’d never hear the end of it.

Christ.

I could bluff a guy holding a four pair with just an ace high in my own hand, but I couldn’t fool myself. Hell, maybe it wasn’t worth fooling myself.

I imagined that something was still fucked in my head from the accident. But I wasn’t ready to face what happened after I confessed it to a doctor. I could either go in for help, or I’d damn my future chances at getting back to my squad.

All my training, the recovery, and the strengthening would mean fucking shit then. Twenty-four years old wasn’t the time to visit the VFW and collect my pension.

Son of a bitch.

My vision cleared. I could see enough of the machines and barbells to make it out of the gym. My headache disappeared the instant I hit the hall.

That worried me more than my faded sight. I could lie to a doctor if I had double-vision. And I’d get corrective surgery if the recurring blurriness was my body bullshitting me into nearsightedness. A headache like that was harder to hide.

By the time I reached the stairs, everything was normal. No pain. Not even a haze or fog clouding my sight. It was like nothing happened. Like I was perfectly fine. I used to argue nothing was wrong with me.  No one believed me during physical therapy.

Fuck. Now I didn’t believe myself.

I wasn’t the type of man who took easy days. If I had it my way, all my workouts would focus on legs. I’d exhaust myself with exercise if it meant I’d get back to my job, where I could punish the real assholes. I’d destroy my body to protect my friends, family, and country. That was the meaning of sacrifice, and I’d give every part of me.

If the SEALs would take it.

But if I had another episode even half that bad and they found out? I wouldn’t be able to convince a child I was fit to serve. That’d be a problem.

A big fucking problem.

Headaches weren’t the worst of it. I still tried to rationalize last week, when I had a hard time keeping my eyes open. I wasn’t tired, and it was only the left eye, but my eyelid just…drooped.

It went away in a few minutes, but hell if I knew what that meant. Googling my random symptoms would only self-diagnose me with headaches and testicular cancer.

The doctors warned head injuries had a long recovery. We knew this. I expected it. Any complication was just a bump in the road back to the service. And if they got too big? I’d forge my own damn path. Use those parachuting skills for something besides trapping my ass in hostile territory.

I ran a shower, leaving the water cold. No sense overheating myself, especially when I stripped from a sweaty shirt and pants made sweatier in the moment of ball-clenching terror when my vision faded.

The water felt good. Not pool good, but it was a damn paradise compared to one minute showers of recycled rainwater in the field. The waterfall showerhead delivered a good spray. I pressed my hands into the wall and let the shower cascade over me until the tension rolled from my shoulders.

I knew a much better way to de-stress. It didn’t include a shower, but it was done naked. Again and again, just like my night with Shay in the theater. I took her four pulse-thumping, spine-shattering, ball-draining times.

But, by morning, she was gone.

I expected nothing less, but I hoped for something more. The words she said, the way she looked at me? Damn. Our cupid didn’t use arrows. He packed shotgun shells, and they stung a fuck-ton more than pixy dust when fired point blank.

Shay had a rough day, one she hadn’t planned on sharing with me. But she’d let me hold her. She dropped her guard and talked to me, revealed her innermost fears and dreams. I wasn’t used to being the emotional support for anyone—especially a woman. I’d firebomb the asshole professor who was given the power to crush her so completely, but that would get her a warrant, not a degree.

Shay needed someone to talk to. Even though she lived in a mansion and inherited more money than she could spend, her ambition in life was to help others. She wanted to work with kids, hold their hands when times got tough.

And they fucked her over.

I saw enough of that in my line of work. Good men, innocent people, got punished. I enlisted to stop those injustices. If I could help when I was overseas then nothing would stop me from protecting her at home.

Except she didn’t believe I was sincere. Shay shared her desires, but she didn’t stay long enough to figure out what happened next.

I didn’t want it to be another one night mistake. None of that bullshit where we fooled around in the dark to avoid our gazes in the light.

I told her I wanted a chance.

I proved I could take care of her body. Next up was her heart. I’d get that too. I wasn’t about to lose a girl that damned special.

And beautiful.

Sexy.

Passionate.

The things that girl could do with her lips, her body, her tightness. I salivated at the memory—too raunchy to waste during peacetime. Those memories were best saved for those oh-shit moments in the field when I needed a reason to stay alive and return to the sexy piece of ass waiting at home.

I ran my hand over my abs and lower. The water warmed me enough. I gripped my cock and pumped.

Nothing.

Another tug.

Nothing.

“Jesus, what the fuck?” I stared between my legs.

There it was. My namesake. A constant source of pride. Still impressive but lacking that certain spark that made it godly.

Fuck. I winced.

The headache was back.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I shut off the water and wrapped a towel over my waist. The mirror had no answers. Everything looked normal. Bags under my eyes, but that was expected after a night of sex and the swelling headache.

I had woken up with a headache the past three nights in a row. Hadn’t let myself think about it. Bottom line. It was happening more often.

I had two options. Ignore it and lay down until it went away…or I could take a chance and find Shay.

I was tempted to ask what she thought. I needed to explain this shit to her anyway.

She deserved to know that my military leave wasn’t as temporary as I let her believe.

Except that would piss her off.  I’d replace the headache with her foot up my ass as she kicked me from the house.

Lay down and suffer alone or suffer in the arms of a beautiful woman?

Well, one of us had to make the first move after our night. I tugged on a pair of pants and searched for her in the usual spaces—kitchen, theater, library. She wasn’t hiding where I could find her easily, which meant she holed up in her room, the sanctuary where I promised I wouldn’t encroach.

But I spent the night buried to the hilt in the most beautiful woman in the world. That much pleasure earned a momentary right to trespass. But I was still a gentleman. I knocked before twisting the knob.

Shay wore a pretty little camisole, but she pulled her blouse over her shoulders and buttoned it before I got close enough to see anything good.

She tried not to look at me, but she loved my muscles as much as I loved her curves. Helpless to resist, stupid to refuse. The motto served me well for years.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

Shay busied herself with her makeup and applied a layer of lip gloss over her full lips—lips which had tugged over my cock, parted with pleasure, and softened with my kiss.

It was idiotic to envy a tube of lipstick, but the girl had me hard up for anything. A smile. A sigh. Any sign she wasn’t going to ignore what happened between us.

“Going out?” I asked.

“Yep.”

“With who?”

She shrugged. “A couple girlfriends. Nothing important. Need a chance to get out of the house.”

And away from me. I crossed my arms. The headache faded in her presence, and her touch was the sort of balm I’d apply directly to the forehead—and everywhere else.

If she’d just look at me.

If she’d take the fucking chance to think about what might have started.

Sure, I fucked it up in the beginning—built the inferno before we gathered the kindling. But stepping backwards was harder than getting her into the sheets.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Lost your job. Douche-bag advisor. Graduation delays?” Listing her insecurities was probably a bad idea. Too bad I was her biggest one. “Fucking me.”

Her compact snapped shut. She closed her eyes. “Zach.”

“You enjoyed yourself.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is?”

“That I need time to process what happened,” she said. “I need to…figure things out.”

“Why don’t we do it together?”

“Because I’m not sure if there is a together, Zach. Don’t you get it?” She tried to stare at my forehead instead of in my eyes. I wasn’t having it. I snapped her focus to me, and her voice softened. Progress, at least. “This is all so complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“But it is.” She stood only to grab her purse. “I came to you for comfort. Twice. And you pulled me from my problems in the best way a girl could ask. I’m grateful, Zach.”

Grateful.

That wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t fuck her so she could feel better about herself. I fucked her because I couldn’t imagine a world where I wasn’t inside of her, feeling her, experiencing her.

This woman was rapidly becoming the center of my goddamned universe and she didn’t even realize it. Worse, telling her would only ruin every chance I had.

But what if I needed to be fucking comforted?

My expression twisted. Shay backpedaled, but my disgust didn’t aim for her.

What the hell was wrong with me? So I got a fucking headache. Since when did I whine about it to the one woman I was trying to impress?

What did I think would happen? She’d listen? She’d care?

Shay couldn’t figure her own shit out. I wasn’t dropping mine on her too. Revealing any of my shame would blow my shot with her. I didn’t need her to help me feel better. I wasn’t a damned child.

Besides, she wasn’t ready to talk to me. Why would I unload on her? Obviously she didn’t trust me yet.

Christ, that hurt worse than the headache.

Didn’t matter. She was scared. It wasn’t worth fighting and frightening her more. If she wanted space, she’d get it. If she wanted fucked…

My cock stirred as she bent to grab her shoes.

There it was. Back from its fucking slumber.

That was a scare I didn’t need. The headache pulsed harder, but at least if Shay wanted comfort again, I’d give it. Then maybe she’s realize what a fucking mistake she made by not letting me actually help.

I surrendered. I needed a nap and a stiff drink. I waved a hand.

“Have a good time,” I said. “I won’t wait up.”

“Didn’t ask you to.”

No, she hadn’t. Whatever.

I turned, but she called to me before I made it to the door.

“Zach?”

“Yeah?”

She twisted her purse in her hands. Her curls bobbed, and her almond eyes widened.

“Never mind,” she said. “It’s nothing.”

I didn’t believe her, but I wasn’t arguing. I nodded and let her dress in peace.

The headache kicked my ass. I crashed in my room as it shifted from annoying to agonizing.

If I had told her about the pain, she probably would have stayed.

I wasn’t ready for that pity-party yet. I’d sort out my own problems first before heaping them on a girl who filled a thirty-five thousand square foot mansion with her own troubles. No sense scaring off the best thing that happened to me since the injury. I was lucky enough to be alive. Now, I was lucky that she let me comfort her.

If only she’d let me do more.

Chapter Fourteen – Shay

The fruity drink stashed more umbrellas in the goblet than alcohol. Zach made a better martini though he’d sooner toss a couple olives in a bottle of vodka and call it a day. I liked his style.

And I think I was starting to prefer his company.

Azariah didn’t notice that my drink still sloshed with the peachy-strawberry mixture. She ordered another and waved to the three late-comers to our gals night out. Layna, Heaven, and Nikkole screeched their hellos and bounded to our table.

Layna flicked her manicured fingernails—complete with blue gems imbedded in the paint—at the passing waitress. “Cosmo and a water, thanks.” She scooted into the booth and pulled down her oversized sunglasses. Her dark eyes scolded me with a single glance. “Girl, how’d you piss off Sweeten that bad?”

Azariah mouthed a silent apology and scrunched her nose. She pretended to pass a menu to Heaven though Nikkole wasn’t having any fries or any of my excuses.

“Know what you do?” Nikkole said. “You take all that money your daddy left you, and you buy yourself new a hairdo and find a man.”

Nikkole had a bad habit of picking my greatest insecurity and blabbing it loud enough for everyone around to hear. The rumble of conversations quieted as she waved a hand over my outfit.

“Look at this shit. Button up blouse? Knee-length skirt? Christ, Shay. Let the girls get some air. Plenty of fine looking men on campus would be willing to play teacher with you.”

Heaven studied the menu, dispassionately. She cracked her gum and twirled a finger around her curls, interrupting the conversation in her usual style. “I’m getting a salad.”

We ignored her. Azariah and Layna usually agreed with Nikkole, but Azariah had the tact to phrase it better.

“You’re better than this stress, Shay,” Azariah said. “Go buy yourself some fancy clothes, a new car. Hell, travel to Europe. What do you need school for?”

I shrugged, sipping my drink instead of answering. It wasn’t about the money. It was about what I wanted to do, how I wanted to help people.

“She needs to get laid,” Layna said. “Sit on some big ol’ cock and forget all her troubles.”

Nikkole snickered. “But Azariah said—”

Azariah cleared her throat, pushing her drink at Nikkole. “Here. Take this. Shove something in that fat mouth of yours.”

Oh, Christ. She didn’t. I stared at her. “You told them?”

Heaven still flipped through the menu. She arched an eyebrow. “That you’re banging your brother? Way to go.”

“I’m not—”

Banging him? I stopped myself, but that didn’t make the words any less true.

It was twice now. Twice I spent the greatest nights of my life in his arms, cuddled to his chest, slamming on his cock.

I had no idea what happened last night, and so I panicked. I didn’t talk to him. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t explain. I…froze.

And when Zach came to talk to me?

I retreated so damn fast I was lucky I didn’t fall on my ass and reveal everything that clutched at my heart, fluttered in my stomach, and scared the ever-loving hell out of me.

“He’s not my brother,” I said. “He’s my step-brother…if it even counts since our parents are dead.”

“Still fucking weird,” Heaven grumbled.

“Heav, shut your mouth.” Azariah threatened her with a drink umbrella. “It was only once. She didn’t know who he was.”

I took another swig. It wasn’t as casual as I thought. I should have stood in the booth, crashed my glass to the floor, and shouted to the masses Incest is Best!

“Oh, shit, Shay,” Azariah said. “You didn’t.”

“It’s not like that.”

“You fucked your brother again?”

“Really, it’s not—”

Nikkole snorted. “I told you to live a little, girl.”

“Can we not talk about this?” I asked. “Please?”

Wasn’t going to happen. My friends cackled with the great and juiciest piece of gossip since Nikkole’s brother accidentally knocked up his girlfriend and her best friend—at the same time.

Well, they weren’t getting any details about my night. I needed to figure out what happened before I could explain it to them. They didn’t know Zach.

Yes, he was sexy, but he was also the type who knew it.

Yes, he was a man-whore, but he sounded so sincere when he reassured me.

Yes, he was my step-brother, but we didn’t grow up together. Our parents only married a short time ago, and we were two consenting adults.

My friends waited for the dirty details, but the person I should have talked to waited for me at home. He was probably looking for an explanation…or a sequel to last night’s events. And the way my body still buzzed? He’d get both.

But I expected him to make a fuss when I brushed him off. Zach usually fought to the death over a choice of pizza toppings. Pissing me off was his favorite damn sport. He came to me, and I freaked, but instead of calling me out on it—like he did everything else—he said he…wouldn’t wait up?

The hollow exhaustion in his voice pitted my stomach more than the judgmental glances that passed between my friends.

Maybe Zach…didn’t care?

“Are you still graduating? Shay?” Layna drew my attention. “If you aren’t student teaching, can you finish school?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What about your party?”

Seriously? Professor Sweeten ripped my heart out, and they worried about the damn graduation party?

“I don’t know.”

“We need that party!” She spun the straw in her water. “Fine. We’ll move it up. Screw graduating. We’ll have a Shay Is Free party.”

I didn’t want to be free. In fact, I wanted to be so layered in school work, chalk dust, and demerit slips I’d be dreaming the ABCs when I got home.

“Maybe?” I frowned. “I’m not feeling like partying.”

Layna huffed. “You mean to tell me you have a giant ass house, pool, tennis courts, and gold fountains, and you don’t want to party?”

“It’s not that. Of course I want to celebrate.”

Maybe.

“Good. We’re on. We’ll have a big blowout. Fuck graduating. You’re rich. What do you need an education for?”

I didn’t need a degree, but a hell of a lot of other kids did. How would I help them now?

“We’ll figure something out,” I said. “Can we order dinner?”

Heaven dropped the menu and flashed me a glance that practically layered Atlanta in ice.

“Look, Shay. I love you, but get your head out of your ass.”

The table quieted. So did the tables surrounding us. Two booths away, someone broke a breadstick with a crack. She was immediately hushed.

“You’re a fucking billionaire. You have a car, a house, a future. You never have to worry about a goddamned thing ever again. So don’t sit here and pretend to be humble.”

“Pretend?”

Heaven’s lips pouted even when she was happy. Now that she scolded me? Disapproval was her superpower, and we hadn’t found any kryptonite to throw at her.

“You’ve always pretended that the money didn’t matter. Look at your purse. Your shoes. Your car. So you lived in an apartment with your mom before college. We all did, honey.” She scoffed. “I don’t know what’s sadder. You flaunting the money…or you pretending you never had any to begin with.”

“Heaven, I didn’t—”

“It doesn’t matter. Go plan your party. Live in your estate. Fuck your brother. God knows someone as rich as you can get away with whatever you want.”

“That’s not true!”

“I don’t even know why you’re sitting here with us,” Heaven said. “You’ve been checking your phone every ten seconds since we got here. Do you have somewhere better to be? Bank’s closed, sweetheart.”

“Holy Christ, Heaven.” Azariah frowned. “What climbed up your ass?”

Heaven returned to scouring the menu. She gave Azariah a pissy glance. “Just ask her what you wanted. Tell her why we came out tonight. Go on, Zar. Ask her.”

I swallowed. “Ask me what?”

Azariah was in no mood. Even I never riled her up that much. “Drop it, Heaven.”

“I’ll tell her if you don’t.”

Azariah’s nails were too sharp to risk getting her angry. I laid a hand over her wrist.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Azariah’s gaze lowered. Something told me she wasn’t really reading the advertisement for the double fudge brownie sundae.

“I meant…to ask you for a loan.”

“A…what?”

“My car’s in bad shape. I need a new alternator and breaks.”

I swallowed. “Oh.”

“Just a loan. I’d pay you back.”

My best friend of fifteen years should never have looked that ashamed to come to me for help. “Of course.”

The rest of the table shifted, taking awkward sips of their drinks. Azariah shrugged at the other girls.

Layna was the first to speak. “Books this year were expensive. I was going to ask too.”

I stilled. I suddenly understood. Layna nudged Nikkole with an elbow into her side.

Nikkole smiled. “Trey is getting married. I have to buy a dress.”

I didn’t know what to say. “You…all want loans?”

Heaven showed me her broken phone. “My screen’s cracked. I need a new cell before this one dies.”

“Oh.” My stomach twisted. “I mean…I don’t know.”

Azariah’s voice softened. “I don’t think the car will make it through the week.”

“Well…I want to help, but—”

Heaven snorted. She tossed her phone into her purse and muttered to Layna. “Told you she wouldn’t do a damn thing.”

“Wait!” I said. “Why didn’t you think I’d help? You know that I’d do anything for you.”

“Would you? Now?” Heaven’s tone was too sharp for a girl I let copy from my homework all freshman year. “You don’t need us. Why would help out your so-called friends when you could sit up in your mansion and fuck your brother?”

“Don’t you dare!” I groaned. “Look, I’ll do whatever I can, but you guys know my trust hasn’t kicked in yet. I don’t have the money.”

“How do you afford the house?”

“My dead father’s estate pays for the upkeep.” I gritted my teeth. “You really think I’d deny you guys? Well, Heaven, you can screw yourself, but you three…” I swallowed. Azariah, Layna, and Nikkole had the decency to look away. “When you said to come out tonight…you weren’t trying to help me with Professor Sweeten at all. You just wanted…money?”

Heaven sipped her water. “Told ya’ll.”

“Know what?” I dug through my purse and found two crumpled twenties. I tossed them on the table. “There. That’s everything I have on me. Divvy it up. I’ll sell off a fucking rug or something tomorrow. You can have whatever you need.”

Azariah tossed her purse to Layna and tried to follow. “Shay, wait.”

“I gotta go,” I said. “Thanks for the invite out, but I should get back to my brother.” I eyed Heaven. “Make sure he survived our fucking last night.”

Yeah, that wasn’t a good thing to shout in a crowded restaurant. People stared, but I was too mad to be ashamed of my behavior.

None of this made any sense. I didn’t do anything wrong. Did they really think I was flaunting my money by not flaunting how fortunate I was?

Did they even know how ridiculous it felt to get my father’s fortune? It was random—like a lottery I didn’t enter. I hardly knew Dad, and what I remembered wasn’t great. He was a man who lost his temper with Momma most nights at dinner and a father who missed his child’s every recital, school function, and birthday.

And maybe they were right. Maybe I shouldn’t have cared where the money came from.

Except the ache in my heart was a loneliness that cash and investments couldn’t heal. Momma was gone. Dad had never been around. I had no real family, and my friends couldn’t understand just how deep the scars ran.

Only one person ever saw through my pretense. He’d felt the same way, tried to comfort me, and was either my last bit of family or the beginning to a scary and exciting relationship.

So why did I keep running from him? I wouldn’t blame him if he gave up on me. He asked for a chance to make something happen, moments beyond shamed nights when I needed comforted. He came to talk to me, and I hadn’t listened. I took what I needed and left.

I wouldn’t do that to him again.

Zach was either my step-brother, which made him family, or he was…

I didn’t know what else he could be, but I hoped for something amazing.

I drove home and braced myself for the relationship talk of all talks. Epic levels of mushy-stuff, heart-to-hearts, and every cliché the French ever discovered. My stomach twisted. This was the one conversation I couldn’t afford to mess up.

I parked in the garage, checked my makeup, and hurried into the house. Zach wasn’t in the gym or theater. I dropped my purse on the kitchen counter. A bottle of aspirin overturned on the island. I tucked it in the cabinet.

And froze.

Two wine glasses rested in the sink.

One smudged with the barest pink of lipstick.

My heart knotted itself into a pretty little bow of innocence and naivety.

Was I that much of an idiot?

Her voice carried from the parlor. I didn’t know what I expected to find or why I didn’t just turn around and walk out of the estate.

I rounded the corner into the parlor. Zach laughed on the couch—fully-clothed, a goddamned miracle. He spread his legs wide, and the pretty little blonde who owned the red Porsche sat on the coffee table. She smiled and patted his knee.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but my heart pounded itself into a million flaking pieces.

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since I hopped into his arms, and he was already sexing up some other little tart the instant I left the house?

Her smile faded as she spied me in the doorway. She gestured to Zach.

He turned, those striking green eyes capturing me in a wide-eyed blitz of panic.

“Shay!” He swore. “I…didn’t know you were back.”