JARED (Lane Brothers Book 4) (27 page)

The moment is golden, and I feel a distinct sense of loss when he pulls out and stands, his eyes focusing on me as he rearranges his clothing and hold out a hand to pull me to my feet and into his embrace.

“Tell me you and Parker aren’t together,” he rasps, his arms going rigid as I cuddle closer with a purr. “My guys told me…you’re living with him?”

I want to giggle and snort at the question because I know that it’s not a question as much as an accusation, but I resist and pull back an inch to look up and into his molten eyes.

“I was too jittery to go to the apartment my father got me,” I say, pushing a lock of his black hair back into place. “Jeffrey Parker and I are friends, Vincent.”

The explanation seems to do the trick, and he relaxes, his eyes heating again as he smiles slowly and pulls me in for another kiss, this one a slow, seductive glide of wet lips and tongue.

“You don’t need Parker to look after you, dove. You have me,” he murmurs, licking at me.

My brain scrambles in different directions as he teases my mouth, and I push back reluctantly to shake my head.

“I know what you’re doing, you devil, and it won’t work. Using your kisses against me is forbidden.”

“Ah, but you love my kisses, dove,” he purrs, the intensity of before gone, now that he’s gotten what he wants.

That reminds me of the reason I willingly followed him up here in the first place, and I push away, needing the safety of my clothes and some distance.

When I’m dressed, despite Vincent’s dramatic groan of protest, I stalk over to the wall and hit the lights, turning to face him with no small amount of nerves.

“We need to talk.”

I see him tense at my tone before he nods and gestures toward the seating area, his manners kicking in as he waits for me to sit before taking his own seat.

“If you’re going to tell me to get lost again, dove, I’m afraid I—”

“No, Vincent.” I swallow nervously and pick at the chiffon lining of my deep blue dress. “I should have told you when you came over at Thanksgiving, but I-I needed some time to think, and then, I kind of lost my nerve,” I confess, feeling guilt eat at me.

“What is it, dove?” he asks, shuffling a hand through his hair. “Nothing you can tell me will change anything. Don’t be nervous.”

I snort silently, thinking miserably that everything’s going to change.

His quiet strength only serves to wind me tighter, and I shiver, bringing my gaze up to his. It’s now or never, I think, sucking in a deep breath to steady the wild racing of my heart.

I’ve been assuming that he’ll be happy—wishful thinking, I know—but now that I’m about to tell him I wonder if Vincent will be as happy as I want him to be. He’s a tycoon playboy, used to getting his way and doing what he wants.

What if a baby cramps his style?

Well, too damn bad! You didn’t knock yourself up, sugar!

With that conviction spurring me on I bite the bullet and just blurt it out, closing my eyes against his intense stare.

“I’m pregnant.”

The air around me freezes, and I keep my eyes tightly shut like a coward, not wanting to see it if he’s not happy. I know it sounds foolish, but I’d rather not know if this news is not welcome.

I love him too much to hate him, but I’m dreadfully afraid that if he disappoints me in this I just might.

The soft brush of gentle fingers over my heated cheeks startles me, and I open my misty eyes to see Vincent kneeling at my feet, a look of wonder on his handsome face.

“You cannot begin to understand how truly happy you’ve made me, dove,” he whispers brokenly, stroking at the tear tracks making their way down my cheeks.

“Really? You aren’t mad? I didn’t do it on purpose,” I whisper, leaning into his touch, wanting him to believe that I’m not some psycho out to trap him.

He’s shaking his head even before I finish, and I see a small smile curl his austere mouth.

“I doubt you did, unless I was asleep when you got this way. I was there too, and I knew exactly what I was doing. If you want to blame anyone, dove, blame me for losing control and taking you without thought to protection.”

The thought of having my way with a man like him while he’s asleep and defenseless makes me giggle. Vincent would never sleep through sex, ever, and just the idea of something so preposterous makes me laugh, dispelling the nervous tension that grips me.

“That’s better,” he drawls, leaning in for a soft, comforting glance of the lips. “Come on, we need to swing by Parker’s place and grab your things. Thank God I’ve already put in my bid, so that old biddy Mrs Cavanaugh won’t be too put out if we leave early,” he says, pulling me to my feet and into his side.

“What? Vincent, we haven’t discussed any of this,” I stutter, feeling my world shrink in on itself.

“What’s to discuss? You’re having my baby. We’ll be married by the end of the week, and, as husband and wife, we’ll live together.”

He’s looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind, and I think I may have when the shock and fear of confinement suddenly hit me. I love him, love the baby with every breath I take, but I can’t stand the idea that once I’m in his clutches I’ll lose every bit of freedom I’ve managed to gain over the last six years.

“But…”

There are a million things I want to say at the moment, so many of them involving this knot eating at my gut when I realize that neither Vincent nor I have said anything about love.

“Dove,” he sighs, pulling me close to rest his mouth on my forehead. “Please don’t pull away, not now, when we’ve shared so much. This is a good thing. I told you, we belong together.”

I can’t remember him ever saying anything so romantic or sweet, and I say so, watching his face color.

“I believe you were only half conscious and still coming at the time,” he drawls, making me blush scarlet.

“Uh—”

His booming laugh and the way he squeezes me tightly to his body makes anger an impossible task, and I let it go, focusing instead on what he wants.

“I’m not sure that rushing into marriage is a good idea. I mean, what if we drift apart and—”

“Sshh, there’ll be no ‘drifting’,” he mutters, tipping my chin up. “You and I are going to be married, and we’ll be parents in a few months. That’s as connected as it’s possible to get. Now come along, dove, we have a lot to get done tonight, and I’m still waiting for an explanation as to why Parker had his bloody paws all over your backside.”

I’m a smart girl and decide to just let him lead the way. I choose my battles carefully, especially with Vincent, and confessing to being part of a game, one that was meant to fire him up, is not something I want ruining the wonderful glow I’m still feeling.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll be calm and logical enough to figure a way out of this mess and convince my guy that getting hitched isn’t in the cards right now.

***

“God, you were an easy target.”

I pull a face and stick out my tongue at the phone as Parker keeps ribbing me, his favorite pastime for the last two days. After pulling me down the stairs, Vincent hadn’t stopped till we were both settled in the backseat of a chauffeur-driven town car and on the way to Parker’s penthouse.

I’d protested and tried to get him to let me go talk to him and explain things, but, as usual, anything I said got overruled, and I’d watched and listened in horror as he called my friend and crowed his victory over the phone, his broad shoulders shrugging nonchalantly beneath my dirty stare.

We’d packed two suitcases of clothes and a few mementos I always take with me and gone to his house, my home now too, and just chilled for the rest of the evening. In front of the television, something he despises doing because he considers it a waste of time.

That had been two days ago. Now, as well as having to dodge Vincent’s probing and nagging about the wedding—which I’m not one hundred percent sure is even going to happen—I have to listen to Parker rib me about my lack of willpower.

“You shut up. You left me alone to fend for myself while you went to play with some business guy’s balls all night,” I volley back, keeping my amusement to myself when I hear him splutter his indignation.

“That is going to be a very lucrative deal, I’ll have you know. I had to speak to him. I tried a few months back, and his company wasn’t interested, so I couldn’t exactly turn him down. I’m still wondering what made Eberson change his mind.”

Oh, I think I have a very good idea what—
who
—had made the man change his mind, but I keep it to myself and instead pretend to listen when Parker starts going off about profit margins and expanding his portfolio.

As if he even needs more money.

“So how’s the painting coming along? Your first piece of the new series is still mine?”

“Fine. And yes, a promise is a promise, even if you didn’t deliver your end of the deal,” I muse, eyeing the new landscape I’m doing with a critical eye.

It’s one for my soon-to-be—maybe—husband, and I’m not sure if the storm clouds I’ve added are the right shade. Dammit, painting dark shit is harder than I’d thought, but they suit my seesawing moods perfectly.

“What are you talking about? Blake made his move, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but he still hasn’t said anything about love,” I gripe.

Those fucking clouds are bugging the crap outta me, and if I can’t fix them I’ll have to remove the whole half of this piece and start again.

“Have you?”

“What?”

“Have you told him you love him yet? No, I already know the answer to that. Of course you haven’t,” he sighs, and I can just about see him roll his eyes and shake his head dismally.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what, Sis?” he finally asks, and I hear his tone grow more gentle. “He’ll either reciprocate your feelings, or he won’t, and then you’ll know and you can make your choice accordingly.”

That is the best, most logical advice he’s given me since we became closer friends, and I wholeheartedly agree. Now I just have to find the balls to do it.

Telling imaginary Vincent that I love him is a lot easier than telling the real man. I mean, I’ve already said it once, and look where that got me, so I’m a little gun shy about blurting it all out and making myself vulnerable again.

But Parker’s right. I have to be who I’ve always been and lay everything out, honestly and without expectation. I know that sounds impossible because I should have at least some expectation here; Vincent’s on the marriage train, after all, but I have to be as forward about this as I’ve always been, the way I’d been when we met.

If he doesn’t return my love, I have two choices. I can either accept it and go forward, hoping that one day in the future he’ll give me what I need, or I can take my shit and go.

Both choices seem abysmal and soul-destroying, but I’ve survived before, and I have no doubt I can again. With this running through my head I concentrate of fixing whatever the hell is wrong with this damned painting, figuring out three hours later that my problem has nothing to do with color or brush stroke: it’s simply that I hate how gloomy the scene appears.

It reminds me of the one painting I’d done back in Texas when I was feeling so crappy, all dark, angry, and colorless. It had reflected my mood at the time, just as this painting reflects the turmoil I’m feeling.

Shit. I don’t want this to be what I do. I’ve always been about color and joy, and the fact that this is what’s coming out of me shows me that something’s really not right, even if I don’t know what it is.

Or maybe I do and I just don’t want to face it.

“Dove! Where are you?”

“Up here!” I yell, scrambling to cover the piece before he comes in.

When he comes bounding in, a wide smile on his face, I gird my loins and wait for whatever he’s going to come up with next. This week, thanks to his wedding plans, has turned into a nightmare, but I kinda don’t have the heart to say anything, not when I’m considering pulling a runaway bride.

“You look lovely,” he drawls, coming closer to pull me from my perch and into his arms.

I look down and laugh, taking in my paint-spattered tee and jeans against his immaculate suit.

“Okay, what’s up?”

“Nothing, besides the usual,” he grins, grinding his semi-hard cock against my belly. “I missed you and wanted to see you.”

Okay, that’s crap. I love his impromptu visits in the middle of the day, but this is plain strange. He usually stops in for a quick hello before running out again; his schedule is way too busy to allow for free afternoons.

“Thanks, but that’s nonsense. Spill it, Blake.”

I see his eyes light up, and then he’s swinging me around and kissing me all at once.

“They have a lead on Brennan! If this pans out we should be in the clear by this time next week. Just think, dove, if they catch him we can start looking at those houses we spoke about.”

“Correction, Vinny baby, we have not been speaking about houses. You decided we need one of those monstrosity-type mansions for the one kid we’re having. I have no problem with where we currently reside.”

Plus, I really don’t want to be stuck in the ‘burbs while he swans back to the city every day. I hate the suburbs and the lack of public transport and all-night takeout.

“But dove, we’ll need the room.”

I huff and curl my lip, doing my best not to laugh at his forlorn look. Vincent, I have recently discovered, knows that I have a weak spot for his puppy dog faces and has started using this against me.

“Let’s agree to disagree on that for the moment. I wanna get back to the Eric part. Do you really think they’ll get him?”

I ask, rather dubiously, only because I’ve been getting crank calls the past two days, nothing serious, just some heavy breathing that could be anyone from the kid next door to an asthmatic who’d dialed the wrong number.

I haven’t said anything yet because, as smart as I am, I know my guy will just get all paranoid and start locking me away more tightly.

It’s creepy though, and if it continues I’m gonna have to say something. If they catch Eric, maybe I won’t have to, and can thereby avoid an hour-long lecture about sharing.

As if Vincent has any room to talk.

“We can hope. If they do, we can move forward. Oh, by the way, the doctor had a cancellation this afternoon. We can go in at four. That’s what I actually came home for.”

“Awesome!” I yell, already halfway out the door and on the way to the bathroom. “It’s almost three. I should get ready.”

***

You know how when you go to the fair and play one of those ball games? The one where you try to hit the pins down in the hopes of winning that ultimate prize of a giant teddy bear or equally hideous shocking pink flamingo?

Finding out I was pregnant had been like playing one of those games: thrilling and hopeful and every good excited feeling wrapped into one. I’d felt that way, reveling in the idea that when the baby comes I’ll be winning something that is against the odds, like an honest to God accomplishment or something.

Now as I lie on the examination table with the cool gel slipping the ultrasound wand over my belly, I just feel like the carny manning the game station has been using superglue on all my pins.

“We should discuss what to do from here.”

That’s all the doctor says before leaving the room to give us time.

I laugh bitterly and continue to stare up at the white ceiling, my emotions seesawing between anger and weariness.

“Dove.”

I hear the sadness and the need to comfort in his voice, and I finally turn my head to meet his eyes, my own gaze rueful.

“I guess it was too good to be true anyway.”

The baby, or what we’d thought was a baby, is nothing more than a fertilized egg currently trapped in one of my fallopian tubes. Ectopic pregnancies apparently are not as rare as one might think, according to Doctor Barrows, but I have to go in for a procedure to get ‘it’, as the doctor had so tactlessly called my kid, removed.

“I’m…disappointed,” I say, watching his pale face tighten into that familiar mask.

“It will be all right, dove. Barrows said there’s no reason you can’t get pregnant again. We’re lucky to have caught it this early before something bad happened to you.”

Like getting all excited about a baby and then learning that I can’t possibly carry it to full term without dying?

“We should call him back in and talk about this.”

I know he’d prefer to talk, to assure me that these things happen and that everything will be okay, but I just can’t. I need action now, not hours to sit and stare at the weary disappointment written all over his expressionless face.

And…I need to get to grips with the fact that instead of soul-crushing sadness I’m just relieved that this didn’t go any further, to the point of actual attachment before I’d have to let go of an actual baby.

Sounds harsh, I know, but I’m comforting myself with the fact that the egg isn’t a full baby yet. I have to, or I’ll probably break down and get all hysterical.

So much for this being the day of new beginnings, I think, remembering that I was going to declare myself and demand answers from Vincent. Instead of getting a new start and the happiness I’ve been lacking, I now have to face a ‘procedure’, and, ironically, the crushing disappointment of realizing that Vincent and I no longer have to get married.