Desire Me (Her Best Friend's Father Book 4)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  "So are you." More important than I think she realizes…than I think she knows how to let herself believe. I hate that she doubts how much she matters. I hate knowing that I'm failing her in that respect. She's the most important thing in the world to me, but every goddamn time something at work comes up, I have to leave her alone to go deal with it. I fucking hate doing it.

  "I'm a big girl, Roman. I don't need you to hold my hand. I can take care of myself."

  I grit my teeth, biting back the hot retort on the tip of my tongue. She can take care of herself, but she shouldn't have to do it. She's mine to take care of, to spoil. Reaching out, I pluck her up out of the chair. Once she's in my arms, I drop down into the seat, settling her on my lap.

  She sighs softly and curls up against me, letting me hold her.

  I close my eyes for a moment, breathing her in. Just having her close eases the frustration churning through me. The gnawing pit of worry that opened in my guts when I saw that fucking bottle today shrinks a little, unable to withstand the softer emotions that wash through me anytime she's in my arms.

  "I know you can take care of yourself, but you didn't sign up to go through this pregnancy alone," I remind her. "You're allowed to be pissed off or disappointed or hurt when I'm not there. You're allowed to be mad that work keeps getting in the way." I rub her back, keeping her close.

  "I know that," she whispers. "But I'm not mad at you for it."

  Instead of reminding her of all the reasons she should be pissed at me, I change the subject. "What did the doctor say today?"

  "The baby is healthy," she mumbles…a tremor in her voice I don't like.

  "What else?"

  She mumbles something into my shoulder, her voice muffled.

  "What?"

  She mumbles again.

  I can't fix whatever's going on if she won't tell me what's bothering her. "Talk to me, baby. What's wrong?"

  "He said I weigh too much," she whispers.

  "What?" I ask, certain I didn't hear her correctly.

  "He said I'm gaining too much weight."

  Nope. I definitely heard her right. My body goes rigid, anger pumping through me hot and fast. "What the fuck?" I growl. "He said that to you?"

  She nods, her head bumping my chin.

  A growl rumbles in my chest. I take a deep breath, trying not to lose my shit. When I see her doctor, I'm going to strangle the son of a bitch. Mila's thick and curvy in all the right places, but she's not even close to fat. She's sexy as fuck, and she's healthy. Her doctor in Santa Cruz wasn't worried and I'm not either. This new doctor is a straight up dick for saying that shit to her.

  I try to tip her face up so I can see her, but she fights me.

  "Mila, look at me," I order, dropping my voice low so she knows I'm not fucking around.

  She huffs and then reluctantly lifts her head. Her cheeks are flushed and she won't meet my gaze. Instead, she stares at my chest, her jaw clenched tight like she's fighting tears. The sight sends guilt and little barbs of pain shooting through me. I should have been there today. He wouldn't have said that shit to her if I had been, not if he wanted to keep breathing.

  "The doctor is a fucking idiot and you're not seeing him again."

  She meets my gaze this time, blinking like a little owl. "He's the best obstetrician in the city."

  "You're not seeing him again," I repeat, my voice firm. "We'll have your doctor in Santa Cruz recommend someone else." I scrutinize her expression, hating the watery sheen in her eyes and the embarrassed flush to her cheeks. Even worse is the hurt and shame deep in her gaze. The look in her eyes is a little too close to the look she had when she arrived in Santa Cruz after her ex cheated on her. That shit rattled her confidence. And so did what this jackass said to her today. That's not okay. Mila's a fucking warrior. She's my warrior.

  "You know the first thing I noticed about you?" I ask her.

  Her brows furrow.

  "The confident way you moved," I say, holding her gaze. "You walked into that dorm room looking like a pin-up model, and then you looked up at me with that confident gleam in your eyes and gave me this little smile like you knew my cock was rock hard for you. I damn near came in my pants when you held out your hand and introduced yourself in that sweet little voice of yours."

  Her expression wavers between disbelief and desire.

  I run a thumb across her bottom lip. "You took my breath away the day I met you. I wanted to strip you bare and run my hands all over those lush curves. You're even more gorgeous now, baby."

  "Roman."

  "It's like you were made to fit me," I continue, ignoring the little hitch in her voice. "You're soft where I'm hard and I love every fucking thing about that."

  A tear slips down her cheek.

  I thumb it away. "You're pregnant, sweetheart. You're supposed to gain weight."

  "He said I'm gaining too much."

  "He's a fucking idiot," I repeat. "You're carrying my baby in there, and I'm not exactly little. The only thing that matters is that you're healthy and that our baby is healthy. If your doctor doesn't understand that, he can fuck off. And just so we're clear, I love seeing your belly grow and I'm going to keep on loving it."

  She scrutinizes my expression for a moment like she's looking for any hint that I'm lying. I hold her gaze, letting her see that I'm being completely honest with her. She's fucking beautiful. Fuck her doctor for shaking her confidence and making her doubt that.

  "Okay," she whispers after a moment, her shoulders going back and a little of that confidence peeping through the clouds in her eyes. She bites her lip. "I don't think we should look for another doctor though."

  "Why not?" I arch a brow. I have no problem finding someone else, someone who won't make her feel like shit for gaining a few pounds.

  "He's the best obstetrician in the city."

  I hear what she doesn't say…the fear she tries to hide from me. It kills me that she's still afraid something might happen to the baby because of everything she's been through. I don't know how to erase that fear from her mind though. I'm not sure I can erase it for her, or that anything will until the baby is here and she can see for herself that everything is okay.

  "You aren't going to see him alone again," I tell her instead of demanding we find someone else. If seeing him will ease her mind, I'll swallow my own tongue before I tell her no. But I will be having a conversation with that motherfucker before she sees him again.

  "You can't drop everything."

  "The hell I can't," I growl, glaring at her. "Not a fucking thing is more important than you and the baby. I won't miss another appointment, I promise you that."

  She eyes me for a minute and then nods. "Okay."

  I press my lips to her forehead and then cuddle her up against my chest again.

  "How did things go today?" she asks a moment later.

  "We didn't catch him," I admit, not keeping anything from her.

  "I'm sorry."

  "I think Francisco may have another kid we didn't know about." I quickly fill her in on what we found. Despite tearing the house apart, there wasn't anything else to find. But I can't shake the feeling that Remi's hiding a kid. The only thing I can't figure out is why he's not running for the border. Why risk leaving behind a baby bottle when he had to know we would make the connection?

  "Oh no," Mila whispers when I'm finished talking. "What are you going to do?"

  "Find Remi and ask him what the fuck he's doing."

  What else can I do?

  We can't afford for the dicks at the DEA to start digging into Kincaid's past when I know what they'll find, so the original mission still stands. I might have to help hide another kid once I find Remi, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. In the meantime, all I can do is keep looking for him, help Octavio figure out what Faith is hiding, keep an eye on Kincaid, and help Finn get our guys out from underneath the DEA.

  The weight of responsibility presses down on me, making my chest tight. I can see the li
ght at the end of the tunnel, but the damn tunnel keeps getting longer. "I'm holding up a house of cards, and I'm really fucking worried it's going to topple," I admit, fighting to quell the worry beating at me.

  "You're going to make it all work out," Mila says, shifting around until she's looking up at me again. She rests her palm against my cheek. "I know you are."

  "I hope you're right." I kiss her palm and then rest my head against the back of the chaise, closing my eyes.

  She runs her fingertips beneath my right eye. "Have I ever told you how much I admire you?"

  I crack one eye open to look at her.

  "I'm serious." She smiles at me, sincerity shining bright. "You do so much for so many people and you never complain about it. When someone needs you, you're just there. Even if you have to carry it all by yourself, you do."

  "It's my job."

  "It's not," she disagrees with a shake of her head. "It's who you are as a person. You do the things you do because you care about people and you want to see the good guys win."

  "I'm a cop. Of course I want the good guys to win."

  "You're a big teddy bear."

  No one else would even dare call me a teddy bear, but I let her get away with it, instead shaking my head and grinning at her. She's too fucking cute for words, looking at me like I'm a hero. For her, I'll be any damn thing she wants.

  "I'm serious. You carry all the stress and worry for everyone else so they don't have to do it." Her expression turns fierce, that warrior spirit of hers peeking out from her bright eyes. "Your house of cards isn't going to topple because I'm not going to let it."

  "You're not, huh?" I chuckle, unable to stop myself. She looks so serious, like she's ready to take on the world so I don't have to do it alone. And I fucking love that she loves me enough to want to make my life easier. But what she doesn't know is that she already does that. Being able to come home to her, holding her in my arms, just being with her makes all the other shit tolerable. I'd move mountains if it meant seeing her look at me like she is right now…like I'm the most incredible thing she's ever seen in her life. I never knew how much I needed that until she gave it to me.

  "I'm not," she says, determination in her voice.

  Pride and awe well in my chest, pulsing bright. I wrap my hand around the back of her head, pulling her down to me. She comes willingly, sliding one hand up my chest and then around the back of my neck to plunge into my hair.

  "Warrior," I breathe against her lips.

  "Your warrior," she corrects primly before stealing my breath and another little piece of my heart.

  Chapter Ten

  Mila

  The loud ringing of Roman's cell phone invades my dreams, making me groan. I grab a pillow and put it over my head to block out the noise, but it doesn't help. The phone stops ringing only to start up again a couple seconds later.

  "Roman." I reach out for him, my hand landing against his warm chest. I don't know what time he crawled into bed with me, but it was late. He was only home long enough to eat last night and then he had to go back out again.

  I shake him gently, but he just grunts, too tired to do anything else.

  I sigh softly, my heart aching for him. Yanking the pillow off my face, I wiggle until I'm sitting up and then sprawl across his chest, reaching for his phone. My fingers land on the nightstand, but his phone is just out of reach.

  I lean further over him, managing to jab him with my elbow in the process.

  He jolts awake, grabbing my waist.

  "Mila, baby?" he mumbles, his voice all sleepy and rough.

  "Your phone," I explain, stretching my arm as far as I can. My fingers land on his phone. I grab it and pull it toward me, trying to avoid elbowing him again. Once I'm more or less steady, I swipe to answer. "Roman's phone."

  No one says anything for a moment.

  "Hello?"

  I hear someone breathing, but they don't say anything.

  "Hello?" I try again with the same result, which just annoys me. It's way too early for prank calls. "I can hear you breathing, you know."

  Roman blinks, coming fully awake. Those piercing blue eyes focus on me, sharp and shrewd. He holds his hand out for the phone just as a man sighs into the receiver.

  "You must be Mila," he says. His voice is a rough rumble of sound.

  I frown, unease drifting through me that he knows who I am but I don't know who he is. "Who is this?"

  "Give me the phone," Roman says, holding out a hand. The warning growl in his voice doesn't scare me, but it does bring me fully awake.

  "Remi?" I whisper into the phone, knowing that's who Roman thinks is on the phone.

  Roman growls as soon as I say the name and sits upright, dragging me up with him. He wraps an arm around me and grabs the phone, hitting the speaker button in the process. He holds me right up against him like he's trying to protect me, but he doesn't turn off speaker phone.

  "I've heard a lot about you, Mila," Remi says.

  "You don't say her name." Roman's voice drips barely concealed rage. His entire body practically vibrates with anger.

  I snuggle up against him, trying to calm him down. Trying to erase the fear skittering through my veins too. This is the man who kidnapped Lillian Riley from this house, the one who told Jose Guerrero about me and Talia.

  "Roman," Remi says. He sounds almost…sad. "I heard you were the one looking for me, brother."

  "I'm not your fucking brother," Roman growls.

  "You were," Remi reminds him. "We were teammates for years, brothers in all the ways that mattered."

  "Yeah, we were," Roman agrees. "And then you betrayed the badge and your brothers for a murderer and your psycho son."

  Remi hesitates for a long moment. "So they told you."

  "That you put my family at risk for the son you gave up thirty years ago?" Roman asks with a disbelieving laugh. "Yeah, they told me. Now I'm telling you…it doesn't matter how far you run or where you hide, I will find you. Even if I have to hunt you to the ends of the fucking earth, I'm coming for you."

  Remi laughs softly. The deep, rich sound is surprisingly pleasant for someone so heartless. "You think I don't know that, Gregory? I knew before I ever put my hands on the ballerina that you'd come after me."

  "So why are you running like a fucking coward?" Roman growls.

  "Because this isn't about me and it's not about you. You think you have all the answers because you have a few little pieces of the puzzle, but you don't have any clue what you're looking at, brother. They told you what they wanted you to know, and you think they shared everything. They left out a few pertinent facts."

  "What facts?"

  "That's what they do," he says, not answering Roman's question. "They give you little tidbits to string you along, but they never tell you what you're actually looking at. I know you want me dead, Gregory. I accepted that before I ever made my choice. But I'm asking you to let it ride and help me."

  "That'll never happen," Roman vows.

  Remi sighs again. "There's something you need to know. I didn't do what I did for the hell of it. Selena Ortega's kid isn't Francisco's first."

  "You're talking about the baby you're trying to hide," Roman says.

  "No," Remi responds, not denying that he's trying to hide a baby. He doesn't even seem surprised that Roman knows about it. "I'm talking about Elijah Noel."

  "Elijah was your son."

  "You're half right," Remi mutters and then sighs again. "You think I'm the bad guy here, but I'm not. I did what I had to do for my family, the same as you're doing for yours."

  "What the fuck are you talking about, Remi?" Roman demands, genuinely confused.

  "Family," he says with a chuckle that sounds ripped from some painful place deep inside. "I'm talking about family. You want the truth? Meet me and we'll talk."

  I blink, shocked at his request.

  "You want to meet with me?" Roman asks, equally as surprised…though his surprise sounds a lot more like suspicion.
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  "I don't want to do any of this shit," Remi says. "But I need your help. You agree to give it to me; I'll tell you what you need to know. And when we're done, you go your way and I'll go mine. You won't hear from me again. You won't see me again."

  "That'll never happen," Roman says again, his voice hard as steel. "You sent those motherfuckers after my family. You kidnapped and tortured a ballerina. There's not a chance in hell I'll let you walk away from that."

  "You're a stubborn son of a bitch, Gregory," Remi says, exasperated. "Rip the fucking blinders off and wise up. I'm not the bad guy here. You're just too fucking stubborn to admit you might be wrong about me."

  "You want to prove me wrong? Turn yourself in instead of hiding like a fucking coward," Roman growls right back at him.

  "I can't do that." Remi sounds almost…apologetic. And then he sighs and the phone disconnects.

  "What the fuck?" Without even hesitating, Roman scrolls to his call list and tries to reconnect. The number is private though, one he can't call back. He mutters a curse and drops the phone in his lap to scrub a hand down his face, exhaustion evident in the deep bruises beneath his eyes and the weary slump of his broad shoulders.

  I watch him carefully, not sure what to say. Not sure where his head is at or what Remi was talking about.

  "Do you believe him?" I ask.

  "Which part?" He turns to look at me.

  "All of it. Any of it." I shrug. "I don't know."

  "Do I think the DEA told me everything they know? Hell no," he says with a hard bark of laughter. "I think they told me just as much as they needed me to know to do what they wanted me to do. But that doesn't mean I believe Remi either. He'd sell his soul to the devil to save his own sorry ass at this point. He knows I'm coming for him. I'm guessing we got a little too close for comfort yesterday, and he's losing his shit about it."

  "Oh." I process that and then frown. "What do you think he meant about Elijah being Francisco's son?"

  "Don't know," Roman says, his voice grim. "Maybe he means it in a figurative way. Maybe he's just bullshitting me. Who the fuck knows at this point?"