Her Bull Rider's Baby

by Genevieve Turner

  “I’m fine, and no, I didn’t rest today. I’m not a kindergartener.” Not even five seconds here and he was already starting in. But the roses were nice. Almost date-like.

  Adriano frowned. “But you’re pregnant.”

  “She knows that,” Benedict barked.

  She sighed. “Let’s go in,” she said to Adriano. Dinner was going to be just wonderful, with these men being so charming and polite and all. Thank God Pilar would be there. They could take their plates to the kitchen and let the men duke it out in the dining room.

  “See you at supper,” Luke called in a voice that dripped insincerity.

  She grabbed Adriano’s arm. “Come inside and see the house.” The house was sure to impress him—any kid would be happy growing up in a house like that.

  The muscle beneath her hand was steely taut, his body almost close enough to brush against hers. The roses were tucked into her other arm, as if she were a prom queen leading her king to the stage. But she was leading him into her house. Which was now his house. Or his temporary house at least. The surrealism of the scene wasn’t lost on her.

  She opened the back door, letting Rufio go ahead of her. Once they were in the kitchen, she dropped Adriano’s arm but kept hold of the roses. She wasn’t much for roses—too water-hungry for California—but these were a deep burgundy so dark as to be almost black. There were only five, and the blooms were already blowsily spreading their petals, without the pinched secrecy of a bud. Where had he managed to find these?

  As she arranged the roses in a vase, she watched him from the corner of her eye while he removed his hat and took in the kitchen. She could finally see his eyes, gleaming amber in the late afternoon light. His mouth was flat, much as it had been when he was looking around the resort.

  She fiddled with the roses, whose scent was suddenly overpowering, and waited for him to speak. Most people oohed and aahed when they saw her kitchen, or at least said something vaguely polite about it. But his mouth stayed firmly shut.

  He walked slowly to the window, his boot heels echoing against the tile, a thunk, thunk, thunk against her ears. She dragged her fingers against the petals of the blooms, causing a few to fall to the counter. Was he ever going to say anything?

  After several moments of staring out the window, his mouth finally tipped up in a smile. But his eyes remained sad. Or maybe resigned. “Is that your garden?” As if he already knew the answer.

  She wasn’t quite expecting that. “Yeah. It’s a hobby of mine.”

  He half turned to her, the sunlight sliding across the plane of his cheek, lightening his skin to the color of a new penny. “More than a hobby, as big as it is. My mother had a garden like this. I haven’t seen it in many years.”

  Her heartstrings twanged. To be away from home for years must be so wrenching. No wonder he was eager to return. And he’d said had—perhaps his mother was too ill to garden any longer. Lil swallowed. “That was my mother’s garden before it was mine. So the baby will get a green thumb from both sides of the family.” It was an attempt to lighten the mood, but the loneliness cloaking him remained. “Thank you for the flowers,” she finished quietly. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “You’re the mother of my child.”

  Wasn’t that romantic? Not that they were in this for the romance. No matter how hot she still found him or how sad his expression made her.

  She grabbed the vase, a few more petals falling as she did, and set it on the dining room table, taking a minute to breathe. Just a minute, just to get steady again. This wasn’t about romance or attraction or anything that had been between them before—it was only about the baby. And who got to raise it.

  Back in the kitchen, she avoided his gaze. She opened the oven and checked on the gratin, which bubbled and popped. “Supper’s almost ready.”

  “What is that? It smells delicious.” He sounded surprised, as if she shouldn’t be able to cook.

  Don’t let it get to you. He’d change his tune once he tasted it. “Oh, a spring veggie gratin I thought I’d try. Mainly an excuse to use up some of the stuff that’s in season.”

  A child would eat well in her kitchen. He’d see.

  Luke came in then, slamming the door a little too hard, his boots ringing a little too loud. No doubt he thought they were up to something and wanted to warn them he was coming. No need for him to worry though—they had a no-sex clause in their all-about-the-baby bargain.

  “Smells good,” Luke said. “And I got your bread. Are you sure you don’t want to come work in the hotel kitchen?”

  “Ha.” She poked him with a wooden spoon. “As if I’d ever leave the stockyards and be stuck in a hot kitchen all day. Not to mention having to take orders from you.”

  Luke grinned. “You’d be a terrible employee too. What do you want me to do?”

  “Do?” Adriano seemed puzzled by that.

  “Yeah,” Luke said with an edge. “Do to help fix supper.”

  “You can set the table,” she said hastily as Adriano’s face darkened.

  “What can I do?” he asked, like a bull lowering its head for the charge.

  God, if they started fighting about helping her…

  “Luke, go set the table. Can you get a bowl down from that cabinet?” she asked Adriano. She pointed hard at the cabinet, trying to distract him. “It’s for the salad.” Luke gave her half a second of a shit-eating grin, then disappeared into the dining room.

  She snapped her fingers. “Oh, and I’ve got to start the chops. Do you like lamb?”

  “Who doesn’t like lamb?” Adriano was stretching up to reach the salad bowl, back arched, butt flexed, and her heart jumped.

  Jesus. “You, uh, you’d be surprised.” Her mouth was suddenly too dry. “But I’ll take that as a yes.” Breathe.

  She crouched down to the cabinet by the stove and pulled out a cast-iron pan—only to have it snatched from her hand.

  “Hey!” She spun around to grab it back from him.

  He danced—actually danced—out of reach. How did his hips do that?

  “That’s too heavy.” His accent had thickened, his vowels going sinuous, the consonants twisting off his tongue. “You’re not supposed to be lifting heavy things.”

  And here they went again. She narrowed her eyes. “I hauled hay this afternoon and each bale weighs about a hundred pounds more than that pan.” Her arms hadn’t withered to nothing the moment he’d knocked her up.

  He set the pan on the stove, wearing an expression she could only call supreme jackass. “Well, you can’t haul hay anymore either.”

  As if that just decided things. “You can’t order me around.” This was already turning into a colossal mistake, and he hadn’t even moved in yet.

  “Ask the doctor tomorrow. She’ll agree with me. It’s all in the book.”

  She wanted to burn that stupid book. “I’ll definitely ask her. And she’ll say it’s fine. Women have been having babies for ages and never stopped doing their chores. My great-great-grandma Cat had five babies and probably never once took an afternoon nap. Didn’t have the time.”

  Let him argue with that. She came from hearty, fertile stock. None of this pregnant princess for her.

  “You’re not your grandmother.” Not even a slip of the supreme jackass face. “And you were not this argumentative in Vegas.”

  They’d hardly talked in Vegas. Not that it had always been sex. They’d slept quite a bit too, just holding each other. And when she was awake, she found she couldn’t stop touching him. Every inch of him was new and addictive, her fingertips yearning to know, to touch, all of him. She’d spent hours being held by him, touching him with her hands, lips, limbs. He’d done the same to her.

  Well, no wonder it had been different: he hadn’t been this much of an asshole then.

  “We’re not in Vegas,” she said shortly, her skin feeling too tight. She turned back to the stove, poured a slug of oil in the pan. Cooking. Cooking was good; cooking was calming. She lit the burner, ign
oring the father of her child at her back, and when the oil went thin and hot, she set the chops in. The oil spit back at her.

  “Whoa.” Adriano wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her away from the stove.

  She pulled away from him, trying to outrun the sensations he’d set off. He’s trying to restrain you, not seduce you. “Hey! I have to sear those. You’re supposed to keep the baby away from the stove, not me.”

  If that stupid book said she couldn’t cook any longer, she was burning it for sure. She’d get into Luke’s fireworks stash and set that thing off in a blaze of glory.

  Adriano held on tight, forcing her to turn around in the circle of his arms.

  Well, that wasn’t much better. Now they were face-to-face, her hands on his chest, his arms wrapped around her back, their mouths inches apart. Way too close. Her heart raced and her clit went heavy. Great. Thank you so much for being on my side here, vagina.

  She pushed against his chest, tried to wriggle out of his grip. But that made it worse, so much worse.

  He didn’t even budge, keeping his back between her and the stove, his arms tight around her. And his pelvis hard against hers. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  Fuck me hard enough to make my teeth rattle.

  No, better not say that. Wouldn’t want to violate the no-sex clause.

  “Fine.” She pushed again and this time he let go. “But you better do it right. My brothers won’t be happy having their chops ruined.” Or coming in on their sister being manhandled in the kitchen.

  “Neither will I.” He went for the tongs, totally unruffled. And that answered the question of whether he was still attracted to her or not.

  “No.” She set her hand over his before he could grab the tongs.

  And forgot what she’d been about to say. How did he have such hot skin? Or maybe her skin was superheating. Tension radiated from his arm, down through his fingers, zapped hers, and ran straight up her arm to her brain.

  His eyes met hers and all the oxygen left the room, ignited by what was between them.

  Their bodies remembered, wanted, yearned. Hers did at least, and judging by the dark gold of his eyes, his did too.

  Hell, her body more than remembered—she wanted to devour him, to explode with him again and again until there was nothing left but sated exhaustion, just as they’d done before.

  “Adriano?” She meant Do you feel it too, do you want this as badly as I do, until you can’t breathe, can’t taste anything but your lips on mine?

  “Liliana.” Deep and low, a growl with a touch of force. Yes, he remembered. And he wanted.

  Thank God she wasn’t alone in this. She put a hand to his cheek, felt the sting of stubble there for half a moment, then captured his mouth.

  Oh yes. This, this was what she’d needed all these months, the pressure and taste of him on her mouth, his heat caressing her. He made a noise that vibrated along her lips and through her mouth, then pulled her close.

  She parted her lips and there was his tongue—aggressive, demanding. She demanded right back, tangling her tongue with his and sliding her hand along his cheek and then to his neck, gripping tightly.

  More. Now.

  He obliged, his large hands finding her ass and gripping her as tightly as she was him, grinding his pelvis against hers.

  Zero to sixty. That was how she liked it, and he gave it to her each and every time.

  She rubbed against him, felt the hardness grow. Oh yes, he wanted it as much as she did, as fast as she did. She started to drag him backward toward the counter, where she could—

  Something hot snapped at her forearm.

  “Ow!” She jumped back from him, rubbing at the stinging spot.

  Grease, from the pan. Her arm was rapidly developing livid spots from it—but the burns were small and didn’t look that serious. Just another day in the kitchen.

  Adriano seized her wrist, twisted her arm toward him, muttering under his breath in Portuguese. “You make me forget myself.”

  No, that hadn’t been a forgetting. That had been a remembering.

  She shouldn’t have done that. She had to keep her head with him.

  “Are you all right?” His voice was harsh, as if she were forcing him to ask her.

  “I’m fine.” She stepped back, put chill into her voice. “You don’t need to turn the chops this early. Don’t rush it.”

  He slid her a look that clearly said, Take your own advice.

  She rubbed at her forearm, her desire curdling in her belly. He’d been kissing her as hard as she’d been kissing him. She hadn’t been alone in her wanting—he was just as much at fault.

  “Sear the chops until they’re browned, then slip them into the oven for ten minutes.” She backed toward the kitchen door, away from him and toward the safety of her brother. Adriano couldn’t kiss her and reject her with Luke watching. “I think you can manage that. And look, you got me away from the stove.” Point: Adriano.

  She left before he could call her back.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Adriano dropped his gear bag and looked around the guest room—the room that was now to be his.

  It had a TV and lace curtains and a floral bedspread and even a few bland china knickknacks on the dresser. It was a pleasant enough room, one that no one had ever made their own. A room that sat empty most of the time.

  There had never been an empty room in the house he’d grown up in, with its dirt floors and lack of electricity.

  Lil stood in the middle, wearing a hotel-manager smile. She’d been quiet at dinner—which had been amazingly good—leaving her brother’s girlfriend to do most of the talking.

  “It’s very nice,” he said, nice being as bland in English as it was in Portuguese. “Thank you.” He could tell she wanted him to be impressed by the house, by the size of it, but if his childhood had taught him anything, it was that the size of the house didn’t matter—it was the love contained within.

  Lil’s smile never slipped. “Good. Towels are in the bathroom. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  He wouldn’t be surprised if she told him to call the front desk anytime, so impersonal was she.

  She was pissed. He’d never thought she’d be the kind of woman to hide her anger like this, but that’s what she was doing. No doubt she was holding back because of their bargain. He was certainly holding back because of it—but not anger.

  “If that’s all, I’ll see you in the morning,” she chirped. “Doctor’s appointment is at ten. You can use Josh’s truck if you need to.” Her face darkened for half a moment.

  He didn’t want to drive a borrowed truck, but that could wait. “Who’s Josh?”

  Her expression held on to the darkness, went blacker. “My brother.”

  A brother who wasn’t here and made her look like that. Not good. “Where is he? Why doesn’t he need his truck?”

  She pinched her lips as if holding in something bitter. “He’s in prison. For a DUI.”

  Adriano didn’t know much about the American legal system, but a few bull riders he knew had been caught drinking and driving—and they’d never been sent to prison. Her brother must have injured or killed someone.

  “When is he getting out?” He wouldn’t push on the issue of what had really happened. Upsetting her was bad for the baby. And her belly was too flat—he’d have to ask the doctor about that tomorrow.

  Thank God he was here to take care of her.

  “He’s coming home just after the baby is due.”

  Coming home. Which meant that brother lived here as well. And that brother would be living with Adriano’s child too, once he came home. Something to file away, in case he needed it for the court case.

  “Are your parents coming soon?” he asked. Meeting them was certain to be as unpleasant as meeting the brothers, but it must be done. The sooner the better. That was always the best way to get things done to his mind—do the worst and hardest first and the rest was all easy.

 
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll come eventually. At some point.” She seemed quite unconcerned. “They’re retired and have their own thing going on in Cambria.”

  The welfare of their daughter should be their thing, but best to let it drop. Another point against Lil though—his mother would be close, since he planned to buy a ranch and move her to it. His mother wouldn’t have her own thing going on.

  Lil rubbed at her arm.

  “How’s your arm?”

  She glanced at it. “Fine. When you cook you get burned.”

  Hardly convincing. He clasped her wrist to see for himself, gentler than he might have liked. But after that kiss in the kitchen, he needed to watch himself around her. She was like a lit match to the gasoline of his libido. He’d not win this bargain by seducing her. At least, he didn’t want to win it that way. He tugged her toward him. “Let me see.”

  Her skin was warm and smooth, a much lighter shade of brown than his own. There was no mark there, only freckles left from the touch of the sun and tiny hairs finer than an angel’s. His thumb rubbed against the bone of her wrist, her pulse leaping under the tips of his fingers.

  “See?” Her voice was rough and low, edged with desire. “Just fine.”

  His gaze met hers. The color of her eyes was more gray than green, an ocean readying for a storm, her breath drawing quick and deep. Just as his was.

  She leaned into him, her arm bending back as he held it. Was she trying to break his hold? Or was she trying to get closer?

  He wanted her to get closer, or at least his body did. But she ought to be breaking his hold.

  She wasn’t. Her gaze was steady on his, her body leaning into him, his fingers tight around her wrist.

  This was wrong. There were reasons he should stop, reasons that had been so clear at lunch. But he couldn’t remember them, could only remember those wild days and nights from before, the two of them locked together, sweat slick and climaxing as one. That was all he wanted—no focus, no bargains, only the two of them together like it had been.