“Rest of the guys?” Liberty’s brow furrowed.
“Well, yeah. Everyone is going to want to meet you.” He smiled.
Liberty didn’t. She looked just as perplexed as before. Guess I was going to have more than a few questions to answer.
I walked Roman to the door and thanked him again before he drove off.
“I was kind of hoping to meet Hendrix, too.” Liberty’s voice bounced off the walls as she walked into the foyer, taking it all in.
“Oh?” My stomach tightened. Was Hendrix more her type?
“Yeah. You said he and Roman were your boys, and it seems only fair since you got to meet all of my friends.” She shrugged slightly.
Relief nearly took my knees out from under me. “Right. Well, I figured I should start you out with the most normal of my friends.”
She arched a brow and folded her arms under her breasts. “Nixon, you guys all make millions a year. There is no normal. There’s just shades of less weird.”
“Hey, I grew up on a farm. The fact that I can throw a ball just happened to buy me a house big enough to move my baby mama in.” I stretched my arms out and gestured to the rest of the house behind her.
“Oh God, you’re not actually going to call me that, are you?” She laughed.
“Not if you don’t want me to.” I grinned as I headed toward her. “I can also call you my parenting partner, my conception companion, my spawning sidekick—”
“Stop.” She put her fingers across my lips, and it took every ounce of self-control not to scrape my teeth over the digits and suck them into my mouth. “Why don’t you just tell me where I’m sleeping?” Her gaze dropped to her fingers—and my lips—and she flushed as she drew back.
“Where do you want to sleep?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Shit, that came out all wrong.” I shook my head. “How about I give you a tour, and you choose your room?”
“Sounds fair. How many rooms are we talking about?”
“There are eight if you count the guest house behind the pool.” I nearly bit my tongue. The guest house was probably the most appropriate place for her to stay, seeing that we were basically really awkward roommates, but I didn’t want her that far.
Shit, when had I started thinking of the guesthouse as far?
“Eight?” Her eyes widened, the green matching the color of her flowy top.
“If you don’t count the guest house,” I repeated with a forced, clumsy smile.
I took her for the tour, showing her what I liked to call the guest wing, which was home to my gym, the movie room, a small kitchenette, and separate living room and two of the bedrooms. “It’s nice for when my parents come. Gives them their own space, which they’ve gotten used to with Nate and I both gone,” I told her as we crossed into the space I used.
“This is where I spend most of my time.” The living room was vaulted to the second floor and boasted the biggest TV I could buy. The furniture was soft, comfortable leather, and the design clean and simple. The only art on the walls were pictures of my family.
“Holy shit, do you run a restaurant or something?” Liberty asked as she looked into the kitchen.
“No, but it came with the house, so I said, ‘What the hell, I’ll keep it,’” I joked. “Chef is here Mondays to prep meals. His name is Pete, and he’ll make whatever you want, so just leave a list. Margot and Mary come three times a week to keep the house up. They’ll love you.”
She blinked at me and paused as we reached the oversized granite island.
“What?” I asked, looking around to see if something offended her.
“You have staff?”
“Well. Yeah.” I shoved my hands into my front pockets, glad I’d worn the cargo shorts instead of the athletic ones. “I mean, I cook, too. That’s one of the reasons I bought this house. I liked that the kitchen looked out into the living room with that whole open floor plan thing.” The dining room was just off to the right, but I mostly ate sitting on the stools at the island or on the couch in front of the TV.
“You and I are from two completely different worlds.” She took a deep breath like she needed to steady herself.
“Kind of seems like we’re about to live in the same one.” Which was mine, of course, since I sure as hell wasn’t going to fit into her tiny apartment near campus.
Her hand skimmed over her belly, and she nodded. “Right. We are.”
I took her upstairs and pointed down the hall. “The master is down there, and there are two more bedrooms this way.” I pushed open the door to the closest bedroom, looking at it in a whole new light. The windows were large, letting a ton of natural light in, and the ensuite bathroom had a nice tub. “You know, this might be a good room for the baby,” I mused. “Unless it’s the one you want.”
Her shoulders were tense as she looked around the room. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet,” she admitted. “I’m not a big plan-the-nursery girl. I’m more of a best-hiking-kid-backpack girl.”
“Noted. We’ll register at R.E.I.,” I teased.
“Now, that’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” She grinned as we walked down the hall to the third bedroom. It had the same great windows, minimalist furniture, and was the farthest away in this part of the house.
“Closet is through there,” I pointed toward the far door as she explored.
“You can fit everything I own on one of these shelves,” she called after sticking her head through the doorway. “This one works. The desk is great.” She motioned toward the wooden expanse just under the window. “Unless you’d rather I take something on the other end of the house,” she blurted.
“No, I actually like you closer. That way I can get to you if you need me.” How fucking corny could I possibly sound?
“Thank you for having me.” She smiled, and it suddenly didn’t feel so corny.
“I’m glad you’re here.” The admission slipped out before I could shut my ridiculous mouth.
“Me, too.” She scrunched her nose. “No fish.”
I laughed, then wondered just how often I would do that with Liberty in my life…for however long I got to have her around…that was.
I rolled my shoulders as I walked into the kitchen three days later.
“Good workout?” Liberty asked from the disaster area previously known as my island. Monday morning meant she didn’t have class until the afternoon, and the entire counter was covered in chocolate, baking pans, bags of flour and sugar, a carton of eggs, and a giant mixer. The cakes were already cooling on the rack.
Hey, if she’d found something she could keep down, then I didn’t care if she turned my whole house into an episode of Hoarders. She could mess up my kitchen any day.
“Yeah,” I answered, averting my eyes from the mess and grabbing a recovery drink and an apple from the refrigerator. “I like lifting. It clears my head.”
I caught her staring at my bicep. “Looks good, too.” She cringed, and swiped her hand across her forehead, leaving a chocolate smear. “I mean, I bet it feels good.”
We’d only lived together for four days, and I’d been gone two of them, and already the electricity in the house was at a singe-worthy level. There was a reason we’d jumped into bed so quickly when we met—we had that X factor, that chemistry you simply couldn’t question…which meant lifting didn’t just keep my head clear, it kept my hands off her.
But fuck me with those tiny ass shorts she had on right now. The fact that she had on a baseball tee on top with the sleeves pushed up her arms just made it even sexier because she wasn’t trying. God help me if the woman ever tried.
“So, the dress code for the party on Sunday—” I twisted the top on my drink.
“Whoa.” She interrupted, flinging her arms out as she leaned against the counter. “You were serious about me going to that team party with you?”
“Yeah.” I chugged the drink, and by the time I finished, she was still staring at me. “Why wouldn’t I be serious?”
“Because…” She fumbled for a reason. “I don’t know. What are you going to say? Hi, this is Liberty, the woman I accidentally knocked up while we were drunk in Vegas?” She raised her eyebrows, which just crinkled the chocolate she’d smeared on her forehead.
“I thought we agreed on the term baby buddy?” I tossed the bottle into the recycling bin.
“This isn’t a joke, Nixon!” she shouted.
“I never said it was!” I fired back, then groaned when her eyes narrowed. Shit, I couldn’t lose my temper with this woman. Not now, not ever, but I’d gotten so used to nearly everyone in my life being disposable, that I’d lost the ability to reign it in for the greater good. I wasn’t just a pro athlete, I’d become a professional asshole. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know what role I play here,” she said softly, bracing her hands against the counter.
“Whatever role you want to.” I put my apple down next to a bowl of what looked to be frosting, then crossed to the sink and dampened a clean towel. By the time I turned back to her, she was licking frosting off her finger.
My lips curved into a smile. The woman seriously didn’t give a shit that it was nine-thirty on a Monday morning. She was licking the chocolate frosting from the bowl. I crossed the distance between us, then slowly raised the cloth to her forehead, cleaning the chocolate from her skin. “I’m not going to hide you away in my house all season, Liberty. I have no intention of hiding you or our baby.”
“You really want me to go?” she asked as I set the towel on the counter. Then she swept her finger through the bowl again.
“I really want you to be a part of my life. I’m not going to force you to do anything you wouldn’t want, but yeah, I want you.” I gripped the counter on either side of her and blinked. “There. I want you there.” Fuck, I wanted her everywhere.
“Even though I turn your kitchen into a mess and may have done my own laundry today instead of waiting for Mary and Margot tomorrow?” She grinned.
My gaze flicked over the counter, but returned to those green eyes of hers and fell right in. “Yeah. Even though you’re a menace to the general order of this house. I want you there.”
“Then I’ll be there.” She lifted her finger to my chin and dabbed it on my skin, then stared me down.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
I grabbed the towel and wiped the smudge away.
She laughed. “Maybe by the time the baby’s born, you’ll be able to keep it on for ten seconds!”
“Menace.” I abandoned the towel on the counter once more.
“Is there anything that isn’t completely organized in your life?” she asked, tilting her head and holding that icing-smothered finger up like the weapon it was.
“Not if I can help it.”
“You kinda make a girl want to dirty you up,” she teased. “I mean, I bet you even kiss clean, don’t you?” Her eyes danced.
“What? You don’t remember?” I had flashes of memory, and moments I could swear I tasted her on my tongue, but that was it.
“I guess it couldn’t have been that memorable.” She pulled off mock-innocence pretty damn well, even as she lifted her finger to her lips.
I ducked my head and drew that finger into my mouth, licking and sucking the chocolate from her skin with long sweeps of my tongue before releasing it.
She gasped, and her lips parted.
“Still don’t remember?” My voice dropped.
“Nope.” Her eyes dropped to my lips. “Guess you’d better remind me.”
Game on.
I burrowed one hand through the hair at the nape of her neck, grabbed her waist with the other, and kissed her. The first press of our lips was soft but heady, and I would have backed off at that, but she sighed and opened for me.
All that carefully crafted control disappeared.
I slid my tongue between her lips and groaned at the taste of her. Chocolate and mint. Over and over, I swirled my tongue around hers, learning every line of her mouth as I kissed her deeper, harder. Fuck, she tasted good, and it wasn’t just the chocolate. It was Liberty.
When she whimpered, I sucked her tongue into my mouth. She gripped my biceps, then tilted her head, and kissed me with complete and utter abandon.
We weren’t close enough. I needed more. Gripping her ass in my hands, I lifted her to the counter, not giving a shit about the pans that scattered and clanged. Her fingers raked through my hair, and her breasts pressed into my chest as we made out like a couple of teenagers, both desperate for the other. She bit into my lower lip gently, and I hissed as my cock swelled.
I might not have remembered making love to Liberty, but my body sure as hell did. I trailed kisses down her jaw, then set my lips right at the spot where her neck met her shoulder and sucked.
She moaned just like I knew she would. That, I remembered.
Her thighs wrapped around my waist and her ankles locked at the small of my back, her bare heels digging into my muscles with perfect pressure as I ran my tongue up her neck, pausing to kiss and suck wherever she gasped.
Our breaths grew ragged as our mouths met again, our tongues rubbing with blatantly erotic friction. My hand slid up the soft skin of her thigh, and I dipped my thumb just under the hem of those tiny shorts. She rocked her hips toward me, and I nearly lost it.
This right here was what I’d been missing my entire life. No wonder I still dreamt about her. She was the very essence of fantasy. Every moan was genuine. Every reaction unscripted. She was just as turned on as I was, and if I didn’t stop us soon, I’d be inside her before the cakes behind her finished cooling.
It didn’t matter how badly I wanted that—how much I wanted her. We weren’t the only ones in this…relationship.
I drew out that last, long kiss, then pulled away slowly.
“Feel reminded?” My voice came out like it had been scraped over gravel.
“Uh-huh.” She nodded, her eyes hazy with need, and her lips swollen from the kiss as she unlocked her ankles and fell away from me.
“Good.” I grinned, then grabbed the apple from the counter and headed right back to the gym, but I knew there weren’t enough weights in the world to clear Liberty out of my head.
6
Liberty
Nixon’s lips on mine.
The primal yet tender way he’d claimed my mouth.
The taste of icing on his tongue.
The feel of his fingers on my skin.
The way he’d effortlessly hefted me onto that kitchen island and filled the space between my legs with heat and rock-hard muscle.
How could anyone be that hot with all their clothes on?
A warm shiver raced down the length of my spine as the memory assaulted me for the umpteenth time since he’d kissed me in the kitchen three days ago. I could barely focus on my classes—school or the sessions I taught at the yoga studio. Between the memory, my raging hormones, and the morning sickness, I was a tangled mess of crackling nerves.
The team party I had to attend tonight didn’t help the uncertainties swarming my mind either.
Nixon’s laugh echoed from the kitchen, the rich sound propelling me faster down the stairs. I’d just finished drying my hair and was about to start contemplating outfits for tonight when I’d heard the sound.
“It’s always great to see you,” Nixon said. “Thank you for coming over to help with this.”
“Help with what?” I asked as I rounded the corner. My eyes flared at the man and woman sitting at the kitchen island. Roman Padilla I knew from my being a diehard Raptors fan—as well as his gracious offer of moving me into Nixon’s home last week—but seeing him outside of his gear? Good God, the man was gorgeous—golden brown skin covered tons of corded muscle, jet black hair and eyes to match. And the way he smiled at the girl while her friendly focus was on me? Damn. Being around Nixon’s friends would never get old.
Still, even with how delectable Roman was, nothing but friend
ly appreciation stirred in my blood? One look at Nixon, leaning casually against that kitchen island? Heat blazed down the center of me—a sweeping need that threatened to bring me to my knees.
“Hi!” the girl said, drawing me out of my X-rated thoughts as she popped up from her seat to greet me. She had long blonde hair, fierce blue eyes, and a bombshell body that was curved in all the places I wished mine could be. “I’m Teagan,” she said, jutting her hand out toward mine.
I shook it, returning her warm smile.
“I tagged along with Roman,” she said, motioning to where Roman still sat at the island, next to Nixon. “Nixon said you’re going to be his date to the team party tonight.”
Warmth rushed to my cheeks, and I absently smoothed a hand over my stomach as it swirled. We hadn’t said the word date. We hadn’t put a label on what we were or weren’t. And we most certainly hadn’t discussed the kiss that happened pretty damn close to where Roman sat right now.
“I…uh…yes. I’m going to that.” Brilliant words. Where was my profound insight into the psyche now?
“Great! I am too. I can help get you prepped.”
“Prepped?” I arched a brow in Nixon’s direction. He simply smiled that damn perfect smile of his.
“Yeah,” Teagan said, returning to her spot by Roman. Her legs automatically turned toward his body as if gravity had pulled her that direction. “Plenty of paparazzi will be there, as per the norm. We want to make sure you have a killer dress to get your press-photo-cherry popped.”
I gaped at her, but Roman laughed a full belly laugh that made his entire face light up.
“I think I need a new dress,” Teagan continued, glancing down at herself with an expression only a woman could recognize—worry, doubt. But why? She was beyond gorgeous. “Something that makes me look a bit…” She shook her head, returning her focus to me. “The caliber of women there are serious celeb territory.”
Roman rolled his eyes, turning to face her. “You look stunning now, T,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if you showed up in a brand-new dress or that Nirvana shirt you love so much. You’re perfect.”
Nixon (Raleigh Raptor Book 1) Page 6