by Sosie Frost
But that wasn’t Micah’s style—didn’t twist the knife in deep enough.
She spoke softly. “I wondered if you had some time to talk.”
“Why?” Visions of tents, vendors, and wasps flashed in my head. “Want to sign me up for some other bullshit?”
“You have no idea.”
“Look, princess. I’m not your whipping boy.”
She hummed. “No. Now you’re something else entirely.”
“The one who got away?”
“I was thinking…the pebble in my shoe.” She bit her lip. “Or maybe a really sharp thorn in my side.”
I should have predicted this. Micah might have played the professional, career-oriented, respectable type, but a little stroke to that kitty got her purring.
“Had to see me again, huh?” I grinned.
“Actually…yes.”
Just what I wanted to hear.
The woman got off on rejecting me and thwarting my plans. Least I could do was deny her. Then again, I’d never had such good sex. Micah was every man’s dream—tight enough to hurt and wild enough to make it worth the pain.
Who’d really be punished if I denied the inevitable?
“I knew you’d be back.” I glanced over the beautiful woman—all curves, heat, and desire mixed with that lovely sense of self-loathing that made it more fun. “It was only a matter of time.”
Micah frowned. “Excuse me?”
“You wanted another taste.” I gave her a little flex.
“Why? I’m still spitting you out.”
“If I remember correctly…you didn’t spit.”
“Oh, how I wish I had.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. I can’t blame you for coming back. What I carry…” I gestured to my jeans. “It’s a gift.”
“Me too, though I don’t know if you’ll see it that way.”
“There’s no shame in wanting what you can’t have.” I winked. “Well, there’s a little shame. But I think you like that.”
“Believe me, we’re both gonna be embarrassed.”
“That’s the difference between us. I can take a good fuck and appreciate it for what it was. But you? You think you’re so prim and proper, but all you want is to get down and dirty in the mud again.”
“I think the sun’s gone to your head, cowboy.”
“You know…” I edged closer to her, delighting in the stone-faced stare she tried to wield. “You’re a pretty lucky lady.”
“Oh, believe me,” she sighed. “The odds are not in my favor at the moment.”
“It takes a certain kind of woman to turn my head.”
“You really should keep twisting. Don’t stop until you hear a snap.”
“I get it,” I said. “I do. You don’t like me. I don’t like you.”
“Could have fooled me.”
Easily resolved. “Don’t need to like each other to fuck around.”
Micah groaned. “Are you serious?”
“All you gotta do is say the magic words, then you can ride me off into the sunset.”
“I’m afraid to ask which words,” she said.
“You can have your barn…and then you can have me.”
Micah bristled, her lips thinning with impatience. “Look, I know you think you’re so goddamned irresistible.”
“And you think you’re better than a booty call.”
“But believe me, you shouldn’t be so proud of your conquest.” She took a breath. “I’m not here for a repeat of that night.”
“Good. We could do it better. Maybe I could actually get a look at you, see who I’m fucking.”
She held out her arms. “Get a good look now. It’s about to change.”
“You’re goddamned beautiful.” So gorgeous it hurt. “Just shut your mouth once in a while and you’d be perfect.”
“You have no idea how much of an asshole you are. I am not here to fuck you.”
Then we had nothing else to discuss. “If you’re not giving me my barn or head, then forget it. I’m not interested in bargaining my future for your little festival anymore. You’re not getting me back.”
“You…” Micah got flustered when she was pissed. Like a little firecracker that didn’t spark, only imploded and scorched the earth under it. “You think I’m asking you back?”
“I’d like an apology,” I said.
“An apology?”
I smirked. “I recall there being bees.”
“Yeah…” She stared me down. “And some birds too.”
“And you were the one who told me to get lost,” I said.
Micah took a breath. “Well, believe me. I wish I hadn’t found you, but the situation is a little out of my control. We have a problem.”
“We?” I laughed. “Try again.”
“It’s a problem we have to solve—together.”
“Unless the next sentence out of your mouth is, I can’t get myself off without your help, I don’t want to hear it.”
Her voice hardened. “I can guarantee, I will never utter those words.”
“Don’t need to say it. I can hear it in your voice.”
Micah flipped me off. “Can you see it?”
“What the hell do you want from me?”
She exhaled a heavy breath and closed her eyes. A quick and quiet tension stole her smile.
“So…Julian…I’m not sure how to phrase this.” She folded her fingers together and bit her lip. “Okay. So…the other day?”
“Yeah?”
“Other night.”
“Right.”
“I didn’t know until after we’d worked on the county fair together…but it seems that…”
“What?”
“Your corn dog…and my funnel cake…accidentally deep fried an Oreo.”
What the hell did that mean? I frowned. “Do…do you need more food vendors?”
“No,” she said. “It’s just that, I’ve realized that ever since that night…there’s one too many riders on this Tilt-A-Whirl.”
“So, go yell at the carnies.”
“God help me if I need to ask the carnies about this.”
“What the hell is the problem, princess?”
She hesitated. “One of our show animals went out to stud.”
“Which one?”
“The jackass.”
Now my head hurt. I grabbed my wrench and turned back to the tractor, lifting the hood for another inspection.
“This fair is your problem now, Micah. No barn, no forced labor.”
“It’s the natural labor that scares me.”
“What?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake…I’m pregnant, cowboy.”
I dropped the wrench. It clattered on the engine, struck the already failing oil line, and sprung a leak. I leapt away as the oil blew it’s load over my face and doused me in grease. My forehead collided with the tractor’s hood. I grunted, and the lid fell. My fingers were too late to move.
A snap—first in my index finger, then to reality.
I spun to face Micah, clutching my hand. “Jesus Christ, what?”
“Should I try another food analogy?”
“You’re what?”
“I considered using walking taco, but I never felt that it was a flattering image for my anatomy.”
“Your…taco…”
“Too greasy.”
My stomach dropped. Head went with it. I fell against the tractor and grunted.
“You’re…”
Micah took the news better than me. “You caramel’ed my apple.”
“I…”
“Spiked my lemonade?”
I blinked. The pain in my finger faded. The rest of the world nearly flashed to white.
“You’re pregnant,” I said.
“Cottoned my candy.”
“I get it!” None of the oxygen made it to my head. “When…when did you figure out that I’d…fried your chicken?”
She shrugged. “I just found out. Took a couple tests.”
; “How many is a couple?”
“About ten. Coincidentally, do you think I could get some water?”
“You’re sure?”
“If you want more proof, you go down to the Barlow’s store to buy more tests. I had to make up some lie about teaching a local at-risk youth class.”
“Jesus.” I rubbed my face. The grease streaked over my cheeks and forehead. The least of my problems. “You’re pregnant.”
“And thirsty.”
“We have to get married.”
Micah’s turn to collapse. She stumbled backward, eyes wide. “I’m really only looking for a bottle of water.”
“They’ll have water at the church.”
“Oh, nonono.” Micah dodged the chicken and shouldered her bag, nearly breaking for the door. “We aren’t…there’s no way…cowboy, you’ve lost it. Go sit down. Cool off. This is big, but we don’t have to do anything that stupid—”
My mouth dried. Vision went blurry. Hopefully it was just the shock and not an aneurysm. “Marriage isn’t stupid. It’s…”
“It doesn’t solve any problems,” she said. “It only creates more.”
“The baby deserves a family.”
“No.” Her voice sharpened. “The baby deserves parents—not a couple of strangers forced together because of some ridiculous convention. Believe me, cowboy…it’s not healthy. Not for the couple, and certainly not for the child trapped in the middle.”
From the grave, my father aimed the shotgun at me. Convention or not, I was still a man, and I had responsibilities. “It’s what people do, Micah.”
“Not us!”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m pregnant, not an idiot!”
Jesus. I stumbled onto the tractor and caught my breath. Micah paced, her heels clicking against the gravel. Great. First she’d get pregnant, then she’d break her ankle in my driveway. She’d probably blame me for that too.
“Okay, look, Jules,” she said. “I need you to crawl out of the 1950s and join me back in the real world. I’m not marrying you—I don’t even like you!”
“Feelings mutual, princess. So, what the hell do I do now?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I just came here to tell you. I thought you had a right to know.”
“And?”
Her eyebrow perked. “And…what? That’s it. I’m pregnant. You’re the father.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Micah crossed her arms. “Not good enough?”
I was a man of action. Apparently, a fertile man of action. Something had to be done, and it was my responsibility to see it through. Granted, at that point, projectile vomiting seemed to be the optimal solution, but I’d save that thrill for the woman carrying my child.
“We have to do something,” I said. “Get married. Discuss this. Figure out what to do. Don’t you have your life plan or something?”
Micah stiffened, her words clipping like the strike of her heels against the rocks. “A plan? Right. Well, let me tell you a little about my life plan. My plan had been to work in Butterpond for the next three to five years. I’d planned to network with nearby municipalities through various organizations and workshops while amassing enough experience to pad my resume, so I’d look respectable when I applied for a better paying job with more responsibility in a larger community. I’d planned to focus on my work, my health, and my fitness until I was thirty years old, at which time, and only then, I’d schedule myself an opportunity to begin dating.”
“Christ, I knocked up a freak.”
She grimaced. “I hadn’t planned on a child until I was at least thirty-two, though optimally I believed thirty-three to be adequate time to begin my family. So, no. This does not at all jive with my lifeplan, Julian Payne. Right now, I have no plan. I have no plan, no idea what to do, and no clue how I’m going to fit my daily planner into a goddamned diaper bag!”
“You’re not having this baby alone,” I said.
“You want to carry the child for me?” She huffed. “Be my guest. This is the worst time to be pregnant.”
“Did you want me to knock you up at a different time?”
Micah covered her face. “I’m trying to save my job by managing this fair, and getting pregnant is…ugh, I didn’t think it could get any harder!” She stared at me, words frantic. As much panic as she’d ever reveal. “I have a colony of feral cats West Side Storying it at the fairgrounds. There’s no one to help manage the hundreds of vendors who accidentally filled out an incorrect application, misdating the entire fair by a month. My treasurer just broke her hip, the parks board vice-chair is on a cruise, and the only other people on the staff who have organized the festival retired in the last millennium! I have five pizza vendors, no cotton candy, and two clown guilds fighting over the rights to participate. I still don’t have enough bands to perform, and we’re two thousand dollars short for the fireworks.”
Was she insane? “You’re pregnant.”
“And if I want to keep my job to support this baby, then I need this fair to be a success! Don’t complicate this, Julian Payne.”
“Too fucking late!”
“If you’re so eager to solve this problem, then stop proposing and help me.”
I knew it.
Just fucking knew it.
I wasn’t that lucky, and the world searched for a reason to fuck me over.
“You want me to help with the fair?” I asked.
It seemed to bother her as much as it killed me. “I know you want nothing to do with me. And, quite frankly, I don’t want to look at you now, but…” Honesty seemed to frazzle her. Her voice lowered. “The morning sickness is almost incapacitating. The heat is killing me. I have no idea how I’ll react around the food, much less the animals. I’m going to need help. Someone who can…handle the smells.”
She could have gotten a diamond ring. Instead, she asked for a lackey to do heavy lifting at the fair. Micah’s lifeplan had failed to schedule any time for common fucking sense.
“So that’s all I am to you?” I asked. “A nose?”
“Well, previously, you were just the sperm. Consider this a promotion.”
“Great.”
Micah looked away. “I need two favors, actually.”
“What other body part do I get to be?”
“Zipped lips,” she said. “I don’t want anyone to know. Not yet. Not until the fair is done and I know if I have a job. Then we can tell everyone how I got knocked up by a man I’d met twice before.”
Unbelievable. “So, because you don’t want to tell people you’re pregnant, I’m supposed to bend over backwards?”
“Well, this started when you bent me over backwards.”
Had she bitched as much without her panties on as she did fully clothed, we wouldn’t be in this mess.
“What about birth control?” I asked.
“I was on the pill.”
“Take two before you spread your legs next time.”
She huffed. “You are such a pain in the ass.”
“This wouldn’t have happened if you let me be a literal one.”
“I have some class.”
I laughed. “You didn’t when you were panting on my cock.”
Indignity suited her. A little grace. A lot of poise. And the shock of vulgarity that plumped her lips into a surprised O.
Her voice rattled, low and irritated. “Because you’re such a fine example of refinement, grunting like a rutting animal.”
What the hell was it about this woman? Every word out of her mouth boiled my blood and hardened my cock. I sweated, but so did she. The hint of her exposed skin—that rich chestnut darkness—begged for a kiss, a lick, a bite.
So did her pouty lips, though I knew a better way to keep her quiet. An easy, quick, and sexy way to muffle those protests.
“And you were whimpering like a little slut.” I nearly growled, and the rumble parted her lips. “Sweating. Groaning. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even tel
l me how much you liked that animal fucking you.”
“You were just a means to get me off.”
Not even she believed that. “Then why do I still have your fingernail scratches on my shoulders?”
“Maybe you were too rough,” she said.
“Maybe you liked that.”
“Maybe you really are an animal.”
“Maybe I should mount you again, just to prove it.”
I grabbed her as she lunged for me. Our lips crashed together, and my hands gripped her tight, pulling her to my body, squeezing her curves against the hardness of my chest, my arms, and lower.
My cock ached for this woman. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right and so wrong and so utterly consuming as getting lost inside her.
I needed her again.
Pregnant or not. Pain in my ass or the greatest pleasure I’d ever had. I twisted her, pushing her onto the seat of the tractor. Her hand curled against my chest.
Then flattened.
Slapped.
Panicked.
I released her and was pushed from her path as she dove off the tractor and sprinted a few yards away. She bent over. Heaved.
And the world kicked me in the balls.
Morning sickness.
Pregnancy.
She was carrying my child.
Jesus.
Getting sick apparently enraged her. She groaned, turning back to face me with a scowl.
“I can’t believe I let you touch me again,” she said. “I can’t believe this is happening! First the mud. Then you thought I was a whore.”
“Then you proved it.”
“You son of a bitch.” She fumed. “You owe me.”
“Yeah, probably eighteen years of child support. What else do you want?”
I expected a slap to the face. Instead I got tears in her eyes.
Goddamn it. Here I thought my cock was the problem. Turns out I was just a huge dick.
I sighed. “Hey, I didn’t—”
She shook her head, forbidding me to approach. Her hand extended, and she sucked in a frazzled gasp of air. “Just forget it. Forget everything.”
“Micah—”
“I take it back,” she whispered. “You owe me nothing. We’re done. No more fair help. No more applications. We’re done. I’ve been on my own for this long, I can handle this myself.”
Now I felt sick. “Look, I’m sorry. Come inside. We’ll talk. I won’t grope you.”