Out of Uniform Box Set: Books 4-6 plus 2 Bonus Novellas

by Kennedy, Elle

  “Fucking asshole.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “But you decided to keep the baby.”

  “And ended up with two,” she said wryly. “Trust me, no one was more shocked than me when Jason popped out after Sophie. He was hiding behind her during every ultrasound. Even her heartbeat overpowered his. Not much has changed since the womb, I guess. Sophie is still the ringleader of whatever shenanigans those two get into.”

  Seth sat up and reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand. He took a quick sip, then offered the bottle to Miranda, who shook her head.

  “So what happened with Trent?” he asked, realizing she’d never concluded that chapter of the story.

  “I called him to let him know I was keeping the baby and he told me he wanted no part in the child’s life.” She shrugged. “I expected that. But what I didn’t expect? Seeing Trent’s picture on the news a month later and finding out he killed a man during a robbery. That’s when I decided that I didn’t want Trent in my kid’s life either. Before, I was open to the idea of letting him visit the child if he ever changed his mind, but after he was arrested, I was all, hell no.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “So remember all the tip money I saved up for college? Well, I used it to hire a lawyer instead. He drew up some papers and I went to see Trent in prison. He signed away his rights, and I haven’t seen or spoken to him since.”

  “Do the rugrats ever ask about their dad?”

  “Never. I assume as they get older they’ll become more curious about him and start asking questions. God, I’m not looking forward to that day.” She bit her bottom lip. “What if they want to visit him in prison?”

  “They won’t.” Seth didn’t even hesitate. “The rugrats are smart, babe. Smart enough to know that you’re the only parent they need.”

  “You think my kids are smart?” She sounded astounded.

  Discomfort squeezed his throat. “Yeah, sure. Of course they are.”

  Miranda continued to stare at him as if he’d just told her he’d won an Olympic gold medal for synchronized swimming or some shit. “Can I ask you something?” she finally said.

  Crap. He knew exactly where this convo was heading, and he needed to derail it. Now. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

  “Why don’t you want children?”

  And there it was.

  He casually raked a hand through his hair, trying to hide his growing agitation. “Not everyone’s meant to have kids.”

  Her dark eyebrows furrowed. “So you think you’re not meant to have kids?”

  “Yes. I mean, no.” His brain struggled to locate an exit strategy. “I’m just not a kid person, babe. We operate on different wavelengths. They can’t talk to me, I can’t talk to them. And, uh…” He scrolled through the list of reasons he usually provided when people questioned his no-children stance. “I don’t have the patience for them, I guess.”

  Miranda’s expression grew more and more doubtful with each word he said, so he decided to quit talking. Christ, he shouldn’t have let this damn pillow talk go on for this long anyway. He didn’t do emotional heart-to-hearts after sex. His emotions were locked up tight. Private thoughts, past mistakes, moments of self-doubt—he’d bottled all that shit up a long time ago, and no way would he let Miranda pull the cork.

  “I need my nicotine fix.” His voice was full of gravel, so he cleared his throat before continuing. “You want to come outside with me?”

  Shaking her head, she slowly slid out from beneath the sheet and rose from the bed. “I think I’ll head to my room.”

  Her naked body made him forget every single thing they’d been talking about for the past thirty minutes. Long limbs sculpted with lean muscle tone, dark hair tumbling down her back, curves in all the right places. His mouth grew dry at the sight of her, and all the blood in his body traveled south and settled in his groin.

  Miranda didn’t miss the thickening of his cock. “Down, boy. You have to wake up early.”

  As he grabbed his boxers from the chair near the bed and pulled them on, his gaze shifted to the alarm clock on the end table. One fifteen. Fuck. He had to be up in five and a half hours. And if he showed up exhausted again the way he had a few days ago, Becker would rip his head off. So, a quick smoke and then some sleep. Those were the only two items on the agenda for the rest of the night.

  Of course, it would be easier to stick to the schedule if Miranda wasn’t parading around naked in front of him.

  “Oh sweet Jesus,” he groaned as she bent over to pick up her discarded shirt.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, oblivious.

  “You’re presenting your ass to me like a mare in heat. For the love of God, put on some clothes before I fuck you again.”

  Her resounding laughter only succeeded in making his dick harder.

  “Next time,” he croaked.

  She slipped her T-shirt over her head, the fabric falling down to her knees. “Next time what?”

  “Just that there’ll be one,” he reminded her. “Your words, babe.”

  She visibly swallowed. “I know what I said.”

  Their gazes locked. The air between them heated, crackling with tension.

  “So when?” he asked huskily. “When can I have you again?”

  Her voice came out a little husky too. “Whenever you want, Seth.”

  Hot fucking damn.

  He stalked toward her, catching her around the waist with both arms. She gave a rapid intake of breath, then squeaked in delight as he covered her mouth with his and kissed her long and slow.

  When he pulled back, he studied her glazed expression, pleased with what he saw. “I’m holding you to that.”

  11

  Addicted. She was addicted to Seth Masterson. And after three days of hot sex, Miranda was past the point of trying to convince herself this was about combating stress. Granted, the regular orgasms were a fantastic stress-buster, but forgetting the worries of the day was the last thing on her mind when she snuck into Seth’s room at every available moment.

  She craved him. Craved his kiss and his touch. His wicked tongue and talented hands. His cock buried deep inside her. The pleasure he evoked in her was unbelievable. How was it possible to feel that good?

  “So you’re okay with the track?”

  Miranda’s head jerked up. “Huh?”

  “For the hip-hop number. We good with the song selection?” Andre Howard, one of the instructors, watched her with expectant brown eyes.

  “As long as it’s the edited radio version,” she answered.

  “Of course, sweetie. Do I look like I want a bunch of outraged parents on my back?” Andre slung his gym bag over his shoulder and grinned. “By the way, my girls did good today. They’ll bring down the house on show night.”

  They’d better, Miranda thought. The parents of those kids paid a lot of money for these classes, and if she wanted them to enroll their kids for the fall session, she had to give them a good show. Her own group, the girls in beginner ballet, were making progress too, including Sophie, who had a natural talent that made Miranda proud. But she suspected her daughter wouldn’t stick with ballet for much longer. Sophie was too smart for her age, too analytical, and she could charm the bees right out of their honey—Miranda wouldn’t be surprised if her daughter became a politician someday.

  “Oh, and Elsa’s in your office. She wanted to talk to you about one of her students,” Andre added as they fell into step with each other and headed for the door.

  The school housed three large studios, two locker rooms with bathrooms and a shower area, and a small office Miranda hardly ever used. Ginny, one of the other instructors, handled enrollment and payment, and Miranda had hired a business manager to deal with anything else that needed to be dealt with. Although she had a good head for business, she didn’t enjoy the business side of running the school. She would much rather focus on the creative aspect of it and let others handle the rest.

  Andre, th
e forever-smiling black guy with a flair for the dramatic, was the first teacher she’d hired. He was a recent Juilliard graduate who’d decided he preferred teaching to performing, and he taught mostly hip-hop, including a coed class that was growing in popularity—he already had a waiting list for the next sessions.

  As she and Andre entered the hallway, he flashed his big, dimpled smile. “You tending bar tonight, boss?”

  “Unfortunately.” She let out a weary sigh. “Weekends are supposed to be lovely and relaxing, aren’t they? So why are mine always jam-packed with activity? By Sunday night, I’m ready to collapse.”

  In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d make it through tonight’s shift without falling asleep in the middle of pouring a drink. She’d gone to bed at five in the morning, after Seth cajoled her into a quickie when she got home from the club. The resulting orgasm had been delicious—but getting only four hours of sleep, not so delicious. To compound the exhaustion, she’d spent the entire morning and afternoon at the school, teaching three back-to-back classes.

  And her day wasn’t even close to being over. She still had to take the kids out for their Saturday pizza dinner, drive home, get them bathed and in their PJ’s before Kim got there, go to the club, and then tend bar until two in the morning.

  Someone kill her. Now.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Andre remarked. “I swear, you’re Superwoman.”

  “Tell me about it. Anyway, drive safe. I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early. I’ll be the one asleep at the barre.”

  Andre laughed. “See you tomorrow, Superwoman.”

  They parted ways, Andre heading for the front door, Miranda continuing down the hall toward the back office where Elsa Fisher was waiting.

  Elsa was in her midforties, a ballerina who’d immigrated to the States after touring the world with a renowned German dance corps. She taught advanced ballet and contemporary dance to the older students, while Miranda worked with the younger ones. Ginny and Andre, who rounded out the teaching staff, worked with all ages.

  “Hey, Elsa, what’s up?” she asked as she entered the office.

  Elsa rose from the desk chair, a frown pinching her thin lips. “The father was here again. He wants to discuss Catherine’s future at the school, but he refuses to talk to anyone but you.”

  Miranda shook her head in annoyance. “But Catherine is your student. I already explained to him on the phone that you’re the one to talk to in regards to growth and development.”

  “He insists he must discuss it with you, the owner. He was waiting for you after Catherine’s private lesson, but your class ran late so he left. He told me to let you know he’ll be phoning you tomorrow.”

  The billionth sigh of the day shuddered out of her lungs. Okay. No big deal. For some reason, Catherine Porter’s father was chomping at the bit for a few minutes of Miranda’s time. Clearly he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so she’d just suck it up and have a brief conversation with him tomorrow.

  “All right. Thanks for letting me know,” she told Elsa. “I’ve got to take off now. You’ll lock up after your evening lesson?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She waved good-bye and left the office, heading for the empty studio where she’d left her daughter. When she poked her head in, she saw Sophie sprawled on a pile of blue mats, playing with the new doll they’d picked out a couple of days ago. Miranda had taken the kids to the mall for the sole purpose of replacing Sophie’s beloved Belinda; luckily, Belinda’s successor, Emily, was a big hit so far.

  “Time to go, Soph,” she called. “We have to pick up your brother.”

  Sophie hopped off the mats, tucking Emily under her arm as she dashed over and threw herself into Miranda’s legs with a hefty whoomp.

  She laughed and stared down at her daughter. “What’s this about?”

  “Do you still love me, Mommy?” A pair of big brown eyes gazed imploringly at her.

  “Why on earth would you ask me that? Of course I still love you!”

  Relief flooded Sophie’s face. “Promise?”

  “I promise, Soph, I still love you. I will always love you. Always and always and always.”

  “Pinky promise?”

  Miranda squatted down to the floor and stuck out her pinkie. After a second, Sophie offered a pinkie in return and they sealed the deal.

  “Now,” Miranda said, incredibly disturbed by the entire exchange, “can you tell me why you thought I didn’t love you anymore?”

  “’Cause you ignored me in class today when I tried to show you my plié.” Sophie pouted. “And yesterday you only read one story after dinner and you usually read two and Jase said maybe you were tired ’cause our house is underwater and then he said maybe we would hafta live with Sef forever but I said we wouldn’t ’cause Sef is mean ’cept sometimes he’s not mean, sometimes he’s nice, but then he stops being nice when he sees that we see he’s being nice.”

  It took a few seconds to make sense of everything her daughter had said. Rising to her feet, she took Sophie’s hand, then picked up the two dance bags she’d left by the door. She decided to address one point at a time.

  “First of all, if I ignored you today, I didn’t mean to. I probably just didn’t hear you, sweetie,” she assured her daughter, who was clutching her hand so tightly Miranda’s bones ached. “And remember we talked about how when there are ten other little girls in the studio, I have to pay attention to all of them instead of just one?”

  “I remember.”

  “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Soph, but I promise I didn’t do it on purpose, okay?”

  “’Kay.”

  They exited the building and walked hand in hand to the parking lot behind the school. Miranda tried to remember Sophie’s next complaint. Right, the stories.

  “And your brother was right. I was very tired yesterday and that’s why I only read one story. Hey, know what Andre just called me?”

  “What?”

  “Superwoman.”

  Sophie giggled. “That’s funny.”

  “Kind of, but see, it’s not true.” She lifted her daughter into the backseat and buckled her up, then knelt in front of the open door. “I’m not a superhero, Soph. I can’t do everything, and sometimes I get tired and cranky. I know that might not be fair to you and Jase, but sometimes you guys get tired and cranky too, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So what do you say we agree not to get upset with each other at times like those? Deal?”

  Sophie smiled. “Deal.”

  Uneasiness swelled in Miranda’s stomach as she reached the final topic of discussion. “And I don’t want you to worry. We’re not going to live with Seth forever. He’s just being a good friend to your mom and giving us a place to stay until our apartment is all fixed up.”

  Sophie brought her doll up to her chest and began playing with Emily’s silky black hair. She avoided Miranda’s eyes as she whispered, “Do you like Sef more than you like me and Jase?”

  Her heart squeezed. “Oh, sweetie, of course not. I like Seth, he’s a good friend of Mommy’s, but I could never like him more than you and Jason. I could never like anyone more.”

  “Promise?”

  “Pinky promise,” she replied, sticking out her baby finger.

  They shook pinkies again. Miranda teasingly tugged on her daughter’s ponytail and got up. “Okay, now we need to pick up your brother before he thinks we abandoned him.”

  She slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, then pulled out of the lot and merged into the late afternoon traffic. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed Sophie playing with her doll, but suddenly Sophie’s head lifted and she locked gazes with her mother.

  “I don’t wanna go for pizza today,” she announced.

  Miranda wrinkled her forehead. “But it’s our Saturday tradition.”

  Her daughter stubbornly shook her head. “I don’t wanna go. Can you ask the pizza man
to bring pizza to Sef’s house?”

  “Sure, we can get it delivered,” she said, baffled. “But why?”

  An exaggerated sigh reverberated in the interior of the car. “’Cause you’re tired, Mom. Duh!”

  With that, Sophie returned her attention to her new doll, leaving Miranda to shake her head in awe and amusement. God, she had great kids. Sweet, perceptive, smart. Just all-around incredible.

  The rugrats are smart, babe. Smart enough to know that you’re the only parent they need.

  Seth’s words from the other night buzzed in her brain, immediately followed by the convoluted thought Sophie had voiced minutes ago.

  Sometimes he’s nice, but then he stops being nice when he sees that we see he’s being nice.

  Out of the mouth of babes.

  Was Sophie on to something, though? Was Seth going out of his way to refrain from being nice to the twins? Was he purposely putting distance between himself and her children? Because the other day, when he’d recited his reasons for not wanting or liking kids, something had sounded so…false. And call her crazy, but there might have even been a tremor of panic in his tone.

  It suddenly occurred to her that she hardly knew anything about him. He’d grown up in Vegas, he’d been raised by a showgirl, he’d enlisted at eighteen.

  But what else? What was his childhood like? What were his hopes and dreams? How did he envision his future?

  And did it really matter whether she had the answers to any of those questions? The involvement between her and Seth was purely sexual. Sooner or later it would fizzle out, so why try to forge a deeper connection?

  Maybe the less insight she had into Seth’s complicated psyche, the better off she’d be.

  * * *

  Seth was feeling edgy as hell as he watched Miranda wipe the corner of her mouth with a napkin, all cute and demure-like. The four of them were sitting on the living room floor around the coffee table, munching on the pizza Miranda had ordered for dinner. The flat screen on the wall was playing an animated movie Jason had picked, but Seth wasn’t paying attention to the TV. He was too busy looking at Miranda, same way he’d been looking at her every goddamn second for the past three days.