I moved close to him, my ever expanding belly reaching him before the rest of me. I touched his face and whispered his name, “Nico?”
He peeked at me from under impossibly long eyelashes.
“Shower time.”
He nodded, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. I slid my arm around his waist and walked him to the shower, grateful that it wasn’t part of a bathtub like it always had been in the house where I grew up. Getting him over the lip of a tub would be almost impossible. But the walk-through didn’t even have a lip at the entrance to the shower; it was so perfectly designed that a subtle slope in the floor made a lip unnecessary.
He groaned when the water hit him, first along his side from a low set showerhead, and then near his face from the showerhead that was set more traditionally at the center of the back wall. The water was warm and actually felt quite good on my body. He didn’t seem to moan after that initial splash. He raised his face to the water, his eyes closed and his mouth open. I watched for a minute, spellbound by the sight of him. Even drunk and vulnerable he seemed more virile and powerful than any man I’d ever known.
I grabbed a sponge and doused it in liquid soap. After I had a good lather, I began running it slowly over his back. His muscles were tense at first, but slowly began to loosen up. He leaned forward and braced himself on the wall, a sigh escaping his lips. I couldn’t resist running my soapy hand over his ass, my fingers exploring places they’d never really had access to before. He turned and looked down at me, his expression unreadable.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“You brought me here. Remember?”
“No, I mean now. I was in jail for two days. I’m under investigation for murder. I can’t leave the state. Probably not even the county. You could have gone back to Texas and there’s nothing I could do about it.”
It had never, honestly, crossed my mind to leave.
I pressed the sponge to the center of his chest and watched the lather bleed over his skin. “Nothing has really changed. If I left, you would eventually be cleared and come after the babies, and I wouldn’t see them again.”
The tension came back into his shoulders, but he didn’t move away or react in any other way. He watched me as I continued to wash his chest, my hand slowly wandering down toward his hips. His cock was responding to my touch despite the excessive amount of alcohol he’d drunk. It made my lower belly tighten in response, my thighs quiver with need. Something about being near him made me more focused on sex than I’d ever been before. I always thought there was something unusual about me in that I wasn’t as fascinated with the subject when I was a teen as my friends. Even when I was around Kelly—who focused on sex so much she was going crazy with her self-imposed celibacy—it just didn’t seem as important to me as it did her. But when I was around Nicolas…hello, inner slut!
He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “They think I killed my wife.”
I looked up at him. “I know.”
“Aren’t you afraid? Aren’t you worried that if I killed her, that I might not think twice of doing the same to you?”
I thought about that for a second. It seemed logical, really. Anyone who killed the woman he once loved, the woman he swore to love for the rest of his life, wouldn’t think twice of killing his surrogate. But the problem with that was that Aurora died of an overdose.
“I don’t think you did it.”
He made a sound that was kind of a cross between a chuckle and a groan. “You’re the only one.”
“How can you force someone to take an overdose of cocaine, anyway?”
Nicolas shrugged. “They’re saying that it wasn’t cocaine that killed her. They’re saying she was given an overdose of Xanax.”
“How do they know she didn’t take it herself?”
“They have a waiter who claims he saw me slip into her drink. Plus…” He hesitated, almost as if he didn’t want to say what came next. He sighed, his hand brushing against my face before he pulled away and turned back to the showerhead, letting the water wash the lather from his skin.
“What?” I asked, moving against his back, my belly brushing just above the curve of his ass.
He just shook his head. He was clearly done talking about it.
He reached for a razor from the shelf built into one wall of the shower, but missed. It clattered to the floor as he lost his balance and barely caught himself against the wet tile. I retrieved it and filled my hand with a little shave cream.
“Let me do it.”
“I’m not a child,” he said, but he didn’t seem terribly adverse to the idea. He leaned back against the wall, as I reached up to apply the cream. I’d never shaved a man before. I’ve never even seen a man shave. None of my lovers—all one of him—ever stuck around long enough to shave in front of me. And I didn’t know my father. So it was a little tricky, running the razor over his angled jaw as opposed to my thin, but short, legs. But there was something decidedly sexy about leaning my naked body up against his to reach his handsome face.
I touched my fingers to his naked flesh in the spaces the razor cleared, not sure what was better, his naked flesh or the bristles of his heavy five o’clock shadow. The naked skin was what I knew, what I loved about the way his features seemed to radiate virility. But the five o’clock shadow added a little mystery, and the feel of those bristles against my skin offered a new sensation that made my blood boil.
Hmmmm…..
“Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked softly, as I made one last pass along his chin.
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
He kissed me in response, pushing me back against the far wall. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me as my body curved to welcome him. He leaned into me—maybe to keep from losing his balance—and buried himself against me. It felt so good, so familiar, to have him touch me, to feel his need in every inch of me. Was it really possible to want someone this much? I knew he was drunk; I knew that I should take him to bed and let him sleep it off, but logic disappeared the moment I saw his naked body reclining against the counter.
He held himself steady with one hand against the wall. The other hand began to explore my body, moving slowly over one breast before sliding down my side to my hip. He tugged me closer to him, his hand sliding over my ass as he pulled me as close to him as my swollen belly would allow. The angle was off. He lowered himself, moved his hips this way and that, but my belly just refused to get out of his way.
With a groan of frustration, he turned me around. I faced the wall with some hesitation, missing immediately the feel of his lips on mine. But then his hand reached around and his fingers found my clit. And that was absolutely mind blowing…every nerve in my body seemed to explode, sending sparks of pleasure from my belly to my toes and fingertips, tingles rushing over every inch of my scalp.
And then he slid his cock inside of me and my heart practically stopped for all the beats it missed. I pressed my hips back against him, anxiously awaiting the rhythm my body knew was coming. But he stood still for a long moment, his finger pressed hard against my clit, but also not moving. I could feel his breath, hard and quick, against my shoulder. And then he bit down, a slow groan escaping his lips. It was like he was struggling to get control over himself, as though he was so turned on that just sliding inside of me was enough to set him off. And that thought made my juices run like they’d never done before, my muscles clutch his cock as though they never intended to let him go.
When he finally did move, it was a whole new wave of pleasure that rushed through me. I cried out as my lower belly shivered with need. He didn’t have to move for long before an orgasm threatened to push me to the ground. I cried out so long my throat began to ache. And the thing was, that little orgasm was just the beginning. As he continued to pound inside of me, my nerves became raw, every movement setting off a new series of heart pounding, mind numbing waves that washed over my entire body. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t thi
nk, couldn’t move. All I could do was go along for the ride.
If he hadn’t reached his height when he did, I might have gone completely insane. But then he cried out, biting down on my shoulder again, the pain bringing me back enough that I managed to come back to myself just before my knees finally gave up and I began to slide down the slick wall. I caught myself, pressing my body so tight against the wall that I felt a funny little wiggle in the lower half of my belly. I didn’t think anything of it—it was kind of hard to think of anything but the weight of Nicolas’ body against me—at the time. I just listened to Nicolas’ low moans and the way his breath came in quick gasps.
He calmed after a few minutes and slowly pulled away, the absence of him inside of me leaving me a little lost. And then he was gone. He just walked away as though I wasn’t even there.
By the time I pulled myself together and got dressed, he was nowhere to be found.
Chapter 3
I went to the room Nicolas had declared mine upon our arrival from Texas. It was my intention to throw myself on the bed and cry for Nicolas and all the darkness that seemed to have entered my life since he came into it. I didn’t understand why he would just up and leave me like that. Why did he run away, just leave me standing there alone? Was he that disgusted by his attraction to me? Or was there something more to it than that? I mean, the guy’s wife had just died a few months ago. Maybe I was making a mistake thinking he might see me as more than just the surrogate carrying his children, as just the woman who happened to share his bed from time to time.
Then I walked into the bedroom and discovered that all the clothes Nicolas had insisted on buying me right before he was arrested had arrived and was freshly laundered and laid out on my bed. Just seeing it there reminded me of that afternoon, of staring at the gorgeous—clearly not pregnant—models who displayed them for us. I was so intimidated the whole time we were there, thinking that I would never look like they did in those amazing clothes. Nicolas ended up choosing most of what he bought. And, I had to admit, he had amazing taste.
I ran my fingers over silk and linen and all this amazing fabric that I never could have afforded in my previous life as a kindergarten teacher even if the private school I worked for paid better than most. There was even lingerie, the most amazing panties and bras and stockings…he’d bought these things like he expected me to live a glamorous life. The most I planned on doing in the next five months was get fat and watch daytime television. But some of these dresses? I could go to movie premieres and five-star restaurants in them if I wanted.
I picked up one dress in particular that I don’t remember seeing before. It was just a simple summer dress, the pattern not unlike the dress I was wearing the first time I met Nicolas. It was cut different, more of an A-line than one would expect in a maternity dress, and the neckline was a lot lower than anything I might have worn before. My mother was a strict Catholic. She never would have let me out of the house wearing anything as daring as this. However, when I put it on, it made me feel sexy in a way I’d thought my quickly disappearing waistline had forced into the past.
I stood in front of the mirror and admired myself, admired the way the dress seemed to highlight my femininity and the baby bump all at the same time and in a flattering way. I loved the way I looked in it. And I couldn’t wait for Nicolas to see me in it.
I wandered downstairs in a different frame of mind. I never thought of myself as the kind of girl who was cheered by new clothes, but maybe I was. Or maybe it was just the reminder that, while Nicolas seems cold and distant on the outside—such as flying hundreds of miles to drag me back here, seducing me, and then accusing me of being the aggressor—he is a very generous man who bought me thousands of dollars of clothing simply because he wanted to.
Nicolas was nowhere to be found, but it was a big house. I had yet to explore much of it. I went out into the garden to walk, thinking like a little fresh air would be nice after being cooped up in Constance’s house for so long. It was a little risky, going anywhere outside the house, but the back of property was pretty much cut off from the paparazzi thanks to a ten-foot security fence and the security guards. I could see Adam now, walking toward me from the back of the property.
“Ms. Martinez,” he said, his eyes moving over me as though he was looking for a gun or a camera.
“Everything okay?”
He nodded, even as he looked over his shoulder, tension clear in every inch of his bulky body. “Busy. The paparazzi are determined to get a shot of Nicolas today.”
“I can imagine.”
“Do you know where he is?”
I shook my head. “In the house somewhere, I assume.”
Adam paused, throwing a worried glance at the house. “It’s probably good you came back even though he didn’t want you to. It’s easier to have everyone under one roof.”
“How long have you worked for Nicolas?”
“Ten years.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve known each other since long before that. We grew up together.”
For some reason, that really surprised me. I looked at Adam through new eyes.
“What was he like, before all this?” I asked, gesturing vaguely around me to indicate the estate and the money it implied.
A change came over Adam. His harsh, unattractive features softened into something almost handsome. He looked at me, and I noticed for the first time that his eyes were blue, a very dark blue, but blue just the same—and that knowledge, somehow, took some of the rough edges from the bodyguard.
“Nicolas used to run the neighborhood,” he said with something like awe in his voice. “All the kids around there, we all knew who Nicolas was. He always had a plan going, something we could all do, something that often led to trouble, but always got us something we wanted. Once, he convinced us all to steal a single piece of gum from the local drug store. But we couldn’t keep it. No. We gave it to him and he wrapped it up and gave it to this kid, Louis, whose Pop had just left his mom. To cheer him up. Nicolas said, ‘We gotta stick together cuz you never know when that might be one of us.’ And he shoulda known cuz his mom was working on her fourth marriage at the time.”
I stared at Adam, trying to reconcile what he was saying with what I knew about Nicolas. Everyone knew about Nicolas Costa. Ever since his first blockbuster came out fifteen years ago, his name and face have been on the face of every tabloid and mainstream magazine or television show in the country. And each of those stories provided readers with a simple background story on Nicolas. But none of it said anything about a long string of stepfathers. I was pretty sure they never even mentioned a father of any kind.
“Really? I thought Nicolas’ mom died when he was a kid.”
Adam glanced at the house again. “That’s what he started telling people when he came to Hollywood. You know, to make him more sympathetic to the studios or whatever. Truth is, Nicolas’ mom died five years ago in jail.”
“Jail? For what?”
“Drugs.”
I spun around. Nicolas was watching us from behind a row of rose bushes, dressed in jeans and a loose fitting sweater. His hands were buried in the front pockets of his jeans, his head downcast, as though he was feeling less than confident. However, the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his head suggested he was more annoyed than anything else.
“Sorry, Nic,” Adam said. “She asked and I thought, well, since the two of you—”
“It’s alright.” Nicolas made a gesture with his shoulder. “You should probably get back to your perimeter check.”
Adam walked away without another word.
“I thought your mom died of cancer when you were seven or eight. Isn’t that what all the biographies of you say?”
Nicolas turned his head slightly, looking up from the ground to study my face. “My mom was a drug addict who went from man to man, depending on who had the most drugs or the most money to buy drugs. And she dragged me along because she could
use me to steal for her when there wasn’t someone else around to get the drugs for her, or to distract the cops when they came to bust her.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, picturing that little boy, caught in a mess that a child should never see—no child, no matter what age or circumstances. I touched my belly, pressing my hands to the place where the babies grew, sending up a silent prayer that they would never have to know a life like that.
Nicolas pulled his hands out of his pockets and turned. “Don’t be sorry for me. I survived.”
“You shouldn’t have had to survive.”
He chuckled, the sound filled with everything but humor. “Surviving was the only thing. Most of my friends…they’re either dead or in jail. Adam is one of a few who made it out with me.”
“What about your dad?”
He looked at me like he thought I was joking. He just shook his head, making it clear there was no dad. He had his drug addicted mother and his friends, nothing more.
I thought I had a rough childhood, but mine was nothing like his. I had a mother who cared, who worked twelve-hour days and still had the energy to come home, make me a good dinner, and help me go over my homework. If not for my mom, I never would have gone to college and would never have had a career. I would be nothing now. It put Nicolas into perspective, explained things about him that I never would have seen otherwise. It made his reasons for wanting these babies that much clearer.
“I never knew my father, either.”
“I know.” There must have been surprise in my eyes because he said, “I had you investigated before you signed the surrogacy contracts. I didn’t want any surprises.”
“How did that work out for you?”
A small smile sneaked across his lips. “Really well,” he said, meeting my eyes for the first time since the conversation began.
We just stared at each other for a few minutes. It was one of those awkward moments, like the ones I had all too often with boys I liked in high school. Nothing ever came of those. But I was hoping something would come of this.
HIS: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (Part Two) Page 2