His Brother's Baby (Bad Boy Ballers)

by Imani King

  Her bottom lip trembles until she bites it, hard, so that it stops. She looks away. “Fine, there’s no us, but I still need you.”

  “Anastasia--”

  “I do. I wouldn’t be asking like this if I didn’t. If you want to break it off, fine, but allow me to do it so I can preserve my image and my dignity.”

  I frown. “I’m not following.”

  She snaps her fingers. “I’ve got it, we’ll do it after Christian Corbett’s party.”

  I’ll be honest, Christian Corbett, the famous philanthropist, is not one of Anastasia’s normal group of friends. I’m a little curious myself as well. But still, this just isn’t going to work. “I can’t fly you all the way to LA,” I tell her.

  “Why not?”

  “That’s a long time to be away from Tamara and Mom.”

  Her eyes narrow. “So, you can take off for a day with the nanny but you can’t take off for a day with me? How long have you been sleeping with her? I bet it’s since she started working here, since you certainly haven’t been in my bed.”

  “We’re not sleeping together. Today wasn’t about me or her, but about Tamara.”

  “Oh right, the baby,” Anastasia comments snidely. “I know she’s been in your life for all of a month or so, but I’ve been with you a lot longer. Don’t you think you owe me something, especially since you’re casting me to the side? I mean, you took days off when she first arrived.”

  I sigh. Anastasia is good at getting her way. “Yeah, and that’s why I can’t take any more days off.”

  “Just one.”

  I shake my head. “It will be two, and I have a meeting I can’t miss on Monday.”

  Anastasia squeals with anger. “With the contractor for that Tumalo creek project? He’s a nobody contractor, just reschedule! What’s the point of being the boss if you can’t change a meeting around?”

  “He’s on his own schedule, Anastasia. It would be rude to not honor my commitment to him.” But that was something she would never understand.

  “Just like it’s rude to not honor your commitment to me?” she asks.

  I shut my eyes. “If I do this, I don’t owe you anything else, alright?”

  “I know, Jackson. Thank you so much.”

  “I’m serious,” I tell her. “Two days.”

  “And we break up after the party.”

  “Fine,” I mutter, but my irritation is short lived. She’s still blinking rapidly and her cheeks are flushed. Maybe we aren’t right for one another, but separating is always hard. We had some good times, didn’t we? We were happy, or at least content.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I just, I really--”

  “I get it, we’re too different,” she sniffles. “Thank you for not throwing me out in the cold.”

  “Like I’d do that. You’re staying the night, right? You can take the spare room on the east end of the house. It’s the one that gets all that morning sunlight.”

  She looks up at me expectantly. “I’m not staying in your room?”

  What? “Anastasia, we can’t do that. We’re no longer--”

  “Why should that stop us?” She slithers towards me. “One more night for old time’s sake.”

  Surprisingly, I’m not even a little bit tempted. “I’m not comfortable doing this with you,” I tell her honestly. “That’s not the kind of man I am.”

  Her eyes light with fury, but she gets rid of her dark expression quickly. “Fine. I’ll go freshen up for dinner.”

  Tension rolls off my shoulders as she leaves. Breaking it off now was the right thing to do. There’d be numerous wealthy men at Christian’s party who would die to pamper a woman like Anastasia. I didn’t like leaving my contractor hanging, but I could reschedule at a time convenient for him. Plus, I could take a little time away. I completely trusted Tamara with Shawna. In fact, it seemed Shawna couldn’t be more dedicated to Tamara than if she were her mother.

  Speaking of Shawna, I needed to check in on her. Instead of taking advantage of the chance for some quiet time, I hurry up the stairs. I knock quietly on the nursery door so I don’t wake the baby...or alert Anastasia. I want to make sure Shawna’s okay, not host another catfight.

  “Come in,” my mother calls.

  I enter to find my mother slipping Tamara into the crib. She tucks the blanket around the baby and fumbles with the bar. I hurry forward. “Let me, Mom.”

  She steps aside. “To what do we owe the visit from Anastasia?”

  I lock the bar in place. “She needs an escort for a party tomorrow night.”

  Mother sighs, but she doesn’t say anything. “You should check on Shawna.”

  I nod and move toward her connecting door, knocking again.

  “Yeah?”

  I push it open and peek in. “How’s your knee?”

  Shawna tugs on the bottom of her short robe. “I’ll live. I was just about to put some ointment on.”

  I come forward and kneel on the floor by the bed. “Did you wash it?”

  “I took a bath, which made it feel a lot better.”

  “Did you use iodine?”

  Shawna’s eyes widen. “Are you nuts?”

  I laugh. “Wait here. I think there’s some in the medicine cabinet in your bathroom.”

  I can hear her rustling on the bed while I search through the medicine cabinet. “I have Neosporin,” she says.

  I find the dark brown bottle and return to find Shawna sitting with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “This will do just fine.” She picks up the Neosporin and waves the tube at me.

  I grin at her and imitate her movements by wagging the bottle of iodine. “Iodine does the trick every time.”

  She grimaces. “I hope you don’t plan to inflict such tortures on Tami.”

  I laugh and kneel on the carpet. My breath shuts down when I realize how close I am to her. Her shin presses against my side, and my hand is a scant inch from her thigh where it rests on the bed. I clear my throat and focus my attention on the iodine.

  “Jackson, I don’t want that stuff.”

  Shawna puts her hand on my shoulder to get me to look up, and I feel her tremble. I lift my head, and our eyes lock. She moistens her lips as she leans forward, and my eyes trace the path of her tongue.

  “Uh, right.” I tear my gaze away to unscrew the cap and lift the brush from the antiseptic. “Still...” Before she could utter another protest, I quickly swipe across the scrape.

  A breath hisses through her teeth as the iodine works its way into the wound. She balls her hands into fists, accidentally catching hold of my shirt in the process. “Ow. I told you—” She cuts off as I lower my head.

  Shawna’s entire body stiffens as I blow gently on the cut. She moans softly, and it isn’t a sound of pain. Is she as affected as I am? My hands travel across her smooth skin. I grip her calf and upper thigh to balance myself as I lean forward so I can focus my breath better on the wound. Her hands tighten on my shirt. Yes, she feels it too.

  My cheek brushes her leg, and my lips hover within touching distance of her knee. I sigh, wanting to kiss the expanse of flesh unmarred by a mark, but am uncertain how she would react.

  Tamara’s wail, like a peal of thunder, splits us apart. Shawna jumps up from the bed and steps away from me, taking deep breaths as she pushes damp hair off her forehead. “Thanks.”

  I nod and stand, feeling awkward. “Sure. I’ll get the baby while you dress.” She looks like she needs a few minutes, and I certainly need time to compose myself to regain my physical control. I’ve had cheerleaders give me private shows sans panties. Strippers pop out of victory cakes. Socialites grab my tie and pull me into coat rooms at swanky parties. So why is tending to her wound more arousing than the hundreds of things I’ve done in the past?

  She follows me to the door. “Thanks,” she whispers before closing it behind me.

  I stand on the other side of the door for a long moment. It’s a nice door, but I suddenly think it would look be
tter if I ripped it off it’s hinges and threw it onto the floor.

  God, this is bad timing. It was less than an hour after I’d broken up with Anastasia and she was still under my roof. The two days I would be spending with my ex suddenly feel like an eternity.

  I rub my calloused hands together, but it does nothing to erase the soft memory of her skin.

  Tamara cries out again, and I make my way over to the nursery. I know mother's already in there with her, but she could use some help. And I could use a little time to cool down.

  I need to go slow. Shawna is more than just an employee--she is someone Tamara trusts. And I already know she would make a loving mother.

  I’m somewhat shocked by the direction of my thoughts, but it all feels so right. Everything is coming together as if it were fated. All I have to do is survive this weekend...and dinner.

  18

  Shawna

  I lean against the wooden barrier separating us and try to steady my breathing. I can still feel Jackson’s hands on my skin and his breath slipping into the most sensitive regions of my body. When he looked up at me with his heavy-lidded, dark blue eyes, it had felt like he was about to kiss me.

  My heart races at the memory. I take another deep breath, and another.

  Had I imagined his reaction? He hadn’t kissed me, but…

  I shake my head. That is the last thing I want. Things are already too complicated without giving in to my raging hormones. Getting involved with him would be crazy. First off, he was already dating someone else--what did that say about both of us if we gave into passion? Secondly, he was my employer--things could get real awkward, real fast. And thirdly, everything I’d told him up until now was basically a lie. It hurt to think about it, but I knew Jackson would not be treating me this kindly if he knew I was Tamara’s real mother.

  Plus, I couldn’t just think about my own desires. Ultimately, I would have to do what was in Tamara’s best interest. Complicating my relationship with Jackson and doing anything to color his love for my daughter would devastate me. Yes, I wanted to be a mother, but Jackson was ready to be a father. It hurt me to admit it, but he could give my daughter the life she deserved...with or without me.

  I stand with my ear pressed against the door until I hear him leave the nursery. Once I know he’s gone, I move away from the door and throw myself across the bed. Instead of self-recriminations, my mind insists on picking up where he had left off. I close my eyes and imagine Jackson’s hands and mouth moving over my body. Yes, I know it’s wrong, but if I can’t have the real thing what’s the problem with indulging in a few fantasies?

  Unfortunately, my fantasies are short-lived. Moments later, a knock at the door interrupts me. “Just a sec,” I call as I rise from the bed and tighten my robe. I walk to the door and peek out, half-expecting Jackson. Instead, Lillian stands there, holding a few items.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  “I brought you some things, dear. My niece left these on her last visit, and I thought they might suit you.”

  I open the door to admit Lillian and accept the armful of clothes. I carry them to the bed and put the garments down. “Um, thank you. I really appreciate this, but why didn’t you offer these sooner?”

  Lillian’s eyes slide away from mine. “I had forgotten all about them. They were folded away in a trunk in one of the spare rooms. I thought you might like to wear the red set for dinner.”

  I lift a long wool skirt and matching vermilion cap-sleeved sweater from the pile. “It’s lovely, but I couldn’t borrow this. What if something happened to it?” There was no way I could afford to replace these high-quality items.

  “Andrea’s last visit was three years ago, during her senior year at U of O. She isn’t coming back for them.” With that, she departs without even acknowledging my protests.

  When she’s gone, I caress a silky gold blouse. What am I going to do with all these clothes? There’s no way I can wear them.

  But it would be alright to admire them a little longer, right? The vermilion set beckons to me. I lift the sweater, fingering the delicate rosettes that form a diagonal line from below the bust to the waist. I haven’t worn anything this nice since I left Brad.

  I sigh and drop it on the bed. No, I can’t accept charity. Tamara needs a mother who can stand on her own two feet. I’ve worn my second hand wardrobe in front of Jackson and Lillian for the last week. Tonight is no different.

  Another knock interrupts my thoughts. My heartbeat skyrockets. Is it Jackson? It has to be. Lillian wouldn’t come back for the clothing right after dropping it off--she’d want me to admire it a while first.

  Slowly, I block my body from view by using the door as a shield as I open it. I peek through the gap, and my mouth drops open. Anastasia? What is she doing here? Before I can react, she shoves the door open and marches into the room.

  I scurry after her. “Uh, what can I do for you?”

  Anastasia appraises the room before sneering at me. “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t compete with me, girl.” Anastasia’s fists rest on her hips and she puffs out her chest, causing her breasts to strain against the linen jacket of her mint suit.

  What is she talking about? “I’m not trying to.”

  She snorts. “I don’t for one minute believe you’re a photographer, or that you just stumbled onto the ranch at the exact moment they needed a nanny.” She curls her lip. “This is a set-up, and there can only be one purpose.”

  My stomach drops. No. How did she find out? What can I do to convince Anastasia not to reveal me? “Anastasia, please. I—”

  “It’s obvious you want Jackson.” She lifts a hand from her hip to examine her ruined nails. “Not that I blame you. He is quite a catch, but this is my territory.”

  Oh thank god! She thought I was here to take her man. I’m so relieved I start to laugh.

  Anastasia’s eyes narrow into lethal slits. “This isn’t funny. I’m onto you.”

  I take a few deep breaths, settling myself down. “I promise, my only interest in this family is Tamara.”

  Anastasia waves her hand. “Don’t play your games with me. You’re good at the nurturer schtick, and make a convincing innocent, but I know your type.” Her voice lowers, and a gleam appears in her eyes. “I am your type, sweetie. No one is going to get in my way. Not that annoying baby and certainly not you.”

  The vehemence with which she speaks about my daughter kills all of my good humor. I can understand jealousy. Yes, Jackson was a catch, and it would probably be just about impossible to find another man like him. I didn’t approve of it, but I could understand a girl going a little crazy at the thought of losing him. However, I won’t let her or any other person do anything to jeopardize my baby girl’s future.

  “Are you finished?” I bite out through clenched teeth.

  A pleasant smile curves across her face. “I’ll see you at dinner, but that better be the last time if you want to avoid facing off with me.”

  I hold my bedroom door wide open for her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Once the blonde sweeps through the doorway, I slam the door behind her and wince at the noise. I await a cry from Tamara, but she remains asleep. When I am certain my daughter isn’t going to wake up, I return to the pile of clothes on the bed.

  I hang each item in my closet carefully, except for the vermilion suit. I can’t compete with Anastasia? Just watch me!

  As I dress for dinner, my cautious nature abandons me. Anger will do that to you. Anger will make you do a lot of things, in fact. I glance at the clock. There’s just enough time to straighten my hair, I think as I run olive oil through my curls. and apply makeup. If Anastasia wanted to bring it on, she better be prepared for a war!

  19

  Jackson

  Shawna’s late. This isn’t like her.

  I glance over at mother, but she’s oddly unconcerned. “Oh, she’s probably just getting ready. You know how young women are.”

&nb
sp; Yes, I knew how young women like Anastasia were, but Shawna was different. She never kept anyone waiting. Something must be wrong. But as I start up the stairs, mom stops me.

  “Jackson, let her be.”

  I point at the clock. “She was supposed to be down here fifteen minutes ago.”

  Mom shrugs. “Anastasia’s always late.”

  “I’m not talking about Anastasia,” I tell her.

  “Oh, not Anastasia?” Mom asks, intrigued. “Whoever are you waiting for so impatiently, then?”

  My eyes narrow. I know that look. She’s up to something. “What did you do?”

  “Why do you think I did anything?” Mother asks with such innocence that I know she did something.

  “Did you say something mean to her? I thought you liked her.”

  Mom sighs. “I know you like her. I like her too, Jackson. And I didn’t say anything, I just dropped off some of Suzanna’s old clothes. I thought Shawna deserved to dress up a bit tonight.”

  “Shawna doesn’t need to dress up,” I tell her. “She always looks presentable.”

  “Presentable, yes. But women want to look beautiful on occasion too, Jackson.”

  I frown. Shawna is always beautiful, but it’s not like that’s something I could say to my mother. I glance up the stairs, still worrying. What if her knee is bothering her again?

  “She’s fine,” mother reassures.

  My heart skips a beat when I hear footsteps coming down the hallway. I find myself straightening my back as a long, feminine shadow falls across the floor.

  Anastasia’s beaming face fills the top of the staircase. I grimace--not from her smile, but from the sequined monstrosity she’s wearing. I know we’ve just broken up, but I didn’t want to offend her. But in something like that, it was going to be difficult to even look at her during dinner.

  Oh well, I’d do my best.

  Anastasia saunters down the 80 year old staircase like it’s a catwalk in Paris. “Hey there handsome,” she purrs.

  I force a smile. “Hi.”