His Brother's Baby (Bad Boy Ballers)

by Imani King

  I bite my lip. “Are you sure it’s okay to leave them?”

  He puts his arm around my waist, and we walked to the sitting room. “Mom will cope just fine with the nights, and Lindsay’s coming to stay and help out during the days. We’ll be back before she starts school again.”

  “It’s just—”

  He places a finger to my lips. “Don’t worry so much, love. I’m taking the cell so Mom can reach us if she needs to. It’s only three days.”

  I nod and drop the subject as we join Lillian and Tamara. I hold out my arms for my baby and bring her in close. I breathe her scent in and savor her powdery sweetness, the softness of her cheeks. I smile to see her bow askew. After hugging her tight enough to elicit a whimper of protest, I pass Tamara Jackson. Then I bend over to Lillian and kiss her cheek. “Thank you for pulling all of this together.”

  Lillian gives me a serene smile. “It was a pleasure. Truly.” She squeezes my hand. “Just as it is a pleasure to have you officially in the family.”

  Tears fill my eyes at her easy acceptance, and I clear my throat to hold back a sob. Licking my lips, I’m suddenly nervous about asking my request. “While we’re gone, I’d like you to think about something, if you would?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Can I— Would you mind, that is, would you be offended if—” I swallow hard and take a deep breath. “Can I call you Mom?”

  Lillian’s dark eyes soften, and a single tear splashes onto the mauve dress. “I would be honored,” she says in a choked voice.

  Jackson interrupts, seemingly unaware of our poignant moment. “We’re going to escape while we can, Mom. You have our phone number if you need us. We’ll be back on Friday.”

  Lillian smiles. “Have a wonderful time and don’t worry about anything.”

  Jackson shoots a look at me and grins. “Easier said than done, but I might be able to think of a few ways to distract her.”

  “Jackson!” My cheeks bloomed with heat, and I bow my head. Secretly, I can’t wait to see some of his methods of distraction, but I’m not about to admit that in front of Lillian. Mom, I silently amend.

  We move through the crowd to the staircase. I stand on the third step and wave the bouquet. “Single ladies, your attention please,” I call out, and a few women gather at the base of the staircase. Single men noticeably vacate. I turn around and pitch it over my shoulder. I hear a scuffle, followed by a squeal of delight, and turn around. One of the regional sales reps of Reeves Worldwide—Joan, I think—grasps the silver and white rose bouquet.

  “We’ll be going now,” Jackson says in a voice loud enough to carry to all of the guests. “Thank you all for coming. Feel free to stay as long as the refreshments hold out.”

  Amid cheers and bubbles, we leave the house through the mudroom. Jackson holds the keys to the truck. “We’ll leave the Prius for Mom.”

  I nod and climb into the Toyota, careful not to snag my white dress. “What about luggage?”

  “Packed and waiting on the plane.”

  I bite my lip, tasting the oily remnants of the salmon shade. “I don’t have a passport.”

  He pats my knee before backing out of the garage. “You won’t need one. I didn’t think you would want to go too far from Tami and Mom, so I chose some place just a few hours away.”

  I rest my head against the seat and feel the tension in my neck dissolve. “I can’t believe it. We’re married.” My eyes dart to the plain white-gold band that fits neatly against my engagement ring, before moving my gaze to his band. I take his hand as he fastens his seatbelt and rub the ring on his finger.

  Jackson smiles at me. “I sure didn’t expect this when you walked through the door that first day. I should have known though.”

  My forehead furrows. “How?”

  His grin drips charm. “You knocked my socks off.”

  I giggle. “You left me breathless.”

  He waggles his brows. “Just wait. You haven’t seen anything yet,” he says in a slow, sexy drawl as he backs out of the garage.

  I giggle again, turning my head to look out over the ranch. The last bit of twilight is fading from the sky. Everything looks peaceful and serene as though seen through a soft purple lens. I relax further as the distance between us and the ranch grows. Brad and his interference seem far away now.

  When we draw up to the small airstrip outside of Hood River, two men in coveralls greet us. They stand beside a small eight-seat plane. One of the men hands Jackson a clipboard. “It’s all set for you, Mr. Reeves. Skip filed your flight plan, just like you asked him to.”

  “Thanks, Bill.” Jackson takes hold of my hand and pulls me along the tarmac. “Have you flown before?”

  I regard the plane with wide eyes, turn to him, and shake my head. “We aren’t going to fly in that are we?”

  Jackson nods. “It’s perfectly safe.”

  I swallow apprehensively. “It looks like a toy.”

  He laughs, displaying a flash of white teeth. “I’m certified. You trust me, don’t you?”

  I hesitate. “Can I say no and avoid having you take it personally?”

  Jackson’s smile doesn’t fade as he prods me up the steps. “We don’t have to go,” he says as we step into the small, but elegant, cabin. “If you would rather spend our honeymoon on the ranch instead of San Francisco, we can go back.”

  I notice six beige leather seats in the main cabin, and then look into the cockpit and see two more. “San Francisco?”

  “I have reservations for La Boheme, but if you don’t want to—”

  “La Boheme?”

  “It’s an opera.”

  I see Jackson gesturing to the crew on the ground to close the door as he speaks, but I don’t stop them. I relent. “Where do I sit?”

  “Up front with me, if you’d like.”

  I slide through the narrow opening leading to the cockpit and sit in the co-pilot’s chair. Jackson slides into the pilot’s seat and pus on a headset before fastening his belt. I follow suit, examining the various buttons, knobs, and switches. It looks more complicated than the cockpits of large planes I have seen in movies. “You’re sure you know how to fly this?”

  Jackson leans forward to steal a kiss. “We wouldn’t take off if I wasn’t certain. You’re too precious to me to risk.”

  I melt into the seat and let out another sigh. I manage to avoid voicing any further uncertainties as Jackson completes the pre-flight checks and finally coasts down the runway. I bite my lips and close my eyes as we lift off smoothly and suddenly we are in the air.

  Miles away from the ranch I am surprised to I have managed to relax despite my occasional thought of crashing. Jackson has been right about his brother. Brad has accepted our marriage with aplomb. Now we are officially married and had sent his congratulation. There was nothing to worry about. We could simply enjoy our honeymoon.

  It is late when we checked into our suite at The Palace in San Francisco. I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to appreciate the heart-shaped bed with a crimson spread, white carpets, and white furniture of the honeymoon suite. I am so tired I almost don’t have the energy to undress down to the slip and fall into bed. I consider apologizing for my lack of energy, but when I turn my head on the pillow to look at Jackson, I see his lashes resting against his cheeks. I have enough energy to take his hand before I fall into a deep sleep.

  It is late in the morning when I awaken. Jackson lies beside me, reading a paper and sipping coffee. I sit up and stretch. “Good morning.”

  He turns to look at me. “Good morning, wife.”

  I lift a brow. “Wife, is it?”

  He nods, looking pleased. “Did you sleep well, wife?”

  I laugh. “I have a name.”

  “I know, but I like wife better.”

  I roll my eyes and slide from the bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To shower.” I notice his rumpled appearance. “It wouldn’t hurt you to join me.”

&
nbsp; He looks me over from the top of my head to my pretty painted toes. “I know it won’t hurt.” Jackson sets his coffee on the nightstand and tosses the paper aside before getting out of bed. He’s wearing nothing, and his state of arousal is obvious. He walks forward and embraces me from behind. “Do you have any idea how painful it was to lie in bed beside you, waiting for you to wake up? The blanket was tucked just perfectly under your beautiful breasts, and that plunging thing you’re wearing leaves nothing to my imagination.”

  I snuggle closer to him. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “I’m a considerate husband,” he purrs into my ear. “In fact, I’m so considerate, I’ll wash your back.”

  “Just my back?”

  Jackson pretends to consider it, saying, “And your front, if you’re lucky.”

  I spin in his arms and duck just as he tries to kiss me. “Morning breath,” I tease. Then I back into the bathroom, pausing at the doorway. “Luck has nothing to do with it.” I squeal as he comes charging toward me. I turn and run into the bathroom, until I touch the sink. “Safe,” she claim when he scoops me into his arms.

  “Says who?”

  I fumble for the wrapped toothbrush. “My bad breath.”

  Jackson wrinkles his nose and drops me back on my feet. “Yeah, okay.”

  I mock scowl at him, barely biting back a grin as I thrust the second complimentary toothbrush at him. “You aren’t breathing roses either, lover.”

  We stand side by side at the double sink, brushing our teeth. Part of me can’t believe us being so casual with each other while we perform such a mundane task. Yet, the tingling in my thighs and fluttering in my stomach lend the activity an intimacy that makes even simple tooth brushing new and exciting.

  As I spit out a mouthful of toothpaste, I suddenly remember a conversation I’d had with a girlfriend in high school. My friend had been all talk, but she swore by mint toothpaste when going down on her boyfriend. She claimed it made his skin tingle and gave him a rush.

  With a wicked grin, I squeeze a heap toothpaste on my brush. Jackson doesn’t seem to notice as he sips water and swishes it around in his mouth. He doesn’t pay attention until I kneel on the floor beside him. “Did you drop something?”

  My mouth is full of toothpaste, so I just shake my head and settle my hands on his naked hips.

  He frowns as I slide forward. “What’re you doing?”

  I almost swallow but remember the mouthful of toothpaste. The insides of my cheeks and tongue are really tingling. I hope my friend hadn’t been wrong. I move one hand to hold his erection steady. Then, proceeding cautiously, I carefully slide my mouth over its tip. I feel his body stiffen.

  “Shawna, what—” Jackson suddenly breaks off, and air hisses through his teeth. He grabs a handful of my hair. “Oh, God.” He arches his hips.

  Even with toothpaste dripping down my chin I take in as much of him as I can. I hear his gasping and feel his body tremble as I work the mint-flavored gel along his shaft. When I dart my tongue across his most sensitive spot, his entire body visibly jerks. I move my head backward and forward, making sure the toothpaste covers every inch of him, before narrowing in on the tip of his erection. Each quiver of his body makes me want to smile, because it is proof of the pleasure I’m giving him. I feel heady and powerful below him, on my knees—a traditionally subservient posture that has made me the one in charge. I can do anything to him at this moment, but I only want to do one thing, and that is to love him.

  His entire body convulses with his climax, and the minty taste in my mouth grows salty. I pull away from him and bend over the sink to spit out the toothpaste mingled with his satisfaction. Then I rinse out my mouth with his glass of water before turning back to him.

  The toothpaste is still smeared across his shaft, but he doesn’t seem to care. His arms are propped on the counter and visibly trembling. His breathing is deep and ragged, and it takes him awhile to ask, “Where did you learn about that?”

  “A friend in high school.” I smile at him. “She swore men loved it.” Her eyes drop coyly. “Do they?”

  He nods. “It was incredible.”

  I strip off the slip, noticing a bit of toothpaste has dripped onto the lacy cup. “Want to wash my back now?”

  Jackson still seems beyond speech as he nods and follows me to the large shower.

  I adjust the water to very warm and step inside the frosted glass stall. I crook my finger at Jackson, and he willingly follows me inside. I turn away from him and lift my hair so he can wash my back.

  After sudsing his hands with a soap, he starts in slow circles at my neck, slowly moving outward and downward with each stroke. I squirm as his hands drop to my buttocks and knead them. I push myself against him, grunting when he pushes me away. I try not to move as he lathers the back of my left thigh and moves down my leg. When he reaches my foot, he moves to my other foot and works his way up, pausing to concentrate on the tight muscles in my calf. Then he is stroking my thigh again, and moving upward. His hand hovers between my legs.

  I could have sobbed when he withdraws his hands.

  Jackson reaches past me, pressing his front against my back, and takes the soap again. “I’m getting dry,” he whispers in her ear.

  “I’m not,” I say through a moan.

  Jackson chuckles and lathers his hands. “Now, where was I?”

  I groan as he cupped my buttocks. One of his hands slides between my thighs, briefly brushing against a sensitive area. I whimper when he pulls his hand away and turns me around.

  “Now for the front.” Jackson winks and kneels on the shower floor to wash my feet and legs. Once more, he skips over the part I most want him to touch and moves to my stomach. His slippery hands slide across my flesh to rest under my breasts.

  I thrust my chest forward, silently pleading with my eyes. I scowl when he chuckles again. His hands settle briefly on my breasts, but do no more than move in quick circles and pause for a second to lightly tug on my nipples before sliding up my chest to my neck.

  When I think I can’t take anymore, Jackson reaches for the soap again. The glint of teasing is gone from his eyes as his hands travel down my body. One stops to explore my breast, but the other slides lower, seeking out the juncture at my thighs. I bite back a sob as he slides a finger inside me.

  By the time he finishes thoroughly washing me, I can barely hold back my scream. He denies my release when he pulls his hands away and puts them under the water’s stream. “Jackson!”

  He feigns innocence. “I’m sorry. Did I miss a spot?”

  “Dammit, Jackson.”

  He laughs as he lifts me against the wall of the shower and takes possession of me. “Wrap your legs around me. Don’t let go.”

  “Never,” I force out as I hold onto his shoulders and wrap my legs around his waist.

  “I love you, Shawna.”

  I press myself closer to him, eager to feel every inch of him. “I love you too,” I manage to grunt. Then I am lost in the pleasure of the moment and lost in my husband.

  44

  Shawna

  I stare out the window of our suite late Thursday morning and turn my head as Jackson steps up behind me. I snuggle against him when he puts his arms around me. “All it’s done is rain since we got here.”

  “I know you must be disappointed.” He rubs his cheek against my hair. “We can still go shopping.”

  I look at the pile of bags in the corner. “Not interested. I wanted to go to the park, the wharf, out to Alcatraz—”

  “I’m sorry, hon. I guess San Francisco in winter is a bad honeymoon spot.”

  I turn around and press myself against him. “Would you mind if we went home?”

  Jackson lifts a brow. “Are you sure?”

  I nod. “I miss Tamara, and I’m worried about Li—Mom.” I twirl a lock of his dark hair around my finger. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but I’m not having much fun.”

  He nods. “Neither am I.” Jackson’s eyes g
leam suggestively. “I can keep you in bed as easily on the ranch as I can here.”

  I hug him. “Thank you for understanding. I want to be with you—”

  “—at home,” he finishes for her. “I’ll call the airport. Hopefully we can take off in this rain.”

  As Jackson speaks on the phone, I take our cases from the closet and begin packing clothes. I eye the slinky red dress wistfully, but even the opera isn’t interesting enough to keep me from home. I haven’t said anything to Jackson, but all day a headache has been building behind my eyes, and I can’t stop worrying about my daughter and Lillian. I would feel better when we were home and knew everyone was all right.

  Jackson comes to the bed. “We can take off if we leave in the next hour. After that, the fog will roll in and most flights will be canceled.”

  “Okay. Help me finish packing.” I leave Jackson to rounding up our clothes and turn my attention to organizing our shopping bags. We didn’t have a limit on baggage since Jackson owned the plane, but everything would still have to be searched. I condense items down from ten bags to three. By then, Jackson is ready. He calls the front desk to check us out, and we leave the suite.

  We take the elevator down to the lobby, stopping at the front desk to sign out and turn in the electronic key card before leaving the hotel. A taxi drives up as soon as we step into the deluge. I huddle in the raincoat I’d picked up yesterday and run with Jackson to the taxi. It’s raining so hard that the driver didn’t even get out. He pops open the trunk and leaves us to load our own luggage.

  “Get in the car,” Jackson says. “I’ll finish here.”

  “Your coat isn’t waterproof!”

  He takes the bags from me. “By the time we argue about it, I’ll be finished.”

  I walk to the back door of the cab and open it, sliding inside. “SFO, please.”

  A moment later, Jackson slides in beside me, bringing a splash of rain with him. Once the cab takes off, he removes his cell from his pocket and dials the ranch. After a short pause, he says, “Mom, we’re coming home early.”

  “No, there’s a storm here.”