CALLIE (The Naughty Ones Book 1)

by Kristina Weaver

  “Really?”

  I pause in my pacing and look back at her, instantly losing my anger when I see her biting her lip and looking so hopeful it breaks my heart. And okay, so I get a little harder at the thought of her wanting to believe that I’m telling her the truth.

  So sue me. My dick hasn’t had any action other than my hand in way too long and he’s a little one-track minded.

  “Really, babe. She tried and failed epically. Seems this”—I stalk forward and grab her hand, pressing it to the boner trying to chew its way out of my zipper—“is yours and only yours.”

  Her hand moves and I groan, feeling hope bloom when she bites her lip before pulling away and rising to her feet.

  “You’ve got a lot to make up for, Law.”

  My heart speeds up when she pushes closer and lays a hand on my cheek, her eyes going all soft and liquid when I drop to my knees and grab her to me, my body trembling so hard I’m struggling not to cry like a little bitch.

  “You’ll give me another chance?”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Nico

  It’s strange, but the minute he grabbed my hand and made me touch him I knew that—no matter what—I love this man and I will never stop. So okay, maybe that’s not as romantic as him groveling and swearing his undying love, but I’m not your regular woman, and I told you before, I love me a good gritty romance that isn’t all hearts and flowers.

  And that’s what I’m getting with Law.

  We will never be that couple who fawns all over each other and constantly declares their undying love, and I like that about us.

  Want to know a secret? I already knew all this shit before he even walked through the door—thanks to Jack and Minnie and their big mouths. I’ve just been sitting here, waiting for the big oaf to finally come to his senses and give me my happy ending.

  Which I now have.

  Looking down at him, where his face is pressed into my swollen belly, I resist the urge to laugh—and I stroke his hair instead, loving the feel of him worshipping our unborn child and me.

  But…no happy ending would be complete without those three little words—and since he hasn’t said them yet, I guess this story ain’t finished.

  “Law?”

  “Yeah?” he asks distractedly, sprinkling kisses over my stomach while his hand starts travelling up my thigh.

  Naughty man.

  “Don’t you have something else you think you should say to me?”

  He stills and looks up in confusion, and I narrow my eyes at him, ready to slap him silly if he so much as moves before I hear what I need to hear.

  “Something else?” he asks, looking for all the world as if he doesn’t get my drift.

  I slap him upside the head and try to shove away when he grins mischievously and leaps up, taking my face in his hands and kissing me so sweetly I feel tears mist my eyes.

  “I love you, Nicolette Sharp. I always have, and chances are that I always will,” he murmurs, kissing me again. “Did you not get that when I said my dick won’t work for anyone but you?”

  I should kick him in the balls for that one because now there’s no way I can tell this story to my children. For at least twenty years.

  But I’ll take it.

  “Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

  “Er, no?” I tease.

  “Nic.”

  “Okay fine! I love you too, asshole. Now shut up and kiss me.”

  We’re laughing through the meeting of lips, and I almost bust a gut when the door bursts open and our three eavesdroppers come busting through the door all smiles and happy wishes.

  “Mom, what’s a cock?” Cody asks later when we’re all sitting together making plans to get married as fast as humanly possible.

  I close my eyes, count to ten, and turn to Law with a scowl that is met by his sheepish grin and a shrug.

  “Daddy’s going to tell you all about that, baby. He’s the expert,” I finally say, giggling when Law sits up straight and gives me a look that is all fearful doe caught in the headlights.

  Before he smirks and lets his gaze travel over my body.

  “Yes, I am.”

  Epilogue

  I love them more every day, something I never thought possible since I thought I already loved my family more than is possible for any one human being.

  Looking over at Nic where she’s trying to convince our daughter Ash not to eat salt while the twins toddle around giving Dad a run for his money, I feel my heart expand so big I can hardly contain the emotion.

  We have four children now with another one on the way, and instead of feeling harried by all the responsibility, I am looking forward to the day I can plant another baby in my wife.

  Yeah, I know how that sounds since that poor girl has already given me four children and is big with the next one, but you have to understand, nothing gives me a rush like knowing I’ve made another baby with her.

  The more years we spend together, the more I need her, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. If ever.

  Nic is…everything to me, and I live for every moment we have together on this earth. Weird for a guy who wanted nothing more from life than the next party and round of meaningless sex, but I can honestly say that I am no longer that guy.

  “Law, could you please talk to your demon spawn?!” Nic yells, practically tossing Ash at me, as the little darling starts screaming and kicking for all she’s worth, her tantrums so frequent that I’m not even fazed anymore.

  So I spoil her rotten, so what. She’s daddy’s little angel, and I’ll gut anyone who says differently. With her long dark hair and eyes like her mama, I can’t help but adore the kid, and unfortunately for all involved, the little imp knows it.

  “Want it!”

  “Yeah kid, but wanting what’s bad for you isn’t all that smart. Here, eat the sugar, at least it won’t burn your tongue off,” I croon, ignoring Nic’s glare when Ash dives into the sugar bowl and starts happily munching on the sweet grains.

  “You’re an idiot.”

  I smile and plant a hot, wet kiss on her, copping a feel as I go because, yeah, she turns me on even now, being eight months pregnant and so big I see her coming before she turns the corner.

  Sexy as fuck.

  “I’m a fool for you,” I murmur, kissing her lips again as our child rolls around between us.

  Nic just smiles as she always does and gives me the words I now crave the way I crave the next adventure.

  “I love you, Lawson James.”

  And there it is. That’s our story. We’ll probably have to PG the shit out of the sucker when we tell the kids how Mommy and Daddy fell in love all over again, but I don’t mind.

  The X-rated stuff can stay in the bedroom where it belongs.

  And speaking of bedrooms…

  Nic squeals and starts waddling out of the kitchen as Mom and Rose round up the kids and laugh delightedly. I stalk Nic the whole way up the stairs and into our room.

  “Perv.”

  “Hussy.”

  I’m smiling later, as she cuddles close and throws her belly over my side, her body draped over mine as she snuggles down and falls asleep.

  She’s mine, finally, and all it took was for me to break every rule I ever made for myself.

  No regrets.

  ~~~

  UNDER CONSTRUCTION

  Chapter 1

  “I don’t see how we have any other choice.”

  I stand at the windows, staring down at the city. I’d always liked this view. When I was a kid, I imagined I could see the entire world from this vantage point. I knew now that it was only downtown Houston I could see, but it had seemed like the world then. It felt like the world now. This was my world. This was what I understood. This was the family business, and it was supposed to be my dad’s legacy to me. It was supposed to be mine.

  But it wasn’t going to be.

  “We’ve worked too hard, Daddy.”

  “I know,” he said, coming
up behind me. “But I don’t see where we have any other choice. Either we sell, or we merge with another company. Or we go down in flames.”

  “I don’t want that.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I don’t want any of it. Are you sure there’s no other way? What about a loan? We have that new property going up over in Katy. Maybe we could—”

  “It’s already been used as collateral. We have nothing left, Addie.”

  I nodded slowly, tears coming to my eyes. I blinked quickly, forcing them away.

  No tears.

  “I know it’s not what you wanted. But this might be a good thing. New blood. Maybe a new owner would have better ideas on how to take this company into the future.”

  “I had ideas.”

  “And I should have listened to them sooner. I’m sorry for that.”

  My dad rubbed my shoulder, trying to make the pain go away. That was his way of dealing with me and my heartbreak. Rub my shoulder. Say things that didn’t really make things better, but made him feel as though he were doing something. He’d never been good at this parenting thing. Maybe if my mother hadn’t died when I was five…

  But she had. There was no point in playing that what-if game.

  I straightened my shoulders and turned away from the window.

  “How long do we have?”

  “I don’t know. A couple of weeks, maybe.”

  “And you’re already looking?”

  “The lawyers sent over a couple of names this morning. I’ll be meeting with their representatives over the next few days.”

  “I don’t want to…” I cleared my throat, lifting my hair off of my neck to cool the heat that had suddenly risen up from my chest. “I don’t want to be part of it.”

  “I respect that.”

  “But I also want it made clear to whoever you choose that we don’t fire any of our employees. Most of these people have worked for the company since you opened the doors forty years ago. I won’t watch those people get thrown out onto the street while we go home and count our millions.”

  “I will tell them. But I can’t guarantee that whoever buys the company will abide by that.”

  “I know. But we’re going to walk away from this whole fiasco only taking a little hit. For our employees…this is their livelihood.”

  My dad nodded. He looked tired. Older than he’d looked just that morning over his breakfast of toast. A part of me—the little girl that still lived deep inside of me—wanted to go to him and offer him a big hug. But another part of me—the precocious college-aged girl who’d come into this company six years ago, full of ideas—wanted to strangle him for not listening to any of those ideas.

  Berryman Construction was my life. I’d grown up on construction sites, doing homework in the cab of my dad’s truck as he drove around, checking on the projects he oversaw. The moment I graduated college, I elbowed my way into the office, taking the lead on similar projects, walking the sites in my cowboy boots and worn jeans. I won the respect of the workers, fell in love. Got my heart broken. Did things I’m not proud of, but never did anything that didn’t benefit the company. This was my life’s blood. My history. It killed me to see it die a slow, painful death.

  I needed to get out of there.

  “I’ll be back in a while,” I said, grabbing my cell phone off the top of the desk and making a beeline for the door. My dad didn’t say anything. He knew me well enough to know when I needed space. God knew he’d had enough experience coming up against my stubbornness.

  I walked for a while, wishing I was wearing those old cowboy boots instead of the heels and skirt I was wearing. We’d had meetings all morning. Bankers. They weren’t a very amusing bunch.

  Ten million. That’s how deep in the hole we were.

  Five projects, and each was deeper in hock than the one before it. We could sell every building we owned and still owe half that amount.

  How did this happen?

  Sometimes I wondered how things might’ve been different if Grant hadn’t walked out on me. If we had gotten married and run away as we had planned. Would we have made a life in California like he’d wanted to do? Or would we have ended up coming back here? Would we have run Berryman Construction together? Would we have made a success of it? Or would we have run into the ground faster than my dad had? Would we have had children by now? Or would we still be struggling?

  I hated that my thoughts always went back to him, to that time. I was about to start college. He was a drywall guy on one of my dad’s project sites. I was working for Berryman for the summer, following my dad around from site to site, keeping track of the little details that seemed to escape him so easily with each passing year. When I saw Grant cutting drywall in the mud one afternoon, I thought I’d seen it all. He was like something from out of a cheesy, chick movie. So beautiful it was almost hard to look at him. His arms had muscles on the muscles, his chest straining against the thin undershirt that was the only thing between the sun and his tan skin. Dark hair that was a little on the long side, curls just thick enough to give him a rock-star look. But it was when he looked up at me and those startling blue eyes focused on my face that I was bitten.

  No man had the right to have eyes that perfect. That clear. That incredibly sexy.

  I hadn’t truly understood what that word sexy meant until the first time I set eyes on Grant McGraw.

  I watched him for almost a week before I spoke the first word to him.

  “Hey,” I said. Like I was twelve.

  “Want to go see a movie with me?” he’d responded, like we’d been having this long, drawn-out conversation.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Okay. That was all I said. And the next thing I knew, three months had passed and we were planning our escape. We were going to elope. Sneak off to the justice of the peace and then tell my dad what we’d done. We thought—naively, I suppose—that if we got married first and told my dad later, he would have to allow it to happen. My dad was old fashioned. He believed that I should marry a man of my own station. What he meant was that I should marry the son of one of his stuffy friends. The son of a lawyer or a doctor or a business man. I was pretty sure he’d already begun arranging a meeting between me and the son of his cousin’s stockbroker—an architect at a big firm downtown.

  Grant was a construction worker. He was poor. Uneducated. Not the kind of guy my dad would chose for me. But he was the man I wanted.

  Apparently, however, I was not what Grant wanted.

  He wasn’t at the diner where we had planned our rendezvous. And he wasn’t at his apartment when I went back and pounded on the door. Moved out, his landlord told me. No forwarding address.

  Heartbroken.

  I’d sworn I’d never allow anyone close enough to do that again. I hadn’t counted on my dad allowing the business to go bankrupt.

  Heartbroken again.

  I guess I hadn’t learned my lesson well enough the first time.

  Chapter 2

  I slipped into a bar down the street from our corporate offices. I rarely came in here, but I knew that some of the other executives at the office often came here after work each evening. I knew because I’d heard rumors of the sort of things they said about me and my dad when they were gathered together. It wasn’t always flattering.

  Running a business isn’t always easy. It had crossed my mind more than once that it would be so much easier if I just took a lower-level job with someone else’s company. I’d be a pretty good personal assistant. Less responsibility. Less stress. But then I wouldn’t feel that rush of pride when I stood on a project site and knew that the building that hadn’t been there a month, or even a week before was there now because of me and what I’d done to bring it all together.

  I imagined it was something like being a parent. You watched your child grow from nothing more than a few cells to a fully realized person. It was the same with an apartment building or a new corporate office. There was nothing but a pile of dirt there befor
e you started. But with your planning, your hard work, it became something that would stand for decades. It was a work of beauty.

  How could I give that up?

  “What can I get for you?” a waitress who looked old enough to be my grandmother asked.

  “White wine.”

  She walked away and I found myself looking around the room, wondering about the other souls who were in a bar in the middle of a Monday afternoon. How many of them were without jobs? How many were hiding from bill collectors or overbearing wives or demanding bosses? How many were here simply because it was better than being anywhere else?

  How many of them would be Berryman Construction employees after we sold the company?

  My dad and I would walk away a couple million richer. Our prides would be hurt. Our position in the business community would take a ding. But we would survive. Our employees…not so much.

  I remembered that summer, when I worked for my dad, moving from project site to project site, how the guys would go out for beers after work. It was something they enjoyed doing, a way to blow off steam. Would they lose themselves in that little pastime when they no longer had jobs and they were struggling to get another?

  I liked the guys who worked for us. That summer, they invited me multiple times, but the disapproving look on my dad’s face—never mind that I was also underage—always made me turn them down. But I wondered what it would be like to feel a part of that comradery, to be like them.

  Grant told me I wasn’t missing anything.

  “They mostly bitch about the foreman and then go home to their wives and children.”

  But I wanted to be a part of it because it was something. It was a companionship. I always felt separated because I was the boss’s daughter. Like I was untouchable. Not until Grant did I ever feel like I was a part of anything other than the life my dad had made for us where he worked all day long and didn’t know what to do with me when he finally came home.

  Why was I thinking so much about Grant today? It had been seven years since the last time I saw him. Seven years since we made plans to sneak away and get married. Seven years since he stood me up at our rendezvous spot and forced me to go home like a dog with its tail between its legs.