Knocked Up

by Stacey Lynn

  Hell, it’s probably a combination of all of it, and right now, I’m determined to put Stella and this unknown woman in their place.

  “Hi,” I say when I reach Braxton.

  “Hey…what are you—”

  I don’t give him time to finish the question. I wrap my hands around his biceps, lift to my toes, and press my mouth to his.

  Chapter 16

  Braxton

  I have no idea what’s going on right now, but I’m totally rolling with it.

  Cara’s lips pressed against mine, forcefully, pleadingly, I set my hands on her waist and yank her to me, one hand moving to the side of her neck so I can tilt her head. I kiss her back, without any of the restraint I’ve been desperately trying to hold back for the last two weeks, while I’ve waited…and waited…for a sign that shows me she wants to be with me.

  This is one helluva sign.

  My tongue slides against her lips and she opens. I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, nibbling and tasting her, the fruity taste of her lip gloss I’ve remembered for months and the sweet scent of her perfume. Our mouths fuse together, and she slips her tongue against mine, and all sense of where we are, that we’re in my place of business, that Stella’s eagle eyes are probably watching every minute of this interaction. And most likely she’s displeased because she’s been displeased about everything for weeks—it all now completely slips my mind.

  My senses are ignited, from the brush of her hair against my arm, the tiny whimper in her throat, the hitch in her breath. I’ve wanted her for months, teased her and thrown all my cards on the table, but this is the first, true indication she’s wanted me.

  Hell if I’m missing the opportunity to show her exactly what I want from her.

  A bell chimes, breaking the spell, and Cara pulls back. I don’t let her go far, keeping her close to me. Her eyelids lazily flutter open while I catch my breath.

  “Wow,” she breathes.

  I grin. “Good morning indeed.”

  She laughs then, and it’s breathless because she’s still searching for hers and her voice is throaty. She’s beautiful, with cheeks flushed and lips glistening.

  “If one of you ain’t gonna go throw up, mind if I do?” Stella asks.

  “Yes,” I all but growl. God, she’s been a pain in my ass for three weeks. Like she’s on a perpetual rag and I know she’s not pissed off at her husband, because he’s never a jackass. He’s the only man who can handle her sass with ease but my patience is all but drained. “Don’t be a bitch.”

  “Don’t make out with your baby mama in the entryway. You just pissed off Bianca and she was planning on a lot of repeat business until you shoved your tongue down Cara’s throat.”

  “Fuck off,” I state, rolling my eyes. Bianca will come back because I’m the best tattoo artist in the Northwest. She wants me, she made that clear, even going so far as to fake an orgasm from the pleasure of the needle sting while I worked on her piece earlier. Sometimes it happens. It’s chemical and physical, but faking one?

  I’m not a moron. She even threw my name in on a moan that, for the first time ever, almost made me call in Javier to finish up. But whatever.

  She might come back because she wants my dick, but she’s not getting anywhere near it.

  “What are you doing there?” I ignore Stella’s scowl and focus on Cara. “Not that I’m complaining, and that was one hell of an enjoyable hello, but is everything okay?”

  “Um.” Her brows scrunch together in that cute way she does when she’s thinking. She looks hesitantly to Stella and back to me. “No, not really. Can we talk?”

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  I usher her to my office and while she takes a seat, I shut the door and go through the motions of cleaning the chair from Bianca, wiping it down and tossing all the tools and ink pods into the trash.

  “What’s up?” I ask, looking up from my task when she hasn’t said anything.

  Her eyes are glued to my tattoo chair. “Do you do that a lot?”

  “Tattoos?” I ask, amused. “Yeah, quite a bit. It is my job.”

  “Obviously. I mean that…like that woman’s…”

  “You mean do I ink a lot of tits?”

  She stammers and a pink spreads to the apple of her cheeks. “Well, yeah. Sort of.”

  Ah…so was that the reason for kissing me? Marking her territory when it was obvious I had my hands on another woman’s body? Stings a bit, that it was for show and not real, but I’m not totally buying it.

  She was way too into that kiss to be faking it like Bianca’s orgasm.

  “It’s my job, Cara. And trust me, there’s nothing sexual about it for me at all when I’m putting a piece on someone, regardless of where it is. It takes too much focus to think about anything else.”

  She nods and doesn’t say anything. I settle my ass on the edge of my desk, blocking her view from the chair, studying her until she lifts her gaze to me.

  She blushes again and sucks her bottom lip in between her teeth.

  Yeah…she liked the kiss. Good. I plan on doing it again before she leaves the room. This time we’ll have privacy.

  “So. What do you need?”

  “Don’t be mad at me, okay?”

  “What’s wrong?” I lean forward, hands braced on my knees. I can feel the scowl forming and the heat in my chest. No good news ever starts with “Don’t be mad.”

  “I said you can’t be mad,” she squeaks, and pushes off her chair standing in front of me. “I didn’t mean to hide it from you, but I didn’t want you worrying, and you’ve done so much for me.”

  I throw my hand out and cup the back of her neck, pulling her in so quickly she falls, slamming her hands against my chest. “What’s wrong, Cara?”

  “I threw up again today,” she says quickly, “I threw up again and I’ve been doing it for the last two weeks and I don’t think the meds are working.”

  Damn, she can ramble. A weight loosens from my chest as she does it, and whatever I thought she was going to say, this isn’t nearly as bad. I pull her to me, slowly, tilting my lips up letting her know what’s coming right before I seal her lips to mine.

  “Omph,” she says, silenced by my kiss.

  I keep us steady, our lips pressed against each other, fused until her shoulders slump and her fingers loosen their hold from my shirt.

  “Okay,” I whisper, brushing my lips against hers. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” She nods quickly. “I’m fine, it’s just a pain.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Her eyes slide to the left. “You’re doing so much. I didn’t want to worry you, and I kept thinking it will get better.”

  “And it’s not?”

  “No. I think it’s the food trucks outside. All those smells.” Her nose scrunches up and she gags. “I can’t get away from it, even with my windows closed.”

  I really, really like where this is going.

  I pull back and smirk. “So what you’re doing here, is you want to ask me…” I let my voice trail off, arching my brows. I know exactly what she needs and it’s exactly what she doesn’t want to ask for.

  Finally. Hook. Line. Sinker. I’ve got her right where I want her.

  She pushes her bottom lip into a pout. “I’m wondering if I can still move in with you.” Her eyes jump to mine and she lifts her hands. “Just until I’m feeling better.”

  “Sure.”

  “Sure?”

  “Of course you can.”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “That I get you to myself twenty-four-seven? You’re absolutely right.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I meant, you’re happy you’re finally getting me out of my crappy apartment.”


  Damn skippy I am. I’m smart enough not to say it. “No, I’m happy I get to spend more time with you.”

  Which is also true. I can’t get the girl out of my mind, and if I jack off to thoughts of her one more time I might finally rub my favorite body part raw, even with extra lube.

  “Is that it?”

  “No, Cara,” I sigh. Reaching out, I settle my hands on her hips. “I like you. I really liked that kiss you gave me when you saw me. I want more of them. A lot more of the kisses and a lot more of other things too, but you already know that. I like that you felt you could come to me for help, and yes, I’m glad you’re moving in with me—”

  “Just until I’m feeling better.”

  Not on her damn life is she moving back out once I have her.

  “Okay,” I say, showing her I don’t believe a word she’s saying.

  “Braxton—” she starts to say. I recognize the tone.

  I don’t let her argue.

  I seal her lips to mine and I kiss her rebuttal out of her. When we pull apart, we’re both more relaxed, both breathing heavy, and my dick is shoving against the zipper of my jeans, proving exactly how much we really like Cara Thompson.

  * * *

  —

  “Do you have everything you need?” I scan the small studio apartment. It looks three times larger now that Cara’s scattered mess is neatly packed in suitcases and a few boxes. The only thing left to get to the car is her art supplies, but I’ll have to come back for them tomorrow. The car is full of her clothes and shoes and toiletries. I’ve insisted she take everything, because even while she’s protesting, only an act of God will get her moving back into this place.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  She looks so lost, one of her hands pressed to the window, and I feel a small pang of guilt at my earlier thought. This is her home, the place she wanted to move to prove to herself she could live on her own and follow her dreams. She’s told me all about it while we’ve been packing and I’ve been able to come up with two certainties.

  One, she’s so damn brave, fighting for something she desperately wants and having no support outside Jenna to make it happen. She’s trying to live for Jimmy by living for herself and I admire the hell out of her for it.

  Two, I really fucking despise her parents. They have this incredible daughter, and it sounds like she’s always been the forgotten one, pushed into a life she’s never wanted and never shown an ounce of tender care.

  I almost feel like a prick for being excited about her living with me, but not a full one, because I plan on being so good to her she’ll never want to move out.

  “Cara.” I drop my voice, trying to sound patient and soothing, but mostly I’m in a hurry to get the hell out of here. “We should get going. You need some food.”

  She drops her hand from the window, shaking her head, and when she turns to me, her lips are lifted into a shy smile. “Of course. Thank you again.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. Someday you’ll realize I want to take care of you.”

  A faint pink slides across her cheekbones and she ducks her head, tucking a chunk of hair behind her ear. I hold out my hand, and when she takes it, I entwine our fingers together, leading her toward the door. We’ve taken three steps on our way out when a firm set of knocks hits the door.

  Cara jumps at the sound, looking to the door and to me.

  “Who could that be?” I ask.

  “No clue. No one shows up unannounced and Dan and Jenna are at his family’s house this weekend. Weird,” she says, dropping her hand from mine and moving toward the door.

  She peeks through the peephole and flips her head back to me. “It’s my parents.” Her eyes are wide, face pale, but another set of knocks hits the door.

  Fabulous. Just what I want right now.

  I cross my arms over my chest, planting my feet. If she thinks there’s any chance in hell I’m going to put up with their bullshit, she’s dead wrong. “Open it.”

  “I don’t want to,” she hisses at me.

  I roll my eyes and move past her, opening the door and tugging her back with me.

  “Mom, Dad, hi,” Cara says, moving away from me. “What are you doing here?”

  Her mom waltzes in, dressed in a floor-length shimmering black gown, some sort of puff of fur wrapped around her shoulders. Her dad follows, suavely dressed in a tuxedo, salt and pepper sprinkled along the temples of his jet-black hair. He looks like every asshole lawyer I’ve encountered.

  There’s no denying they’re Cara’s parents. She has her father’s facial features, bright blue eyes and the same nose, but she looks almost like a spitting image of her mother, tall and lean, graceful on her feet, and dark brown hair I assume the woman spends a fortune on to maintain the look of her twenty-four-year-old daughter.

  “Cara,” her dad says and glances at me. His gaze drops to my arms, I’m assuming to the ink covering them, and he visibly flinches. “You have company.”

  She jolts on her feet, gaze bouncing between me and her parents like she can’t decide where to stand. I make the choice for her and move closer to her, resting my hand on her hip.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Braxton. Braxton, this is my mom and dad, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.”

  The fact she doesn’t give me their first names doesn’t go unnoticed, but I’m not even given time to say hello.

  Her mom’s gaze does a sweep of my body, making an even more putrid look as she takes me in and looks at her daughter. “How are you? We heard you were in the hospital last week. Are you okay?”

  I’ve been dismissed. I couldn’t give a shit. It’s the tone in the woman’s voice that makes me clench my jaw tightly.

  In my hold, Cara slumps. “Yeah,” she says, brushing a hand across her forehead. “I’m okay. How did you know?”

  “Dr. Sherman informed us.”

  I have no idea who this guy is, but Cara does, because those slumped shoulders straighten right up. “He called you?”

  “Of course he did,” her dad says. “You can’t expect us not to worry about you when we hear you were at the hospital and you didn’t bother informing us yourself.”

  “Holy HIPAA violation, Dad. I can’t believe he’d do that.”

  “Please,” her dad says. His tone suggests he’s fighting an eye roll at his daughter, but is too stuck up to do so. “You’ve known him your entire life, and it’s not as if he told us why you were there.”

  “Are you okay?” Mrs. Thompson asks.

  Something softens in her mom’s eyes as she asks the question though, and for a moment, I think the woman actually cares. Perhaps I’ve judged them all wrong.

  Cara looks at me, nibbling on her bottom lip. I know without asking what she wants.

  “Tell them,” I say quietly, giving her a nod.

  She gathers whatever courage she needs and swivels back to her parents. Clasping her hands together, her voice shakes as she says, “I’m fine. I promise. But actually, maybe we could go out to dinner? The four of us? I have something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  “Oh. Well, we’re really busy. We’re just stopping by on our way to see Les Misérables at the Keller Auditorium. Can it wait? I’ve had this night planned for months.”

  Bubble popped, they’re definitely here out of duty, maybe a smudge of concern. As soon as they hear that she’s fine, both expressions quickly shift to annoyed. “And as long as you’re okay, we’ll be on our way.”

  Her dad. God damn, he’s a cold bastard.

  He presses his hand to his wife’s back, gesturing for them to turn, and I don’t know what it is about that moment, what rushes through Cara’s mind, but as their backs are turned to us, intent on leaving, Cara blurts, “I’m pregnant.”

  Oh. Shit. My hand tightens at her waist
.

  Her parents both freeze and spin on their heels.

  “Excuse me, young lady?” her dad says, his voice stern, but not nearly as stuck-up as her mom.

  Her mom’s lips are parted, hand at her chest as if Cara’s just delivered a devastating blow. Probably to them, she has, they’ve haven’t concealed their disdain for me since the moment they walked in.

  “Braxton and I, well, we’re having a baby.” She tosses her hands up and lamely says, “Surprise.”

  “You did this to her?” Her dad’s gaze shoots to me. “You did this to her, you can take care of it.”

  Every nerve in my body pulls tight at the venom in his voice. “I am taking care of her, sir.”

  “No,” he says, his voice thickening. “I mean, you take care of it.”

  My hands clench into fists. If he wasn’t Cara’s dad, I’d punch him.

  His implication isn’t unnoticed by anyone. Next to me, Cara gasps and barks out “No.”

  “We’re having this child, sir,” I grit out. Because, damn, I hate him, but I won’t lower myself to his level, the fucking prick. Being respectful is difficult, though. “And I am taking care of your daughter.”

  “How?” Her mom laughs ridiculously, as if I’m ridiculous, me taking care of Cara is ridiculous. “Living in this hovel? Panhandling for money?”

  “Oh my God,” Cara says.

  I begin praying for all the self-control in the world. If God hears me, I hope like hell he answers this prayer even though I’ve never asked him for a thing a day in my life. “Get out.”

  “Now, Cara, this is silly. Come home, we’ll forget this mistake,” her mom says, brushing her hand out toward Cara’s slightly expanded stomach. “And we’ll get you back to school where you belong. We’ve allowed this silly rebellion to go on long enough but we understand you loved Jimmy and you’re still grieving. Let’s not push this tantrum too far.”

  Her mother speaks like she’s having tea with the queen of England. Proper and dismissive and like we’re some tiny, little fun game to play.