I blow out a hard breath and lean back in my chair, replaying this morning in a loop that makes me want to grin and shout with joy. I have my love back, well, in part at least, but I have no doubt that she’ll be back to her old self and loving me in no time.
I’m actually anticipating it at the moment. I’ve waited seven years for this moment, and despite my earlier misstep, I have not a worry in the world as far as that’s concerned.
I am by no means a cruel man, but I need her love the way I’d needed my first million: with a desperation that leaves me sweating and filled with hopeful anticipation.
Now, don’t mistake me: I have no intention of ever feeling those things, not ever again, but I’m a man, and I need to have that security of knowing my woman is emotionally dependent upon me.
“Are ya gonna answer the bloody question then, lad?” Ivan demands, bringing me back to the present.
“What?”
“Are ya afeared the man will go after the lass again?”
“No. He only took her to scare us, nothing more. He’ll stay away from her and the lad from now on, since he’s a bleeding coward. No, my need to find him has nothing to do with the safety of my family.”
Ivan nods and grins, stroking a hand through his bright orange beard. I don’t understand why the Scot has always grown the monstrosity that thick, not with that bright tinge making him look like he’s been having a go at a bloody pumpkin patch.
“Ya plan to return the favor, do ya? Good lad. Now then, I think I’ll get back to work looking for that piece of rubbish,” he mutters, heaving himself to his feet.
Ivan McDonnell may not be buff or young, but the man has the nose of a blood hound, and I know I can count on him to get this job done.
Like I said, I’m not worried about that bastard coming near my family again, but I will not let this rest till I’ve taken a decent strip off his hide in payment for the hurt he caused my love.
“Call me when you have something.”
“Aye.”
As soon as I’m alone I dial Frank and get my mid-morning update on my girl, half groaning when he informs me she’s eating lunch with her newest friends, a set of women I have no personal objection to but have the feeling might be more of a bad influence than I’d like.
“What are they doing then?”
“They’re—ahem —they’re looking at some stuff,” he says uncomfortably, clearing his throat a few times.
“Just spit it out, man,” I mutter, though I have a rather good idea of what they’re doing to make my unflappable security captain so uncomfortable.
“Intimate paraphernalia.”
Aaah.
“Sex toys? Does she look even halfway interested?” I ask, wondering if she’d be into that sort of thing.
I have no objection to people using these things, mind you, I just have never had the need to sublimate my performance with aids. The thought of Ash thinking we need these things makes me a bit green, and a lot bloody annoyed, if you want the truth.
“Naw, she’s giving the big purple thing the evil eye, and I think I heard her say it’d be a cold day in hell and that you sure didn’t need it. Jesus, half those things look like they’d hurt, not add to the, ahem, pleasure.”
I almost crow with pride at that and spend the next two minutes torturing Frank by asking a few rather uncomfortable questions just to get a rise out of him.
“They’re done looking, and now they’re going into some sorta huddle. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but from the looks of things those girls are going intense about something.”
“I’ll bet. They’re friends of Cammy’s, so the whole lot of them are probably barmy loons.”
“Yeah, well, these ‘barmy loons’ are the hottest bunch of gals I’ve ever laid eyes on, that’s for sure. At least they seem to be having a good time. Want me to stay on Mrs Jasper?”
“No. Let her have her fun. You can collect Benjamin from school and take him on to his football practice.”
“Soccer.”
“Football,” I say before hanging up to dial my love’s number.
“Good afternoon, love. What are you up to?” I purr, letting her hear the smile in my voice.
“Uh, I’m having lunch?”
I want to laugh at the way she phrases things when she’s trying not to lie. That’s how I’ve always known she’s telling the truth. If Ash tells you straight you know it’s the honest answer; if she phrases her answers as questions, she’s trying to fudge or lie by omission.
She’d once told me that that way she’s not lying, just planting a suggestion and letting people believe what they want.
“Oh yes? And what have you been talking about?”
She splutters something, and I hear a round of high-pitched, feminine laughter before she wheezes and throws a few choice curses at her friends.
“Uh, we were looking at these, um, sex toys that Brit is writing web content for,” she admits, making my eyes narrow and my smile fade.
I know my love, and if she’s willingly telling me about something I know mortifies her, I’d willingly bet one of my companies that whatever they’ve been discussing is not something she wants me to know.
That just makes me all the more curious, desperately curious, to weed out all her secrets. I sigh instead and drop it for now, forming my strategy even as we speak.
“I just called to let you know Frank will collect Benjamin from school, so you don’t have to rush away just yet.”
“Thanks, Lucian, I was actually just about to leave, but now I can stay for dessert. We’re trying to give Cam a pep talk, so….”
“Tell Cammy that unless she wants to be attending Brody’s wedding soon, she should make her move and get rid of that model he’s been screwing. Bye, love.”
I hear her squeal something just as I put the phone down, and grin when the man himself comes storming into my office and throws himself into a seat, his hands scrubbing harshly at his messy hair.
“You gotta tell her to stop, man. Ariana broke up with me last night because she thinks I’m in a committed relationship with that lunatic.”
“That lunatic happens to be my little sister, I’ll thank you to remember.”
I don’t tell him that Cammy had nothing to do with Ariana’s defection or that all it had taken for her to drop him that fast had been a quarter of a million and a good word to a designer I’ve known since uni.
Yes, I’ve done my brotherly best to ensure that my spoilt little miss gets her heart’s desire. I may not believe in love, but I know what it’s like to be obsessed with something you don’t think you’ll ever have.
So I’ve provided some assistance.
“Luc, man, you’ve gotta tell her to stop.”
“You gave her false hope by having dinner at her place.”
Brody blanches and looks away, blowing out a frustrated breath.
“You want her, Brody. Anyone with eyes can bloody well see it. Why not take the plunge and try?” I ask, willing him to choose his words carefully.
He’s my best friend, but that certainly won’t stop me from employing the fighting skills I’d picked up from a friend’s brother who’d lived in a rather dodgy part of London.
“Luc, she wants marriage and babies and the whole shebang. Like, now. I don’t think I’m ready for all that yet.”
“Well, bloody get ready then, you sod. You’re twenty-five, not a bleeding puppy anymore. There are worse things than having a wife and children at your age, mate. You could be alone.”
Shit, I can’t even believe I’ve gone and said something so completely honest that not even I can escape it.
The words make Brody smile, one of those shit-eating grins that make me want to get back to settling my problems with my fists instead of my intellect.
“Take some of that sterling advice and put it to good use, will ya, and maybe I’ll consider giving in with Cam.”
“Sod off and get back to bloody work, you sly bugger.”
&nb
sp; He laughs as he’s leaving, the sound rivalled only by my own chuckles as I scratch my head and start thinking of what I’d done to bring me to this point since the moment I’d divorced my ex-wife to come and find my Ashley.
With the memories comes the familiar ache that seems to flood my lungs with pain, but for once I push past it and allow the feelings in, shoving at my natural need to avoid as I close my eyes and remember the first time I laid eyes on her.
The first time I fell in love.
Chapter Twenty Three
“Cammy called and told me that Brody asked her out on a date.”
I’m saying this as I spread that expensive moisturizer all over my arms, legs, and face as Lucian reclines on the bed, his gaze distant, as if he’s far away and lost in thought.
When he doesn’t respond to that little tidbit I frown and crawl onto the mattress, getting closer and watching his eyes for long seconds. This is so unlike the usually hawk-eyed stare I’m usually squirming beneath that I actually check his chest to make sure he’s still breathing.
Yup.
“Uh, Luc, are you okay?”
My voice seems to snap him out of it, and he looks back at me, smiling in a way I’ve never seen before. Like maybe he likes me a little more than he did when we met again.
Go Goldens!
If this plan of theirs works, it looks like I may not be the only pathetic, lovesick loser in this relationship.
“Lucian, are you feeling okay?” I ask, resting on my haunches beside his hip. “You look a little out of it.”
“I’m fine, love, just had a really long day,” he murmurs, pulling me down onto his chest.
I sigh and rest my head beneath his chin, softly stroking his smooth skin as I wait for him to elaborate. Sometimes he’s the most closed off person I’ve ever met, and at others—with Ben—he’s the nicest, most affectionate dictator.
I wish he’d let me in more and share his troubles, maybe give me a chance to return the comfort he’d offered after I’d crawled through those dark woods…
“Benjamin has a match tomorrow, and I’ve got a late meeting I can’t reschedule,” he finally says, changing the subject.
“He’ll understand, Lucian. He’s not a baby.”
I hope. As far as I can tell Ben seems to think Luc hangs the moon and stars. The kid sees Luc as his father or something, even if he still thinks of me as his insufferable older sister and still won’t let me hug him, no matter how patient I’ve been on that score.
“I’m going, so that should be okay for him.”
His eyes and the curl of his lip tell me exactly how great my little bro will feel about a pesky girl attending his soccer match.
“No offense, love, but what you know about football is completely tragic, and the lad knows it. I feel terrible about this.”
Yeah, well, not as terrible as feeling like the dreaded third wheel on this tandem bike the two of them have going. Geez, you’d think I’m nothing more than the hired help for all the attention they pay me when they start talking sports.
Men.
“Are you sure that’s all?”
I dunno, but he seems really out of sorts tonight. Oh shit.
“Is this about those toys that we were looking at? Because I swear, those things are so not my speed. We mostly joked and laughed about how women would walk after using them a time or two, and Cammy was telling us about—”
“Oh, Christ, please do not use my sister’s name in a sentence that involves sexual aids. I don’t think I’ll survive that shite,” he grunts, inching my lips together between his thumb and index finger.
The look on his face makes me bust my gut, and I flop back down onto his chest with a groan, feeling the day crash around me.
“You tired, love?”
“Hmm, I made some cookies for the old lady that comes to the tea room every day and helped her walk her dogs home. Those things are not dogs: they’re freaking horses.”
What I don’t say is that I’m getting listless having to keep myself bottled up whenever I’m around him. Honestly, I’ve lived for three years without needing to tell anyone but Ben that I love them, and now all of a sudden I can’t hardly stand to be around him for fear of letting those three soul-sucking words out of my mouth.
I’d had to bite my lip bloody at dinner. It had gone something like this: ‘Here’s your food, Lucian. I love you.’ I’d maimed myself trying to keep that last part in, because honestly, who is so desperate that they tell someone they love them over roast beef and garlic potatoes?
Me, apparently, since it had been so close I’d caught Ben giving me one of his skeptical looks as I’d shoveled food into my mouth and kept it full for the duration of our meal.
“Go to sleep, love. I’ve got you.”
Yeah, he really does. He’s got me so bad I wonder if he’ll sound this happy when I say it and demand an answer in return.
What, you thought I’ve gone so soft I’ve lost the apples my mama raised me with?
Not freaking likely.
***
“Aw, but she don’t know nothing about soccer, Luc.”
I bang the frying pan of bacon onto the table and give them both a glare, just daring them to say another word about women and sports.
“What’s so hard about it, huh? There’s one ball and two goals. You either get it in there and score points, or you don’t and you lose. Seems pretty goddamned cut and dry to me, you little savage.”
See, here’s where Mary would probably tell me that I’m taking my own personal shit out on a helpless kid. She’d be right, but come on and give me a break.
I’ve just spent twenty minutes silently puking and retching into the toilet while Mo and Shmo over here slept blissfully. And now I’m frying bacon, my favorite food ever, wondering why I’ve never noticed that it smells like a zombie’s rotting nut sack.
“Uh, love, are you okay?”
No (I say this silently in a really high-pitched, crying whine). I’m not. I think you were right that time we had sex and you told me you were putting your son in me.
I’m pretty sure he’s in there right now and incubating like a savage, because I feel all grossly emotional and nauseated, and my boobs that were totally fine yesterday now feel like two lumps of bruised and beaten steak.
“I’m fine, Lucian. The two of you need to eat your breakfast and get outta here before I lose my shit all over the place,” I warn. “Not know anything about soccer…” I mutter, attempting a glass of orange juice. “I’ll have you know I played soccer for two years before the team captain started thinking I was into chicks and came on to me. I’m awesome.”
Okay, so I’d been a sub for two years, but that still counts because technically I had been on the team even if I hadn’t ever really played.
They’re looking at me like I’ve lost my freaking mind, which I probably have thanks to whatever messed up mix of hormones I currently have soaking into my previously perfect brain.
“Is there something wrong with the breakfast I just spent thirty minutes making?” I ask sweetly, giving them a feral grin that scares even me, though I can’t see it.
Their expressions are enough to tell me how nuts I look. The thought is enough to shift my vile mood to a degree less violent, and I smile again, pointing wordlessly at their food.
They eat every scrap and practically bolt out of the house.
“I need a favor,” I say five minutes later when Brit answers her phone with a huff and muffled male cursing.
“What’s up?”
See, this is why I’ll count these women as mine even though I’ve only known them a few short weeks. I can call any one of them at any hour and know that they’ll be up and fighting fit to help me.
“I need you to go to the pharmacy and get me a test.”
The squeal that echoes through the phone is shrill and unpleasant enough for the man in her bed to bark out a yell and maybe fall out of bed when I hear a thud and muttered cursing.
“I’m
on my way, sugar!”
Chapter Twenty Four
“Congratulations, mama, you’re definitely knocked up,” Brit titters, waving the pee-laden stick like it’s a freaking trophy.
“Would you please stop touching that thing? It’s full of my pee,” I mutter before dropping my head onto my arms and staring sightlessly at the table beneath me.
“Oh, come on, Ash, this is good news. Here, eat a slice of dry bread. You’re green.”
“I’m not unhappy about this,” I say around a mouthful of bread, sighing when it hits my stomach and does something magical by calming the roiling acid. “I just feel really shitty right now is all. I didn’t know morning sickness could be this terrible.”
“You should have seen my sister Brianna when she was pregnant with my niece. She barfed at all times of the day and couldn’t keep a thing down. It got to where her doctor wanted to put her in hospital—oh, what am I saying! No, Ash, don’t cry!”
I laugh at her almost hysterical, frantic expression and pull my lip back in, giving her a droll stare.
“Get over yourself, loser. I know all about pregnancy. I’m not dumb. I was just hoping to be further along before I got this way. Shoulda known his sperm would be overachievers,” I mumble, feeling well enough to attempt the orange juice again.
When it slides down and stays there without killing me, I take another sip and look back at the two pink lines that say I’m officially knocked up and heading for motherhood.
“Yeah, well, at least you’ve got Mr Overachievers and aren’t stuck with Mr Let’s Screw. I swear, I was so hoping this one wouldn’t suck. Oh well, I’ll just have to keep looking.”
She says it jokingly, but I see and hear the wistfulness and feel like a total heel for bringing her into this and complaining when I should be grateful and jumping for joy at the huge positive turn my life has taken.
For one, I no longer have to work—correction, I’m forbidden to ever mention myself and a job, ever. I have a great home that not only shelters me and mine but is beautiful to boot.
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