by E V Darcy
‘Why not go for a villain?’ she asked, with genuine curiosity. It was something that wasn’t in his resume—she’d looked—and imagined he’d be great at portraying one.
He shook his head. ‘Nope, I refuse to fall under the stereotype that the British make the best bad guys. That’s Rickman’s fault, bless his soul.’ Paige raised her eyebrow at the fact he’d known Alan Rickman. She’d adored him in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves and had only watched it for his quips in that damned sexy voice.
‘The guy was the nicest, most genuine fella I’d ever met, and was so frigging talented it hurt, but he made us all into a bloody stereotype. Now, whenever anyone writes a villain, he’s bloody British. My agent’s stopped forwarding offers to me as I point-blank refuse to entertain the thought.’
‘But’—she frowned at the comment—‘you were a demon on Destiny.’
‘Yeah, but I wasn’t the bad guy—that was Marc’s role. I was also in a very diverse group; demons aren’t really picky on race or gender, I imagine. Here we are.’ He slowed the car, giving the electronic gates at the bottom of his short drive a chance to swing open. When they were finally through and Casey had parked, Paige took in the sight of his home for the first time.
The house was breath-taking, far smaller than the others, he’d pointed out as they’d driven through the exclusive area, but far bigger than anything she could ever have dreamt of owning. It was a two-storey house, rendered in beautiful stone. A huge garage block stood to the right of the house; it didn’t seem connected to the house and appeared to be newer than the rest of the building.
‘An addition,’ he told her when she asked. ‘I didn’t like the cars sitting out in the sun. Nightmare when you get in them after they’ve sat out all day.’ He climbed out of the car and jogged around to her side to get the door.
‘How many do you have?’ she asked, taking his proffered hand.
‘Just the five at the moment. I’m waiting on Aston to release the next of the DB series. Then I’m trading this one in.’
‘Are they all right-hand drive?’ She had actually felt uneasy sitting on the left sans steering wheel. Why the hell had he imported his fancy car? Surely, you could get a James Bond car here in the States, one set up the right way?
He laughed at her question and nodded. ‘British engineering is the best. Plus, no matter how many times I’ve tried over all the years I’ve lived here, I cannot drive left-hand. Welcome to my humble abode,’ he declared, changing the subject with a sweep of his hand towards his house. She snorted at the comment; humble was not the word she’d use.
The front had a large double-sized front door, so big she wondered why anyone—other than to get a piano through—would need it. It had sandy-coloured steps and its little porch roof had the same red tiles as the main building and garage. Along with the large, arched wooden windows decorated by colourful shutters, Paige thought it had a Mediterranean feel. The UK wasn’t on the Mediterranean, was it?
She was admiring the wooden balcony, draped in hanging flowers and climbing blooms when she heard Casey tsk and turned to see him bent over the edge of a tidy front garden of grass and colourful rockery plants, framed by large drooping trees hiding the house from the road. He pulled a tiny weed from the perfect blades and looked at it with a critical eye. Paige had to stop her mind putting herself among it all, pulling out weeds while a child played on a blanket behind her.
‘C’mon, I’ll give you the tour,’ Casey said as he discarded the unwanted plant in a nearby compost bin and walked around the car towards the door.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, a little breathlessly.
‘I bet Swift’s is nicer,’ he mumbled, as he fished through his keys to find the right one. ‘But wait until you see the sunset from it, though,’ he added as he finally found the right key. When the door opened into a spacious foyer—and the lights automatically came on—Paige gasped with surprised delight. The walls were a warm creamy colour and the floors looked solid oak, while the same wood seemed to trim the walls around the floor and ceiling. A long, creamy rug ran the length of the hallway and disappeared to who knew where in the house, and a matching carpet lined the stairs just off to her left.
‘It’s not as fancy as Marc’s or Luc’s,’ Casey began, calling her attention away from the beautiful lights that illuminated the space back to him. ‘It only has a hot tub, no pool.’ Was he blushing? Paige shook her head. ‘And while it originally had six bedrooms, I turned it into four. I prefer larger guest beds to smaller ones,’ he hurried to add as he turned away to put his keys where they belonged.
‘It’s amazing,’ she said as she stepped inside. ‘And Tristan’s place sucks balls.’ It was true. She hadn’t been impressed. He had a large apartment that overlooked a park, filled to the brim with all sorts of tech, but it felt so empty, so cold.
‘You’re just saying that to make me feel better.’ Was he fucking serious? This place was amazing! Finally, he shrugged and gave in. ‘It’s home at least. You want a drink? If my service has been, like they should have, I should have milk for a hot chocolate…’ He walked away from her and she slowly followed, trying to take in the wonder that was Casey’s home.
It was so elegant; stylish yet understated, and so different to what she would have pictured for him. She had imagined a minimalist interior, cold white, hard black and lots of chrome—much like Tristan had. Instead, the soft colour pallet was complimented by pale fabric chairs piled with cushions, and plush rugs warmed the wooden floor. Paintings hung upon the walls. Dark wooden pieces, contrasted against the light wood of the window work, and lamps sat atop each table top or sideboard. There was no way he had decorated this. Where was the—
Oh, okay, there it was.
The biggest TV she had ever seen within a home, hung above a well-used fireplace. There was a couch that looked so comfortable she just wanted to climb on it and never leave; it was set up at the perfect position for viewing. A giant throw blanket was tossed casually across it and Paige frowned as she tried to imagine Casey sitting there of a night, sipping a bourbon with the fire going and a football game on the big screen.
‘What the—’ Paige exclaimed, jumping slightly as the blanket began to wiggle and move. She blinked in surprise as the curious head of a snout-nosed dog stuck its head out from under its warm wrappings. It looked at her with big, sorrowful brown eyes, its nose twitching as it tried to sniff the air to assess this new comer.
She shook her head as she approached the clearly old dog, holding out her hand for it to get a good sniff of her. The whole thing just didn’t fit with the ideas she had of Casey, not with the way his personality was. She’d expected a bachelor’s pad. Manville. Pool tables, air hockey, pictures of naked women passed off as fine art. This was just so… homely.
Maybe someone else had designed it. It had to have been a woman, she decided, as the dog gave her a tentative lick, before pushing its head into her hand, giving her permission to stroke. She sat down on the couch, stroking the dog’s head as it tried to free itself from the blanket to get closer to her.
Crap. What if Casey had the house purposefully designed for women to be wowed and lured in, to feel at home, imagining how they could be the woman of the house, as he worked on his seduction? Was the dog part of it too? She glanced down at the tubby, wrinkly dog as it slowly moved across the couch before dropping down heavily next to her, its side a line of warmth against her leg.
‘I put the milk on the stove,’ Casey said, interrupting her thoughts as he came back out of the kitchen. ‘Oh I see you found Bert.’ He smiled as he nodded towards the Bulldog. ‘He likes you.’
‘Bert?’
‘Yeah.’ Casey scratched the back of his neck a little sheepishly. ‘He was a gift from Tanya when Bert was a pup; I didn’t really want him so just gave him the first name that popped into my head. Thought he’d cramp my style,’ he said honestly, as he walked over to the couch. He sat on the other side of the dog and gave him a stroke down his back.
The dog shifted slightly to show his belly to his master without having to give up Paige’s good scratchings.
‘And does he?’
Casey laughed. ‘Turned out to be the best gift I ever got.’ He gave a broad grin to the dog as he found a particular spot on Bert’s underside that made his leg twitched.
Ah. The dog made the women go all gaga.
‘You okay?’ Casey asked, looking back at Paige. ‘You look pale.’
‘Just tired,’ she lied, rubbing her forehead. ‘I think I have a headache brewing.’ Not a lie.
He frowned. ‘That bastard hit you harder than I thought. Maybe you need to see a doctor—’
‘No, no, I just need to lie down. It’s been a strange day.’
He looked her over, the creases in his brow deepening as he was probably trying to decide if he needed to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to a doctor. She was just about to reassure him once again when his shoulders sagged and his brow smoothed out again.
‘C’mon. I’ll show you to your room.’ He sighed as he stood up, missing her surprised expression. She hadn’t really thought about the logistics of staying with him, but she’d half assumed he’d try and get her into his bed—if last night was anything to go by. Was there a reason he hadn’t?
Perhaps he didn’t want her now Tristan wasn’t vying for her attention, she thought. Or maybe he simply knew that she needed some space?
She hoped it was the latter, she decided as she followed him towards the stairs.
Bert, and his stubby little tail, followed her.
22
Paige stared up at the building of the OB/GYN that Deanna had insisted she sign up to before she’d even moved out there. Her stomach twisted into knots as she glanced at the floor where she knew her doctor would be waiting for her.
Today was the day, the day she’d find out if she was having a boy or a girl. She’d thought finding out would be easy, that she wanted to know the sex because it would make life easier, but what if she found out and was… disappointed?
Her stomach flipped. What would it say about her if she was? Would she still be able to love the kid? Her hand traced her stomach as she sat in the car’s seat, trying to find the strength to take the hand Casey offered to help her out of his sporty vehicle.
‘Paige?’ He wiggled his fingers of her proffered hand to get her attention. ‘Hey, you okay?’ he asked as he crouched down to look inside the car to see what the hold-up was.
‘Yup!’ she said brightly, taking in a deep breath. ‘Just—’ Her words died in her throat as she looked at him, saw the concern in his pale blue eyes.
Blueberry was his kid too.
‘Would you want to know?’ she asked.
‘You know,’ he said and glanced down at his hands. ‘I’ve, ah, actually thought about that since you, uh, since you said it the other day.’
Paige raised her brow at that. He’d been thinking about being in the position of an expectant father?
‘And?’ she said hesitantly.
‘Yeah, I think I would.’ He gave a nod with his answer. ‘Like you said, it gives you a chance to get prepared, and, I guess, it would also make me feel connected to the baby, that I knew it a little more.’
God, that was so right. This was so incredibly important, something that would shape her thoughts and feelings about Blue, create plans and aspirations for her child depending on whether her doctor said boy or girl. Paige would probably start booking her into Ballet class if she were a girl, or into soccer and little league clubs if he were a boy.
Maybe she shouldn’t do this. Perhaps she should just leave it as a surprise and take that attitude with the kid’s whole life in general.
‘It’s probably different for fathers, though,’ he said when he saw her indecision still. ‘Women get to carry the child and feel it grow, connect with it on an intimate level in a way men never will. I suppose if the father was to know beforehand it would then become his son or daughter and he’d have a better ability to resonate with it. He’d be able to get into the whole buying thing…’
He continued to ramble on, and Paige couldn’t stop looking at him, watching with amazement at the play of emotions on his face. There was a slight blush, a sadness in his eyes, yet a curve to his lips. For a man who said he didn’t want kids, who said he’d never thought about having them, and felt they’d ruin his life, he looked almost wistful.
Her stomach twisted again. She should tell him. She should just say the words. Five little words and it would be done.
Casey, the baby is yours.
But what if the result wasn’t what she wanted? What if he reacted the way he had back in her hotel room that morning? What if he dragged her out of his car, drove off, and she never saw him again?
A tight feeling in her chest, almost making it difficult to breathe gave her the answer—hell, no. She couldn’t have that. She wanted to keep him in her life. She knew she wanted that more than anything. Basically, she wanted to have her cake and eat it too.
‘Why don’t you come with me?’ The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them and she regretted them instantly.
His body went rigid, and his eyes darted to her right, looking over her shoulder instead of into her eyes. Her heart fell into her stomach and she realised she had it all wrong. He wasn’t being wistful over not being a father, he was probably just disappointed that this was the kind of conversation they were stuck with now, rather than the hot, sexy talk they’d enjoyed in the past. Or maybe he was just saddened by the fact she’d ruined everything by getting pregnant in the first place.
She wanted to bang her head against the dashboard. She didn’t regret Blueberry—how could she? Son or daughter, the child was part of her and Casey. But she wished… Fuck, she wished they’d had a chance, some time to decide it was what they wanted.
‘Sorry, that was stupid,’ she said when he didn’t answer. ‘Imagine the press if they saw you walking into a prenatal clinic—they’d wonder how many were yours.’ She tried to laugh it off and hoped that humour would loosen him up, but his grin tightened and his eyes still wouldn’t meet hers.
She finally reached up and took his hand. It seemed to bring him back to attention. He gripped her fingers lightly and stood up, giving her the little pull she needed to get out of the sports car.
‘I don’t know how long I’ll be,’ she said truthfully as she finally uncurled her body from the car. ‘I’ll call you when I’m done?’ Paige offered him a small, hopeful smile, but Casey merely nodded, absently, before he jogged back around to the driver’s side.
He didn’t even say goodbye, she realised as he closed the door, started the engine, and pulled away. She watched the fancy car disappearing down the road before she turned and stepped into the clinic.
Casey pulled up to Marc’s Bel Air mansion and saw the star waiting at the front door with Tyler on his hip.
‘It was like trying to get into bloody Fort Knox trying to get in here,’ he complained as he climbed out of his car.
‘Yeah,’ his friend replied, eyes glancing off across the lawns towards where his brand-new security team was ever-present, completely visible for all the world to see. It was so unlike his friend and Casey frowned; he wasn’t sure if Frank, Marc’s old head of security, would have approved. He’d tried to ask Marc about the new crew he’d acquired a couple of months ago, but Marc had merely passed it off as needing it now the world knew of Tyler. Casey wasn’t buying it. He was also curious as to why they were all British—something Marc once again tried to shrug off.
‘Arnie isn’t happy.’
‘Who’s Arnie?’
Casey rolled his eyes. ‘Julian, my new guy—your crew wouldn’t let him in.’ Julian had pitched a small fit when the head of Marc’s team had said no to his bodyguard entering with him—he wasn’t on the list apparently. Whatever the fuck that was. ‘Thought he was going to go into Hulk-mode and start smashing up your new guys.’
Marc snorted in amusement; he
’d also been stunned into silence when he’d first met Casey’s new handler. ‘I’ll get him added for you.’
‘Thanks,’ Casey said as they stepped inside Marc’s large hallway. ‘Where’s Ellie?’
‘Shopping. Marie’s back over and the two have gone on a girlie date. Do not say anything.’ Marc held up his finger as a warning to Casey, his eyes darting to his son before setting the kid down. ‘I don’t want to have to have to explain any more of your references to him.’ Casey frowned at that. ‘Tyler, go and play with Hayley,’ Marc told his son and gently pushed him towards where his new nanny was waiting.
‘But, Papa—’
‘No, Tyler,’ Marc said, also using his sign language. ‘I told you, Uncle Casey and I have some important adult things to talk about. He’ll come by and play another day.’
The kid pouted up at his father’s friend. ‘Sorry, Munchkin. Your dad’s in charge.’ Tyler huffed before slowly slinking off towards the waiting young woman.
‘So, what’s up?’ Marc asked as he directed Casey towards his study.
‘Christ, what isn’t?’ Casey said with a huff as he sat on Marc’s couch. At the sight of his friend running his hands through his strawberry blond hair, Marc didn’t ask if Casey wanted a drink; he knew the man needed one. He poured Casey a large Bourbon—‘Do not get caught driving after this’—and sat beside him with an iced water.
‘So, spill,’ Marc said before taking a sip of his drink.
‘Paige asked me to go with her to the scan.’ Marc raised a brow at the comment but said nothing. Casey narrowed his eyes at his friend who merely took a larger drink. ‘What?’ he asked.
‘Oh, no,’ Marc shook his head. ‘If you don’t think it, I’m not being responsible for putting it in that tiny, one-track mind of yours.’