The Baby Clause

by Tara Wylde

  “I’m leaving—” I squint at my watch. “—in about twelve hours.”

  “You appealed to me more than any other man I’ve ever encountered.”

  “But you must have dated. You’re too beautiful not to.”

  Delighted, Lara laughs, the faint traces of sleep drifting from her face. She leans down and kisses my cheek. “You’re such a sweetie.” She takes my hand in hers, threading her fingers through mine. “Yes, I’ve dated before. Several guys in fact, but for one reason or another I never wanted to sleep with any of them. You’re different. You lit my fire the moment you walked through the door of my bar.”

  Pride, mixed with a little bit of ego, blooms in my chest. Okay, a lot of ego.

  “I’ll tell you something else,” Lara continues. She leans close, her mouth hovering just above my ear. The feel of her hot breath against my skin is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever experienced. My dick agrees as it starts rising to attention.

  I swallow and order myself to stop thinking about her body, about sex, and to focus on what she’s saying.

  “You’re still lighting me up in ways I never imagined possible.”

  Her words, the proximity of her mouth, the feel of her warmth mingling with mine. It’s too much. It sends me crashing over the edge.

  With a low growl, I cup my hands around her hips and tug, sliding her glorious ass across the slick leather upholstery. Unprepared for the sudden movement, Lara doesn’t have time to counter balance herself and falls backwards, her shoulders striking the cushion a split second before I cover her with my body.

  I cup her face between my hands, holding her head still as my mouth finds hers, my tongue sliding between her parted lips to tangle with hers in a dance that causes my blood to boil and all rational thought to flee. Nothing matters except Lara.

  She wiggles beneath me and lets her thighs part, bending her knees until her legs grip my hips with as much force and expertise as a champion equestrian. I shudder as one of her hands slides along the side of my torso, lightly tracing the hills and valleys created by my muscles before wedging itself between our straining bodies.

  I nearly lose it when that same hand wraps itself around my cock. I moan against her mouth and drop my hands. I’ve never been with a woman who has this kind of effect on me, I don’t want it to end, I want it to make it last as long as possible, but with her sweet fingers stroking me, squeezing me, I’m not going to be able to control myself much longer.

  I reach down, intent on removing her hand, but before I can manage that, she adjusts it, moving my cock so that the tip probes her secret entrance. I tense and make some sort of mindless, silent prayer, though I don’t know if I’m praying for her to continue what she’s started or to end it before the last shards of my self-control rip apart.

  Lifting her head, Lara captures mine with a kiss I feel all the way to the soles of my feet. With a quick thrust of her hips, she takes my entire length within her and we both gasp.

  The feel of her surrounding me is more than I can resist. I roll my hips, reveling in how she matches me, thrust for thrust, our bodies moving together perfectly.

  Closing my eyes, I bury my face in the space created by the joining of her neck and shoulder. Her short, painted nails rake across my back, the pain mingling with pleasure as pressure builds, until with twin cries, we both explode.

  Shaking with the force of my release, I collapse against her, pressing her down into the couch cushions. Being with Lara is different from being with any other woman.

  Moving slowly, I disengage myself from her, regretting the move even as I change her positions so we’re lying back to front on the couch.

  Lara, already more asleep than awake, grumbles something that sounds like a protest, though I can’t make out any actual words.

  “I’m crushing you,” I explain.

  “There are worse ways to go.” Her words slur together.

  I chuckle. “I can think of a few things I’d rather do to your body besides crush it.”

  Lara grunts something else unintelligible. I gather her close and listen as her breathing evens.

  It hardly seems possible, but our second bout of lovemaking was even better than the first.

  It’s like we’re both dialed into the same station, able to read one another’s thoughts, our bodies in perfect sync. None of the awkwardness or strange learning curve that usually accompanies the first few times.

  If it’s this good now, I think, how much better will it be in a few years from now, when we really understand one another’s rhythms?

  An ice cold knife pierces my chest, making me flinch. Where the hell did that thought come from? Not once in my life have I ever thought of terms of forever, not when it involved a woman, and certainly not a woman I’ve only known for a handful of hours.

  So why am I doing so now?

  7

  Paul

  As good as Lara feels in my arms, I can’t ignore the pain that’s steadily building in my right hip and lower back. No matter how much I shift positions or tell myself to relax, it keeps growing.

  “What the fuck possessed you to buy this bloody couch?”

  Lara laughs. “It was big, it was on sale, and it matches the ambiance of this place.”

  “And it’s less comfortable than a bed of nails,” I growl.

  Still chuckling, Lara reaches back and aims an awkward pat in the general direction of my ribs. “It’s not bad for sitting, and since that’s what it’s usually used for...”

  “But this is more interesting.” I slide my hand up her smooth torso and cup her right breast. The nipple pebbles against my palm. My cock swells, nudging her in the thigh.

  Lara rolls her head enough so she can look up at me and floats a brow. “Again, really? I swear I remember reading articles about how men can only – you know – go for so long.”

  I drop a kiss on her bare shoulder. “Those writers hadn’t met me, baby.”

  “Clearly.” She shifts her position. Grimaces. “As interesting as another round with you sounds, I’m going to have to pass.”

  Disappoint knifes through me, followed closely by concern. “Sore?”

  “A bit, but not bad.” She wrinkles her nose. “But gross. Sticky. My most pressing need right now is a shower.”

  And that means taking this party somewhere else. “My hotel is just across the road and it’s got a nice shower. Big enough for two...”

  The words still hang on the air when I remember what else my hotel room has. A pile of paperwork spread out across the bed that I’d rather Lara not know about. There’s not a single easy way to explain why I have a small mountain of dossiers of different girls on hand that would sound sane. Certainly, none that would make her want to get into that same bed with me.

  Still, if I can hustle her into the shower before she catches a glimpse of the bed, I can clean up the mess, tuck the dossiers into the room safe or something and she’d be none the wiser. It’d take some fast footwork and a little luck, but it’s doable.

  “Mmm,” Lara purrs.

  She sits up and reaches for her crumbled flapper dress. “As much as I have always wanted to stay next door at the Philistine Hotel…” She tugs the dress over her head. I enjoy watching her put it on, nearly as much as I enjoyed taking it off her.

  “I’m feeling too gross to want to make the trek across the street. Besides—” She tugs the rumpled dress down, half standing as she slides it overs her bare ass and smooths it down her thighs. “—I’m not exactly dressed to stroll across the lobby...”

  Personally, I think that she wouldn’t be the first woman to make the stroll across the lobby in less than perfect attire, though I suspect most were doing the walk of shame out of the Philistine, as opposed to in it.

  I play with one of her fringe pieces on the dress. “What do you propose?”

  “Propose?”

  Lara twists her head to stare at me. She raises one eyebrow. Amusement shines from her lovely eyes. “I like you, and you
did just rock my world, twice, but don’t you think it’s a bit early to be thinking about proposals and all the rigmarole that goes along with them?”

  I throw back my head and roar with laughter. Lara’s good humor is more infectious than a flu virus.

  “Minx.” I lightly swat her rear. “You know what I mean.”

  She gathers up the silk stockings, bra, and tiny scrap of material that serves as a poor excuse for panties and shoves them into my hands. “Take these and follow me.” Standing, she walks to the opposite side of the room, her body angled toward a non-descript door that’s just a short distance from the bar. She doesn’t wait to see if I’m following.

  Not wanting to give her a chance to escape, I hurriedly gather up my clothing and, praying she’s not about to lead my naked self down some heavily populated hallway, I chase after her.

  8

  Paul

  Luckily for my modesty, the door doesn’t open into a busy corridor, but instead reveals a steep flight of stairs. I waste no time chasing Lara up the steps, taking advantage of the way her superior position on the stairs allows me to ogle her ass and the deep V of her back her unzipped dress frames.

  Provided the view remains the same, I’d happily follow her into the very depths of hell.

  She stops on the narrow landing at the top of the stairs, where there are three more doors. She digs a key out of God knows where and unlocks the farthest door – and the only one that has a Halloween wreath adorning it. She pushes it open, swats at a light switch on the wall, and steps aside. “Be my guest.”

  Curious about where she’s brought me, I cross over the threshold and find myself in a small apartment. The door leads directly into a small sitting room that features an enormous green leather couch that, but for the color, could be a twin to the one we just left.

  The room is done in warm jewel tones, from a maroon carpet to bright green walls. Watercolors and black and white African prints hang everywhere, and a small plain hutch sits in a far corner, its shelves all but sagging under the weight of several small glass and ceramic knick-knacks.

  I like it. What the room lacks in style, it makes up for with warmth and a general sense of homeyness.

  I glance over my shoulder at Lara as she pulls the door closed with one hand, using the other to tug a thin strap back onto her shoulder.

  “Yours?”

  She nods. “Having a place to live, rent free, is a huge perk. There are two more apartments up there, both a little bigger than this one, that I’m hoping to fix up this winter and rent out. The income from those will just about cover the cost of my mortgage.”

  “That’s smart. I imagine vacancies don’t last long in a city this size.”

  Lara shakes her head. “I’m already fielding calls from people. I don’t even know how they know the apartments exi—”

  A small animal darts through a doorway and races to her. It skids to a stop in the middle of the room, barking four times at me before resuming its charge. A few feet from Lara, it launches itself into the air.

  Laughing, Lara drops to her knees and catches it against her chest, the movement causing the shoulder strap she just fixed to slide back down her arm.

  I stare at the dog. The only reason I can tell it’s a dog is because it barked at me; otherwise, I’d be at a loss for what to call it besides … ugly.

  “Is this also yours?”

  I can’t keep the dismay out of my voice.

  The little creature braces its front white-tipped paws on her collar bone and frantically licks her face.

  “You betcha,” Lara confirms. “Atticus, this is Paul. Paul, Atticus.”

  I eye the thing. “What happened to its hair? Why is it bald?”

  With the exception of a shaggy tuft of hair on the end of its long, whip-like tail, some thin whips on the lower part of his leg and a miserable blond mane that covers the front of its face, part of its ears, and extends a little way down its neck, the dog is hairless.

  “Of course not.”

  Acting as if I just suggested we throw him out the second story window, Lara clutches the small animal to her chest. “Atticus is a Chinese Crested. Some have hair, sure, but Atticus is a hairless version. He’s pedigree. Haven’t you ever seen one before?”

  I shake my head. Watching Atticus is kind of like looking at a particularly gruesome accident; it’s so ugly, I want to look away, but it’s like my eyeballs are glued to its thin, bare body.

  “No. Where I come from most everybody has big dogs. There’s a lot of labs, shepherds, and pit bulls.”

  Real dogs. Hairy dogs. Dogs that would most likely wet themselves laughing if they ever came across the skinny thing in Lara’s arms. “Why the hell would you choose to own a naked dog like that one?”

  Lara wraps a protective arm around him. “There’s nothing wrong with Atticus. He’s every bit as sweet and loyal as any of those labs and pit bulls your friends own. Plus, he doesn’t shed and he’s hypoallergenic. That’s why my family got into Chinese Crested dogs in the first place. My older sister is extremely allergic, so this breed was one of our few options.”

  Her eyes rake over my body. “Besides. You’re not exactly in a position to have a negative opinion when it comes to nudity.”

  Shit.

  I completely forgot that I didn’t bother getting dressed before following her upstairs. Under most circumstances, I don’t mind being nude. It’s liberating, and Lara has made it more than clear that she likes looking at my body, but there’s something about the way the dog is studying me with his small, diamond-bright eyes, that makes me very uncomfortable. It’s like he’s judging me and finds me lacking in some way.

  I drop everything but the jeans – which I start to pull on.

  Lara gently nudges the dog, Atticus, off her lap and climbs to her feet.

  “I can’t stand the feel of myself anymore. I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself at home.” She glances down at the little pile of laundry by my bare feet. “Do not let Atticus chew up my underwear.”

  With those final words, she sashays across the room and opens a door I presume leads to the washroom. It closes tightly behind her.

  With a small, snuffling sound, Atticus trots to the couch and jumps up. He turns and plops his little hairless butt down on the cushion and proceeds to sit there, staring at me.

  I return his stare.

  “I refuse to be intimidated by you,” I say, casting Lara’s guardian a cautious glance. But Atticus doesn’t blink. He doesn’t give any indication that he’s worried about me in the slightest.

  I guess I know who’s boss…

  I glance down at the pile of laundry. Normally, I’d just leave them there. They’re not hurting anyone, and would be easy for the cleaning lady to find and pick up. Of course, I’m guessing that Lara considers a cleaning service a luxury she can’t afford, meaning she’ll have to pick up the clothes.

  And then there’s Atticus.

  “You wouldn’t eat her underwear, would you?”

  The dog doesn’t respond, but something about the look in his eye makes me think that now that the idea has come up, it seems like a good one. Having seen how fast he moves, I wouldn’t put it past him to take a running leap off the couch, snag the underwear, and disappear to God only knows where before I have a chance to react.

  Sighing heavily, I bend and scoop up the laundry and carry the pile across the room. I poke my head into the room the dog emerged from. It’s a very pretty bedroom.

  Good.

  Tossing the laundry on the floor, I pull the door closed and smirk at the dog. “There, that takes care of that problem.”

  I swear Atticus rolls his eyes before lying down on the couch and resting his narrow head on his front paws.

  “Now, if you don’t mind—” I nod at the bathroom door and try not to feel like an idiot for talking to the dog. “But this is one shower I don’t want to miss. So you just stay right there and don’t eat anything you shouldn’t. Okay?”

  I
don’t wait for him to answer. I nudge the washroom door open and step into the dense steam cloud swirling on the opposite side.

  9

  Lara

  I don’t bother reaching for the loofah.

  I simply brace my shoulder against the tile wall, close my eyes, and let the hot water run over me, easing deep muscle aches as it rinses away the stickiness.

  Images flicker against the back of my eyelids. Paul’s smile as I toed off my sneakers so I’d glide across the dance floor instead of sticking to it, the look in his eyes the second before he tilted his head and used his mouth to claim mine, his expression as his hands explored every single inch of my body.

  My knees tremble as my body recalls exactly what his hands feel like against my skin. My blood runs as hot as the water pounding over me.

  What is it about Paul that’s so different from any of the men I’ve known?

  What is it about him that allowed me to step into his arms and finally trust someone with my body?

  Granted, I’ve met some real weasels in my time – what woman hasn’t? – and since opening the bar, they seem to have come out of the woodwork, each one thinking they were some gift to all womankind and convinced that the pretty bartender would want nothing more than to sleep with them, which I didn’t.

  But I’ve also known, dated even, some really great guys. Guys I’ve known a lot longer than Paul, but each time they kissed me, something caused me to hold back. But with Paul, there was no hesitation, simply a sense of trust and … Rightness.

  Is that even a word? I don’t know, but it feels right to me.

  I’ll admit it. I keep expecting to regret what we did, to realize that I’ve made a massive mistake and lost a part of me that I’ll never get back, but so far, that just hasn’t happened. The only thing I feel is a warm glow that starts in my chest, and has spread all the way to my fingers and toes.