The Maverick's Baby-In-Waiting

by Melissa Senate

  “What’s all this?” Mikayla asked when the man left with the fat tip Jensen had handed him.

  “You can toss that ten-dollar dress that doesn’t fit,” Jensen said. “I asked one of the hotel boutiques to send up a few things you might like for tonight. Whichever pieces you don’t choose, we can send back.”

  She gasped. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Go see.”

  She unzipped the first bag and fell in love. A sparkly midnight blue gown in a floaty jersey with an empire waist and a slit to the thigh. Sexy, schmexy. Beside it was a box containing high-heeled silver sandals and a silver evening bag. The next garment bag held a sleeveless red dress, tea length, with beautiful embroidery around the neckline and hem. In the box near it, black stilettos and a black evening bag. And the third bag contained a silver dress with a plunging neckline. It also had an accompanying box of shoes and bag. Above the bags was a velvet box containing jewelry pieces.

  All three dresses would accommodate her belly, too. Whodathunk this fancy hotel would have boutiques with maternity evening wear?

  She stared at the gorgeous dresses on the bed, then turned to her prince. “Jensen, you shouldn’t have. But oh, hell, I’m glad you did. I feel like Cinderella.”

  “Surprise me with your choice,” he said, kissing her on the cheek and disappearing into the second bedroom.

  The midnight blue with the slit up to there was her fantasy dress, the kind she always wished she’d had an occasion to wear. During her time with he-who-would-not-be-named-anymore, they hadn’t attended any functions or parties. Sometimes, Mikayla had wondered if her ex hadn’t thought her good enough to hobnob with his lawyer colleagues. Now she knew it was he who wasn’t good enough. Good riddance to you, she thought, slipping the dress—thankfully zipper-free—over her head. It floated over her breasts and belly and down to her ankles, the thigh slit making her smile. She tried on the silver shoes. High but very comfortable. Then she transferred her phone, wallet, compact and lip gloss into her fancy new evening bag.

  In the bathroom she added a bit of makeup, a little more than she usually wore. The dress called for it. On the vanity was a basket of small appliances—a hair dryer, curling iron and straightening iron—and loads of travel-size styling products. She dried her hair and used the curling iron to add a few beachy waves. A slick of her red lip gloss, a tiny dab of her favorite perfume and she was ready.

  When she came back into the main room, she heard a wolf whistle.

  “Holy wow,” Jensen said, looking her up and down and back again. “You look exquisite.”

  And so did he in his dark suit, sans tie. He looked like a combination of a movie star, a secret agent and a cowboy in one.

  “Thank you for all this.” This being her last hurrah. And she was going to do it up. Until she came to Rust Creek Falls, no one had ever just handed her anything. Suddenly, she was being treated like royalty.

  And it was so magical and such a fantasy that it truly did keep her head where it needed to be. Remembering that Jensen wasn’t hers. That he would be leaving and that she had to accept it. Fantasy wasn’t real life. And nothing about this day and night was remotely close to real life. Unless you were a Jones.

  * * *

  If only Mikayla was one of those women who took a long time to get ready. Or if Jensen had forgotten his wallet and needed to run back to the suite to get it. But no. The universe had timed it perfectly so that they would arrive at the elevator bank on their floor at the exact time that a couple a few suites down did.

  “Aw! You’re about to pop, aren’t you, sweetie?” the young woman said to Mikayla. She, too, wore a slinky dress with a slit up to the thigh. But her stomach was flatter than the pancakes Mikayla had had for breakfast that morning.

  “Guess it’s all over for you, eh?” her husband said to Jensen. Or at least Mikayla assumed he was her husband based on the wedding rings they wore. “But you had your fun or she wouldn’t be in this condition.” The couple burst out laughing as though that was hilarious. Or original.

  Jensen smiled tightly and stared at the glowing floor numbers over the elevator. He looked so uncomfortable that Mikayla felt like she had to correct the guy.

  “He’s not the father,” she said with an equally tight smile. But thanks for playing.

  “Aw!” the woman said for the second time. “You’re not the father and you’re here in Vegas for a quickie wedding to make her an honorable woman!” She stared at Mikayla’s left hand, empty of a ring. “Aren’t you wonderful!”

  “We’re not here to get married,” Mikayla said.

  The couple stared at her, waiting for the elaboration.

  “We’re having a torrid affair,” Jensen said. “That’s why we’re here.” He pulled Mikayla to him and gave her a kiss that almost made her knees buckle.

  The woman gasped. “Seriously? Ew. Does your husband know?”

  “I don’t have a husband,” Mikayla said.

  The couple inched away from them until they were standing by the other elevator bank. Mikayla suppressed a giggle when the elevator she and Jensen stood in front of dinged and opened, and the couple didn’t get on with them. No doubt they didn’t want to catch their cheater cooties.

  “Served them right,” Mikayla said as the door closed.

  Jensen pressed the floor marked Casino. “Figures they assumed I was the baby’s father.”

  Well, most people would, considering that they were together in a hotel and she was very pregnant.

  “Does that bother you?” she asked, glancing from him to the numbers panel doing down, down, down.

  “More that it just feels...strange. I mean, I’m not the baby’s father. Correcting people feels equally strange.”

  “Guess this part isn’t a fantasy for you,” she said, trying to inject some lightness in her tone. “I mean, here I am in my dream dress, in this luxe hotel, with a gorgeous, sexy millionaire, and for tonight, all my fantasies are real.” Including that you are the father of my child. That you love me. That we are here for our last big night out before the baby comes. Our baby. That we’re married and will spend forever together...

  Good God.

  “Fantasy?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

  She coughed. “Well, I get to play house a little while we’re here. You know what I mean?”

  “No.” His expression was half neutral, half tense.

  Oh, yikes. How the hell had the conversation veered to this? “Jensen, do you remember when you said that we should be able to talk about anything?”

  “Of course. And I meant it.”

  She bit her lip, then just went for it. “Well, put yourself in my shoes for a moment. For the past several months, I’ve been getting more and more pregnant and less and less married. I walk around without a ring on my finger. Everyone knows I’m single and pregnant. Poor Mikayla.”

  “But that couple assumed we were together. Married,” he added, with such disdain in his voice that she knew the word was hard for him to say.

  “You know that woman figured I had to take off my ring from pregnancy bloat.”

  He scrunched up his handsome face. She was talking about pregnancy bloat? Some fantasy. Get this conversation back on track, Mikayla. If that was even possible.

  “I just mean that the assumptions are...nice, Jensen. For me.”

  He stared at her, understanding coming into his blue eyes. Then disappointment.

  “You know what?” she said. “Forget it. Forget all that. Let’s ignore everyone else and their assumptions and be who we are and have a good time. Isn’t that why we’re here?”

  Back to her self–pep talk. But inside she felt anything but spirited. She wanted to run back upstairs and dive into that Jacuzzi and stay there—alone—until her fingers and toes were prunes.

  Jensen Jones’s fantasy was about sex and romanc
e and having a very good time—until he got on that plane back to Tulsa. Why did she keep forgetting that?

  When the elevator door pinged open, Jensen took her hand and held it to his lips. “Mikayla, we are who we are. Being mistaken for a dad isn’t who I am. Who I’d ever want to be. I don’t even own a pair of dad jeans.” He smiled and tipped up her chin with his finger. The attempt at a light joke didn’t do anything to make her feel less alone in the world.

  Here she was, the opposite of alone, and she couldn’t have felt lonelier at the moment.

  But Jensen was right. He was who he was and she had to stop trying to make him someone else. Trying to change him and their deal.

  He wasn’t her baby’s father.

  He wasn’t her husband.

  She forced a big smile. “Let’s go have fun. I have a gorgeous dress to show off.”

  He looked her up and down. “And I have a gorgeous woman to show off. Let’s go spend an hour in the casino and then we’ll head to that steak house I promised you.”

  The moment they entered the casino, a sharp-dressed waiter immediately appeared with a tray of drinks, all alcoholic. Jensen flagged down a waitress carrying soft drinks and took two glasses of sparkling water.

  Mikayla was amazed at how much free stuff there was. Waiter after waiter carried through trays of appetizers and drinks. The casino was crowded, everyone dressed up. She sure was glad she hadn’t had to stuff herself into her grow-with-me dress.

  A hand that did not belong to Mikayla or Jensen reached out and patted Mikayla’s tummy as they stopped at the blackjack table. For heaven’s sake, Mikayla thought, why did total strangers think that was okay?

  “Oh, what are you, eight months along?” the middle-aged woman asked, her hazel eyes glassy as she shifted her wineglass into her other hand. Someone had clearly been drinking for hours. The woman didn’t wait for a response. “Here’s my prediction. If it’s a girl, the baby will get your brown hair and eyes, and if it’s a boy, he’ll get your husband’s blond hair and blue eyes,” she added, pointing her glass at Jensen. “The good genes are always wasted on the boys!” A burst of cigarette-tinged hoarse laughter followed. Thankfully, the woman moved on.

  Jensen raised an eyebrow and mock shivered. “It will never cease to amaze me when someone, even someone falling down drunk, mistakes me for a husband and father-to-be. I feel like I have a blinking neon sign over my head that reads Bachelor Dude.”

  Mikayla bit her lip. Guess he wasn’t going to play along with her fantasy. For a minute there, she figured he’d bend over backward, as usual, to make her happy, and pretend he was her husband and the baby’s father—just for tonight.

  As if he could bear that, she realized. Why was she so thickheaded sometimes? Of course he couldn’t play that game. Play house. It was everything he didn’t want. And she had no right to force that role on him.

  Leave the poor rich guy alone, she ordered herself. Just have the good time you’re here to have.

  For the next hour, as they played a few tables, they were asked four times when their little one was due, if Jensen was a first-time father and if he was ready to kiss his freedom goodbye—in a good way, chuckle, chuckle (which made Mikayla want to pummel that guy).

  “Know if you’re having a boy or a girl?” a very pretty twentysomething in a slinky dress asked at the roulette table, her thigh slit much higher than Mikayla’s. The question was directed to Mikayla, but the redhead immediately shifted her attention to Jensen—with a look of pure desire.

  “It’ll be a surprise,” Mikayla said, her attention on the dealer. Get your expertly made-up eyes off my man, she wanted to screech at the woman.

  “Trying to have your last bit of fun before the baby comes, huh?” the redhead purred, sliding a glance at Mikayla’s belly before turning her smoldering gaze back on Jensen. “I’m in room 2104, here on boring business,” she whispered to him. But Mikayla had heard her loud and clear.

  Oh, no, you didn’t! Mikayla thought, staring down the woman. “He’s not interested in your room number.”

  The redhead gave Mikayla a we’ll see about that later look.

  Jensen lost the bet, stood up and didn’t acknowledge the redhead or her come-on as he led Mikayla from the table. He did not look happy. He did not look like a man having his last bit of fun or his last hurrah.

  “Dude,” a middle-aged man in loud plaid Bermuda shorts and carrying a huge belly himself said to Jensen as he passed by. “They never get their bodies back. Sad but true.” He shook his head.

  Mikayla caught Jensen making a fist, his eyes narrowed. If he were a cartoon bull, steam would be coming out of his ears and he’d charge right for the guy. Uh-oh.

  She ushered him away from the jerk and out of the casino.

  What was with all the comments? Mind your own business, she wanted to scream at the room. Eyes on your own paper! Get a life!

  Then again, she was a heavily pregnant woman in a casino. And the only one. She stood out for the crazies.

  As they walked to the restaurant, Jensen put his hands around his mouth like a megaphone and said, “It’s not my baby. Jeez!” He shook his head. “Is this what it’s like for you all the time? People touching you and asking you nosy questions?”

  Mikayla felt her heart actually sink.

  It’s not my baby. Jeez. It. Is. Not. My. Baby.

  No kidding, Jensen. This is definitely not your baby.

  “Well, not in Rust Creek Falls,” she said when she forced an instant recovery. “But it happened in Cheyenne before I moved. People are just interested, I guess. A few people were sweet about it, like the woman who almost cried and said her youngest was turning eighteen next week and she wished she could go back to being pregnant all over again. They don’t realize they’re being a little invasive.”

  “A little? I’d say three-quarters of the comments and questions were downright rude. And that last jerkazoid? I almost flattened him. Who do these nutjobs think they are? And you’re damned right I wasn’t interested in that lady’s hotel room number. She thought you were my pregnant wife and yet she was coming on to me?” He rolled his eyes, disgust marring his gorgeous features. “As if I’d ditch you and run for the elevator?”

  She had to admit she was enjoying his takedown of the snake. But she’d never seen him so angry; Mikayla was usually the rager in this duo. Maybe she should interject a little levity, calm him down. “Well, they do say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Anything goes here.”

  “Still, people should mind their own business. What gives anyone the right to comment on your body? Your pregnancy? Or how I might feel about being a father?” He shook his head.

  “For one thing,” he continued, “I’m not the father of anyone’s baby. I hate assumptions, you know? Don’t assume things about me, people!”

  More head shaking. More ear steam.

  Well, if Mikayla had had any shred of hope that Jensen might fall madly in love with her and want to be in her and her baby’s life, it stayed behind in the lobby as they entered the steak house.

  As if Mikayla had an appetite.

  Being mistaken for her baby’s daddy had made him lose his mind.

  Mikayla let out a sigh, and Jensen was so involved in his own head that he didn’t even hear. She was surprised he didn’t continue his rant with “And another thing...”

  The man had made himself clear from the get-go. Had he not run screaming out of Daisy’s Donuts eight seconds after discovering the woman he was trying to pick up was pregnant? Had he not proposed this no-strings temporary affair? Had he not said mere hours ago that he would be leaving Rust Creek Falls?

  As they were seated in the heavenly smelling restaurant, Mikayla said, “Jensen, let’s change the subject and enjoy our dinner.”

  “Good idea,” he said.

  Except as they looked over the menu, she could tell he w
as still out of sorts and so was she. But by the time their entrées arrived, their small talk had elevated their moods and they actually laughed as they reminisced about the Stocktons’ party at Sunshine Farm and little Henry Stockton running off with the pie. Her filet mignon and roasted potatoes were the most amazing she’d ever had, and she tried to focus on the flavor and the elegance of the restaurant and the other diners. A trio of jazz musicians played on a short stage by a grand window, adding to the absolutely lovely ambience. When else would she experience this? Just let it all go, she told herself.

  Except she couldn’t. She was a woman in love. And as they headed to their suite after dinner, she called herself all kinds of a fool. What business did she have falling for Jensen Jones? Why hadn’t she listened to her mama’s advice, which was always playing in her head and heart, even if her mom wasn’t here anymore?

  Up on the fifty-first floor, Jensen slipped the key card in the door of their suite. “Home sweet home, for the night, anyway. Phew, I feel completely better now. Between that excellent dinner and the lack of conversation about marriage and fatherhood, I started feeling like myself again. And now,” he said, slipping his arms around her, “I can romance my woman without the peanut gallery making comments.”

  My woman. Ha.

  But she wished. She let out another sigh, and this one he caught.

  “You okay?” he asked, bringing a hand to her cheek.

  She nodded and stepped inside the suite. The moment the door closed, she found herself unexpectedly relaxing. Maybe because now they were alone, all those nutjobs were shut away, their comments going, going, gone from her spinning head, which was now much clearer.

  Still, Mikayla wasn’t much in the mood for romance right now. But when she glanced over at Jensen, standing in front of the minibar and taking out the lemon-infused water he’d ordered especially for her, her heart opened back up again. The fridge and little freezer were full of specially ordered things Mikayla craved. Like Cajun-coated peanuts. And a pint of Max’s chocolate-chocolate chip. He poured her a glass of the lemon water, took out the rest of the strawberries and cream and a beer for himself, and set them on the table near the sliding glass doors.