VEGAS follows you home

by Sadie Grubor

  "It is about Alex. I could've easily been one of the other women. If I hadn't been the one to give birth, you wouldn't even be here right now."

  "If I had met you, just you, without any of this, I would still want you."

  "You only say that because—"

  His head lifts from my lap. A coldness caresses where he'd been and for a tiny second, I miss his warmth.

  "Why can't you believe what I'm saying? I have no reason to lie, Olivia. If I only wanted Alex, I could have easily gone to a lawyer and gotten my rights instated. In fact, I'd initially planned to do just that, but then came you."

  His hands flex against my body.

  "Can't you just try?" Desperation darkens his eyes.

  I shake my head, slowly.

  This is crazy. People don't do this. At least, sane, normal people don't agree to things like this. He's a stranger who tracked me down because of sperm. And I'm not so sure about the state of his sanity and grief.

  "Don't say no. Not yet," he blurts before crashing his lips to mine.

  The kiss is brutal, demanding, yet conveys all the desperation and desire he thinks he feels. The warmth of his mouth is familiar and I unwittingly think about our night in Vegas. His lips warming other bare parts of my body.

  I just barely open my mouth for his probing tongue when reality comes crashing back.

  "Damon—"

  I try to mumble a protest, but he plunges his warm tongue into the depths of my mouth. The magic of his slick tongue massaging my own entrances my body. Heat, lust, and desire pulse from where our mouths meet, causing my entire body to ache with need.

  His hand cups the back of my head and fists in my hair. Memories of his grip on my hair while he took me from behind in a Vegas hotel room gets my juices flowing.

  Needing air, I turn my head and gasp.

  Damon's mouth travels over my jaw and toward my ear. His tongue and teeth play along my heated flesh.

  "Damon…" I try once more to protest.

  "Olivia," he moans, pressing his full body against mine.

  I catch my own moan before it falls from my panting mouth.

  "Stop." I force the word. "You need to stop."

  He continues to cloud my mind and rile my body with his teeth and tongue.

  "Damon!" I shout. "You need to stop."

  He freezes. I try clearing my mind with gulps of air as I push his body away from mine.

  He leans back onto his heels, his chest rising and falling heavily.

  "I'm sorry." He drops his head. "I thought you—"

  "You just…" What the hell! It wasn't just him. "WE got carried away." Swallowing, I sit up straight. "That can't happen."

  I try to stand, but he's right back with his head in my lap.

  "We have a connection and chemistry. I felt it the first night, Olivia. You felt it then and you feel it now."

  His arms slip around my waist again.

  With his mouth so close to still aching places on my body, I squirm.

  "Please, let go."

  Closing my eyes, I try not to feel the lingering tingle he left across my skin.

  This is not normal, not sane. Damon Knyght is an obsessive stalker.

  "Please, don't make me leave," he bargains, agreeing to release me.

  "It would be best if you stayed somewhere else."

  "I want to be here with the two of you," he pleads.

  "Damon," I groan.

  "You know I would never harm either of you. Let me stay."

  His head lifts and he stares longingly into my eyes.

  "Fine, but you stay in the spare bedroom." I narrow my eyes.

  "Now who's the ridiculous one?" He sits back once more. “You’re my wife. I’ve seen you naked, had you under me, screaming—“

  “Okay, hotel for you. Have a good night.” I push to standing. He stands with me.

  “Fine,” he grumbles. “Spare room.”

  “I don’t want you thinking this means something, Damon. I meant what I said. We can work out something where Alex is concerned, but I don't want this marriage. I also don't want you to confuse him by calling yourself his father."

  His face hardens.

  "At least, not yet," I hurry to amend.

  Hurt flashes across his face.

  "I'm here for two weeks, Olivia, and, as you already know, I can be very persuasive." Before I can respond to his smug ass remark, he continues, "The spare room is this way, right?"

  He disappears down the hall.

  That bastard!

  Exhausted, I turn off the lights, make sure the door is locked, and make my way to my bed for the night. Unfortunately, the events of the night are on replay in my head.

  His demands and requests, how horrible his loss must be, and my own insanity for allowing this to continue. I've become part of the problem.

  "He needs to find a hotel tomorrow," I say out loud to the darkness of my room before finally falling asleep.

  Four in the morning blares its ugly arrival on my alarm clock. I dress and head to the bakery. My personal problems can't interfere with my business any more than they already have.

  Mercedes breezes in with sunglasses on and an extra-large coffee in her hand.

  "Rough night?" I laugh.

  "Shh, not so loud," she whispers and slips into her office, without turning on the light.

  Giggling, I start the muffins, breads, and cookies. Once I'm done with the initial baked goods, I get the urge to change the special for the day.

  I grab the ingredients and start up the food processor, adding pepperoni, ham, smoked mozzarella cheese, and just a bit of smoked cheddar. In the mixer, I attach the dough hooks and place in the ingredients.

  By the time Sarah and Greg arrive, the dough is on its second rising.

  "Morning," Sarah smiles and Greg mumbles in unison.

  "Good morning, guys." I focus on Greg. "You look like you're in the same shape as Ced."

  "What are you making?" Sarah asks, pulling an apron over her head. It's the one I gave her last year that says if you like these cookies, you should taste my muffin.

  "I changed the special." I shrug. "I'm in the mood for pepperoni and ham rolls."

  "Need any help with them?" Sarah rolls up the short sleeves of her bakery shirt the way she likes them.

  "Sure, if you don't have anything else to start."

  She steps next to me and starts cutting pieces of dough before flattening, filling, and rolling. She inhales deeply.

  "What did you put in the dough? Garlic?" she asks.

  “Yeah, that and parmesan cheese,” I answer.

  “I will love you forever if you say I can have one this afternoon.” Greg stands opposite Sarah, his hands clasped in prayer.

  "You will love me no matter what," I counter.

  "True, but come on. Please?" He smiles and bats his lashes.

  "Oh God, tell him yes so he'll stop that." Sarah cringes, teasing.

  "Okay," I laugh.

  "Yes!" Greg fist pumps.

  "You realize you look like a demented bobble head when you do that, right?" Sarah calls after Greg's retreating form.

  "Don't be jealous!" he shouts before disappearing into the large cake fridge.

  With Sarah's help, I get the rolls done in half the time I thought they would take. We place them on top of the ovens, so they can rise one last time before baking.

  Sarah walks to the radio. Her hand hovering over the flour, sugar, and icing covered device on one of the shelves along the wall.

  “Sure,” I agree, walking toward Mercedes’ office.

  I grab the baby video monitor off the table along the way and then lean into her door.

  "You feeling okay?" I raise a brow at her.

  "Better now. Just had a hard time waking up today. I'm getting too old for long nights."

  "You wanna trade nights?" I mumble, sitting in the chair opposite her.

  The look of confusion on her face prompts me to tell her about the events of yesterday evening.<
br />
  "He's upstairs right now?" She bites her bottom lip, her eyes wide.

  "Unfortunately," I agree. "Though, he will be finding somewhere else to stay while he is in town. I already feel stupid crazy for allowing a stalker to spend the night."

  Huffing, I set the monitor onto Mercedes’ desk. "Can you keep an eye on him while I start on some orders?"

  "Of course." She smiles. "Maybe you should get one of these put in your husband's room," she giggles.

  "Not funny,” I say flatly.

  “Oh, come on! I'll watch that monitor for you." She winks. "Say what you will, that man is fine. I wonder if he sleeps nude or perhaps in his boxers. Wait! What kind of underwear does he wear?”

  She seriously wants me to answer.

  “I’m done with you,” I state and turn away, heading back to the kitchen.

  “Come on, Liv! Give a girl something!” Ced yells.

  Ignoring her, I watch Sarah and Greg work at their tables.

  “Someone cake me,” I shout.

  “Over here!” Sarah shouts before Greg can. “Hush it, Greg. You got her last time."

  To Greg's approval, Emily arrives shortly after I begin working on a company function cake with Sarah.

  "Liv, Alex is awake," Mercedes calls from her office.

  Looking up at the clock on the wall, I stretch my neck and back. "Where did those hours go?"

  Sarah snorts in response.

  "Want me to go get him?" Mercedes leans against the doorframe of her office.

  "I've got him." Waving her back into her office, I remove my apron and head upstairs.

  "What am I gonna make for breakfast?" I whisper the question to the empty hall, flexing my fingers. Those little fondant pieces are really making my hands sore today.

  Mid finger flex, I step into Alex’s room and clench my hands into fists.

  “What are you doing?” My question sounds more panicked than intended.

  Damon looks up from Alex, who he is holding in his arms.

  “He was yelling for you and I was already awake, working on my laptop, so—"

  I barely comprehend what Damon is saying to me. All I can focus on is how relaxed Alex is in his arms. Curious, but relaxed, all the same.

  "I've got him." I quickly take him from Damon and start toward the kitchen.

  "Olivia," Damon sighs heavily. "I'm only trying to help."

  His footfalls so close behind me, tell me he is following.

  "He doesn't know you," I bark.

  "He didn't seem to have a problem with me." His smugness irritates me more.

  "You could have scared him. Did you think about that?" I glare at him from over my shoulder.

  He snorts.

  "Please, I'm not stupid. Of course I thought about it. I stepped in slowly and kept my distance. And do you know what he did, Olivia?"

  Securing the final latch on the high chair, I turn toward Damon with my arms over my chest.

  "What, Damon?"

  "He smiled and said, 'Up!'." Damon leans against the kitchen island, looking way too just-woke-up-this-hot. "I'm pretty sure he's okay with me."

  Dropping my arms in defeat, I go get apples and start slicing up tiny pieces for Alex.

  "Shi…er, crap," I groan.

  "Are you okay?" Damon is standing next to me before he finishes the question.

  "I'm fine." Putting my cut finger into my mouth, I side step to the sink. Damn it! Take the irritation out on him, not yourself.

  "Let me see it. Is it deep? Do you think you need stitches?" He presses close to my side, watching intently as I rinse my finger in cold water.

  "I'm. Fine," I placate, raising an eyebrow at his overreaction.

  "Let me see your damn finger," he growls, grabbing my hand from the water stream. He studies my finger. "You at least need a butterfly bandage for this. Do you have one?"

  "No." Shaking my head, I pull my hand away and wrap a paper towel around the finger. "It will be okay. It's not the first time."

  Scooping up the pieces of apples with my healthy hand, I take them to Alex's tray. Turning back to the kitchen, I pause. Where the hell did he go? Ignoring Damon's sudden absence, I move onto toasting some frozen waffles.

  "Where is your first aid kit?" Damon's voice carries from my hallway.

  "Damon," I groan, "my finger is—"

  "Fine. I know, I heard you. Where's the kit?" he shouts over clanging and rustling.

  "It's in the hallway closet."

  Alex's waffle pops up, so I prepare and serve little man before he starts slamming his fists on his tray.

  "Give me your hand." The screech of the barstool accompanies Damon's demand.

  Damon has the kit open and items spread out in a very surgical fashion on the marble countertop. His hand extends out expectantly for mine.

  "Just give me a bandage. I can put it on." I reach out, palm up.

  He grabs my wrist and pulls me toward him, examining the cut and then his supplies.

  "Will I lose it, Doc?" Feigning fear, I press my good hand to my chest.

  He rolls his eyes in my direction and presses his lips tightly together.

  "It could get infected if you don't take care of it properly."

  Now it's my turn to roll my eyes.

  "I've done worse to myself, and look," I hold up both hands and wiggle my fingers, "I still have them all."

  Not amused, he grabs my hand back and begins cleaning out the cut before placing a bandage over the injury.

  "Thank you," I mumble and pull my hand away.

  "No need to thank me." Smiling, he stands and kisses my forehead before I can back away.

  The gesture warms me, which irritates the shit out of me.

  "Damon, you need to figure out where you're going to stay."

  "I have." He cleans up the first aid kit, putting things away in better order than he found them.

  "You have?" Part of me is disappointed. I quell the warm fuzzy feelings and replace them with indifference.

  "Yes. I'll be staying here." First aid kit put back together, he faces me with a smile, propping his hip against the counter.

  "You can't stay here," I blurt. "It's too awkward and—"

  "Awkward how?" He studies me with one brow raised.

  "You're my…stalker?" The answer came out more like a question. What is wrong with me!

  Annoyance washes away the amusement from moments ago.

  "I'm not a stalker." His words are hard, determined.

  "Your actions have suggested otherwise," I mumble while I start cleaning up the kitchen.

  "My actions only prove I am determined, especially when I know what I want."

  I tense and my body warms, but not from his words. He stands so close behind me, his breath brushes over the back of my neck. His hands plant on the counter, trapping me. My traitorous body kicks into hormonal overdrive, every nerve-ending coming to life.

  Inhaling deeply, the masculine smell of him almost melts my resolve. To clear my head, I clench my hand, causing the cut on my finger to throb.

  "Stalker," I repeat.

  "Liv," Mercedes calls, stopping short to take in Damon and my position. Her lips curl up on one side. "Am I interrupting?"

  "What's up, Ced?" I take the moment of distraction to pull away from Damon.

  "Uh, you have some fondant down there that Sarah's not sure what you were doing with and it's drying. She was going to put it away, but I told her I'd ask you about it first." Ced leans against the wall, her arms crossing over her chest. "I can finish up with Alex and then bring him down."

  "I've got him," Damon interjects.

  Releasing a breath of annoyance, I turn to him.

  "He usually spends the day in the bakery with us."

  Turning back to Ced, I ask, "You sure you can bring him down?"

  "Yep." She straightens from the wall and slips into the kitchen. By the tightness of her lips, she's trying not to smile, still amused by the position she found us in.

  As I pass
by, I shoot her a glare.

  Fifteen minutes after my return to the bakery, and the fondant, I hear one too many sets of feet on the stairs from the apartment.

  Glancing up, Mercedes enters and Damon follows with Alex in his arms. The sounds of the bakery kitchen fall silent, everyone's eyes on Damon and Alex.

  "Right here." Mercedes points out Alex's play area.

  Damon takes a moment to look at the area before setting him down within the gate.

  "This is set up really well," he comments and nods to Ced.

  "We hired a safety specialist to create the space." Ced's eyes come to mine, though she is speaking to Damon. She gives me a wavering smile and quickly turns away.

  "Up," Alex demands. My eyes go back to my son, who is currently holding his arms toward Damon. "Up," he demands again with a little hop.

  Sitting down on the stool next to my worktable, I drop my forehead to the cold steel.

  My own son, a traitor.

  Damon

  She watches everything I do as if I'm going to run away with the boy. Perhaps my methods have been a bit unconventional, but not once have I given her reason to think I would harm either of them.

  "Up," Alex calls out.

  Looking down, my chest squeezes tight. He wants me. He's asking me to pick him up. Quickly, I lift him into my arms. A feeling of contentment I haven’t felt in so very long relaxes my tense muscles.

  His hands press over my eyes, then pull away quickly. A large grin meets me as he shouts, "Boo!”, and giggles. My own loud laugh encourages him to repeat the game he's playing.

  We play the game until I catch sight of Olivia watching us. Again, she looks nervous. Ruffling Alex's hair, I give him a quick hug before placing him back in his play area. He walks over to a box full of toys and my resolve solidifies. There's no way I'm giving this up.

  I turn back toward the kitchen. Olivia has turned her attention to a cake and no one is directly staring, though a couple sets of eyes slant in my direction every few seconds before shifting away.

  For a moment, I don't know what to do with myself. There are no conference calls, board meetings, client visits, or any of my mother's demands to be concerned with. What the hell do I do with myself?

  I'm contemplating climbing into the play area with my son when the phone in my pocket vibrates.