Ranger's Baby Surprise: A Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Violet Paige

  I laughed. “See, this is something else we didn’t know about each other.”

  “That you have a wicked temper?” he taunted.

  “No, that you think sex can fix all problems.”

  “It can’t?” He looked genuinely stunned. “I want you in my bed. I can turn that anger into something productive for you.”

  “Not tonight you can’t.” God, why was I picking a fight with him? Was I really that upset I had scared him? Or was it his tone? His arrogance?

  “I don’t want you to sleep in the guest room.” He cleared his throat. For a second I believed it was difficult for him to say those words. I was pushing him to ask for something he expected me to deliver on my own.

  “Then stop treating me like one of your properties. Stop treating me like you own me.” I pulled my toothbrush from my floral overnight bag and stormed into the bathroom.

  I looked up in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. Jeremy stood behind me. His eyes were dark and intense. He made me shiver, but I wasn’t falling for that smoldering stare. Not this time. I didn’t leave Newton Hills to be his call girl. I wasn’t a for-hire wife.

  I spat into the sink and splashed my face with water.

  If I gave into his bedroom eyes every time he wanted me, he’d lose respect for me. And damn it, I’d lose respect for myself. I hadn’t negotiated away my soul when I married him. Maybe I should put that in writing.

  I twisted the faucet handle and looked up.

  He was gone. I pivoted. The guest room was empty. I tiptoed to the door and pressed my ear against the cool surface. I held my breath, concentrating to listen. The door on the other side of the hall closed quietly.

  I stood tall and pulled my shoulders back. Tonight, my husband was going to have to sleep alone. And I was going to convince myself I had won an important battle.

  19

  Jeremy

  I flipped through every channel I had. Twice. Three times. The projections for spring training weren’t enough to distract me. I tried to focus on what the commentators had to say about pitching recruits, but baseball was the last thing on my mind. I finally turned off the TV.

  I stared at the ceiling. I threw off the comforter and ambled to the master bath. Which was better: hot or cold water? I took a shower. I shaved. I brushed my teeth again. There was no way I was going to fall asleep like this. Damn it. Evie was in my head. She had gotten under my skin. And apparently, the woman caused massive insomnia.

  I opened the bedroom door and listened outside of Evie’s room. It was quiet.

  I walked to the kitchen. I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since before the investment meeting. I was too distracted with Evie missing when I got home. Then the fight. It was my last hope for getting some sleep. I rummaged through the fridge. I settled on making a cheese and bacon omelet.

  Why had I spent the last half of my day battling with two women? My day had started off spectacularly. The morning in the honeymoon suite seemed as if it had happened a week ago. I was hungover enough to think that every morning with Evie could start the same way. We could fuck each other breathless and then go about our separate lives.

  I wasn’t prepared for pushback. I wasn’t ready for a fight. And I wasn’t ready to let her out of my bed.

  I placed a carton of eggs on the counter. The fridge automatically subtracted the number I removed and added them to the running grocery list. If I wanted, I could have the replacements delivered by tomorrow.

  The frying pans were in a low cabinet. I crouched to find the right size among the expensive French set, and reached for the bacon. The fridge chirped with another grocery item. I grumbled as I started the stove and watched the blue flame flicker.

  I rotated to the kitchen island and began to whip the eggs and cream together. My eyes hit the box sitting on the counter. I stopped what I was doing.

  My stomach growled and I knew I needed to make this omelet. The box didn’t matter. How and why I stopped to get it after work seemed even less important.

  The bacon splattered in the pan, and I added another strip.

  “Hi.”

  Evie was behind me, standing in the kitchen in a T-shirt that draped from her shoulder. Her hair was messy and gathered on one side.

  “What are you doing up?” I asked.

  “Do you usually make breakfast at midnight?” She stepped closer in her bare feet.

  Damn. She was sassy.

  “No.” I rubbed the back of my hair. “I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t eat dinner.”

  “I didn’t either,” she admitted.

  “Want to join me? Bacon and cheese omelet? I happen to make the best in New York.”

  I could tell she was trying not to smile. “You’d make one for me?”

  I laughed. “Why wouldn’t I? Are you implying I’d hold a grudge?”

  She exhaled, sliding onto a bar stool. “I wouldn’t blame you, I guess. But an omelet would be nice, if you’re offering.”

  “I am.”

  I cracked more eggs and whipped together another omelet for her. The bacon was almost ready.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Is it the guest room? Are you out of towels? Do you need a noise machine to drown out the street sounds?”

  “It’s everything.” Her voice cracked. I expected her to take the bait of my sarcastic quips, but it was the complete opposite.

  I turned to face her. “What happened? What’s wrong?” I shoveled the omelets on two plates and placed one in front of her with a fork.

  She looked up. “I talked to my parents tonight.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. Before I walked home. My mom called.” She reached for her fork. “I knew telling them about the elopement would shock them, but I had convinced myself that somehow they’d be more excited for me than mad.”

  “And that wasn’t the case?”

  She shook her head. “My father wants to talk to you.”

  “Fuck. That doesn’t sound good.” The last time I talked to someone’s dad was when I took Julia Sanders to prom our senior year. He’d wanted the name of the hotel where we were staying, so I didn’t think he qualified as father of the year.

  Concerned, caring parents were out of my realm. Parents like Evie had.

  “I told them we’d call tomorrow.” Her eyes misted over. “I don’t know if I can ask you to do that now.”

  “Why? Because of our fight?”

  She bit into the omelet. “This is good.”

  “Thanks.” I leaned on the counter, studying her while I ate dinner. “I’ll call your dad tomorrow, Evie.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” We finished our omelets in silence. I placed the extra slices of bacon between us. “Tell me what your dad wants to hear. By the time I’m off the phone we’ll have his full blessing.”

  She huffed. “He’s not that kind of man. If you try anything but the truth, he’ll know you’re lying.”

  “I might surprise you. I’m a solid negotiator. I’ve talked my way through mergers and company buyouts.”

  “This isn’t a negotiation. You married his daughter without the essential father-son talk. You’ve disrespected him in his eyes. He is the kind of man to hold a grudge.”

  “Shit. I didn’t know we were living in the Godfather world. It’s going to make for an awkward family Christmas.”

  She giggled. I couldn’t help but smile. At least she wasn’t pissed anymore.

  “I might have rewritten our history a little bit.”

  “What did you tell them about me? Does your husband already embarrass you?” I teased. “You had to make up a fake story? You can’t change the past. They know me from Newton Hills.”

  “Of course not, but I might have edited some details—like how long we’ve been talking, or dating, or whatever it is that led to us eloping.”

  I shrugged. “What? You told them we talked longer than six hours? Did you stretch it to twenty-four? That makes it sound much more believable.”
r />   She burst out laughing. “That sounds insane.”

  “Just tell me the spin. I’ll go along with it.”

  “I told them we found each other on a website and reconnected after all these years. Things moved faster than either of us expected. That’s why I never mentioned you to them sooner. I tried to make it sound wildly romantic, but I think that part of the story fell flat. They’re angry. They’re hurt.”

  “That doesn’t seem too hard to go along with. It could have happened.”

  Her eyes lifted to mine. “Thank you.”

  “Hey, didn’t Bridgette and Danny get married after they met again on a dating site?”

  “You know about that?” She looked surprised.

  “I read the alumni notes sometimes.” I grinned. “And don’t forget, I remember everything.”

  She laughed. “How could I forget? They should have named you Most Likely to Remember Useless Details,” she mocked.

  “Aww, that hurts, Evie.” I chuckled. “Want another omelet?” I asked. “The stove is still hot and I can always make more bacon.”

  “No. I think I better go back to bed. I can try to sleep now. It was delicious. A nice surprise to know you can cook.”

  She slid off the stool and padded away from the island.

  “Wait. Before you go.” I rushed around to the other side of the kitchen and grabbed the box that had been sitting there since I got home.

  “I have a surprise for you.” I held it forward. “This is yours.”

  I cracked the lid for her to see inside.

  Evie gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth.

  “I don’t know if that means you like it, or I picked the ugliest ring on Fifth Avenue.” I plucked it from the velvet cushion.

  It was three carats of perfection.

  “I-I…” Her eyes darted wildly. “I can’t wear that, Jer.”

  “Why not?” I reached for her left hand. “I saw it and thought it was perfect for you.”

  She stood frozen while I slid the diamond over her knuckle. It fit as if it were meant for her hand alone.

  “It’s just so…huge. So real.”

  I laughed. “Love it when you say I give you huge things.”

  She shoved my chest. “That’s not what I meant.” She stared at her hand. “It’s extravagant. I thought simple bands would be enough. For what this is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  My chest was on fire for her. My cock throbbed. I wanted to scoop her up and carry her to my bed, but I knew after what she said tonight she had set a new boundary. A boundary I wasn’t going to cross. I’d never had to convince a woman to sleep with me. My wife wasn’t going to be the first.

  “Our agreement,” she stated.

  “I want you to wear it. You are my wife, Evie. That’s our agreement. And I want you to have a beautiful ring. The best ring. A ring that lets everyone know you are Mrs. Jeremy Hartwell. Don’t you like it?”

  “It’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s unexpected.” She paused. “I don’t have a ring for you.”

  I ran over to my coat and pulled a second box from the pocket. “I took care of it.”

  I handed it to her. She twisted her lips together, but took the solid band of platinum. The metal was cool as she slid it over my finger. We should have had these last night at the Magnolia Inn, but time was tight and there weren’t any jewelers open in the middle of the night.

  Standing in the kitchen, exchanging rings felt more intimate than the ceremony.

  I wiggled my fingers. It didn’t feel as bad as I always imagined. It wasn’t as if a set of chains and shackles lowered from the ceiling and locked around my neck, wrists, and ankles. It didn’t burn or sear my skin. It was a small ring of precious metal—not the life sentence I pictured.

  “It looks good.” Evie smiled. Her fingers moved through mine. Our palms clasped.

  “Are you still angry with me?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I was furious. I thought about clawing your eyes out.”

  I chuckled. “Is that something I need to worry about?”

  “No.” A sexy smile appeared on her lips. “Not tonight anyway. I feel better. Less raged.”

  I tipped her chin upward. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep my hands off her beautiful body. She drove me crazy.

  “This ring doesn’t mean you own me.”

  “I know that.”

  “I don’t think I believe you, Jer. And that’s the problem,” she whispered.

  My mouth lowered to hers. “We’re in this together.” Our lips touched and she moaned slightly.

  “Jer… ”

  I wrapped my hand around her waist, tugging her to me. I was already hard. I pressed into the soft flesh of her stomach. “It’s your first night in New York. You can spend it where you want.” I raked her bottom lip between my teeth, drawing a sweet low purr from her throat.

  “I’m going to bed.” I dropped my hold and stepped away from her. Everything felt cold without her body, but I was going to make a fucking point one way or the other.

  “Where are you going?” she squeaked.

  I stopped and looked at her. “Bed.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Reverse psychology isn’t going to work on me, Jer. I know what you’re doing.”

  “What about straight-forward psychology?”

  She bit her lip.

  “Come to bed with me, Evie. I don’t want you to sleep alone.”

  “You’re pretending to be worried about me? Is there something scary under the guest room bed you forgot to mention?”

  Damn. She had a smart mouth.

  I exhaled. “No. Nothing scary.” My shoulders relaxed. “Isn’t it obvious? I want you. I want you naked. I want you panting. I want you screaming. I want you to have as many orgasms as your sweet body can handle. I want to fuck you with my tongue first. And then when you want it, I’ll bury my cock inside you. Deep, Evie. That’s what I want. No games. No tricks. No reverse psychology. I want you. I want to spend tonight, what’s left of it, with you in my bed. Fucking you until morning. And I hope like hell you want it too.”

  I walked toward the bedroom, leaving the door wide open.

  20

  Evie

  I stood in disbelief. Every time I thought I had him figured out, I realized I didn’t. There was an easiness about him swimming beneath a layer of power and control. The carefree boy I vaguely knew in Newton Hills had been suffocated by his last name. I didn’t know it then. I didn’t think any of us did. We didn’t know what it meant to be a Hartwell. Over time his circumstances chipped away at that side. He grew up under the shadow of his father’s influence. There were glimpses of light-heartedness. Glimpses of the boy who loved baseball. The one the girls chased after and doodled his initials in their notebooks.

  That was the guy I drank two bottles of wine with. The one who flirted with me and laughed about Mrs. Wratchet’s horrible class. But the man I slept with—that was the possessive one. A man who was used to getting what he wanted in life and in bed. That was the man I married. The one with an elaborate plan to have everything he wanted, including me.

  Tonight, I got to choose. What did I want? How did I want our relationship to be? What was he to me?

  My body made it obvious. He made my pulse race, and my panties wet. I wanted him. I wanted his promises. I wanted the way he touched me. His kisses. His voice in my ear. To touch his chiseled body under the sheets.

  I looked down at the enormous rock on my left hand. I’d never seen a diamond that size on anyone. Frannie would die when she saw it. It was Hollywood size. The kind of ring reserved for the celebrity section of a bride magazine.

  And it was glittering on my hand. Snugly pressed under my knuckle as if he had given it to me during an elaborate proposal. This ring deserved something extravagant and over the top.

  Jeremy’s bedroom door was open. I took a small step down the hallway. The room I had claimed was on my right,
but I blew past it.

  I stood in his doorway.

  The lights were low, but I could see his silhouette lying across the bed. I shivered, anticipating what was going to happen next.

  “Come here,” he growled.

  It was as if my body floated across the floor. I was in his arms before I knew what happened. I was pulled to him like a magnet. There was an invisible thread between us that he used to reel me closer.

  His fingers dug into my flesh. I found his mouth in the dark, inhaling his kiss as our tongues twined together.

  He pulled me on top of him. Shit. He was already naked. I didn’t know if I was mad he had predicted what I would do, or turned on that he wanted me this much. He had an appetite for me that no other man had shown. His cock was always hard and ready for me.

  He broke from the kiss. “I promised you something in the kitchen. I never break my word. Never.”

  He pushed me upward so I was braced on my palms. He began to slide under me until his face was between my legs. He yanked on my pajama pants, sliding my silk panties with them.

  I quivered and panted. “Jer,” I whimpered. My knees were shaky as he blew a hot breath over my folds.

  “I love your pussy, Evie. So. Damn. Much.”

  He ran a finger through my wet lips, separating them enough for me to feel the cool air around my clit. It hardened the instant he touched it.

  His tongue flicked over it, again and again until my knees were wide and I had lowered my body to his mouth. I had abandoned shame. This man wanted me and I wanted his tongue to work its incredible magic on my body.

  He growled as I rocked into him, aching for his tongue to fill me. He gripped my ass, until I was grinding his mouth with greedy dips, taking more of his tongue each time.

  He sucked and slurped, lapping at my pussy like a man possessed. My breath was erratic. I pushed against the headboard until I was upright, sitting on my knees. I looked down into his eyes, sexy as sin. I’d never done anything like this, but I was unleashed and wild. Jeremy between my legs made me want to do forbidden and dirty things. I tore the T-shirt off my head and let my breasts bounce freely. My hands traveled over my body, loving how I felt. So erotic. So turned-on. So full of orgasmic energy.