Maxwell looked up and met my gaze without a hint of warmth. Only when I stood directly in front of him did he acknowledge me. “Hello,” he said. He stared at me like I was an interloper instead of his flesh and blood. After an interminable second, he stood and offered his hand to shake.
“Hi.” I swallowed down the knot in my throat. What kind of father shook hands with a daughter he hadn’t seen in five years? I kept my hands at my sides, fingers clenching.
“Good evening, Piers.” Maxwell turned away from me without acknowledging my snub and shook hands with Beckett. “Nice to see you again.”
“Maxwell,” Beckett replied. Did I imagine a flatness to his tone? My father returned to his seat. Beckett’s hand rested on my hip, calm and reassuring. I straightened, buoyed by his strength, grateful for his presence. Without saying a word, I knew he had my back.
“This is Rayna Whitman, my fiancée.” Maxwell gestured toward his companion.
Fiancée? Shouldn’t this be something I knew about? I placed a hand on my diaphragm and tried to remember to breathe. Hurt barreled over me. I didn’t know why the lack of communication came as a surprise. For most of my life, I’d been nothing more than an inconvenience to him, an obligation, a nuisance to be tolerated. In desperation, I tried to shore up my defenses before he could hurt me again.
Sensing my discomfort, Beckett moved closer until I felt the solid steel of his chest against my shoulder.
“Rayna, this is Piers Beckett, Sam’s friend. And Venetia.” He said my name, almost as an afterthought, as if he’d forgotten I was there. Not my daughter, Venetia. Just Venetia.
“Nice to meet you.” I forced a polite smile to hide the hurt.
“Hi. It’s a pleasure,” Rayna said without a smile.
“I had no idea you were getting married,” I said, surprised by the calmness of my voice. Meanwhile, my insides churned. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Rayna replied. Her catty gaze flitted over my hair and outfit, and I was grateful I’d chosen the figure-flattering dress.
“My wedding invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.” My mouth circumvented my brain and took control of the conversation. “Or did you lose my address again? Really, Daddy, you should be more careful.”
Beckett’s chest shook against me as he choked back a laugh.
“We’re having a private civil ceremony,” Maxwell replied, unaffected. His gaze locked on mine, green eyes swirling with thoughts I didn’t want to unravel. His lips twitched as if amused. That one small gesture turned my malaise to anger. My body trembled with the force of it.
“Sam and Dakota are married now,” I said, pleased to see the smile slide from his face at the mention of my brother. “They seem really happy. I’m sure they’ll be popping out babies any time now.” Of course, I had no idea about the state of their marriage, but it was nice to see his nostrils flare and the color climb up his throat. The briefest flicker of anger turned his green eyes to fire.
“Rayna and I were in the middle of a business discussion,” he said after an uncomfortable beat. “What can I do for you? Is there a problem with your trust?”
The question slapped me across the face. All he cared about was money and business. I took a step back, treading on Beckett’s foot. His grip tightened on my waist. He drew me against his stomach and held me there, steadying my body as well as my thoughts.
“I don’t need anything. I just wanted to say hello.” When I glanced up at Beckett, he was watching me from beneath thick, dark lashes. “After all, it’s been years.”
“We’re running a bit late,” Beckett interjected, his eyes locking with mine in understanding. “We’d better go.” His gaze flicked to Maxwell, reflecting my father’s coldness. “Have a nice evening.”
“Beckett.” My father nodded, dismissing us. “Goodbye, Venetia.”
Beckett took my hand in his and pulled me toward the door. I followed without a backward glance to my father. Neither of us spoke. At the curb, the valet handed him the keys to my car. I hesitated. Up until the time we saw my father, I’d had an excellent time. For a brief time, I’d considered putting the moves on him, maneuvering another visit to his apartment or mine. Now, I just wanted to crawl into a dark corner and recover from the shock of the encounter.
“Are you okay?” Beckett held my hand, his grasp warm and steady.
“No. Yes. I don’t think so.” Feeling the sting of tears behind my eyes, I glanced at the valet.
Beckett’s fingers tightened around mine. “Get in. I’ll drive.” The undertone of his voice scratched over me. “You’re pale as a ghost. And the way you drive, you’ll probably have a wreck and kill us both.” By the scowl on his face, he wasn’t going to accept anything but compliance. The valet opened the car door, and Beckett handed me inside.
Once he’d slipped into the driver’s seat, he pulled the car smoothly from the curb and merged into traffic. Thoughts of my father, Rayna, Sam, and our complicated relationships raced through my head. I bit into my lower lip, so lost in my own head that I forgot Beckett was there until he spoke.
“It’s bullshit,” he said, his voice low and raw. His long fingers tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
“What?” I glanced over at him. The passing shadows of street signs and buildings flashed over the planes and angles of his face.
“The way he treats you. It’s not right, Venetia.” He thumped a hand on the steering wheel. “Motherfucker.”
The anger on my behalf, made my heart squeeze. I put a hand on his knee, needing to comfort him. “It’s no big deal. I don’t know why I expected anything different. Once a dick, always a dick.”
Beckett chuckled, and the sound soothed my frazzled nerves. “True.” He shot a sideways glance at me before returning his attention to the street. “I take it you haven’t talked to him in a while?”
“One time since my eighteenth birthday. He deposits a check into my account each month, but he doesn’t talk to me.” I realized my hand was still on his knee, and I withdrew it into my lap. “He had me sign some documents regarding my mother’s trust and a few other issues. Everything else was handled by his people.” Streetlights and store fronts and cars flashed by us in a blur. “The last time I saw him, he gave me this big, long lecture about the importance of being independent and finding my own path in life. Basically, he told me to fuck off.”
“Maybe you’re better off without him in your life,” Beckett said. The tone of his voice caused me to turn and study his profile. The sharp angles of his nose and forehead stood out in relief against the night sky. “You’re in good shape financially, right? And you’ve got a top-notch team of advisors?”
“Yes, Sam made sure of it.” Sam had stepped in when I’d received my trust to make sure I’d be in good hands. He’d always been there when I needed him. Now, I realized it was to protect me from my father, and because he cared when no one else did.
Chapter 23
Beckett
THE HAUNTED look in her eyes made my chest ache. Even though she managed a smile, I knew she hurt inside, and it made me admire her all the more. I wanted to take away her self-doubt and erase the damage done by her cold-hearted father, but I wasn’t sure where to begin or if she’d even let me.
When we reached her building, I walked her to the door of her apartment. She unlocked the door and went inside. I followed her, wordless, and lingered in the foyer while she turned on the lights.
“Do you want something to drink?” Her brow furrowed in thought. “I’ve got water, iced tea, wine.”
“No.” We stared at each other. I needed to leave, but my feet wouldn’t take me to the door, not until I knew she’d be fine. A strand of hair fluttered over one of her blue eyes. On instinct, I tucked it behind her ear. “Are you going to be alright?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” She busied her hands by rearranging a bowl of polished marbles on the foyer table.
“Come here.” I stilled her fin
gers, took her fragile hand in mine, and pulled her to me.
“I’m fine. Really.” Despite her protest, she didn’t shift away. With a deep sigh, she rested her forehead on my shoulder. I moved to hold her closer. Her breasts pressed against my chest, soft against my hardness.
“You know,” I murmured into her hair, “my dad’s a dick, too.”
“Really?” Her breath puffed against my neck. “Sam always said he liked your dad.”
“Not the guy who raised me, my real father.” I lifted a hand and buried my fingers in the silky strands of her hair. I couldn’t tell her Maxwell wasn’t her father, but I could ease a little of her insecurities about him with my own story. “I’m a bastard.”
“I had no idea.” She pulled back, eyes wide in disbelief.
“He wasn’t married to my mom. She got pregnant when they were in college, but he didn’t stick around. He said he wanted more out of life, that he had ambitions. A wife and kid would just drag him down.” I’d held the secret all my life, but it slipped out easily. She was the first person I’d wanted to tell, the only one I felt might understand. “I’ve never met him, and I have no desire to.”
“But you know who he is?” Her lips brushed over my collarbone when she spoke. My skin prickled with awareness.
“Yes, and so do you.” I drew in a shaky breath. “Supreme Court Justice Emerson Conrad. He paid for my college, but he’s never initiated any contact with me. As far as I’m concerned, he’s not my dad.” My dad was the man who’d welcomed me into his home, taken me fishing every Saturday morning, and taught me how to knot a necktie.
The parallels between my conception and that of our child glared back at me. I didn’t want to be Emerson Conrad, but maybe I had no choice. Maybe serial philandering was a genetic curse. The absurdity of an idea like that made me laugh. Behavior was learned. I didn’t have to repeat the sins of my biological father. I could be a better man. I had to be a better man for my child. For Venetia.
Her hands crept up the front of my shirt and around my neck. I smoothed a palm down the groove of her spine. With every breath, her ribs pressed into mine. The warm, flesh-and-blood feel of her renewed the sexual fantasies I’d been fighting. I wanted her, needed her, in a way I’d never experienced. This wasn’t about fucking—this was about getting closer to someone I cared about, someone who shared my dirty secrets.
I dragged my lips along the curve of her neck and planted a kiss below her ear. The beat of her heart thudded against my chest. My pulse raced to sync with hers. On an earthy groan, she turned her head, mouth open, and closed her eyes. I fisted a hand in the hair at her nape, angled her face to mine, and claimed those pouty lips for my own. To hell with the bro code, to hell with friendship, and to hell with my fears. None of it mattered. She was having a baby. My baby. Mine.
Chapter 24
Venetia
PREGNANCY ENHANCED my senses. Food—when I could keep it down—tasted better. My nose detected the slightest odor, like the hotdog vendor down the street or the laundry soap in Beckett’s shirt. The fabric of my bra teased my sensitive nipples into tight peaks. The mere thought of sex caused my thighs to squeeze together. And believe me, I thought about sex a lot.
An evening spent in close proximity with Beckett didn’t help matters. Why did he have to be so damn sexy? Humidity from rain earlier in the day curled the hair above his ears. He’d been clean-shaven when I’d picked him up at his office, but hours later, dark stubble peppered his cheeks. On the drive home, he’d ditched his jacket and tie, opening the throat of his shirt to reveal a sliver of tanned sternum dusted with black hair.
When his fingers sought purchase in my hair and jerked my mouth to his, I was a goner, my willpower nonexistent. Somewhere, along the path from the foyer to the bedroom, my blouse disappeared. I drew in a deep breath as he laid me on the bed, willing my thoughts to still, to enjoy the moment and not read anything into what we were about to do. The air filled with Beckett’s scent, his spicy-sweet cologne, his fresh shower soap, and the musk of his skin. Smooth cool sheets rustled beneath me. Everything seemed more vibrant, more intense.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure. You?” I didn’t wait for his answer. My fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt. I laid open the front and held my breath at the sight of his abdomen and the dark trail of hair leading into the waistband of his trousers.
“We haven’t talked about where we’re going, what we’re doing, about this…” As he spoke, I pulled off his shirt and stared, mesmerized by his rippling eight-pack and the indentation of muscle on his hips.
“Later.” I didn’t care where we were going as long as it ended with his cock inside me. The greedy fingers of desire ripped away my composure. I could see the long, thick outline of his erection behind his zipper. He closed his eyes and dragged a palm along its length before lowering the zip. “I need sex.”
After all, this was Beckett, a known player. Only a fool would give her heart to a guy like him. I might be impulsive and headstrong, but I wasn’t stupid enough to mistake lust for love.
He rocked back on his knees and dragged his pants down over his hips. His erection fell forward, the long shaft nestled in a thicket of trimmed black curls. The smooth tip of his cock bobbed over my tummy. The muscles below my waist clenched in anticipation. While he fished a condom out of his wallet, I shimmied out of my panties and tossed them to the floor, eager to get on with it. When he’d sheathed himself, I curled a hand around his neck and pulled him onto me, opening my legs and inviting him inside.
One of his large hands slipped between us. The tip of his middle finger teased my clit and dipped lower to my entrance. I was wet and ready and had been for most of the night. He dragged the wetness along my seam, preparing me, then plunged his finger inside to the knuckle. The walls of my channel instinctively clenched around him. We groaned in unison.
“Inside me, Beckett. Now.” I wriggled beneath him, impatient and wanton.
“What about foreplay?” His deep, ragged voice held a note of amusement. The lights were still on in the room. He stared down at me, all broad shoulders, round muscles, and sharp angles. His finger curled, hitting the sweet spot deep inside me. A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth as I gasped.
“Later,” I managed to grit out. If only he knew how badly I needed the release, he wouldn’t tease me. I jerked my hips. In another few seconds, I was going to beg him for it, and I hated to beg.
“Careful what you wish for.” Before the words were out, he thrust into me, balls deep, and pushed hard into the notch of my thighs. I closed my eyes, and a violent shudder rippled up my body. When I opened my eyes, he was staring down, eyes black as midnight and nostrils flared. “Jesus, V. It’s like that, is it?”
Sweet relief washed through my veins, like warm bathwater, replaced by burning desire when he started to move. Slowly, he pulled all the way out, holding the condom in place by a finger against my gripping muscles, then pushed in again. Wetness coated my thighs. He slipped in and out easily, building speed and intensity, each thrust deeper and harder than the first until our flesh met with resounding slaps.
“So fucking wet. So tight,” he rasped, his voice more textured than I’d ever heard it. I liked the way he talked dirty, ordered me around, moved my body where he liked it, the way he liked it. “Put your legs on my shoulders. Squeeze me harder.”
The headboard banged against the wall. I didn’t worry about the dents in the drywall or the damage to the custom wallpaper. All I cared about was following his instructions. The bed squeaked. Our bodies slammed together. The tendons in Beckett’s neck stood out. I dug my fingers into the tense muscles of his back and held on for dear life.
“Is this how you like it?” From between my open thighs, he gazed down at me with burning black eyes. “Hard? Deep? Do you want more?”
“Yes.” God, yes. I wanted more. I wanted it all, everything he had. “More.”
He redoubled his efforts. Beads o
f sweat glistened on his temples. I threw my head back onto the bare mattress. The pillows had fallen to the floor long ago. He shifted over me, drawing one of my legs to his side, opening me further, and braced a hand on the wall above the headboard. “How’s that? Are you going to come for me, V?”
A warning rippled through my muscles. “Yes. Yes. Like that. Just like that.”
An overload of sensations filled my head; Beckett’s grunts and groans, my whimpers and cries, the scents of sex and sweat, the feel of heat and dampness. Our bodies rocked together, separated, and rejoined in perfect synchronicity. Another ripple, this one strong and undeniable, jolted along my lower half. I reveled in the power of his body, the way he claimed me, and the obedience of my body to his commands.
I climaxed in a flash of lights and colors behind my eyelids. Beckett jerked against my pelvis, ramming into me with such force that the top of my head banged the headboard. His graveled groans extended my pleasure into the longest orgasm I’d ever had. The length of his cock twitched inside me.
“God damn,” he muttered after a lengthy pause. With gentle pressure, he lowered my leg from his shoulder. “That was fucking unbelievable.”
“I know.” At least I wasn’t the only one awed by our chemistry. “No wonder I’m pregnant.”
I was too weak, too sated to do anything but lie there. With a leisurely moan, he pushed back on his knees. His pants puddled around his ankles. My skirt gathered around my waist. I watched as he pulled off the condom then kicked off his pants. I closed my eyes. Gentle hands tugged my skirt down my legs. The mattress shifted, and I heard his footsteps travel to the bathroom, the sounds of running water, splashing, and his returning footsteps. Then the warmth of a damp washcloth between my legs as he cleaned me up. The intimacy of his touch, the gentleness of his hands, totally undid my composure. I threw a forearm over my eyes to hide my face and the threat of tears.
Pretty Dirty Secrets: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 3) Page 14