The Baby Clause: A Christmas Romance

by Tara Wylde

  And when Paul leaves and regret settles over me, I decide, I won’t let it consume me. I’ll just keep reminding myself how I feel in this very moment.

  The subtle squeak of the door pulls me out of my mind. Through the heavily fogged glass shower door, I watch a blurry figure stop in the middle of the bathroom, their body seeming to fill the small room as they shed their pants before reaching for the door.

  My heart thunders against my rib cage, beating so hard, so fast, it borders on pain.

  The shower door slides open and Paul steps into the shower in a single, fluid movement.

  His gaze catches mine.

  “Since you’re not the only one who’s a bit sticky, I figure I should join you. Save on the amount of water we’d use if we took separate showers.”

  Nerves dance beneath my skin and I move my arms, using one to shield my breast, and the other to cover my lower body. Silly, considering that Paul has already had his hand, and his mouth, all over me, but I can’t help it. Downstairs, I turned the lighting to dim; we were in more shadow than light, but in this room, the light is bright and unforgiving.

  Someone like Paul, he probably dates the most beautiful women in the world. I’m pretty enough, and normally I’m proud of my body, but I’m also painfully aware of the ten or fifteen extra pounds I’ve put on, mostly in my hips and belly, since opening the Blind Pig. They aren’t pretty pounds.

  “Don’t,” Paul breathes.

  He reaches out, bracketing his fingers around my wrists and lifting them until they’re pinned against the wall just above my head. The position would be sexy if my face wasn’t burning with shame. It takes everything in me to stay in place and not twist to the side.

  “Don’t ever hide yourself from me.” Paul rocks back on his heels. He alters his grip until he’s holding my wrists with one hand. With the other, he reaches down, covering me. The touch feels both possessive and comforting. “You’re beautiful.”

  I open my mouth, but don’t know what to say. It turns out that I don’t need to say anything. Without moving his hands, Paul leans forwards and captures my mouth with his in a kiss that tastes like fresh water and a whole lot of passion.

  Time slows and the kiss goes on and on, a lazy exploration of one another’s mouths, neither of us wanting to break contact, attempting to commit our tastes to memory.

  My muscles lengthen and then soften, until it feels like the only thing keeping me vertical is Paul’s hands.

  Eventually, he draws back, breaking the kiss, leaving me gasping. His gaze captures mine and a slow smile spreads across his face, deepening a pair of dimples on either side of his mouth.

  I ache to cover those twin dents with kisses.

  “Now, let’s see about getting you cleaned up. Hmm.” Releasing me, Paul reaches for my loofah and perfumed shower gel.

  The scent of strawberries fills the enclosed space, mingling with the steam as he pours a generous portion of the soap onto the loofah. My nipples harden and heat pools between my legs in anticipation of his touch. I stare as he rubs the mesh bits together, turning the pool of soap into a mountain of sweet-smelling foam.

  I wonder where he’s going to begin using it.

  He shifts close to me, his body pressing into mine, pinning me to the wet tile wall, and plants a quick, hard kiss on my mouth before swiping the loofah up my arm, across my collar bone and down my left breast.

  Together we watch the trail of suds he leaves in his wake slide down my body. I moan, my thighs falling apart as the loofah moves even lower, across the gentle swell of my belly, over my pelvis, and finally buries itself deep between my thighs.

  Assaulted by sensations I can’t even begin to describe, I close my eyes tightly and bow my head. I sink my teeth into Paul’s wet shoulder, muffling my instinctive cries.

  Paul chuckles, but his body trembles against mine, telling me that he’s as turned on by what he’s doing as I am.

  I buck against him, begging with my body. Asking for him to take me. My pussy burns for his touch.

  The loofah falls to the floor with a wet splat as Paul wedges his hand more firmly between my thighs. His fingers probe against the skin, which our earlier activities have made even more tender than normal. His nail scrapes against my nub, ripping a shocked gasp from me.

  He brushes kisses against my cheek, whispering words I’m incapable of understanding, while he continues to probe and stroke until finally, one thick finger slides into me, finding my G-spot.

  I groan as his finger slides in and out, teasing, torturing, promising, but not quite bringing me the climax I know is about to rip through me.

  “Please,” I gasp. “I can’t take … much more … of this.”

  Each word feels like it’s being ripped from my very soul.

  Paul’s gasps mingle with my own as he slides his hand free. Before I can fully mourn the loss of his touch, he reaches down, his hand sliding over my shaking thigh, lifting it and wrapping it around his waist. He repeats the process with my other leg and uses his massive chest to pin me to the slick wall.

  He peppers my lips with quick, sharp biting kisses that make my heart race. I clutch at him. My fingers rake at his back as the tip of his cock probes my entrance.

  I hold my breath, waiting for the intrusion. But it doesn’t come. Instead, Paul rears back and stares deep into my eyes.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asks, pent-up desire making his words thick and heavy. “You aren’t too sore?”

  Emotion, hot, bright, and unidentifiable, bubbles up in my chest, triggering tears that I hope Paul mistakes as droplets of water. How was I so lucky to find a guy who not only rocks my world, but is also a genuine sweetheart? I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

  Throwing my arms around his neck, I hug him tightly while giving him a deep kiss. “I’m positive.”

  He doesn’t need to hear anything else. With a sharp cry, his hips jerk forward, slamming into me as my inner walls clamp down on his cock, welcoming it like it’s a long-lost friend.

  That’s all that’s needed to trigger my orgasm.

  Familiar fireworks explode behind my closed lids. I throw my head back, not caring that the hot water streams over my face. My legs spasm against his hips while my stomach convulses.

  God, it must be a crime for anything to feel so good.

  I’m dimly aware of Paul’s body tensing, of his own cry as he reaches his release.

  Together, we slide down the wall until we collapse in a tangle of arms and legs on the bottom of the tub while the hot water beats down on us.

  10

  Paul

  I look over the tray I’ve prepared. It’s not great, nowhere near as elaborate as what I would have prepared if I had access to my own kitchen, or was even able to run to the store, but considering how little I had to work with, it’s not bad.

  Picking it up, I walk, bare chested, through Lara’s small apartment and use my toe to nudge the bedroom door open.

  “Rise and shine,” I softly call out.

  The blanketed lump that is Lara barely moves, but the skinny, naked Atticus who curled up on my pillow the second I left, shoots to his feet.

  His back stiffens, his eyes sparkling as he takes a moment to scent the air, then, with a happy yip, he springs into action. Scrambling over Lara, triggering an agitated yelp, he scurries to the end of the bed that’s nearest me. His haunches hit the mattress in a perfect sit and he gazes up at me expectantly.

  “Nice try, pal,” I say, shooting him a warning glare. I get the distinct impression that this little animal has judged me and decided that I’m not worthy of Lara’s time. “But this isn’t for you.”

  “What time is it?” Lara, still buried beneath a pile of blankets, grumbles.

  I glance at the alarm clock for confirmation. “Ten twenty-two.”

  “Practically dawn,” Lara says, her voice thick with sleep. “Way too early to be up.”

  “Most of Chicago is awake right now.” Placing the tray on her nightst
and, I sit beside her, bumping her with my hip.

  “Not the ones who stay up half the night tending bar.”

  I fold the blankets back, revealing the face she’s smashed against her pillow. She opens one eye and glares at me.

  “Come on now. I need to leave soon, but before I do, I want a few more minutes with you. Surely that’s not too much to ask?” I pick up the tray and move it in front of her face. “I made you breakfast.”

  She stares at the tray for a second, weighing her options. Apparently hunger wins out over sleepiness because she sits up, tucking the sheet under her arms as she does, hiding her amazing body from me.

  It’s a crying shame.

  Once she’s up, I place the tray across her lap and thrill at the smile spreading across her face, chasing away the sleepiness.

  “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” She picks up a piece of the peach I sliced up and sinks her teeth into it. A small drop of juice runs down her chin.

  “You’re so sweet.”

  “Not as sweet as you.”

  Unable to resist, I lean forward and lap at the juice before taking her mouth is a whisper-soft kiss. By the time I pull back, she’s all but purring and her eyes are heavy lidded with desire.

  “Mmm,” she moans, gesturing at the tray. “Still, you didn’t have to do this. Usually, I just grab a bowl of cereal in the morning. Or maybe a breakfast sandwich from one of the fast food places if I want to get fancy.”

  “Based on the contents of your kitchen, I guessed as much.”

  The sliced-up peach, a bowl of healthy cereal, and piece of toast pretty much used up the entire contents of her kitchen. I lift the glass of orange juice and take a sip before handing it to her. She follows my example.

  “Mmm,” she repeats. “Mimosas, but where did you get the …”

  “I liberated a bottle of champagne from downstairs. I left some money on the counter to cover the cost.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.” She takes another sip. “I’m drinking it, I should pay for it.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t. It’s something I wanted to do.”

  Lara looks like she wants to argue, but she restrains herself. Good. I don’t want to fight, I want to enjoy this last little chunk of time with her.

  “Champagne isn’t the only thing you liberated.” She touches the tiny black satin bat I plucked from one of her Halloween decorations and rubber-banded to a spoon.

  “Breakfast in bed isn’t one hundred percent complete without at least one flower on the tray, and since I couldn’t find any flowers downstairs, I improvised.”

  Lara breaks off a piece of toast and gives it to Atticus, who inhales it in a single gulp before shooting a smug look my way. I ignore him.

  “I had silk flowers on all the tables, but I put them in storage when I put up the Halloween decorations.”

  Lara picks up her spoon and digs into the cereal. “And soon it’ll be time to replace those with the Thanksgiving ones. And after that, I need to think about where to put my Christmas things.”

  Her brow creases. “Funny how fast time flies once you start thinking of it in terms of decorating. I never noticed that before I became a business owner.”

  Christmas, is it really so close?

  I do the mental calculations. One week until Halloween, which means Christmas is ten weeks away. Just a moment ago it seemed like a lifetime. For me, this Christmas was going to be very much like the last several, just another day, only notable in that so many stores were closed.

  And right now, there isn’t any reason to think that the next one will be any different.

  “So, when I asked what brought you into town, you only said business, but you didn’t mention what kind.”

  Lara’s statement draws me from my thoughts.

  Leaning close, I brush a kiss across her cheek. “It wasn’t all business; it turned out there was quite a bit of pleasure mixed in as well.”

  Lara snorts. “Fine – don’t tell me what it is you do.” She hesitates a moment, weighing her next words. “I don’t suppose it’s the kind of business that keeps bringing you back to Chicago..?”

  In a flash, I recall wondering about what would happen if the one-night stand turned into something more. And here she is, providing me with the perfect opportunity to find out.

  “I … I don’t know.”

  Even as I utter the words, my heart twists. I nearly flinch at the sudden, sharp pain. Maybe I should tell her the truth about why I’m in Chicago. She’s already proven herself to be exceptional; maybe she’s also the one woman out of a million who’d understand.

  I feel the words rise in my throat, ready to spill out, but I swallow them. Everything about Lara has been simply magic. A perfect encounter. Far better for both of us to remember one another like this than to say something that would completely change my opinion of her, and vice versa.

  “Probably not,” I add.

  “Oh.” Disappointment flashes in her eyes, but she masks it. She lifts the tray and puts it on the night stand, letting the sheet fall as she does, baring her breasts.

  My mouth goes dry.

  “In that case, one more bout of lovemaking before you have to go.” Her gaze captures mine. “Something to remember me by.”

  “I’ll always remember you.” I swallow. I’ve always hated goodbyes, and the sadness in Lara’s eyes isn’t making this any easier. “But I really need to get going.”

  And if I take her up on her offer, I might never find the willpower to leave her bed again.

  “How long before you have to leave?”

  I glance at her alarm clock. There’s still a few hours before I have to meet my plane, but I still have to check out of the hotel and attend one last appointment before making my way back to North Carolina.

  “I should get out of here in the next five or ten minutes.”

  “That’s just enough time.” In a blur of naked skin, Lara scrambles off the bed. The suddenness of her movement causes Atticus to leap off the other side and bolt from the room.

  “For what?” I ask, bemused.

  Lara tugs an oversized T-shirt over her head and yanks a dresser drawer open. “For me to get ready to go with you.”

  “To North Carolina?”

  I’d be lying if the idea doesn’t light a tiny flame of hope within me. Lara pursuing me to my home state feels far more natural than putting over a thousand miles between us.

  “No,” Lara snorts. “To walk with you to the hotel.”

  She quickly rolls on a pair of black leggings and slides them over her bare ass. For some reason, knowing she’s commando under the pants makes it hard to believe that up until I debauched her a few hours ago, she was still a virgin.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say as she races out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. A moment later the sound of running water and tooth brushing fills the apartment.

  “I want to,” she says, her voice garbled. “Besides, Atticus needs to go for a walk. Do you mind getting his harness ready? It’s hanging by the door. Next to my purple handbag.”

  Finding the harness is easy. Putting it on the dog is an entirely different matter. Not only does the animal refuse to come near me, preferring to remain about two feet away, but I can’t even begin to figure out which strap goes where on his little body.

  Lara, looking just as spectacular in black leggings, baggy, stained T-shirt, and with her hair up in a messy, crooked ponytail as she did last night in full makeup and a flapper dress, lets herself out of the bathroom. She watches me fumble with the collection of narrow nylon straps for a second before rolling her eyes and plucking the harness out of my hand.

  “Here. I’ll do it.”

  A second later, the harness encases the dog’s chest. A matching leash appears in Lara’s hand, and a heavy blue coat hides the dog’s naked body. Lara shoves her feet into a pair of battered slip-on shoes, drapes a sling bag over her shoulder and pushes the apartment door open.


  Side by side, we make our way down the steep flight of stairs. Atticus scrambles ahead of us, his thin plume of a tail whipping to and fro.

  Lara’s and my hands brush together, our fingers tangling. Why does the feel of her hand in mine feel so right and the idea of getting on a plane and flying home feels so wrong?

  “What’s that?”

  Lara’s words startle me from my thoughts. “Hmm?”

  She nods to the main entrance. “On the door.”

  A large white envelope has been attached to the opposite side of the heavy glass with duct tape.

  The three of us push our way through the door, shivering as the late October air swirls around us. Atticus tucks his tail between his legs and shivers as Lara rips the envelope off the door and tears it open. She twists her body so she blocks the wind while she reads the note inside, effectively blocking me from seeing the message.

  Swearing under her breath, she shoves the note into her coat pocket in a move that reminds me of the note Emile gave her last night.

  A prickle of concern tickles the back of my neck. “Problem?”

  “Just an unhappy customer. Nothing I can’t handle.” She tightens her grip on the leash. “Come on, Atticus. We have to deliver Paul back to his hotel.”

  Too soon, we’re standing in front of the main entrance to the Philistine Hotel. We face each other, neither of us knowing exactly what to say to one another. Lara toys with Atticus’s leash and looks everywhere but at me.

  “So,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I suppose this is good-bye.”

  I should make a clean break of things. I know that. Lara and I are from two different worlds. We barely know each other, but the thought of cutting all contact with her ties my stomach in knots. And the way she reacted to those notes. All of my instincts tell me there’s more to them than she’s letting on.

  “What’s your number?”

  Her brow furrows. “Why?”

  I tug my cell phone out of my pocket.

  “I’m going to text you mine. I want you to call me if you ever need anything from me. It doesn’t matter what time of day or night it is, or how big the problem might be. I want you to let me know about it.”