“So she won’t ever climb a tree? She won’t learn to ride a bike? She won’t, I don’t know, take up kickboxing and end up with a cracked rib every now and then?”
Roxanne looked up at his annoyingly wise face. Of course she was going to teach her daughter to defend herself. But among all the ideals and aspirations she’d considered for her daughter, she hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about the day-to-day: the diaper changing and nightmare soothing and grit-your-teeth teen years.
William clasped his hands over his well-earned belly. “I’m merely recommending that you work on your game face now. If this child is anything like you, visits to the doctor’s office will be a common occurrence.”
The world was large and Roxanne had never considered the reality that she couldn’t protect her daughter from every inch of it. She took a seat on the waiting room couch, rested her elbows on her knees, and studied her dusty pedicure as Mateo sat next to her. As she heard the room door click shut—William liked to play chess with the security guard down the hall—she realized how effectively she’d just been managed by her attorney. Her friend.
“You ever think about that stuff?” Mateo asked, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. She was conscious, even in her mental state, of his physical closeness. Of the appeal of his body. “Do you think about what our kid will be like? What he’ll be into?”
She shook her head, clasped her hands, and looked back down to her toes without looking up. “Not really.” She breathed, deep and slow, letting her concern for Father Juan simmer on the back burner as the thoughts of a little girl with her socks pulled up to her knees, running across a green field chasing a soccer ball, filled her mind. “I think I’ve spent all my time thinking about what she won’t be. She won’t be scared, she won’t be humiliated, she won’t be subject to others’ whims. She won’t wonder where she came from or if anyone loves her.”
She was too exhausted and worried to filter the words falling out of her mouth. When his warm hand fell on her nape, she didn’t shrug it off. She turned to look at him. “Have you thought about her?”
Mateo nodded, surprising her. He bent his big body to mimic her position, elbows on his knees. “Ever since you said I would be good at telling him bedtime stories.”
“I’m pretty sure I said ‘her.’”
He ignored her. “This child will bear the weight of a legacy and the responsibility of a kingdom. But...” His voice went far away. “I can also teach him how to parasail. Or maybe he’ll be into superheroes and I can share my comic collection with him.”
“You have a comic collection?” she asked.
Mateo grinned and shrugged. “Each issue is in plastic. There’s a very specific packing methodology.”
A breeze of joy, warm and precious, flitted through her.
“Maybe he’ll want to be an industrialist, like his mama.” He folded his hands together between his knees and shrugged. “But maybe the vines will speak to him the way they speak to me.”
Roxanne watched him. “You always saw the reality of this child more clearly than I did,” she found herself saying. “It’s one of the things I admire about you.”
His golden eyes, as weary as hers around the corners, widened in surprise. “Thank you,” he said. It took so little to give him her admiration. And she admired him so much. She’d have to give him more regular doses.
“Why, really, did you want a child this way? Now?”
She rested her cheek on her fingertips as she looked at him. Why, really? It had been enough at the time to decide in a flash that she wanted a daughter and then put into motion the scenario that would make her ideal child possible. But now her well-compensated sperm donor had become the husband she loved. He wanted her truth. How much could she give him? “Twenty-nine is an ideal age to have a child, I’m young and healthy, I have all the resources I need, and it’s not like I’m ever going to get married.” Roxanne startled, realizing what she was saying. She looked into his half-smiling face. “I mean...”
He nodded. “I know what you mean.”
She crinkled her eyes at him, not unkindly. “Maybe you do. When a man has the wealth and power, everyone understands and respects that power dynamic. A man can say, ‘I want things the way I want them because I have the power and I’ve earned the right.’ But we all know what a woman is called when she says those exact words.”
She waited, forcing Mateo to fill in the blank. “Domineering? Pushy?”
She shook her head. “You can do better than that.”
Mateo visibly cringed as he opened his mouth again. “A...bitch.”
“Right,” Roxanne said, nodding. “We as a society have been taught to resent powerful women. I knew when I started down this path that I would never have a traditional relationship with a man. So I wasn’t going to wait to meet Mr. Right to have a daughter.”
“But why get married at all? Why not buy the world’s best sperm? I mean, the world’s best sperm coming out of a jar.”
Aw, this. She could soapbox for days about the harsh realities faced by a woman in a traditionally male role. But Mateo wasn’t asking about billionaire Roxanne Medina. Mateo wanted to know about his wife.
She pulled her legs up on the couch and turned to face him. “Because I don’t want her daddy to be a jar.” She looked down at her hands in her lap and straightened her lopsided wedding ring. “I didn’t know my father.” The tiniest of white lies, just a shade from I don’t know who my father is. “I hated that. I felt...unwanted. Unnecessary.” An unprotected, barely conscious mistake. “Not having a father in my life felt so shameful. I never want that for our daughter.”
Although if Easton Fuller leaked the secret of their contract, her daughter would have a far worse scandal than an unknown father to deal with. She would grow up under the cloud that her mother had bought her father. Bought the world’s best sperm and a princess crown.
Unknowingly, Mateo echoed her darkening thoughts. “Even a title and a fortune won’t shield our child from hardship. We’re proof of that.” Mateo took her hand and tugged it against his chest, brought her attention back up to his face. “But it’s not the Hallmark moments that make a person,” he said, his heavy brows highlighting his eyes. “Look at you. Look at all you’ve done. It’s the fire that tempered the steel.”
Roxanne tried to pull away from him. “But I don’t want—”
“I know,” he said, keeping a strong hold. “Of course, I know, neither of us wants our child to go through what we’ve been through. But I’m saying, whatever happens, when life isn’t a perfect fairy tale, our kid will be fine. We’ll be there for her. She’ll be fine.”
Roxanne’s stomach trembled with joy and devastation at Mateo’s words. He was destroying her, breaking her apart with his words and assurances: our child...we’ll be there for her...she’ll be fine. She wanted to weep, press up against his chest and crumble into pieces as she told him she loved him, that she never wanted him to leave, that she wanted to make this marriage real and raise their child together. Would he gather up the pieces and make her whole again? Or would he look at the mess and walk away? Just because he wanted her body and respected her help, because he was a truly decent human being who was going to be a spectacular father, didn’t mean he had to love her.
She gave in to the smallest of her desires and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his comforting chest. He smelled delicious and she inhaled him in as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
She felt him squeeze tighter the moment before she heard the waiting room door open.
Roxanne stood as a young intern hustled into the room, William on her heels. Mateo stood also, placing a hand on Roxanne’s lower back. She straightened her spine, ready for anything with Mateo there to support her.
“Ms. Medina, the doctor wanted me to let you know right away—the surgery went well.” The woman was all business
in her blue scrubs, with blue-rimmed glasses and her black hair trimmed close to her head. “He was able to repair all the damaged tissue and remove the clot. Father Juan handled the procedure just fine. They’re finishing up now.”
Mateo slipped his arm around her waist as Roxanne felt herself inadvertently slump back against him. “And when will we know whether the accident affected his abilities?”
“We’ll start testing him for responses in about twelve hours.” The intern surprised Roxanne by leaning forward, as if telling her a secret. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but between you and me, things looked far better in there than we expected. I think Father Juan will be back cracking people up at mass in a couple of months.”
Roxanne peered at her. “Do you go to St. Paul’s?”
“All my life,” the woman declared. “In fact, one of your scholarships through the church paid for my medical school tuition. I wrote you a letter but...” With a sudden shyness, the woman hesitated. “I’m glad to have the opportunity to thank you in person.”
Surprising tears popped up in Roxanne’s eyes. Or maybe, not so surprising, considering the emotional roller coaster she was riding. She put a hand on the woman’s scrub-covered arm. “It was money very well spent. Thank you for taking such good care of him. I’m sure he was glad to have one of his flock by his side.” She gave the intern an impulsive and quick hug before she stepped back.
The woman’s apple-round cheeks plumped up before she straightened and put back on her doctor’s mantle. “We don’t expect there to be any additional news until we’re able to run our tests. But if there are any changes, we will contact you immediately.”
Roxanne nodded sedately and said, “Thank you, doctor,” before the two women smiled at each other goofily. William had a few more questions and asked them as he followed the doctor out of the room.
She turned to Mateo, who smiled warmly. “So...” he said.
“So...” She could barely get her head around it. “It looks like he might be okay.”
Saying the words out loud made her feel dazed, like all the blood was rushing from her head. Thank God Mateo opened his arms; she fell into them.
“Oh my God,” she said into his shoulder, gripping him around the waist. “He might be okay.”
Mateo rubbed her back.
“I just... I just can’t believe it.” Roxanne realized she was starting to tremble. “I expected it to turn out so bad. In my life, when I can’t control it, it always turns out so bad.”
She was trembling hard enough now that she actually had to hold on to him.
“Let’s get you home,” he murmured against her hair.
“Home?”
“Home. Hotel. Whatever.” His mouth slipped to her ear, which he kissed softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”
* * *
The sun was already high by the time they got back to their motel room—Roxanne’s body clock was completely screwed up—but Mateo went around the room closing their light-blocking curtains tight, sealing them up in darkness while Roxanne sat on the slippery, polyester comforter covering their king-sized bed. Her legs still weren’t working quite right.
He flipped on the tiny lamp on the bedside table. “And now, my favorite part of every day,” he said, pulling her up by her hand and reaching for the bottom of her t-shirt. “Getting you naked.”
“Mateo,” she said, muffled in the fabric as he pulled it over her head and off. “I don’t think—”
“Don’t think,” he murmured, his voice suddenly low and urgent in her ear as he tucked her against him with a hand at the small of her back. His other hand reached for her jeans button. “Let me take care of you. I can take care of you.” He said it like a secret, meant just for the two of them, and Roxanne felt the trembling harder, in her spine, down to her tiniest bones.
“Anyway, belleza,” he said, louder, as if he was were performing. “Not even you can get away with the perfume of hospital disinfectant.” He unzipped her jeans and gently tugged them down her legs and off her feet, kissing her knees as if he was healing her boo-boos before he pushed back to standing. He turned her around and marched her in her bra and underwear to the bathroom with his hands on her shoulders.
He was all no-nonsense as he turned on the water in the tub, fiddled with the temperature when he flipped on the shower head, and then quickly undressed before slipping off her bra and panties. He pushed back the plastic shower curtain, stepped in first, and then held his hand out to her.
She stared at his muscle-wrapped body, at the big, tanned hand reaching out for her. “I...”
“If you don’t get in, I WILL make you sleep on the floor,” he promised.
She took his hand and demurely stepped into the tub, her heart pounding as the hot water sluiced down her side. She wasn’t averse to showering and washing away the chemical smell of the hospital. But why, oh why, was he making her shower with him? Why was he turning her to face him and then gently maneuvering her backward until the water was cascading down her hair and back? Why was he tilting her head back and running his hands through her hair, making sure the water soaked it? She caught his eyes, sure that astonishment and terror were screaming in hers. He could probably see her heart pounding in her chest, like some Bugs Bunny cartoon.
When he turned her around and pulled her back against him, making sure the water hit her body and not her face, she buried her chin against her chest. When she heard the snick of the shampoo bottle and then felt his hands sink into her hair, she was so glad for the water dripping over her. She hoped her chest didn’t shudder as she cried.
As his long capable fingers slowly massaged her scalp and neck and shoulders, rubbing and stroking, a week’s worth of suppressed emotion dripped off Roxanne’s chin and swirled down the drain.
“It’s been a while since either of us have had a good scrub,” he said when her hair was a mass of suds. His voice was rough.
She nodded, unable to speak. Misery and pleasure misted over her like the water.
He cleared his throat. “I need to rinse your hair. Can you... Are you okay to turn around now?”
She sniffed and nodded again. She turned to him and lifted her face. Of course, he had known she was crying. But rather than commenting on her tear trails, he smiled gently and then swirled her long hair on top of her head like whipped topping.
She swiped at a drip of suds that fell on her nose. “What are you, ten?” she croaked, still sniffing.
He eyed his masterpiece. “I think I used too much shampoo.” He tilted his head the other direction. “This is the first time I’ve washed a woman’s hair.”
Roxanne bit her lip to keep the waterworks from starting up again. But Mateo seemed to notice anyway, because he once again backed her up into the warm water and tilted her head back into its spray.
“Close your eyes.” His command was a canyon echo in the brown-tiled space. Roxanne did close her eyes and focused on the pleasure: his hard front barely skimming her body, his big hands gently combing into her hair, tilting her this way and that. He worked conditioner in from scalp to tip, slow, long strokes, and then Roxanne felt nothing but the hot blast of the water for a few moments. She jumped and opened her eyes when she felt a wet cloth stroke down her arm.
With suds in his hair and soap dripping from his just-washed golden body, Mateo ran the washcloth up the inside of her arm, giving a little extra scrub to her armpit, and down her side. She watched his quick, efficient movements, watched his eyes trace over her body as he ran the washcloth over it, over her breasts and tummy, down her hips, kneeling to get at the long length of her legs and her feet, and then back up to wash her back, her ass and between her legs. He did slow then, gave a swirl to her pubic hair and then spread her to gently clean the tender pink flesh. He watched intently as he did it. He absently licked his perfect, bitable upper lip as he looked at her pussy.
His
pussy. He made her feel owned and needed and valuable and beautiful.
“Mateo...” she whispered.
But she was interrupted by his “All clean!” announcement, loud and jarring against the tile. “Now rinse.” His hands swept over her as he rinsed her, turning her as he wished and working through her hair. She felt dizzy with his care, unsure of it, unfamiliar with it, wanting the more stable ground of mutual lust but craven for the tender way he was seeing to her needs. He kept a steadying arm around her hips as he rinsed his own body and hair, making sure she stayed in the warm spray with him, and then he grabbed one of the motel’s towels, turning off the water so he could dry her off while she stayed in the steam-filled enclosure.
With the thin towel tucked around her and anchored between her breasts, Mateo quickly dried himself off, wrapped the towel around his hips, and then led her out of the bathroom.
“Are you hungry?” Mateo asked as he looked around the dim room, still only lit by the bedside lamp.
Roxanne made a small grunt of disgust.
He smiled absently as he continued to look around. “We’ll sleep then get you a burger. Where’s your brush? And that lotion? Right. In the bathroom. Por supuesto.” Although he held her hand, she could have been in another room. “I’ll brush your hair and then tuck you into...”
He turned to glance at her, his eyes almost sliding past her. But he stopped. Mateo’s grasp on her hand was suddenly hard, almost painful, as his golden eyes focused on her face, free of makeup; her wet hair coiled in a rope and trailing over her shoulder; and her body, barely covered by the too-tiny, too-thin white motel towel.
His dark brows furrowed over his beautiful eyes. “Joder,” he breathed.
Roxanne’s mouth trembled open. “Mateo...”
He halved the distance between them, his eyes burning over her face and body. “I’m sorry.” His low voice was a hot wind over her skin. “I...I just want to take care of you.”
Lush Money (Filthy Rich) Page 23