LUCI (The Naughty Ones Book 2) Read online

  Cameron would never do that. After that first day when Marge had pointed out that he’d forgotten to feed me, he’s never allowed me to forget meals—even if he just calls Marge to remind her.

  It had irritated me at first, but now I realize it’s his silent way of making that episode up. To me. To himself more than likely.

  “Aah, Robbie was a cad and an incorrigible scamp. He was ever getting into scrapes and such, and we indulged him most of the time. I think I told myself that he was just free spirited, but I’ve come to accept that he was a little selfish in his pursuits especially with—”

  I know what she’s going to say and part of me wants to press for information now that I’ve slept with Cameron, but it’s not my business and what’s more, I’d chop off a limb before causing this woman distress.

  “Well, mothers tend to overlook some things for their children.”

  “Not all mothers, Marge—so don’t feel too bad. My mom stopped buying groceries the year I turned fourteen and put a lock on the refrigerator. My brother worked as a packer at a supermarket to feed the two of us. And when I moved back home and Mom found out I was pregnant, she kicked me out of the house, knowing I had less than a hundred bucks to my name and nowhere to go.”

  It’s humiliating to admit that my mom is a walking ad for women who should be sterilized. At birth. I tell her though because she deserves to know how great she is.

  “Oh Ducky! If I ever get my hands on that filthy excuse I’ll, I’ll—”

  “Calm down, Marge. I have you now; I don’t need to even think about Gloria,” I say, smiling when her face lights up and her eyes go all teary.

  “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, Ducky.”

  “You deserve it. Now stop crying and take a gander at our handsome boy. Isn’t he great?”

  “Why, yes dear, that he is.”

  The rest of the drive is a happy one, and I’m still smiling when we walk inside, only to have a tall, thin, very chic-looking blonde rise from the sofa in Marge’s sitting room, her eyes skipping between us and narrowing thoughtfully.

  “Hello Margery dear.”

  I feel her stiffen, and she moves to stuff the photo behind her back, her spine going ramrod straight and seems to fuse as she looks back and gives the woman what I can only assume is a haughty look meant to kill lesser mortals on the spot.

  “Letitia. What on earth are you doing in my home without an invitation?”

  Oh no, Marge is never rude. Ever. She doesn’t like this—wait, did she say Letitia? As in the Lettie who hoodwinked her Cameron and left him heartbroken.

  Strangely I think I am more upset by this gall than Marge is, and I refuse to admit why.

  “I need to speak with Cam, but he’s refusing to take my calls and the security at the Stone building is refusing me entry,” she says heatedly, and I think she’s genuinely surprised by this.

  God, if I look closer will she have rhino skin, because seriously, that shit must be thick.

  “Obviously Cameron does not want to see you, Letitia. And who can blame the lad. You tried to sleep with his brother, which he was forgiving you for, and yet you still had the gall to try and pass another man’s child off as his.”

  Oh shezaam!

  “That was a mistake, and one I regret deeply, Margery. I just want—”

  I think old Marge is about to start throwing punches when the man of the hour walks in, pulls me into his body and kisses me so passionately I see stars circling my head. Or is that birds. I dunno, but I can safely say I’m floored and a little more than turned on by this display. Especially when he palms my belly and growls low in his throat.

  “Hello my darling. How are you and my lad today?”

  Oh hell.

  I can play this in a number of ways, but as Letitia’s reptilian blue eyes widen in outrage, I find myself smiling back, grinning really and hamming this the hell up.

  “Good, babe. We got a photo of him and everything. Want to see the next generation of Stones?”

  Marge is of course almost bursting with glee, and she practically starts hopping when she thrusts the photo at Cameron and his smile widens.

  “Good looking lad that,” he purrs, going a step too far and squeezing my ass suggestively.

  “Cameron? Are you with this, this…person?”

  Oh no. Really?

  Cameron turns to her, his face holding a shock of false surprise, and he looks at her like a bug in his drink.

  “Letitia?”

  Her eyes tear, as we all sit, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her delicate sniffs only to giggle when I catch Madge doing the same, her mouth quirked in a smile that tells me she’s taking a shit load of pleasure out of watching her son claim, not only me, but the baby as his.

  There my brain freezes, and I groan when I realize what I’ve done. It’ll be all over the place by afternoon, tomorrow at the latest, that Shaw Mallory is carrying Cameron Stone’s child and…and…I don’t know why, but I think I’m going to have panic attack.

  “Are you okay, darling? The baby moving too much again?” he asks, caressing the swell.

  “Er, fine.”

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, turning back to his ex.

  The woman has the audacity to sneer and glare my way.

  “I missed you.”

  “That’s novel. Did you have this overwhelming rush to reunite before or after Jonathan kicked you out and filed for divorce?” he muses, winking at Marge. “Seems Lettie here hasn’t been a very good wife or mother, and Jon got tired of her tupping the gardener’s son.”

  “Well, I do say.”

  “That’s preposterous! I never did such a thing. He…I missed you, and I wanted to come back and beg you to give me another chance. We were so good together once Cam—”

  “Oh, good Lord. Are you blind, dumb, or batty girl? Can’t you see he’s already committed to someone else? You must have heard the stories already. Shaw and Cameron are going to be parents.”

  “Er—”

  “Yes, and we’re very happy together besides,” Cameron says, interjecting and giving my hip a squeeze before I can say anything.

  “Her? You’re in love with her? But she’s so—”

  “Perfect. Yes, we all quite agree,” Vic drawls, strolling in like the lazy, happy lord of the manner.

  If I look closely, I’m sure I’ll see a canary feather peeking out of his mouth. Or a drop of cream. Only the man’s more like a lion than a cat, and if he’s a lion, his son is most definitely not a tame pussycat either.

  “This is ridiculous. Whatever would you see in a girl like her?” she rails, jumping to her feet in a fit.

  I pause and hold my breath, recalling that time Cameron had asked me the very same thing. What did Rob see in you?

  I didn’t know how to answer then, and I don’t know now, I just hope it’s a smidge more complimentary than he’s been thus far. The man blows hotter than a furnace before going arctic so I never know what to expect from one moment to the next.

  “The list is quite endless I assure you, but if you really must know…she’s kind, caring, she has a dead sexy arse when she’s not trying to hide it, though I don’t mind that much since I don’t like other blokes looking at what’s mine. Oh yes, and she’s not a bloody liar like so many woman I know.”

  Well…that was just…wow.

  I make a choking sound that only carries to him and feel a responding squeeze before he pulls me in and kisses my forehead.

  “And she’s not trying to palm her lover’s child off on me. We’re in this together. My blood inside her.”

  “Cameron, I—”

  “I think you should leave, dear. We’re having a family celebration, and you are most certainly not welcome. Victor dear, please do something about the riffraff.”

  The scene she makes while being escorted out is in no way pretty, but I can’t really find the will to pay much attention. No, my attention is firmly fixed on a grinning Cameron and th
e satisfaction I see in his eyes.

  “What did you do?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Cam

  I’m balls deep in the only woman who has ever made me feel this desperate and well and fulfilled all at once, and I want it to last forever. The pleasure is a great, swirling tidal wave that knocks me back and flings me up even as the strong contractions surrounding my dick pull me back down and focus my every nerve right on her and the pleasure I see exploding on her face.

  When it ebbs, leaving only the light glow of satiation and fatigue, I pull out and fall to the side, chuckling when she stretches sensuously and pulls the sheet up, turning on her side to face me.

  “You can’t keep sexing me up just to avoid the issue, Stone.” She growls. “We need to talk about this. Please.”

  I feel my muscles tense and prepare for the argument I’ve avoided for days. First, I’d begged off, pleading a full work schedule, and when that gets me nowhere, I fuck her to exhaustion and sleep with her cuddled around me, waking early enough to be gone before she rises.

  Mum and Dad are, of course, over the moon at this new development and fob Shaw off whenever she starts arguing about the craziness of the whole situation. I can’t say what had possessed me to do what I did.

  Perhaps it was the way Lettie had strolled in and expected a warm reception. Perhaps it was the disdainful way she’d been looking at Shaw. I can’t say if it was one or the other or maybe a combination of both, but I’d gone with instinct and just claimed her, stamping my mark on her for all the world to see.

  And I’m not bloody regretting it either.

  If that baby is Rob’s I will love it no less than if it were my own. If it isn’t his and it turns out she lied, well, I find myself not giving a damn either way.

  Fact is that baby is now mine along with his mum, and I fully intend to keep them. Whether Shaw agrees to that or not.

  “What’s to talk about, baby? Did you not see the papers yesterday? And the day before? And the day before that? You are my fiancée. We met in Spain, where you were running with the bulls and had a wild, passionate love affair only for you to discover that you were pregnant with my child. The Daily said you had to finish some very intense Archaeological project before you could join me here to start planning our wedded bliss.”

  “Oh Jesus! You actually read that stuff?”

  I love it when she gets all indignant and pretends that her and Mum don’t cackle themselves half to death over the ridiculous gossip and speculation.

  “Why indeed. How else am I to know what to say when people ask me how I met my little dumpling?” I ask, grinning and pulling her close.

  “Shut up. You knew this was just sex and now you have—”

  “Hush, Ducky. All will be well. We’ll be married, and I will, of course, claim the baby as my own and things will go on as before.”

  “No!” she yells, jumping to her feet.

  Surprising, since she moves so slowly lately due to her girth.

  Her denial and refusal angers me, but I have to remember that she’s emotional and still a little unsettled by the speed with which this is all happening.

  I, on the other hand, feel fabulous now that the conflicting emotions within me are at rest and settled. I don’t have to hate her and reject her on principle, and I don’t have to feel guilty about lusting after my dead brother’s girl since by her own admission she was never really his to begin with.

  The playing field is clear for me, wide open for me to take what I want and spit in the eye of every man and woman who’d pitied me and commiserated while laughing behind my back.

  “Oh come, Ducky. We can have a double wedding with Molly and Kent. Together Marge and Millie will plan an extravaganza that will rival any royal wedding to date. And just think, Ducky, Lettie and Fanny will be green with envy.”

  The irony that two of Britain’s most eligible bachelors will be marrying woman that our exes see as “fat and inferior” while they’re left standing on the sidelines tickles me pink. It really does, and I can’t help but bask in the compliments I’d received from many a male when they’d seen a photo of Shaw in the papers.

  Yes, my girl really is quite a beauty if only in that quiet unassuming way, and I love that she is now all mine.

  “Cameron! Be serious!” she yells, flinging her robe on to pace the length of the room.

  I don’t mention that the thing is so sheer I can clearly see every inch of her skin, her nipples, and the dark patch of hair between her legs. Really, she’s bloody sexy as hell.

  “I am being serious, Duck. This solves everyone’s problems. Mum’s been dying to talk to her friends about the baby, but she’s terrified that they’ll ask about the father. Short of telling them what an arse Rob was, she doesn’t know what to do.”

  “You want me to spend the rest of my life with you to make Marge happy!”

  Riiight. Obviously not the answer she was looking for.

  That’s all right Stone, just revise and rephrase, old chap.

  Maybe if I kiss her and fondle her bits again? She seems to lose track of her thoughts when I’m fondling her massive tits and her ample arse.

  “No, Ducky. I want you to marry me so that you and the baby can be cared for. My parents will be happy. Oh and there’s the added benefit that I truly bloody want you! Do you think I get this barmy for anything with a vagina?”

  She gives me a skeptical look, and I curse.

  “Well, what do you want me to say? You told me I’m fat and unexceptional or whatever it was you said to make me feel gross and you hated me till two seconds ago so forgive me for being a little skeptical here, Cameron. Jesus! I know that seeing Letitia again must have hurt—”

  “Not bloody likely.” I snort, lying back against the pillows with a laugh.

  I’m relaxed and smug, as she continues pacing—no stalking—across the room because I’m confident that once she loses steam we’ll be right back on track.

  “Cameron. Focus.”

  “But I am focused, baby. Right now, I am really focused on the way your nipples are staring at me through that robe. And the fact that I can see your lovely arse cheeks. And if that pisses you off, I should really refrain from mentioning that your robe has separated and I can see your quim.”

  I laugh when she attacks me with a pillow before tying her robe securely and glaring at me.

  “Aren’t you even a little weirded out by the fact that we’ve been boning like animals while I’m pregnant with your dead brother’s baby?”

  “Well, no. To be fair, he’s not here any longer, God rest his soul, and I really bloody find you sexy as hell. Next problem?”

  “Do you still believe that I lied about the baby being Robert’s?”

  Oh fucking hell. How can I possibly answer that truthfully without lying my arse off? I can’t and my pause gives her just the answer she’s been searching for.

  “I knew it! You still think I came all this way to fleece your poor parents! You’re such an asshole, Cameron Stone. Can’t you see that I would never do anything to hurt them? I freaking love them.”

  “Ducky.”

  “No. Just freaking stop already! Do you know why I asked you all these things, Cameron? I asked because I needed some honesty before I made my decision, and now I have the answer.”

  “What bloody answer?” I yell, coming off the bed to cut her off as she heads for the door.

  “The museum called me two days ago. They want me back.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cam

  The words leave her mouth and I freeze, my entire body going so rock hard I feel that a stiff breeze would shatter me into a million tiny pieces. Sure, maybe I deserve this for treating her like garbage and then allowing my lust to overtake me.

  Maybe it’s because I used her to stick it to Lettie. Maybe it’s because instead of telling her that now that I have had her, I can’t envision my life without her, I’ve just told her about the convenience of it all and expect her to blind
ly accept.

  Whatever the case, I feel fate and whatever bitch is working my life laugh her arse off and spit in my eye. The museum wants her back?

  Days ago, I would have laughed at such an innocuous statement and shrugged it off like I do most every problem that arises. I’m a solver. I look at a problem, see how to fix it, and then just go full out to get things exactly the way I want them.

  Just look at the way I’d manipulated and maneuvered Shaw.

  But this…

  I’d looked into it more in-depth if you will, after the impassioned speech she’d given me, and what I’d found was a revelation. Shaw had worked her arse off in high school and earned a full ride to NYU. She’d then spent three and a half years killing herself to graduate early so that she could be a shoo-in for an internship at a very prestigious museum that does not generally hire “fresh meat” right out of the lecture halls.

  My baby had earned her spot by the blood and sweat of her brow and been one of the best in her state. The fact that they’d given her a spot almost immediately tells me that she’s not only hard working, but also smart enough to have made a mark even in such a short time.

  But that’s not what worries me. No, my angst comes from the fact that she’s getting a second chance at something that was obviously a dream that she’d lost due to these unfortunate circumstances. A dream that she may not walk away from.

  A dream that could rip her out of my hands before I’ve fully claimed her.

  Gathering myself, I slam the door shut when she opens it and lean in, trapping her between the wood and my naked body.

  “You can’t…Mum and Dad would be devastated if you left us now, Shaw.”

  And me. But I don’t say that. I keep that inside because to tell her that it would fell me when the chances of her saying no are so high…emotional suicide.

  “This has been something I wanted since I was seventeen. I worked so hard for it that when I lost it I cried for a week,” she whispers, turning in the circle of my arms and leaning back into the door.

  Her purple eyes are alight with something I can’t define, but she meets me head on, her expression hard, and yet, I think I see some sort of hope lurking in the depths.