LUCI (The Naughty Ones Book 2) Page 26

  “Or bloody well is him,” Griff mutters, drinking deeply. “My money’s on our girl. She says she saw Rob, then she bloody well saw him.”

  His utter faith in her shames me, deeply, and I sigh, closing my eyes in true pain. I’m a fucking idiot! I verbally bullied the woman I lo—

  Shit. Fuck and bloody damn!

  “Oh Goood!”

  They’re all grinning like loons when I finally open my eyes in defeat and not a little amount of dread. How the hell am I, the biggest idiot in the world, going to fix my monumental fuck up when my woman will only deign to look at me when she’s glaring or pretending I’m not that crud she’s trying to scrape off from under her shoe?

  Bleeding fuck.

  “Aaah, and he finally succumbs. Took you long enough, considering. Want to tell us the whole story so we can piece this all together?” Kent asks, smirking when I slump and order another bottle.

  “I met Shaw when I flew to the U.S.—”

  “Yeah, yeah, skip the bloody lust at first sight shit—”

  “No, Doug, I flew there after the poor woman had been ringing us non-stop, searching for Rob.”

  “Rob?”

  “Yeah Rob. Look, what I tell you all now stays between us. Yes?”

  “Yeah, man. Mum’s the word.”

  “Course.”

  “Pain of death and all that.”

  I breathe deep and just say it even though it kills me to let that fucker have any claim over my daughter.

  “Shaw met Rob one night and…he started dating her. Yeah, I know, completely new for the wanker, but true all the same. So she ends up sleeping with him and true to form—”

  “Fucking dick up, he pulled a runner, leaving her holding the bag.” Griff growls, giving me the distinct impression that he had about as much time for Rob as I did, which was basically none, truth be told.

  “Yeah. She called, was desperate really since she lost her job after upchucking all over an exhibit. Not only was she bloody living in a shelter, she was really sick those first few months, and I swear to God I thought she was dying the first time I saw her.”

  “Some poor women are that way when pregnant. Hormones or some shite, yeah?”

  We all give Dougal a ‘What the fuck?’ look but he just shrugs and waves to urge me on.

  “I was not very nice to her at the beginning.”

  “Big surprise there, arsehole.”

  I throw Griff a glare before continuing, my drink the lifeline I need right now.

  “But I couldn’t…fuck, I couldn’t resist her. That woman is one beautiful creature, irresistible really. I took what I wanted, all the while telling myself that it was okay because she was using me as much as I was using her.”

  Stupid. I should have known that she is not capable of it. Any woman who would subject herself to my brand of “kindness”—and still tell her brother that I’m nice is a freaking angel.

  “So let me get this straight. Your brother impregnated her, left her, and then you decided to go and get her. Not only was the poor girl sick and homeless, but you gave her your red carpet roll out. And she’s still here? I knew she was a fucking saint, and now you’ve just proved it.” Griffin growls, giving me a nasty look.

  “Now, now lads,” Kent mutters, looking intrigued. “How did the whole engagement thing come about, especially if Angelica is Rob’s—?”

  “She is not his! My daughter.”

  “Whoa there, papa. Just saying.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  Cam

  “I walked in on her and Mum the day that Letitia showed up.”

  “Oh, tell me you did not.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Dougal. I killed two birds with one stone. I staked a claim and well, I’d be lying if we all did not enjoy the theatrics that came after my announcement.”

  They’re looking at me like I’m a three-headed dog, and perhaps I am, but I refuse to feel guilty about it. That one move had secured me what I wanted, and now, well, I’m damned bloody satisfied that Shaw is as stuck with me as I want her.

  Especially now with my baby in her. Damned satisfying thought that. Arousing, too.

  “So then…?”

  “I kept telling myself that she was a liar and a con artist, but that didn’t stop me from—”

  “Bleeding prick,” Griff mutters.

  “And then…I realized, true or not, the baby was mine, and I was bloody keeping them no matter what. Was about to tell her that I…like her when—anyway, when she woke up and didn’t remember, I thought it was like a gift. I needed that time to make her…”

  “Fall for you. Jesus, you must be the most mercenary bloke I ever met. No wonder you made such a success of the business, you’re ruthless,” Kent mutters. “So now what? You got her pregnant, and she fell for you? And then you went and fucked that up like the right royal prick you are? Fabulous!”

  “Yeah. So now she’s sleeping in the nursery, and I need to find a way to get her back.”

  “Not a good idea, right now,” Dougal says darkly, and I throw him a cutting glance. “Whoa, what I mean is, has it escaped your notice that she was just fine until you publicly announced your engagement? After that…well, whoever pushed her, and I’m with Griff, I believe her fully, only did that after the announcement and the big hoopla.”

  I consider it and grudgingly concede that it’s more than bloody feasible. Could this all be true? Was she pushed because of our connection? And more importantly, was what she saw, my brother come back from the grave?

  “Fuck.”

  “Right. My advice. Keep up the separation charade until we straighten things out. Double up security and make sure she’s never alone.”

  “I am not going to let this divide go on while some idiot rules the game! She’s miserable, I’m miserable, and I…well…I have a thing for my girl when she’s swelling.” I admit sheepishly.

  It’s not a kink because I have never found other pregnant women in any way sexy. They’re taken, claimed, and filled with another man, but for some reason, the sight of my girl growing with my babies is a huge bloody turn on.

  “You’re such a goner man, fucking half way to bloody Peru from that soft glint in your eye. Go home and get back in her good books. Leave this shite to us. I’ll call Giles and get him to start digging, but I’m telling you, man, this is seriously wigging out my creep meter. I’m officially weirded out about this,” Dougal says, serious for once.

  That gives me pause. Dougal, the fun, light-hearted bloke we all love and razz is serious, which means this is going to get very serious, probably very quickly.

  “I know. I’m hoping this is all just a product of her scrambled memories.”

  “But you need to know,” Kent says, reading my mind.

  “Yeah. Because I need to find the fuck who dared lay hands on my woman.”

  Possessive much, Cam? I snort at my inner voice and let off a silent growl. Bet your bloody arse I am. That is mine, and I always protect what is mine.

  “And if that fuck turns out to be…” Kent doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know where he’s going with it, and I’m ready.

  Surprisingly so.

  “Then I’ll put him back in the fucking ground.”

  I say it with enough conviction that they know I’m dead serious, and they nod, their eyes going just as dark as mine.

  “Then we’ll get this done.”

  “Go home, mate. You have a woman to coddle, and a little Angel to hand off to gram and gramps.”

  That puts a grin back on my face because yeah, I have every intention of using my smoking hot body to get what I want. I just hope I’m not too late to get her heart.

  ***

  Shaw

  I’m lying just where I fell just less than an hour ago, feeling sorry for myself and hoping that Margery and Victor come home soon. They’d elected to take Angel for an impromptu visit now that Millie and Molly are in town for a shopping expedition. I suspect it’s another one of Margery’s bragging visits.
They should have been back already.

  It’s dark, somewhere past midnight, and my freaking back is killing me.

  And yet I don’t move, terrified that if I do, something bad will happen. I would have called someone when it had happened, but the phone is across the room, and with no cell phone…

  This is all Cameron’s fault. Somehow. I think.

  No, it’s not. It’s is all my freaking fault. I’d told Sally—the maid—that I was fine and that she could go out for the night, and the other staff has all retired. And then I’d got it in my freaking head to go downstairs and get a snack, something I’m not passing up since those pills are working and my appetite has returned tenfold.

  So yeah, I’d gone down by myself, and in the dark, well, it freaked me out a little. More so when I could have sworn I heard someone whisper my name.

  That had officially freaked me the hell out, and I’d started having these thoughts about old houses and ghosts and God alone knows what else—yeah, I am officially nuts now—and I’d dropped everything and rushed upstairs like a bat out of hell, my feet barely hitting the stairs in my haste to reach the safety of my and Cameron’s bed.

  I know what you’re probably thinking, and yeah, I am so in trouble if my first thought for safety is Cameron, but cut me some slack here. Those nightmares have only continued and gotten worse, and I’m starting to think that if I’m not wrong—I’m so not—then a freaking ghost shoved me, and I am now being haunted by the guy.

  So yeah, I’d run and gotten as far as the sitting room area when I’d taken a nose dive and ended up face planting into the Persian rug. Big time. I’d tried to stop my momentum of course and ended up doing something really painful to my ankle.

  Have I said how much pain I’m in yet? That would be a fucking lot! I’d spent ten minutes freaking out and crying like an ugly Julia Roberts character before calming down enough to assess the situation.

  My conclusion? I’m not freaking moving a muscle, and I am also not opening my eyes in case something is there. Ridiculous, but I’ve convinced myself that it’s a ghost and I am not up for seeing that. Ever. Like ever, ever!

  When I hear a sound coming from the hall, I stifle a gasp and seal my eyes shut, willing myself to lie as still as physically possible just in case the ghoul is playing with me.

  Another scrape sounds, and it sends my heart crashing and thudding like a runaway train.

  Please let me fall asleep. Please, I beg, biting into my already puffy lips and freezing when the slow creak of the door opening reaches my ears.

  The wind is still howling outside, lending an even eerier quality to my already overworked senses, and I whimper, going so stiff my muscles hurt when soft footfalls reach my ears.

  A gasp and then those footfalls speed up before a hand touches my shoulders.

  The piercing cry I let off is bloodcurdling, Jamie Lee type of stuff, and I hit out the second contact is made, going wild and slapping at whatever I can reach.

  “Don’t hurt me!”

  “Jesus Christ! Calm down.”

  My eyes pop open, and then I’m sobbing and practically clawing my way up Cameron’s chest, uncaring of the pain in my ankle or anything else when his strong arms surround me and lift me, cradling me so close I feel the heat of him pierce through the icy coldness that has seeped straight o my bones.

  “Baby. Baby, stop. Ssh, Ducky. There, baby, there now. I’ve got you,” he croons, and I cry harder because it’s pathetic that I’m eating it up and searching for more when just a few days ago I told him to bugger off and leave me alone.

  It’s not very in with the feminist movement that I’m relying on a man to chase away a figment of my imagination, but right now I don’t care. I just need him to make it all better so I can stop feeling the bitter terror.

  When I’ve calmed enough, he pulls back slightly, and I realize he’s sitting on the bed with my body cradled in his lap. His hands swipe at the tears still wetting my cheeks, and he gives me a small kiss before looking back, his concern evident.

  “Duck, what happened?”

  God! How am I supposed to tell him that I freaked out and fell because I think there’s a ghost stalking me? That’s like…Girls Interrupted shit! I’ll end up in the loony bin for sure.

  “Er, uh. I fell?”

  I’m a terrible liar so every half-truth is basically a question, and from the look on his face, he knows me well enough to have caught on in the months since we’ve known each other. Or should I say, since I got out of the hospital and had to relearn everything about the Stones.

  “Now Duck, I know you ask things when you’re not being truthful, so I’m going to ask again and this time tell me the truth. What happened?”

  My expression must go mulish because he grins and then sighs before rubbing circles over my back.

  “I know you’re still angry with me, and you have every right to be—”

  “I do?”

  “Yes. I know I have a lot to make up for, but please, what happened?” he asks earnestly, keeping my eyes up and level with his concerned blue gaze.

  “I…I went to get a snack, and I heard something. It freaked me out.” I admit sheepishly, dropping my eyes. “I sorta ran upstairs to cower under the covers, but I…I must have tripped on something, and then I was too afraid to move in case I fell again, so I…I stayed on the floor and played dead, after about an eternity of loud crying,” I say with a whine, feeling my eyes fill again.

  Sure, I’m not feeling so great about my stupidity now when the lights are on and I’m not alone. Tragic.

  “You’re oaky?” he sounds so panicked that I almost want to lie and say I’m fine.

  But my ankle is throbbing like a toothache on steroids, and I’m not sure he’ll be too pleased if I lie.

  “I hurt my ankle, and I think I wrenched my back when I twisted to avoid falling on my front.” I admit, shuddering out a last sigh.

  Being the sap that I am I snuggle closer to his chest and rest my head on his shoulder, hardly wincing when he lifts my leg and starts poking at my right ankle.

  “We’re going to have to go to the emergency, Duck. It’s really swollen,” he grumbles.

  “I don’t think it’s too bad. Can’t we just put some ice on it? Please?”

  “No. I want you checked out fully. By the way, Mum rang and let me know that her and Dad are staying over at Millie’s, and that Angelica’s staying with them.”

  It’s only after we’ve been to the hospital and found that I’ve got a mild sprain, and then back home and tucked safely in bed that he turns to me, his brow furrowed.

  “What scared you so much you bolted from the kitchen? You’ve never been skittish about getting a snack in the dark.”

  He’s up on his elbow, looming over me, and all I can focus on for a second is the sight if his muscled torso and the way the sheet covers almost nothing.

  “Shaw! What scared you?”

  “You’ll think I’ve finally lost my nut if I tell you,” I say miserably, cuddling deeper into the blankets while keeping my raised foot as still as I can.

  “No, I won’t. Tell me. I swear I won’t be a dick.”

  Huh! Like that’s possible.

  My face must tell him what I don’t say because he grins before sighing and going serious.

  “I have a lot to make up for, and I know it. I’ve been a royal arse the last two weeks.”

  At that I snort, in a really unladylike way, and give him a look that says, “No! Why ever would you say that”’ He thinks he’s been an arse? If we’re going to define things, I would say he was a major, major asshole.

  He chuckles and nods once, conceding the point silently, and it strikes me that Cameron and I know each other very well. I may not remember meeting him, falling in love, or getting pregnant, hell most days I can hardly remember what I ate for breakfast anyway, but I know I’ve felt linked to him since I opened my eyes to see his haggard face.

  I’m still pissed at him, but I trust him like I tr
ust no other. Even knowing I need answers, I’m not afraid. Not even with Alec’s warnings still fresh in my mind.

  “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden? Don’t get me wrong, I like it, a lot more than the way you’ve been recently, but what’s up?”

  I’m rocking the boat here, but I won’t just pretend that the last two weeks haven’t happened.

  He sighs and flops down beside me, holding his arm out in question, almost hopefully. I move in carefully, leaning against his chest stiffly before relaxing and cuddling closer.

  “I think it’s time I told you the truth, Ducky. And then you tell me what really happened.”

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Shaw

  For some reason the thought of knowing everything makes me more nervous than the thought of someone really being in the kitchen with me.

  “Okay,” I say after a deep breath to fortify myself.

  It takes a while for him to collect his thoughts, and I lie there quietly, waiting patiently, sensing his fear and almost determined need to reveal it all.

  “We did not meet and fall in love. You met…you met my brother Robert, over a year ago in a club in New York City. You were celebrating just completing your degree early and being in line for a massive internship. From what you told me, Rob spent the next week courting you before the two of you fell into bed together.”

  I try to jerk away, horrified, disbelieving, terrified that what he’s saying is true, but he tightens his hold and soothes me with gentle caresses that somehow manage to quiet my racing heart and stuttered breaths.

  “You fell pregnant. Rob was already long gone by then, his usual bloody M.O., and you were ill, without a job or a home…you managed to find us, and you rang Mum and then me.”

  “I don’t think I want to know this,” I whisper raggedly, clinging to him as my mind starts whirling.

  Ignorance is bliss right? Maybe it would be best not to know any of this. What he’s saying is that—?

  “Angelica isn’t yours?” I whimper, near tears.

  That sets him off, and I’m on my back, his frame caging me in, his expression so fierce it almost hurts to see it.