Breed her hard, p.21
BREED HER HARD, page 21
When I could realistically start the driving lessons Jett had grudgingly agreed I could take.
While I enjoyed being chauffeured around to do the grocery shopping, meet with him for lunch when he was free or finally go to the hairdressers to get a much-needed trim and treatment, I didn’t really see myself being that kind of lady of leisure.
So I felt in reasonable control about how smooth things were going when I wrapped my arms around his neck a minute after he walked in the door after work on Wednesday.
A long, decadent kiss later, he lifted his head. “I’m going to jump in the shower real quick. Did you order the takeout?”
I nodded. “Your favorite Thai food will be here in ten minutes.”
He smiled as he set me back on my feet. “Great.” He started to walk away, then turned and tossed his wallet at me. “Grab some cash from there to tip the delivery guy?”
I caught it and smiled. “Sure.” I had enough money of my own to tip. Technically, takeout came under my housekeeping budget, for which I had an insanely large expense account. Still, I’d learned very quickly that Jett liked to be in charge.
And I was happy to let him be.
Going to the kitchen, I dropped the wallet on the counter and laid out plates, cutlery, and water. Beer or wine was within easy reach if Jett wanted either.
When the intercom buzzed, I grabbed the wallet, opened it, and headed for the front door. Two steps later, I froze, my heart dropping like dumbbells to my feet as I stared at the picture.
She was beautiful. Hell, she was stunning .
Long blonde hair, wide green eyes. Cheekbones to die for.
I braced my hand against the door, lungs burning and eyes watering as tremors shook through me.
The spurious thought that implied this might not mean anything died a quick death beneath the evidence in my hand.
The knock on the door forced enough brain cells to work. I took the takeout bag, handed over a twenty-dollar tip and on legs that felt like noodles, returned to the kitchen.
Setting the food down, I stared down at the picture.
With shaky fingers, I drew it out. Turned it over, dread like acid in my stomach.
Imogen. Yemen. 2008.
The man I was falling for had insisted he didn’t do heart and flowers or relationships.
Yet, he kept a well-preserved picture of a heartbreakingly beautiful woman in his wallet.
26
Brea
T hree months later
I watched the sunset from the terrace of our bedroom suite at the Woodley Park mansion. Even after all this time, I couldn’t believe I lived here.
We moved in six weeks ago after extensive and eventually enjoyable redecorating.
Following my confession that I felt out of my depth, Jett held my hand through the designer's next meeting. And when we both concluded after a couple of appointments that we weren’t a good fit, he fired them and rehired another firm.
Unlike the previous designer, who loved to casually name-drop and cite her many achievements with her nose in the air, Tessa, the new designer, was a breath of fresh air with no snootiness in sight.
I felt comfortable enough around her to toss even the most outlandish ideas at her without fear of condescension or snobbery.
Take the candy room, for instance, a room dedicated solely to almost every sugary treat known to man, situated right next to the cinema room, where I spent most of my time when Jett was at work, and I was done taking care of the house.
Not that I consumed a lot of the candy. Under a strict diet, I was carefully monitored by Dr. Aaron, with a supporting cast of apps that alerted me when I was ovulating or the optimal time to take a pregnancy test.
My dressing room was my second favorite. Decked in all white with hints of pixie dust pink, I felt like a fairy tale princess every time I walked into the room easily big enough to fit Karen’s whole house into it.
The only room we’d left untouched was the nursery. Decorating, even with neutral colors we could easily alter once we knew the gender of our future baby, felt like tempting fate.
The problem was, despite all our vigorous and enthusiastic efforts, I wasn’t pregnant. And after three months of crossed fingers, pregnancy tests, and searing disappointment, the fractures were beginning to show.
Who the hell was I kidding?
The fracture had deepened the night I opened Jett’s wallet and received the shock of my life.
While there could’ve been a simple explanation as to why he had a picture of a beautiful woman in his wallet, my gut screamed that it wasn’t simple. That she was special. Threateningly special.
Imogen.
Three months had passed, and I hadn’t gathered the courage to ask him who she was.
Where she was.
Why he carried her picture in his wallet.
What had happened to her.
Months I’d struggled to hold it together when I visited Karen and the kids and pretended everything was fine; where I met my new rich neighbors, ignored the blatant questions in their eyes about the obvious age gap between Jett and me because it was none of their fucking business; where Jett’s army buddies dropped by for an informal house-warming and I saw varying degrees of surprise in their eyes that things had moved so quickly with us.
We still fucked like our lives depended on it, and maybe it did. Maybe sex was the only thing holding us together, and knowing we were failing in other areas of communication only made us cling harder to it?
I sighed and turned away from the view.
But the sight of the Californian king when I re-entered the bedroom only reminded me of the empty house.
My empty heart.
My empty womb.
I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the chill I sensed coming. The one that arrived when Jett left for his business trip to Austin three days ago.
It settled inside me anyway, a tight knot in my belly that whispered that maybe not getting pregnant was a good thing. That possibly fate was forcing me to take a beat before doing something I regretted later?
Impatient and a little terrified of the dread eating away inside me, I walked over to the inbuilt digital console and turned up the music playing softly in the background, my way of not living in complete silence.
My favorite song flowed into the room, but today I couldn’t take comfort in Meant To Be's lyrics . I didn’t turn it down though.
Like I did with my pain when my parents died, I needed to inhabit this dread, let it eat me alive, then spit me out, hopefully, less desolate and more clear-minded.
I clung to that as I wandered through the house and ended up, as I knew I would, in Jett’s study. While our bed held his scent and his dressing room contained all the familiarity I needed, I felt closest to him here.
In his domain. Amongst his books. In the presence of his solid antique desk. Seated in the immense high-backed chair that echoed with his power.
I curled myself into it, hugging my knees to my chest as I breathed in the leather and sweat, as I imagined him here, his big strong arms around me. Calling me his baby girl. Reassuring me that everything would be alright…
Had he called her that?
Imogen .
The name echoed through my head until I gritted my teeth.
Enough with this pathetic wallowing.
The only way I was going to get answers was to talk to Jett. Maybe doing it over the phone instead of face to face was better? I reached into my pocket for my cell, just as the phone on Jett’s desk rang.
Startled, I dropped my cell and grabbed the handset. For a flash of a second, I wondered if it was Jett. No, he would’ve called my cell.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Dr. Everly. May I speak with Mr. Davenport, please?” said a crisp voice.
I frowned. My doctor was Dr. Aaron. I’d never met a Dr. Everly. “Uh…Mr. Davenport isn’t here right now.”
“I’ve tried his cell, but he’s not picking up. Do you know when he’ll be available? This is time-sensitive.”
My heart kicked as dread sawed through me. “He…he’s away on business. He might be in a meeting,” I tossed in. There could be other reasons for his phone being off, but I wasn’t going there. “Can I take a message for him?”
“Just ask him to call Dr. Naomi Everly. Tell him I have the update he’s been expecting.”
Knots tightened in my stomach, and I swallowed before I could speak again. “Are you calling from Dr. Aaron’s office? Is…is there something wrong?” Something Dr. Aaron hadn’t told me about?
She hesitated for several seconds. “No, I’m not. I’m sorry, who am I speaking with?” she asked, a trace of wariness in her voice.
“It’s…” I paused, warning bells ringing in my head. “I’m Mr. Davenport’s housekeeper. I’ll let him know you called.”
“Thank you.”
I replaced the handset with trembling hands.
On Jett’s desk was a home computer, but it was password-protected, and I wouldn’t get past it even if I tried to snoop.
But I had my phone and the excellent internet connection it came with. Snatching it up, I typed in the doctor’s name.
A deeper chill invaded my bones as her credentials popped up on the search page.
Dr. Naomi Everly, Director of Surrogate Services at Everly Fertility Institute.
A DC-based firm with branches all over the country, the website lauded Dr. Everly’s excellence in surrogacy.
I scrolled through the site with fingers that shook harder, the snippets of conversation before Jett asked me to carry his baby filtering through my chaotic thoughts.
I hadn’t thought about his surrogacy plans after I agreed to carry his baby because I assumed they were moot.
When the reality was that he’d been hedging his bets.
In case I didn’t come through?
Pain bolted through me like lightning, sucking the breath from my lungs.
He wouldn’t…
Would he?
Every single one of Karen’s skeptical comments darted through my brain, mocking me with their truth. I jumped up from the chair and rushed to my dressing room. Somewhere amongst the many college applications I’d put off sending for my correspondence course, I located the hard copy of my signed agreement with Jett.
I forced myself to read through it calmly, hoping for something to make the panic inside me go away. But nowhere in the document did it say his contract with me nullified any others made with another party.
But even if there was, what would I have done? Insisted he stuck with me for the right to have his baby? When three periods had come and gone since I agreed to live in his mansion and bear his child?
Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I gave in to the sobs choking me. I cried until my throat hurt and the ache in my heart felt too big to contain. Until the faint ringing of my cell roused me from the floor of the dressing room.
I returned to the study and see a missed call from Jett. But where I was eager to talk to him before, the desire was gone now.
Imogen—whoever she was—and the call from the surrogacy doctor had placed enough black clouds on my previously sunny horizon, and I needed a minute to deal with it. Still, my heart leaped when a text message pinged a moment later.
Meetings overran. On my way to the airport now, but cutting it fine. See you in a few hours. Jx
I started to tap out a reply, then stopped. I didn’t want to pretend everything was fine, but I didn’t want to have a serious discussion by text either. I wanted to look him in the eyes when I asked him the questions tearing me apart inside.
So I turned my phone off, turned up the music, and busied myself doing the one thing I didn’t have to think twice about—housekeeping.
Ninety minutes later, every surface gleamed, and every cushion was plumped. I considered taking a shower to wash off the light coating of sweat but decided on more strenuous exercise to stop me from thinking.
The blood-red bikini Jett grudgingly bought me was positively indecent, barely containing my boobs and ass.
But since the pool was reasonably secluded, shielded by the high walls and Douglas firs that bordered the property, I wasn’t worried about being seen.
I dropped my towel and a bottle of water on a lounger, then dived into the pool. I swam furious laps, eager to outrun the whispering demons in my head. Exhaustion finally won, and I heaved myself out of the water, dropping onto the lounger to fall into a light sleep.
Only to startle awake when strong arms plucked me off the seat. A little dazed, I looked up at the chiseled jawline of the man I loved.
The man who’d become my whole world in such a short space of time.
I braced a hand on his chest to orient myself. But all it did was make me crave his touch. “Jett. You’re home,” I murmured.
Blue eyes speared me, and I could tell he was a little pissed as he carried me indoors. “You could sound a little more enthusiastic about it, kitten.”
I bit my lip, my heart thudding wildly as everything I’d tried to blot out in the last several hours rushed back. It was time to grab the bull by the horns, so I just went for it.
“We need to talk.”
27
Jett
I barely caught myself from stumbling as I re-entered the house.
My heartbeat hadn’t calmed since I walked through the front doors. Hell, it hadn’t settled since I sent the text on my way to the airport and got no reply. The only thing that had kept me from going clean out of my mind was seeing her on the security monitor I accessed on my phone right before I boarded the plane.
Shitty internet service on the flight had kept me from checking the feed, and I was a fucking bag of nerves by the time I landed. That state only got worse when all my calls and text messages went unanswered.
I went down the back hallway toward the living room with a rock in my gut.
Something was wrong. Something had been wrong before I left on what I hoped would be my last business trip for a while.
It’d prompted a strong urge to take her with me to Austin, but I’d stopped myself for two reasons.
One, I’d already shoe-horned a week’s worth of business meetings into three days and knew the only thing I’d be doing when I returned to my hotel room was crash hard.
Two, I’d been fearless about entering enemy territory as a soldier but was just plain chicken shit about confronting whatever was bothering Brea.
The last time we fought, she’d retreated to her sister’s house.
Granted, it was only for a few hours. But that niggling sensation hadn’t entirely disappeared since then and only grown larger.
The last thing I wanted to do was tackle it from some soulless hotel room in Texas.
“Jett?”
I stopped, sucked in a breath, then looked down at her.
Fuck, I’d missed her beautiful face. Those wide, mesmerizing eyes. Her ripe lips. That tiny little body that had learned to take my cock so beautifully.
But I was pissed because she’d made me panic. I was pissed because I didn’t like being this off-balance. Experience this sense of loss, even though she was right here in my arms.
“I should take you over my knee for falling asleep outside without putting suncream on, but I’m more curious as to why you didn’t answer my texts.”
Her eyes widened. “Texts? Plural?”
That flare of alarm I didn’t want to acknowledge intensified. “Asking me that suggests you don’t know. Where’s your phone?”
Her gaze darted down the east hallway in the opposite direction of the living room. Next to the home gym, which she now rarely used because she preferred to exercise in the pool, was my study. I felt her tension as we headed there.
I saw her phone the moment I entered the study, tossed on my desk. I set her down, went to pick it up and touched the screen. Nothing happened. Panic rippled like a pebble tossed into a still lake. “Why the fuck did you turn off your phone, kitten?”
Her eyes refused to meet mine. “I guess I forgot about it. Maybe it died while I was cleaning.”
She was lying. Sure, I’d seen her pushing around a vacuum on the security feed but…looking at her now, I knew it wasn’t the whole truth. A very alien hurt flared alongside the panic. “You’re lying.”
She swallowed, but her gaze defiantly avoided mine.
“Is this phone going to be near full charge when I turn it on, baby girl?” I heard the menace in my voice, the need to be gentle receding as alarm crowded my brain.
Her tongue flitted over her lower lip, buying herself some time. Then her gaze met mine before sweeping away again. “Maybe.”
“Look at me,” I commanded, not bothering to hide my anger.
It took a half-second longer than usual for her to comply. “Okay, fine. I turned it off myself.”
“And why the fuck would you do that? Knowing I’d try to reach you. Knowing I’d worry if you didn’t answer?”
For the smallest second, her nostrils quivered. “I…I need some space.”
My fingers tightened on the phone. “Space.” My voice echoed my bewilderment. “Space away from me?”
“Just a little time to think.”
“About?” I pressed.
She shrugged. “About…everything.”
I placed the phone down with studied precision before I crushed it. Then I walked over and took her hands in mine while forcing calm into my body. “Brea, did something happen while I was away?”
Several emotions flickered in her eyes. Hurt. Anger. Disappointment. I frowned as she pressed her lips together. “Why would you think that?”
“Answer the question, Brea.” My gaze returned to the phone. “And while you’re at it, tell me what you were doing in my study.”
She glared at me. “I didn’t know I was barred from coming in here.”
“We both know you’re not. But you rarely do, unless you’re cleaning. Were you?”
