Claimed by the Wolf (BWWM Erotic Paranormal Romance) (3 page)

“Good,” growled Grant, “because I’m not done with you yet.” He ducked his head between my legs and swiped up my juices with his tongue. My head lolled back against the pillows.

I had no idea how he could get hard again so quickly, but this time, I watched as he tore open another gold foil wrapper and rolled the condom over that hard, delicious cock. I nearly swooned with desire before he plunged back into me and fucked me, hands roving all over my body and finally into my mouth, where I sucked on them until I passed out from the wave of orgasms.

The last thing I remembered, he was chuckling. “I told you once you said yes, that was it.”

* * *

A
horn honked, sending me jumping about five feet into the air. I had been sitting on a bench outside the nursing building, flipping through my flash cards for the exams. I knew all this stuff by now, but every time I thought of what would happen after I graduated, I started to shake.

My professors all thought highly of me, and one had even taken me aside to suggest I think about becoming a nurse practitioner. That was pretty great praise, but I wanted more. I didn’t tell anyone, of course, but I wanted med school. I wanted the
M.D.
after my name. Dr. Zenobia Jones, M.D. Imagine! Wouldn’t my mom be proud, if she were still around to see?

But real life came crashing back down the way it always did. Honest to God, I had been lucky to get the scholarship that had paid for nursing school to begin with. There was no way medical school could be anything more than a pie-in-the-sky kind of dream. Two hundred grand? Who had that kind of cash?

I had just paid my rent, and I only had one hundred twelve dollars left to my name, which meant living on ramen for the next few days. I hated ramen, and after my nutrition course, I knew exactly how bad it was for you. But what choice did I have?

Not like billionaire Grant Beal would ever have to worry about anything like that. What
couldn’t
he have in all the world?

I shoved the thought of that passionate night with him three weeks ago out of my mind. It already felt so unreal, like a fantasy, and I had reality to deal with. Graduating into joblessness wasn’t the only thing I was worried about, but I didn’t have time to think about it right now.

Maybe
, I thought, gulping,
maybe it’ll come tonight.

I sighed and glanced at my watch. I’d already made it through my comp lab yesterday—and gone home and crashed—but I still had to get through the written final today. It started in fifteen minutes.

Some of the other students in my class hurried past me. Everyone looked exhausted. I recognized a redhead named Janet who had deep, dark circles under her eyes. “Janet! Hey, Janet!”

“Oh, hey, Zenobia,” she said. “How’s it going?”

“Girl, how are we going to do this thing?” I asked.

Janet made a face. “You got me. I’ve studied my behind off, and I’m still not sure I can pass this.”

I realized pretty quickly that Janet and I didn’t mean the same thing. She was a few years younger than me, and had a husband who made decent, if not great, bank. She also worked part time as a bank teller. She could always go full time if she had to.

I had . . . me.

“But I don’t know why
you’d
be worried,” she said, making me glad she couldn’t read minds. “Dr. Klein clearly thinks you’re the star of the class. You’re gonna pass with no problem, just you wait.”

My cheeks flamed. Good thing she couldn’t see. “I guess,” I said. “It’s no big deal. After all, we all still gotta find actual jobs after this.”

“Yeah, I guess. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.” She waved and went inside the building.

I followed, praying for my belly to start its monthly ache. Normally that hurt like anything, but today I would have welcomed it with open arms.

Janet was right. I
was
the star student of the class. I had spent every waking minute I had studying, but now that everything had changed, I wasn’t sure if that was going to matter at all.

I took a seat near the middle of the room, and the proctor passed out our booklets. “You have seventy-five minutes,” he announced. “Good luck.”

I threw myself into full nursing mode, tackling the sample scenarios with every bit of knowledge I’d acquired over the course of my studies. How to deal with a rowdy patient who just wanted to cause trouble? Got it. How to work in tandem with a doctor who was under a lot of stress in an emergency department? Piece of cake. What were the classic symptoms of influenza as opposed to a cold? I knew them all, and plenty of the atypical ones, too.

I finished the exam in half an hour and spent the remaining time going back over my answers. I’d aced it, and I knew it, but I just couldn’t bring myself to smile. Normally I would have been grinning to beat the sun as I dropped the booklet on the proctor’s desk and left the room.

But what was there to smile about? If things didn’t shape up fast, I’d be begging for them to give me back my job at Mickey D’s.

A prayer on my lips, I popped into the restroom to check.
Please, God.

Still nothing.

Pasting a smile on my face and keeping all my trembling inside where no one else could see, I got into my car and drove to the drugstore by my house. I kept my head down and used some of my remaining money to buy the thing I had hoped and prayed I wouldn’t need.

Then I went home. Luckily Mrs. Basil was out somewhere, so I was able to duck into my basement bedroom without having to talk to anyone.

I peed on the stick per the instructions and waited.

My period was three weeks late. I was due the day after that wild night with billionaire Grant Beal.

I had refused to let myself think about it until now. My period would come any day now. Of course it would. Never mind that I had been regular as clockwork until now. Even now, I insisted to the bathroom walls that the test would come back negative. They would! It was just one time. I refused to believe I could be that fertile. That was just crazy talk.

The instructions said to wait six minutes. I waited ten, then twelve.

At fifteen minutes, I swallowed my fear and picked up the stick. Two pink stripes.

That meant . . . I glanced at the instructions, then at the strip, then back at the instructions. No doubt about it.

Oh, damn. I sat down hard on the toilet lid. Impregnated by the billionaire.

* * *

I
was a nursing student, not a clueless teenager, for crying out loud! About to graduate with my degree, and I had still let myself get pregnant?

And how would Grant react when I told him?

I already found my hands caressing my belly. Me, a mom. The image made me smile a little. I’d always thought about having kids someday. I’d just thought they’d be with Avon.

My stomach twisted. No. I wasn’t going down that route. Avon had made his choices, and so had I.

I found Grant’s business card in my coat pocket and dialed his cell phone. After five rings, a prerecorded message played. Just the sound of Grant’s sexy baritone sent shivers all through me. “You’ve reached Grant Beal’s personal line. I’m afraid I’m away having too much fun right now, but please do leave a message, and I’ll get back to you when I can. Ciao!”

I hung up. What was I going to say, anyway?

Maybe it was better if I didn’t tell him. I’d take care of this myself. Somehow.

A thought crashed over me. And if I didn’t have money to take care of myself right now, how on God’s green earth was I going to be able to afford a baby?

No, I had to call Grant. I had to tell him.

I dialed his number again, and when it went to voice mail, I left a message. Even though I felt like throwing up—maybe that was just the morning sickness starting, but I knew it wasn’t as simple as that—I schooled my voice into being cool. “Mr. Beal—Grant—this is Zenobia Jones. I need to talk to you as soon as possible. It’s—uh—it’s a matter of prime importance. An urgent matter.” I added my phone number and then clicked off.

I let my head drop into my hands. Oh, God, what was I going to do?

But part of me insisted it was excited—really,
really
excited—to have an excuse to see Grant again, even if it was this particular excuse.

Maybe it was just pregnancy sensitivity, but I could feel the ghost of his hands all over me again, and I sighed. The patch between my thighs grew hot and wet. I could picture the way he had looked, all muscular and solid in that golden skin of his, his big, manly hands making my body do what he wanted, the way his blue-green eyes had drunk in every bit of my brown body like he was a parched man in a fiery desert and I was his oasis.

Ohhh.

I couldn’t lie! That night with Grant was the one highlight in a string of dark, hopeless months. He’d made me feel desired. Not just desired, but enjoyed. Savored, like a dessert. It had finally broken the spell of rejection I’d felt after finding Avon with the neighbor. More than that, he’d made me forget.

If nothing else, we had made this baby together. Grant needed to know.

And
I
needed to see him.

* * *

S
unset. I had checked my phone obsessively all afternoon, waiting for Grant to call me back. But he didn’t. Once when an unfamiliar number came up on my phone, my heart jumped up into my mouth. But it turned out to be a stupid telemarketer recording promising me an all-expenses-paid cruise if I took the automated survey about food preferences. I couldn’t slam the end call button soon enough.

A thought popped into my head. If I were going on a cruise, I’d want it to be on Grant’s private yacht. Now
that
would be something.

Where
was
he? I swore under my breath. When I woke the morning after our night of passion, his side of the bed was empty, and a tray sat on my bedside table, with a bagel with cream cheese and a mug of black coffee. Though I couldn’t see Grant, I could hear him. He was in the hallway, already on the phone, discussing the particulars of some business deal or other.

I closed my eyes and curled up in the silky sheets, and before I knew it, an hour had passed. My coffee was cold, but I drank it anyway. Then I got up and got dressed. Grant was nowhere to be seen, and luckily, neither was any of the huge staff he had to have to maintain this place.

When I emerged from the bathroom—and I almost didn’t after seeing the marble hot tub and gold faucets—a woman in a business suit and hair in a neat chignon stood in the bedroom. Her nod was impersonal, and she avoided my eyes. “I’m Mr. Beal’s personal assistant. I trust you enjoyed your breakfast?”

I nodded. What kind of weird question was that? How did she even know about the breakfast—unless Grant had asked her to get it?

The woman smiled but without any warmth. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, I’m afraid Mr. Beal has already departed for the day, but if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you out.”

I followed her clicks on the hardwood floor out the door. Then I got it with the force of a freight train slamming into me: she did this. A lot. Grant would take lovers and leave her to make sure they left without a fuss.

Part of me cringed at this. But another part of me was too busy remembering how good his hands on my body had felt. How good his mouth had tasted on mine. How delicious he’d smelled, like a dash of some expensive cologne mixed with natural musk. My belly lit up with heat. I put on a poker face so the assistant couldn’t tell what I was feeling.

She waited for me to pick up my bag from where it sat by the front door, then handed me my coat. “I called you a taxi. It’s waiting outside.”

Without a word, I pulled on my slingback heels and walked out the door. It closed behind me.

As I looked back, the whole night already felt like an incredible fantasy. If it weren’t for how relaxed I felt, I might have believed it was, too.

But now, with the seed of a baby growing inside me, I knew the night had been all too real.

I tried calling Grant’s cell phone again. It went straight to voice mail.

Anger, hot and red, flooded my vision. So he was busy. So what? No one was
that
busy. He could take a second to call me back.

Plans raced through my mind. I couldn’t get back through his gate without permission; there had been a keypad. But I wasn’t giving up just yet. Since he liked hitting up dive bars, maybe I’d find him there again.

It was a long shot, but one I was willing to try. I just knew I couldn’t have any alcohol myself. No sweat.

Full dark had set in by the time I got into my car. It was silly, maybe, but I couldn’t leave until I’d changed into a form-fitting green sheath dress and sparkling black stilettos, fixed my hair, and applied more plum lipstick and mascara. It was for me, I told myself. I needed to feel good before I went out and tried to find my future baby’s daddy and convince him to care.

The thought of trying to pay for everything by myself, trying to be a mother myself, was so huge and horrible, I shoved it right out of my head.
Hell, no.
Instead, I concentrated on driving. I didn’t know if it was the full moon rising or what, but everyone was driving like a lunatic. I slammed on my brakes just in time to avoid someone cutting right in front of me. To keep from getting hit, someone else whirled and spun out of control and just managed to right their car before slamming into the median.

I dared a horrified glance into the rearview mirror. What was
wrong
with people?! I sure hoped that driver was all right. Of course, the car in front of me sped up to at least ninety miles an hour and tailgated the cars in front of it, forcing them out of the way.

Holy hell. Maybe I should have stayed home.

But instead, I clutched the steering wheel and focused on the road until I reached the turnoff for the bar. Everywhere I looked, the parking lot teemed with cars, and I had to circle around twice until a spot opened up. What had I been thinking, going out on a Friday night? No wonder people were acting crazy! I gritted my teeth, hoping the person vacating the spot wasn’t too drunk to drive. But it was early yet, so probably not.