Forbidden: A Stepbrother Secret Baby Romance (3 page)

How much did I drink last night? I haven't been hammered like this since college. I turn the tap on and splash my face with water, the feeling of nausea mercifully leaving my body. I turn the shower on. I figure I might have a good ten minutes to shower, dress, call room service and tell the maids not to bother with the bedroom today before she wakes up. But I can't know for sure.

I hate complications.

***

"So what we have here is the VC proposal draft that we're sending to Horton and Associates," my assistant, Tony, says to me. "And Andrews called to confirm the twelve-thirty lunch meeting down at the Pier."

I barely hear him. "Great, Tony, that's great. Christ, we need to get someone in here to install some blinds." The sun is pouring through the windows in my office. The downside to stark, modern spaces with huge walls of windows is the lack of shade. I sigh and close my eyes. San Francisco is supposed to be cloudy.

"Rough night last night, boss?"

I exhale. "Yeah, you could fucking say that." I pinch the bridge of my nose and loosen my necktie. I feel like I'm choking underneath the starched collar. "We should probably leave soon if you want to get down there in time. Traffic and all that,” I remind him. I hear a chair squeak. Shit. Tony's sitting down. I know what that means. We were freshman roommates in college and he knows me better than anyone else in the entire world.

"Spill, Jax," he says, dropping the formalities of our business relationship.

I sigh. "Can you at least get me some water before you interrogate me?"

Tony looks at the Apple Watch on his wrist. "You have two minutes to talk. I'll get you water on the way downstairs."

I exhaled. "I met a woman last night. I saved her from being harassed by three punk college kids."

Tony nods.

"And then she followed me upstairs."

Tony gives me a look that I've seen a thousand times before. "You know, this really isn't a new story to me, Jax. What I'm curious about is how it's possible that you have a hangover."

"Yeah, it's all a little foggy. But we blew through an entire bottle of Jack Daniels. Not that I remember doing that." I squint, trying to think. All I see are flashes of curvy, glorious body, her protruding nipples and the feel of her breasts underneath my hands. Shit. I need to stop that if I'm going to be forced to stand up in a minute without humiliating myself.

"Did you leave before she did this morning? You were incredibly late coming in today. I'd hate for you to break your no-contact-once-the-sun-comes-up rule."

I hesitate.

"Oh my God, dude."

"What?"

"You're pausing. You never pause. That either means you did talk to her this morning or you're seriously considering tracking her down. Who is she? Did you actually get a name this time?" he asks me.

I shake my head and stand up. "Nah. No names. I didn't talk to her this morning. I got out in time. Breakfast and a taxi as usual."

Tony smirks. "But not like usual though."

I put my blazer jacket on. "We're going to be late, Mister Assistant. Did you call an Uber yet?"

"It's downstairs already." He follows me out of the room and into the elevator. "You going to try to find her?"

My hesitation betrays me once again. Tony just shakes his head. "She must be some kind of woman for Jax Hadley to be breaking his unbreakable rules."

CHAPTER FIVE

TESSA

Indianapolis is sweltering and oppressive despite the fact that the sun has gone down. The heat wraps around my body and fills my nostrils. I cough a little bit, sweat breaking out across my skin. My head is still pounding from my hangover. The flight back included such joys as a toddler screaming and kicking my seat, a large-framed businessman who kept trying to touch my leg on purpose, and an older woman wearing so much perfume I felt like I was choking.

Welcome back to reality, Tessa. The flight back felt like a tunnel from the fantasy of the night before and back into real life. I’m already faltering on my promise to Jillian. I’m wanting to go back to Paul. I'd spent part of the flight going through old photos of me and him on my phone. He’s been in my life for so long it's hard to imagine going on without him.

The taxi back from the airport is slow, expensive, and dizzying. I dread walking into my apartment as the driver finally pulls up to the curb. I hope Paul has actually taken all of his things like he said he would. He only has a drawer.

Had a drawer. Until we broke it off again.

My mind flashes to Man Beast caressing my breasts and I feel lost in that weird space between dream and reality. It almost seems like the night before didn't even happen. But it did happen. My sore body is assuring me of that.

I put the key into the lock and step inside, hauling my rolling suitcase into the foyer. I go to turn the lights on but realize I can already see the inside of my apartment. It's lit up in an orange glow. I blink a few times and realize it's candlelight. On the floor are pathetic handfuls of wilted rose petals.

I pad into the living room and see that Paul is sitting on the couch in jeans and a slightly ratty t-shirt, asleep with the remote control in his hands. On the table is a bouquet of roses still in their plastic sheath, casually tossed there next to three taper candles that are nearly burned down to stubs. Next to it is a box of pizza, grease spots marking the white cardboard like raindrops. I lift the lid with my index finger and see that three-quarters of it is gone.

He's trying.

I walk over and nudge his shoulder. "Paul?" I whisper.

He awakens with a loud snort. "Huh!" he sits upright, startled. "Oh. Tessa." He rubs his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Midnight or so."

"I thought your flight was coming in earlier. I had...I had things ready. For when you got back."

I sit down on the edge of the sofa, guilt eating into my stomach. "Paul. We broke up."

Paul's awake now. "I know. I know that we did. I just missed you so much."

I feel conflict in my heart. This is familiar. It's comfortable. He's trying. I need to tell him the truth about me and Man Beast. "Paul...I -"

He grabs my hands. "I love you, Tessa. I know I haven't been great, but I feel like I need to try to do better this time. Please. Please."

Guilt is eating away my stomach. San Francisco was a dream. It won't be hard to pretend like it hadn't really happened; I'm starting to question it myself. And Paul and I were decidedly broken up. There’s no question about that; it’s not like I cheated on him. He doesn’t need to know. Paul kisses me but his cold lips are not even close to the ones I kissed the night before. My body is aching for more. More from Man Beast.

But Paul is here. I am here. Paul is familiar. Paul is convenient.

So what if he’s not perfect?

We fall into my bed together, my brain and my heart telling me two very different things.

CHAPTER SIX

JAX

Lunch is a disaster. Andrews insists on ordering platters of oysters. I sit there, sweating and nauseous from my hangover, ordering endless glasses of water and doing my best to choke them down. He also insists on sitting outside in the glorious weather. My sunglasses feel like they have no tint on them for all the good they do at helping my headache. I know I have a pitch to make. I need the venture capital badly if I’m going to prove to my father that my business is worth anything.

I'm pretty sure I’m blowing this.

Andrews is running his mouth and I can’t even be sure that he’s speaking English to me. “…best if we proceed with a small investment to get the ball rolling, you’ll understand.”

I nod and I’m not even sure of what I’m agreeing to. The oysters churn in my stomach as we sit under the beating sun. I excuse myself to go vomit in the marble-clad bathroom.

I come home directly from the lunch at Tony's insistence. I have never been this hungover in my life.

My hotel room is neat as a pin downstairs. I take a long, steaming shower hoping that it might revive me. I change into pajama bottoms and order some toast and applesauce from the restaurant downstairs. My mom always made me hot buttered toast when I was sick. The warm crunch of the crust settles my stomach nicely.

I wander upstairs into my bedroom and am greeted with the sight of an unmade bed and broken lamp. Shit. I still need to clean up. I hit a few buttons to draw the mechanical metal shutters over the glass ceiling and the top half of the walls and get to work picking the sheets up off the floor. I pick up condom wrappers and toss them into the trash can that's hidden underneath the bedside table, then pick up the glass lamp shards as gingerly as I can. Thankfully the lamp broke in large pieces. I set the rest of the base in the trashcan and place the lampshade by the door. I'll have Tony buy another one for me.

Then I lay down on the soft, fur blanket and shut my eyes. The throbbing in my temples subsides, and I start to drift off to sleep almost immediately.

In my dreams I'm wandering the hallways of my office in a suit that is too small for me and I can't find my desk. Then suddenly I'm naked and standing in my bedroom that is now an all-white box with only a bare mattress in the middle. I walk over to it. There are objects on it, all tagged with black and yellow markers like they do on crime scene investigation shows. The lamp shards are in a plastic bag. The fur blanket, top and bottom sheets are folded and marked separately. The empty bottle of Jack is there as well. Then I see them.

The condom wrappers.

Two of them. Only two of them.

I wake up from the dream in a cold sweat. My bedroom is now completely dark; I've slept for hours. I stand up and look under the rug, under the bed, under the attached tables. I nearly flip it over in a panicked rage.

Two condoms.

There is no way we only had sex twice.

But we only used two condoms.

Fuck.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TESSA

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

"I'm coming, give me a damn minute!" I yell through the door of the bathroom. I pull off a few squares of toilet paper and dab my eyes.

"I'm just saying, Tessa, I really could use your help out here!" My mother’s voice is shrill and irritating.

I look down at my enormous, eight-months-pregnant belly and try to hold back a sigh. My mom is acting like I am capable of lifting tables and helping her into her wedding dress, when in reality? Tying my own shoes is currently impossible for me. I had attempted to escape from the morning's planning and building of the wedding stage by running into the bathroom, where my hormones had grabbed me by the brain and shook out tears of frustration.

I haul my body off of the toilet seat lid, hearing it groan and creak under the weight of my enormous frame. I flush the empty toilet bowl in case my mother is standing with her ear to the door, which I'd known her to do when I was a teenager and trying to hide from her. I run the sink and splash my face with cold water. I dab at my face with the soft, white hand towel that is draped through a silver ring on the wall, then take a step back to get a good look.

I look, well, pregnant. I’m not thrilled with my round, full face, nor with the stretch marks that are showing up in droves by the day around my midsection. I rest my hands on my stomach, which is covered in a crepe-y black dress with mini pleats. The effect of the pleated fabric makes me look even larger than I am. But this is the dress my mom has chosen for me. She thinks that pregnant bellies are unsightly and lewd and should be hidden at all costs. I run my hands up to my breasts, pulling the fabric tighter around them.

This is the only part of my expanding body I’m happy to see expand. My tits have gone from pert Ds to easily a triple D. I cup them with my hands and turn sideways in the mirror. As I stare at them and take deep breaths to relax myself, I realize that there's a small chocolate stain on my dress. I'd been sneaking Hershey's kisses to keep my blood sugar up since Paul and I had landed in California. I knew my mother wouldn't let me eat until after the ceremony. ""Dammit!" I say, too loudly.

As if on cue, my mother's voice comes through the door. "Tessa? Are you okay?"

I run more water and hastily grab the towel, running it under the tap and wringing out the excess. I dab at my dress. Thankfully, my impromptu snack has only stained a small spot the size of a silver dollar. I dab at it further. The chocolate comes up easily, leaving only a wet circle behind. My mother will notice, no doubt, but it will be dry before anyone else does. "I'm fine, Mother!" I call back through gritted teeth. "Can you just give me five more minutes?"

"Tessa, dear, I'm afraid that people will start to think that you've fallen in," she replies with a fake-airy tone. I know that despite how light-hearted she’s trying to sound, she’s actually pissed.

"Right, I'm sure the workers out there are just counting the minutes until I return," I say sarcastically. My soon-to-be-stepfather's house is the size of a small village. There are easily two hundred people milling around to prepare the house for the wedding and subsequent reception that will take place in the backyard. "Mother, I really can't be much help with anything when it comes down to it," I say through the door. I dig into the under-sink cabinet hoping to find a dry hand towel in there. Sure enough, a fluffy stack of perfectly folded and bleached white towels awaits me. I pull one out and hold it firmly over my dress, hoping that it soaks up a good bit of the water.

"Tessa, you are my guide and my guardian today," my mother says in her best dramatic voice. "You're my handmaiden, essentially. I need you to walk around with me and make sure my head doesn't roll off my body."

I roll my eyes at those words, taking a final dab at my dress and checking the results in the mirror. Better. My mom might not even notice. I drape the towel over the edge of the white marble sink. I know that one of the dozen housekeepers roaming this place will have it collected within minutes of my leaving this tiny room. I take a final breath to gird myself and twist the door lock open. A millisecond after it clicks, the handle twists and the door flies open. My mom has been waiting with her hand on the doorknob. "Mother," I say, smiling through my deep annoyance.