STORM: A Standalone Romance (27 page)

When he finally did move, it was a whole new wave of pleasure that rushed through me. I cried out as my lower belly shivered with need. He didn’t have to move for long before an orgasm threatened to push me to the ground. I cried out so long my throat began to ache. And the thing was, that little orgasm was just the beginning. As he continued to pound inside of me, my nerves became raw, every movement setting off a new series of heart pounding, mind numbing waves that washed over my entire body. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move. All I could do was go along for the ride.

If he hadn’t reached his height when he did, I might have gone completely insane. But then he cried out, biting down on my shoulder again, the pain bringing me back enough that I managed to come back to myself just before my knees finally gave up and I began to slide down the slick wall. I caught myself, pressing my body so tight against the wall that I felt a funny little wiggle in the lower half of my belly. I didn’t think anything of it—it was kind of hard to think of anything but the weight of Nicolas’ body against me—at the time. I just listened to Nicolas’ low moans and the way his breath came in quick gasps.

He calmed after a few minutes and slowly pulled away, the absence of him inside of me leaving me a little lost. And then he was gone. He just walked away as though I wasn’t even there.

By the time I pulled myself together and got dressed, he was nowhere to be found.

I went to the room Nicolas had declared mine upon our arrival from Texas. It was my intention to throw myself on the bed and cry for Nicolas and all the darkness that seemed to have entered my life since he came into it. I didn’t understand why he would just up and leave me like that. Why did he run away, just leave me standing there alone? Was he that disgusted by his attraction to me? Or was there something more to it than that? I mean, the guy’s wife had just died a few months ago. Maybe I was making a mistake thinking he might see me as more than just the surrogate carrying his children, as just the woman who happened to share his bed from time to time.

Then I walked into the bedroom and discovered that all the clothes Nicolas had insisted on buying me right before he was arrested had arrived and was freshly laundered and laid out on my bed. Just seeing it there reminded me of that afternoon, of staring at the gorgeous—clearly not pregnant—models who displayed them for us. I was so intimidated the whole time we were there, thinking that I would never look like they did in those amazing clothes. Nicolas ended up choosing most of what he bought. And, I had to admit, he had amazing taste.

I ran my fingers over silk and linen and all this amazing fabric that I never could have afforded in my previous life as a kindergarten teacher even if the private school I worked for paid better than most. There was even lingerie, the most amazing panties and bras and stockings…he’d bought these things like he expected me to live a glamorous life. The most I planned on doing in the next five months was get fat and watch daytime television. But some of these dresses? I could go to movie premieres and five-star restaurants in them if I wanted.

I picked up one dress in particular that I don’t remember seeing before. It was just a simple summer dress, the pattern not unlike the dress I was wearing the first time I met Nicolas. It was cut different, more of an A-line than one would expect in a maternity dress, and the neckline was a lot lower than anything I might have worn before. My mother was a strict Catholic. She never would have let me out of the house wearing anything as daring as this. However, when I put it on, it made me feel sexy in a way I’d thought my quickly disappearing waistline had forced into the past.

I stood in front of the mirror and admired myself, admired the way the dress seemed to highlight my femininity and the baby bump all at the same time and in a flattering way. I loved the way I looked in it. And I couldn’t wait for Nicolas to see me in it.

I wandered downstairs in a different frame of mind. I never thought of myself as the kind of girl who was cheered by new clothes, but maybe I was. Or maybe it was just the reminder that, while Nicolas seems cold and distant on the outside—such as flying hundreds of miles to drag me back here, seducing me, and then accusing me of being the aggressor—he is a very generous man who bought me thousands of dollars of clothing simply because he wanted to.

Nicolas was nowhere to be found, but it was a big house. I had yet to explore much of it. I went out into the garden to walk, thinking like a little fresh air would be nice after being cooped up in Constance’s house for so long. It was a little risky, going anywhere outside the house, but the back of property was pretty much cut off from the paparazzi thanks to a ten-foot security fence and the security guards. I could see Adam now, walking toward me from the back of the property.

“Ms. Martinez,” he said, his eyes moving over me as though he was looking for a gun or a camera.

“Everything okay?”

He nodded, even as he looked over his shoulder, tension clear in every inch of his bulky body. “Busy. The paparazzi are determined to get a shot of Nicolas today.”

“I can imagine.”

“Do you know where he is?”

I shook my head. “In the house somewhere, I assume.”

Adam paused, throwing a worried glance at the house. “It’s probably good you came back even though he didn’t want you to. It’s easier to have everyone under one roof.”

“How long have you worked for Nicolas?”

“Ten years.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve known each other since long before that. We grew up together.”

For some reason, that really surprised me. I looked at Adam through new eyes.

“What was he like, before all this?” I asked, gesturing vaguely around me to indicate the estate and the money it implied.

A change came over Adam. His harsh, unattractive features softened into something almost handsome. He looked at me, and I noticed for the first time that his eyes were blue, a very dark blue, but blue just the same—and that knowledge, somehow, took some of the rough edges from the bodyguard.

“Nicolas used to run the neighborhood,” he said with something like awe in his voice. “All the kids around there, we all knew who Nicolas was. He always had a plan going, something we could all do, something that often led to trouble, but always got us something we wanted. Once, he convinced us all to steal a single piece of gum from the local drug store. But we couldn’t keep it. No. We gave it to him and he wrapped it up and gave it to this kid, Louis, whose Pop had just left his mom. To cheer him up. Nicolas said, ‘We gotta stick together cuz you never know when that might be one of us.’ And he shoulda known cuz his mom was working on her fourth marriage at the time.”

I stared at Adam, trying to reconcile what he was saying with what I knew about Nicolas. Everyone knew about Nicolas Costa. Ever since his first blockbuster came out fifteen years ago, his name and face have been on the face of every tabloid and mainstream magazine or television show in the country. And each of those stories provided readers with a simple background story on Nicolas. But none of it said anything about a long string of stepfathers. I was pretty sure they never even mentioned a father of any kind.

“Really? I thought Nicolas’ mom died when he was a kid.”

Adam glanced at the house again. “That’s what he started telling people when he came to Hollywood. You know, to make him more sympathetic to the studios or whatever. Truth is, Nicolas’ mom died five years ago in jail.”

“Jail? For what?”

“Drugs.”

I spun around. Nicolas was watching us from behind a row of rose bushes, dressed in jeans and a loose fitting sweater. His hands were buried in the front pockets of his jeans, his head downcast, as though he was feeling less than confident. However, the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his head suggested he was more annoyed than anything else.

“Sorry, Nic,” Adam said. “She asked and I thought, well, since the two of you—”

“It’s alright.” Nicolas made a gesture with his shoulder. “You should probably get back to your perimeter check.”

Adam walked away without another word.

“I thought your mom died of cancer when you were seven or eight. Isn’t that what all the biographies of you say?”

Nicolas turned his head slightly, looking up from the ground to study my face. “My mom was a drug addict who went from man to man, depending on who had the most drugs or the most money to buy drugs. And she dragged me along because she could use me to steal for her when there wasn’t someone else around to get the drugs for her, or to distract the cops when they came to bust her.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, picturing that little boy, caught in a mess that a child should never see—no child, no matter what age or circumstances. I touched my belly, pressing my hands to the place where the babies grew, sending up a silent prayer that they would never have to know a life like that.

Nicolas pulled his hands out of his pockets and turned. “Don’t be sorry for me. I survived.”

“You shouldn’t have had to survive.”

He chuckled, the sound filled with everything but humor. “Surviving was the only thing. Most of my friends…they’re either dead or in jail. Adam is one of a few who made it out with me.”

“What about your dad?”

He looked at me like he thought I was joking. He just shook his head, making it clear there was no dad. He had his drug addicted mother and his friends, nothing more.

I thought I had a rough childhood, but mine was nothing like his. I had a mother who cared, who worked twelve-hour days and still had the energy to come home, make me a good dinner, and help me go over my homework. If not for my mom, I never would have gone to college and would never have had a career. I would be nothing now. It put Nicolas into perspective, explained things about him that I never would have seen otherwise. It made his reasons for wanting these babies that much clearer.

“I never knew my father, either.”

“I know.” There must have been surprise in my eyes because he said, “I had you investigated before you signed the surrogacy contracts. I didn’t want any surprises.”

“How did that work out for you?”

A small smile sneaked across his lips. “Really well,” he said, meeting my eyes for the first time since the conversation began.

We just stared at each other for a few minutes. It was one of those awkward moments, like the ones I had all too often with boys I liked in high school. Nothing ever came of those. But I was hoping something would come of this.

And, as if my thoughts just begged for it, something profound happened.

The babies moved.

I cried out in surprise as a little tickle moved across the center of my belly. I touched that place, not sure if I was having a contraction, or what. It didn’t hurt, but I’d never been pregnant before. I didn’t know what it would feel like when the babies started to kick.

“Ana?” Nicolas said, immediately closing the distance between us, his hand covering mine where it was still pressed to my belly. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

I looked up at him just as it happened again. That time it was stronger and I felt it against my hand. Only then did I understand. I began to laugh.

“What?”

There was real fear in Nicolas’ voice, but I couldn’t find the words to express what I was feeling. I simply took his hand and pressed it to the spot where I’d felt the kick and waited, standing as still as I could. A minute passed. Nicolas stared at me, the expression in his eye floating between fear, annoyance, and curiosity. And then, just as I was about to give up and explain, the baby, or babies, moved again.

“Oh, my God!”

I laughed again. “You felt that?”

“Was it the baby?”

I nodded. “One of them, at least.”

He stared at me for a minute, and then he cracked a huge smile. “They’re moving.”

Just on cue, there was another little jab against the same spot. But, at the same time, there was a little flutter lower on my abdomen. I reached down there and giggled.

“This is going to be quite an experience. I can tell already.”

“They’re my babies. They’re going to be quite active.”

I nodded. Pretty much knew that already.

Nicolas was locked up in his office with a team of lawyers the next day. I wanted to know what was going on, but I didn’t want to insinuate myself somewhere I didn’t belong. So I spent most of the day in the kitchen helping Constance clean and restock the pantry. It was nice to do something other than sit around worrying all day. However, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on behind closed doors.

“Did you know about his mom?” I asked Constance at one point.

“His mom?”

“Nicolas. Did you know she was a drug addict who died in jail?”

Constance glanced at me with a knowing look I knew well from my childhood. As my mother’s best friend, Constance was as much family as any of my biological aunts, uncles, and cousins I’d never met. A look from her was as good as the ones I used to get from my mom.

“So, you knew.”

“I’ve worked for Nicolas Costa for fifteen years,
mija
. I know just about everything there is to know about him.”

“He told you?”

Constance shot me a look that said don’t-be-stupid. “You overhear things, see things, in this line of work. You know that.”

I nodded. “Did you know he and Adam are childhood friends?”

“I also know that he hired Adam straight out of prison because he couldn’t get a job anywhere else.”

“You mean Adam was in jail?”

Again, that look. “He was in prison for armed robbery.”

“Wow.”

It really wasn’t hard to imagine Adam in jail. If there was a type, he was probably it. But he seemed like such a nice guy. And he was fiercely loyal to Nicolas. Who else would have stood outside the door of Constance’s small apartment for two days, watching over me, even though I was a nobody as far as he was concerned? I was pretty sure he never took any days off. He always seemed to be here, always walking the perimeter or going with Nicolas wherever he went—which was nowhere at the moment. And he was in Nicolas’ office as we spoke, taking part in the meeting with Nicolas’ team of lawyers. That definitely had to mean something, right?

“Nicolas Costa is a good man who had a rotten childhood,” Constance said. “And he’s made up for that childhood by making a success of himself and surrounding himself with people who help him forget that this is not where he came from. When he married Aurora Parker, she was supposed to be the cherry on the sundae. But she wasn’t.”

“Did you know she was a drug addict?”

Constance turned away from me to dust a shelf. “I never saw her use drugs.”

“But you spend as much time in this house as anyone. Surely you saw something.”

Constance didn’t answer right away, but I could see by the tension in her shoulders that there was something she knew. She just didn’t want to tell, which either meant that she had seen Aurora using drugs, or that she knew there was more to Nicolas’ accusations than I knew.

“He swears that she used cocaine. That she was doing it almost from the moment they returned from their honeymoon.”

“He also says that she cheated on him.”

I nodded even though Constance still had her back to me and couldn’t see.

“Did she?”

Constance sighed. “Aurora was not the person she presented to the press and to visitors here at the house, you included.”

“What does that mean?”

She looked over at me. “It means you should have those babies and then take yourself back to Texas because this is much more complicated than you will ever understand. I regret telling you about their need for a surrogate. I thought…I guess I thought having a baby would make Aurora different. But I was wrong.”

“Do you think Nicolas will be good to these babies?”

“I think anyone who wants a family as much as he does will do all he can to make sure he gets it.”

I didn’t understand what she was saying. She glanced at me and again that look, the one that said don’t-ask-questions-you-don’t-want-the-answer-to. But I had to. I had to know what she knew about Nicolas, what she knew about the things that went on in this house before Aurora’s death, and anything she thought she knew about the future of these babies. But just as I opened my mouth to speak, Adam stuck his head in the pantry door.

“Nicolas needs to see you,” he said to me.

As I handed the rag I’d been holding to Constance, she patted my arm. It felt like a pat of condolence.

My head was ringing with all Constance had said, as I followed Adam down the hall. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t realize we weren’t headed to Nicolas’ home office but to the living room. Like a weird sort of déjà vu that was happening each time we saw each other rather than just the requisite twice, Nicolas was standing by the bar. He wasn’t drinking, though. He was just staring at the expensive bottles of liquor like an alcoholic who was waxing nostalgic.

“Everything okay?”

He turned, the strain of the day showing in the fine wrinkles along the corners of his eyes and mouth. He gestured for Adam to leave, watching until he did, and then he crossed to me. I wanted to touch him, to tell him everything was going to work out, but I wasn’t sure I had earned that right just yet. After our conversation in the garden last night, he disappeared and I didn’t see him again until I came downstairs for breakfast. And then he was quiet and tense, staring at his iPad and refusing to even acknowledge my presence. So, was it any wonder I was afraid to touch him now?

He pressed his hands to my belly, molding them to the firm roundness of it. His hands were warm through the thin material of my linen blouse. I almost expected the babies to respond to his touch, to offer a few strong kicks, but I hadn’t felt them move since I climbed out of bed this morning.

“How did your meeting go?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

His eyes moved up to mine. “You’re okay with that?”

I shrugged, and was about to say something along the lines of, “Why shouldn’t I be?” when he suddenly kissed me. I moved into him and deepened the kiss, loving the feel of his lips on mine. I could really get used to this, the feel of this man tugging me into his arms, kissing me like it was the last time he would ever kiss a woman. Everything that was going on, everything that was on my mind, it was nice to forget about it all for a few, hot moments.

Nicolas buried his fingers in my hair and tugged me close against him. It was a kiss like none other. There was something different about him, about the way he touched me. There was none of that sense of indifference that had set the tone of our interactions before. He might pretend it didn’t matter to him, but I could feel the change in his kiss, in the way he looked at me, in the way he cradled my body against his.

Nicolas was a man who’d never had the kind of love I got from my mom and Constance and all of their friends and extended family. He was never a part of something, of family. And just as he was on the verge of getting just a small piece of that particular pie, everything imploded. Was it any wonder he held me the way he did?

But if I gave him what he wanted, what would that mean for me?