Читать книгу Getting Lucky - Kayla Perrin - Страница 9

“I FEEL LIKE I NEED TO ESCAPE,” CLAUDIA SAYS. “I’m not going to meet anyone in this city who doesn’t know about my engagement to Adam. And … some of the things we did. Everyone’s so damn interested … as if they’re all virgins, or something. Probably all closet freaks themselves,” she adds with a scowl.

“Exactly,” I tell her. “Please, sweetie, don’t let them get to you. Mark is clearly an asshole, and it’s better that he let you know his true nature on your first date, rather than your tenth.”

“I know.” Claudia sighs. “All the same, maybe I ought to leave Atlanta. Move to California, or Seattle. Or heck, Timbuktu.”

Claudia is downright miserable. After she told me about her date with Mark, I suggested we go shopping for shoes at DSW. Shopping always lifts Claudia’s mood.

But not today. No matter how many times I tell her to stop worrying about what people think, I know she can’t help it. Raised in an elite African-American family, appearances have been important to the Fishers for generations. Even if Claudia personally couldn’t give a crap, her family puts the kind of pressure on her about her public profile that is hard to ignore.

And knowing that she was looking forward to meeting Mark, given that he’d be the kind of guy her family would approve of, I can’t help feeling bad for her. She didn’t deserve to be treated like a whore last night. Claudia’s beautiful both inside and out, and I want nothing more than to see her find a man who will love and adore her.

“Don’t let what Mark said get to you,” I tell her. “Obviously he’s a slimeball.”

“If only he were the only one who saw me as some perverted whore. But there was that other guy, remember? He didn’t come right out and say what Mark did, but he was curious about what I’d done with Adam. Obviously word has gotten around. And it’s not even like I did anything extra freaky. You know the fucking rumor mill. Sure, there was that bartender … but that wasn’t my idea, and I was cornered into doing that.”

I notice that a woman is lingering near me and Claudia, clearly eavesdropping. I’m sure our racy conversation has intrigued her.

“Can I help you with something?” I say sweetly, and the woman quickly hurries in the other direction. When she is out of earshot I continue speaking to Claudia. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but please try to put it out of your mind. And for God’s sake, don’t blame yourself. What happened with Adam happened. Really, it’s not even that big of a deal. People just like to talk.”

“Especially in my circles.” Claudia takes a low-heeled sandal out of a box and slips her foot into it. She examines the way it fits her, then frowns and takes the shoe off. “Seriously, I need to get away.”

Her words give me an idea. Maybe that’s exactly what she needs—what we all need. “You know what? We should plan a trip.”

“Getting away will be nice … but I’ll still have to return home. Maybe I should go to Europe for six months.”

“And miss your goddaughter being born?” I say, shooting her a stare. “No way.”

“I know. I can’t do that.” Claudia forces a smile, but it’s weak. “I love you for caring. But I’ll be okay.” The grin widens, begins to resemble something genuine. “I will be, promise.”

I head back to my photography studio after my shopping break with Claudia. I have an elderly couple coming in an hour for fiftieth-wedding-anniversary portraits, an aspiring model after that. Not a very busy day.

It’s the kind of day where I have time to think, and that’s what I’ve been doing—thinking about Claudia’s offhanded comment about getting away.

Going on a trip—anywhere—will do her a world of good. Not to mention Lishelle. Getting out of Atlanta while the city is buzzing over Rugged’s engagement will be ideal for her. Especially since she sent me a text letting me know that she’s no longer interested in Damon.

Maybe we can go to one of those adults-only resorts. Sure, people likely head to places like that with hookups in mind, but there have to be at least a few happily-ever-after stories. And if the only thing that comes of the vacation is that my friends flirt, have fun, maybe even get laid … well, that’ll do a lot for their dismal states of mind.

I am sitting at my desk, pondering exactly what to do, when the door chimes sing. Whipping my head in that direction, I see one of my favorite people entering my studio.

“Hey, Jared,” I say as I rise to meet him.

“Hello, gorgeous.” His eyes lower to my belly. “Wow, look at you. Pregnant!”

“Five months.”

Jared hugs me. “Congrats.” And as we pull apart, he asks, “Have you set your wedding date yet?”

“Hmm.” My smile is pure saccharine. As much as I love Dom, I’m not sure I want to take another walk down the aisle. When you’ve had a marriage crash and burn, it makes you a bit wary of the institution. I was raised in a very religious household, and always believed marriage was the only way. But despite my ex-husband’s own Christian upbringing, he didn’t feel he owed me fidelity.

No, Dom and I don’t need to make it legal in order to be happy. Not that Dom necessarily shares my opinion. And his mother, an Italian Catholic, definitely wants to see us married before the baby is born.

“Not yet,” I tell Jared.

“Make sure I get an invite.”

“You know you will.” I playfully cut my eyes at Jared. Surely he hasn’t shown up to talk about my marital status. I wonder if he has good news for me. “Did you catch him yet? Wishful thinking, I know.”

Jared shakes his head. “No, sorry.”

No, of course not. Too much time has passed for that to be likely. “Then what brings you by?”

“I was in the area. Figured I’d check in on you. See that everything is okay.”

Jared has been checking in occasionally for the last five months, when there was a robbery at my studio. I wasn’t here at the time—thank God—but I came in one morning to find the place ransacked. Photos were trashed, and my most expensive camera equipment was stolen. When I called the police, Jared was one of two officers who came out to investigate.

“Everything’s good,” I tell him.

“I see that,” Jared says, eyeing my belly. “You never mentioned this the last time I was here.”

“I wanted to make sure I was far enough along before announcing it to the world.” I’m pretty certain that Jared developed a bit of a crush on me after our first meeting, which was why he showed up again just days later. He’s gorgeous—about six foot two, with caramel-colored skin, serious muscles in all the right places—and if I wasn’t happily involved, I’d absolutely have been interested in dating him. But, considering I am in a relationship, when Jared asked me if I wanted to get a coffee, I gently let him down. Right then and there, his flirting stopped. In fact, now he likes to tease me about when I’m going to marry Dom.

Jared’s respectful, which I like, a real decent guy. I have often thought that Jared might be perfect for Lishelle, but the timing was never right to introduce them.

But now …

“Still looking for that special someone?” I ask, an idea coming to me.

“Still single,” Jared confirms.

I tsk. “In a city like Atlanta overrun with available women, it’s hard to believe a guy as hot as you hasn’t found one to settle down with.”

Jared shrugs. “The women here—at least the ones I’ve run into—aren’t looking for something real. They care about the kind of car you drive, and what you’re going to buy them.”

“Superficial,” I say. And I can’t deny that what Jared says is true. I’ve seen it myself. Here, women are all about designer shoes, designer bags, high-end cars. I like pretty things as much as the next girl, but I’ve never been about being with a guy for what he can do for me financially.

“Been there, done that, and I’m not getting married only to get divorced again. I’d rather be single than settle.”

“Preaching to the choir, my friend,” I say. It’s the reason I haven’t wanted to jump into marriage with Dom. I love him, and he’s great to me. But there’s the little thought in my mind, the fear: What if something goes wrong?

Claudia and Lishelle tell me that I’m being overly paranoid, and point out that Dom is not Charles. I know they’re right. And now that I’m pregnant, Dom and I will be connected for life, whether we want that or not.

“Whatever happened to the brother you were supposed to bring by? You remember—you were supposed to do a photo shoot with him?”

“Right, right. Why don’t we set up an appointment. I’ve got time off coming in two weeks, so no excuse.”

“Wait. Did you say that you’ve got time off?”

“Ten days.”

My mind is churning with a sinfully delicious idea. “Any plans?”

“Other than rest and relaxation?”

“I mentioned to you that I want you to meet my friend. Lishelle—the one you’ve seen on the news?”

“Right.”

“And you have a brother. And I’ve got another friend.” I’m speaking more to myself now, the idea taking full shape in my mind. “This could be perfect.”

“What could be perfect?”

I grin. “Take a seat.”

On Sunday, once I’ve got confirmation that Jared and his brother are in, I drop my little bombshell on my friends while we’re at Liaisons.

“I have a surprise for you,” I announce.

In unison, both Lishelle’s and Claudia’s eyebrows lift in curiosity. But Lishelle is the one to speak. “What kind of surprise?”

“The kind that’ll take us away from Atlanta for a while,” I reply.

“A trip?” Claudia asks. “Like a weekend getaway?”

“No, like a real trip. To Jamaica. Or Mexico. Or heck, even Paris.”

“As long as it’s not Vegas,” Lishelle quips, reminding us all that our trip to Vegas, while fun, had had a dark side.

“Listen, my stomach’s grumbling,” Claudia announces. “Let’s get some food and continue this conversation.”

So we head to the buffet spread, and I make sure to satisfy my craving for hot pancakes smothered in butter and syrup. Hey, I’m eating for two.

Back at the table, I don’t want the subject of the trip to be forgotten. So after I’ve devoured a good portion of my pancakes, I say, “I’m serious about going away. What do you say, ladies? A week in the Caribbean? If we go to Mexico, maybe you two can find your own Miguel.”

Claudia, Lishelle and I have all been impressed with my sister’s boyfriend, Miguel, whom she met when we were in Costa Rica trying to find information on some of my late husband’s illegal activities. Miguel has been the dream boyfriend—romantic, attentive and incredibly hot. He was instantly smitten with Samera and has remained smitten—an impressive feat, judging by the guys in the past who haven’t been able to handle Samera’s hard edge long-term. I guess that edge is to be expected of a girl who was raised in a strict religious home, rejected a lifestyle she found to be hypocritical and ended up working as a stripper. These days, she’s back at school studying to become a paralegal.

“Okay, now I’m intrigued,” Claudia says. “I’d almost be willing to let my family disown me if I could find a man who adores me as much as Miguel adores Samera.”

“Lishelle?” I say. “Are you game?”

“When are you talking? In a couple of months? Because I’ve got work.”

“In a couple of months, no one’s going to let me get on a plane.” I raise an eyebrow. “Everyone at your station loves you, Lishelle. They always allow you flexibility. You’ve got some vacation time coming, don’t you? I’m sure you won’t have a problem getting a week off.”

When neither Lishelle nor Claudia speak, I say, “Come on. This may be our last trip together for a long, long time.” To emphasize my words, I rub my belly. “Seriously, we need to get away now. In a couple of months I won’t be able to get around much, and if I’m going to go anywhere, I want to enjoy it. It has to be now.”

“You’ve got a point … “ Lishelle agrees.

“I’m going—with or without you,” I threaten. “But what kind of trip would it be without my two best girls?”

And suddenly, I begin to tear up. Yes, part of it is hormones. I’ve become incredibly emotional since getting pregnant. But it hits me just how much my life is going to change.

“I’m not going to be able to take off for girlfriend trips for a long, long time,” I say. “If ever again. Even our Sunday brunches … I don’t know that I’ll be able to do that anymore.”

“Maybe not right away,” Claudia says, “but you’ll be bringing that baby out to meet us every week—even if we have to change the brunch spot to your place.”

I wipe at the tears that have fallen down my cheeks. “Ignore me. Pregnancy throws your emotions out of whack.”

And though I didn’t plan the tears, I’m glad they fell. Because I need my friends to say yes. I need them going on this trip with me.

If they don’t go, it’ll blow the surprise I’ve arranged. The kind of surprise that might lead to their own happily-ever-afters.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Claudia asks.

“Hell, yes, I’m serious.” I brush at more tears. “Clear your schedule for the first week of October. We’re going away.”

“That’s two weeks from now,” Lishelle says.

“Exactly.” It has to be then, because that’s when Jared and his brother are available. “Two weeks is plenty of time.”

“We don’t even know if there’ll be availability with such short notice,” Lishelle points out.

“There are plenty of resorts in the Caribbean. Mexico. There’ll be space somewhere.”

Lishelle scowls. “Wait—I think Terrence might have vacation then.”

“Make it happen,” I tell her. “I remember having to twist your arm to get you to go to Vegas, but you had an amazing time, didn’t you?”

“Hey … can’t a girl ask any questions?”

“You can ask questions, but you can’t say no,” I tell her. “Consider this the last hurrah, if you will.”

“I’m game,” Claudia says. “My schedule is painfully clear.”

“Maybe it won’t be, after Mexico.”

“Mexico?” Claudia asks.

“Why not? The Mayan Riviera is beautiful. I’ll go home and start checking on packages right away.”

I stare at Lishelle, waiting for confirmation from her. “All right, I’m in. I’ll ask for the time tomorrow.”

“And if they give you any problems, you have me call them,” I say. “No one wants to deal with an irate pregnant woman.” I narrow my eyes playfully. “That goes for both of you too.”

Claudia smirks. “Point taken. We’re going to Mexico!”

“Or else,” I add in a mock-threatening tone. And then, “Seriously, guys, we’re going to have an amazing time. The absolute best.”

“I’ve got a plan,” I say in a singsong voice as I enter the Pine Lake home I share with Dom. “I think I may have the perfect men for—” I stop abruptly as I round a corner into the family room and see Dominic’s mother sitting on the armchair near the window. “Oh.” I quickly quash my frown. “Hello.”

“Hello, Annelise.” Mama Deanna, as I call her, is sitting on the armchair and knitting something white. She eases herself up to kiss me on both cheeks, the way they do in the old country. “My darling, how are you? How’s the baby?”

Mama Deanna speaks with a fairly thick Italian accent, most of her words ending with an a sound. How’s came out as howsa. She’s short, about five feet two, and round.

“Where’s Dominic?” I ask.

“I sent him to get groceries. You no have no vegetables, no fruit.” She tsks. “You need this stuff now that you’re going to be a mother. Don’t worry—I’m going to help you take care of yourself and my grandchild.”

Mama Deanna pats my arm, as if to say that there’s nothing to worry about because she’s here.

I don’t bother to tell her that I was planning to come home and draft a grocery list. I’d rather not say anything that will draw any attention to my perceived flaws.

And speaking of flaws, I glance around, noting that the place seems considerably cleaner. So clean that the camera bag I had in the corner of the living room is no longer there. “Mama Deanna, have you seen my black camera bag?”

“Oh, yes. I put it in a box in the garage. The place was too messy.”

Turning, I roll my eyes. In the past, Dominic’s mother has come for a week at a time, and I hate to say it, but I have counted the days until she left. I like the woman, don’t get me wrong. It’s just … well, she can be overbearing. I always hear from her that I’m not feeding Dom well enough and a host of other offenses—including the big issue, that we’re living in sin.

I head to the garage, where not only do I find my camera bag in a cardboard box—dumped as if it is garbage—but I see a number of envelopes. All of the bills that Dom and I have to pay. At least I know where the stuff is, so I don’t bother to take it out of the garage. I have no doubts that if I do, Mama Deanna will see to it that she “tidies up” once more.

I go back into the house and into the kitchen, where I pour myself a tall glass of orange juice. “So, how long are you staying?”

“Until you have the baby.”

I almost spit out the mouthful of orange juice. “W-what?”

“You need me now,” Mama Deanna explains. “I’ve had four babies. I know just what to do.”

She’s staying for the next four months? Did Dom know about this? I head into the foyer, where I left my purse and retrieve my cell phone. I plan to call him and ask exactly that. But before I can, I hear the sound of the garage door opening.

I open the door leading into the garage. I’m standing there as Dom gets out of his Audi. He is grinning, but it falters. Probably when he notices the expression on my face.

“Annelise—”

“She’s moving in for four months?” I ask.

“We never had a conversation about her moving in for four months.”

“But she is moving in, isn’t she?”

“She said she wants to help out, yes. And I don’t think it’s a bad idea.”

I show him the box with our bills and my camera equipment. “This is her idea of cleaning up,” I point out. “If she keeps this up, we’ll never find anything.”

Dom opens the trunk and begins lifting out the groceries, which are packed in reusable tote bags. “She means well.”

“You should have talked to me. Run this by me.”

With two heavy bags in his hands, Dom closes the trunk and then walks toward me. When he reaches me, he leans forward to give me a kiss. “She showed up out of the blue.”

“You had no clue?”

“I was talking to her last week, and she said that she wanted to come and help out while you’re pregnant. I had no clue she was going to show up today. And it’s not like I could send her away.”

I sigh softly. “No. Of course not. But she told me she’s staying until I have the baby. I know she’s your mother, but—”

Dom cuts me off with a quick kiss on my lips. “It won’t be four months.”

“It might be. Now that your father is gone, there’s no reason for your mother to go back home.”

Dom kisses me again. “I don’t want you worrying about my mother.” And this time, his tongue slips into my mouth. The kiss is harder, and I can’t help moaning against Dominic’s lips.

He lowers one of the bags, slips his hand under my skirt and trails his fingers up my thigh to my thong. He strokes my clit through the lacy fabric, moaning as he does.

Just as my body begins to feel aroused, I break the kiss and step backward, then swat him playfully. “And that’s the other thing—with your mother around, we won’t have any privacy. And you know how much we like our privacy.”

“That’s why we have to sneak in time where we can get it. Mmm … you’re already wet. I love how horny you are now that you’re pregnant.”

He gives me a long, heated look, and I know he’s considering screwing me right here in the garage.

The idea actually turns me on.

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“No?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No!” My voice is an urgent whisper. And when Dom lowers the second grocery bag, I add, “Your mother is on the other side of that door!”

“She won’t come out here.”

“You’re crazy.”

Dom smiles. “Crazy for you.”

He advances, snakes a hand around my wrist. His other hand goes back beneath my skirt, and within seconds, is teasing my pussy.

“Why, Dom?” I ask, but the question comes out as a breathy moan, one that only encourages him.

“Because you’re fucking hot,” he whispers into my ear as a finger slips inside my pussy.

“Good Lord … “ I grip his shoulders.

He slips another digit inside me, pleasing me with hard, fast strokes. Suddenly, I don’t care if Dom’s mother opens the door and enters the garage. I want Dom right now.

“Here?” I manage to say weakly. “Or … the car …?”

“Is the SUV unlocked?” Dom asks as he kisses my neck.

“Yes … “ He pushes a third finger inside me. “Oh, yes … “

After torturing me for a few more seconds, Dom pulls his hand from my pussy and steps back. His grin is victorious. “Come on.”

I shoot a glance at the garage door as he takes my hand and leads me to the Cadillac Escalade. Thankfully, it has dark-tinted windows, so if Mama Deanna decides to come into the garage, she won’t be able to see anything.

As I start to climb into the backseat, Dom pushes my skirt up around my waist. Makes sense … less time maneuvering in the backseat.

He playfully swats my ass, and then he gets in next to me. Instantly, his hands go to my shirt, yanking the cotton fabric upward until it is over my breasts. He wastes no time lowering his head to one breast, gently biting my nipple through the lace.

“Damn you, Dom,” I say—a weak protest that he has me in this compromising position when his mother is all too close by.

“Maybe you’ll like this better.” He pushes the lace out of the way and draws my hardened nipple into his mouth.

I grip his head and try to keep the cry of ecstasy locked in my throat. My breasts are far more sensitive now that I’m pregnant, and sucking on my nipples is a sure way to turn me on.

His tongue flicks up and down over my nipple, driving me crazy. And then he grazes it with his teeth before suckling me with fervor.

I’m wet. My pussy is throbbing. I need to have him inside me.

“Fuck me, baby,” I beg. “Now!”

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but soon, one of my legs is stretched into the front-seat area, while the other is perched high against the backseat. Dom makes quick work of unbuttoning his jeans and dragging them far enough down his hips. I reach for his cock, hold it as he lowers himself onto me. And then I guide it into my opening.

“Fuck, Dom,” I utter as he fills me. “Oh, God.” I’d always heard the rumors that some pregnant women enjoy sex even more than before, and I know that to be true. My whole body is assaulted with intense pleasurable sensations as he fucks me.

He pulls out, plunges into my pussy again. I watch him do that over and over, my body hotly aroused. He knows just how to give it to me.

The next time Dom’s cock enters me, he reaches deep, pushing as far as he can go. I gasp in carnal delight.

“You know I love you,” he whispers.

“I know … “

When he pulls out of me, I sigh in protest, but then his mouth is on my nipple, suckling me hard. His fingers find my pussy and massage my clit in urgent strokes. Soon, I’m feeling my orgasm building.

Dom thrusts into me again, his fingers still on my clit as his cock pleasures my pussy. And then I’m digging my fingers into his back as I start to come hard.

Dom kisses me as I come, I’m sure to quiet me. I wrap one leg around him and arch my pussy against him as I ride the wave.

“I love you,” I tell him, my breathing ragged. “Oh, baby … “

Soon, Dom is grunting and thrusting hard, and then falling against me as he succumbs to his own orgasm.

For a good minute, we lie there, Dom still inside me, my leg still wrapped around his ass. I wipe sweat from Dom’s forehead.

Slowly, our breathing begins to return to normal. He kisses my arm. I kiss his throat.

And then his mouth finds mine, and we neck deeply, his tongue playing over mine in a way he knows I love.

“I guess we’d better get inside,” Dom finally says as he eases his body off mine.

“You’ll have to unpack the groceries. I’m heading straight for the shower.”

Dom nods as he pulls up his jeans. “Hey—I think we solved the privacy problem. We can always sneak into the garage.”

I smack his stomach. “Don’t joke about that.”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Dom says, flashing me his übersexy smile. When he smiles like that, I’d be willing to buy a swamp from him if he promised it was good land to build a house. Lord, how I love this man.

“All right,” I say after a minute. “I won’t make a big deal of your mother being here.”

As much as Mama Deanna gets on my case, I’m not about to have Dom put his mother out. And in a way, I am envious. At least his mother is here. I have no clue where my mother is. The last I heard from her, she was in a Bible compound somewhere in Alabama or Mississippi. My mother is a religious fanatic—and I don’t mean that she’s someone who loves God and takes religion seriously. No, she’s one of those Bible-thumping, over-the-top, always-judging-people-for-their-shortcomings kind of religious nuts. I get the feeling at times that she’s not allowed to make calls out of the compound without permission.

At least that’s what I tell myself to explain why I hear from her once a year if I’m lucky.

Out of the car, I follow Dom to where he left the two grocery bags. “Remember I told you that I was thinking about going away with Claudia and Annelise?” I say.

“Yeah.” Dom picks up both totes.

“Well, we’re planning something for the end of the month. Jared—the cop I told you about—and his brother, Chad, will both be going. Here—let me take a bag.”

“I’ve got it. You get the door, and I’m fine.”

Dom is chivalrous that way, so I don’t argue. I simply open the door and hold it for him as he enters the house.

Mama Deanna is once again sitting in the armchair and continuing to knit what I assume is something for the baby. The television is tuned now to some afternoon game show. Mama Deanna is talking to the television, telling the woman on-screen to pick box number two.

“Hey, Ma,” Dom says as he heads into the kitchen with the groceries. His mother raises a hand in greeting, but continues to give advice to the contestant on-screen, as if the woman can possibly hear her.

I follow Dom into the kitchen, worried that my clothes look disheveled compared to earlier. “I think we’ll try Mexico,” I say. “But I’ll tell you about it later. I’m going up to shower.”

“Okay.”

I ease up on my toes and give Dom a quick peck on the lips, and then I hurry upstairs, hoping Mama Deanna hasn’t figured out that Dom and I were having sex in the backseat of the car like teenagers.

Not that we’re not entitled. It’s our house after all, and we’re adults.

But I know that while Mama Deanna is here, she’s going to sit in that armchair in the living room as if it’s her own personal throne.