Her Billionaires(139)

Cringe.

“If you’re a douche, I’m a bigger one. Mega douche. Thor the Douche,” Mike bantered back, his voice jovial, but his face serious. Eyes on the road, he seemed to feel the change in the car. They were talking. Really talking, once again.

“How do we make this right with her?” Dylan’s words had an urgency, a plaintive tone he could hear in his own voice and hated.

Mike shrugged. “I think this time we actually listen to her and Josie and do what Laura wants.”

“That easy?”

Mike picked up Route 2 and they prepared for the long drive. “If it were easy, we wouldn’t have fucked it up.”

“Twice.”

“Yeah. Twice.” Mike blinked, revving up to sixty-five mph. “Dylan, I’m sorry about the glass and all that.”

“It’s OK. You sent that cleaning crew and replaced everything.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Mike’s jaw flexed and twitched, his stubble glinting in the sunshine.

“I know. And it’s OK. As long as we’re OK.”

Mike laughed, a sputtering sound of surprise. “We’re fucked, man.”

“Yeah. We’re about as far from OK as you can get.”

That made Mike swallow and blink hard. “True. But as long as we’re not OK together, I think we’ll be fine.”

“What if it’s not your baby?” Dylan said rapidly, as if saying the words fast would somehow make them less provocative.

“What if it’s not yours?” Mike’s answer was a growl.

Silence. A dark cloud of confusion and suspicion, with an undertone of something sinister he’d not felt with Mike, ever, slithered about in the Jeep. Dylan decided to let down his defenses and simply said, “I don’t care. I care, but I’m not invested in whose she is. I’m invested in loving who she is.”

Mike’s head jerked back in surprise. Shoulders relaxing, he drew in a deep breath. “Same here.” He took his eyes off the road for a second and gave Dylan a look that made him fight to hold back tears. “I just don’t want to be left out of the greatest love I can imagine.”

Nodding, Dylan tapped him on the shoulder with a gentle fist and said, “Impossible. Because that love can’t exist without all three of us.”

“Four. Four now.”

Four.



Laura woke to the sounds of laughter in the kitchen, deep men’s voices guffawing and teasing, the room’s light telling her it was past sunset and somehow she’d fallen asleep in place, curled up and warm. Her stomach growled and her mouth felt like cotton, parched. A glass of water on a coaster, inches from her hand, was a pleasant surprise. A few quick gulps and she finished it off, yawned, stretched and—ouch!—sciatica flared up, necessitating that she stand and stretch more.

Little muscles in her hips and along her ribcage needed to be treated with kid gloves, stretched slowly and with great care, or she’d have a stitch in her side and a major spasm. Pregnancy really wasn’t for wimps, all the blessings aside.

Walking with a slight waddle, she made her way into the kitchen. Mike was making a salad, Dylan checking on a roast, and both turned to her, smiles at the ready, so amused and playful she almost burst into tears at the hope it all inspired.

“She rises!” Dylan exclaimed, drying his hands on a dish towel and planting a kiss on her cheek. Mike kept his space, reaching for the empty glass in her hand. Without asking, he filled it from the water dispenser on the fridge door and handed it back, full.

“Thanks,” she said, looking around, blinking. Both men kept stealing glances of her belly. Obvious and trying not to be. She did a shimmy and said, “Lap dances, $25.”

“You undercharge,” Dylan said, mirth in his voice but something more sensual in his eyes. Her pulse quickened and blood flowed to places that had been deeply neglected by a man’s touch.

“OK. $50. I’m lap dancing for two, after all.” She wiggled her belly. Mike groaned and Dylan winced. Topic change.

“Whatcha cooking?” She nosed over Dylan’s shoulder. A big slab of delicate meat surrounded by carrots, potatoes, onions, and something unidentifiable. “What’s that?”

“Celeriac.”

“Sell airy what?”#p#分页标题#e#

“Celeriac. It’s kind of like the root of a celery plant. Sort of. It’s really savory and complements the meat nicely.”

“Mmmmmkay, Rachel Ray.”

He looked offended. “I’m Gordon Ramsay all the way, babe.” Arms reached around her, his face nonplussed as he couldn’t make it, the belly in the way. “Don’t you forget it,” he joked, pulling back, bemused.