Making His Baby(87)

“I don’t.” I jump in, again ignoring my gut. Apparently, I have a terrible case of Kate-shaped indigestion. “You know I don’t do feelings.”

“Right.” Paxton pounds his glass on the table. “We are fucking cavemen. Brazen men looking to spread our seed and steal fat-fucker money. But you’ve got a problem, bro, and it needs to be addressed. Get her the fuck out of your head so you can land the killing blow without getting your balls in a knot.”

“You’re right.” I know he is. Why Kate has gotten to me is questionable, but there’s probably something to do with my lack of sleep or excessive drinking or overhaul loathing of David McArthur. “She’s nothing to me. I just hate him.”

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove she’s not a problem. Prove to me, Ms Charity in Nicaragua—”

“Honduras.”

Paxton stares at me. “Jesus, this is worse than I thought.”

“My job is to know my enemy, Pax. Don’t be a dick.” I smart off, but secretly file away all the other information about her charity work I might accidentally volunteer while drinking. She really is a hell of a woman. “I’ll prove it. See those girls over at the bar?”

I point to a trio of very busty women, laughing over beers. Smart suits, bright red lips, briefcases. The dream, really, because they aren’t interested in long-term shit, either. They work too hard to lose their lives to men. Pax nods his approval.

I order them a round of drinks and invite them over to our table. Geoff looks annoyed, finally back from wherever he disappeared to while allegedly getting drinks. The blonde shoots me a flirty wink when they walk over to meet Pax. I smile back, but my chest doesn’t feel right. For some reason I feel… ill. Like I need to go home.

Like I shouldn’t be talking to these women.

At that moment, my phone rings. It’s David, again. I grab my jacket from the table, holding up a finger like I’m coming back, and slip out the front door. For once in his life, that asshole proved useful.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN



KATE



There are precious few things in my life that I haven’t been able to settle while in the tub. Big tubs, big bubbles, hot water and a glass of wine, maybe something stronger, have the capability to make everything seem less toxic, more manageable. Tonight, I’ve got bubbles up to my eyeballs.

“Maybe I just need to become a nun.” I say to my bright white bathroom tiles and take another sip of whiskey. “The opposite sex is clearly a disease.”

Outside of my sanctuary, someone bangs on my front door. It’s a commanding knock, not a timid one, and it immediately sets my teeth on edge. The last time I heard that knock, it was the night before mediation and…

I shudder. Not a place I’m willing to return. Instead, I sink deeper in the bubbles and pretend no one is there.

They knock again, louder. And again.

It is destroying my Zen vibes in the bathroom and that’s enough to make me angry.

“This LA apartment may look comfortable, but the walls are thin and I need whoever the hell is outside to go away.” I call, stepping out of the tub and wrapping my dripping body in a towel. I carefully skirt through the water puddles so I don’t slip and fall. “It’s the middle of the freaking night and I—”

My voice dies. The peephole doesn’t show David. It shows Eric Stevens. Looking disheveled, sexy and almost manic. I don’t remove the chain, but I turn the top lock and crack open the door.

“What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Okay.” I have no idea what he wants and my entire body is on edge from it. He is painfully sexy in this light, with him so clearly flustered. It’s a powerful, manic energy. But we also haven’t spoken since we had sex in Lily’s hotel and, you know, that’s awkward. “Talk.”

He narrows his eyes at me. It’s not menacing. It’s panty-dropping. If I were wearing them.

“Kate, open the door.”

I stare him back down, but my resolve edges away. Our business is not for my neighbors’ ears, and my thin apartment walls are still better than the hallway. Me being in a towel, however, is not exactly ideal. I slide the chain off the hook and hide behind the door.

“I was just in the bath, so first I need to—”

I don’t even know what I was going to finish saying, because as soon as Eric crosses the threshold of my apartment, he kicks the door shut and envelopes me with his entire body. My words die in his mouth, between his lips and his tongue. His hands take my hair and my waist and he claims me like something out of a black and white movie: with total absolution.