Roman-1(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(82)

I… It’s silly to be this afraid of something, but I truly am. Not because I’m not happy, because I am. I’m twenty-eight years old, and the thought of a soft, cuddly baby makes me giddy with excitement.

I’m just not sure that having this permanent connection to Vincent is a great idea. I’ve only just managed to shake loose the sadness that had been dogging me and resolved to move full steam ahead with my life.

And now I can’t.

“Just give me some time. Please. They’re already so batshit crazy about that whole Eric thing. If they find out…” I can’t say it for fear he’ll all of a sudden come barreling in and sweep me off my feet. “You know how daddy and Jus can be. Vincent’s worse. I got a paper cut and he acted like I needed stitches!”

This made my mother laugh so hard I had to grab the knife out of her hand for fear she’d either cut herself or me.

“It’s not funny!”

“Of course it is. Your father was the same way with me. And don’t even get me started on the childbirth. He almost had a heart attack when Justin and Kristen were born. He flat out fainted in the delivery room the night we had you.”

“Seriously?”

It’s hard to compute. I mean, my dad is over six feet tall—not quite Vincent stature, but darned close—and still muscled despite being close to sixty. I can’t imagine the great big Beau Bennet fainting for any reason.

“Yeah. That year I went into the hospital to get my knee checked? He threatened to cut the doctor’s balls off if he so much as hurt a hair on my head, and then he cried when I came out of it fine. So you see, our men are hard and tough, but gooey inside when it comes to us. If that boy don’t love you, I’ll eat my gardening gloves.”

The words freeze me for a second, shooting thrilling shards of heated longing through me. If only that were true. But I know better. Vincent might like me, and even respect me, but the man has no feelings of love for me, and I know it.

And now I have to sit across from him at dinner and pretend not to feel anything besides an acquaintance that is killing me. I wish I’d never gotten involved and fallen in love with Vincent Blake because I know that when I finally break the news to him my freedom will be short-lived.

***

“You can’t avoid me forever, dove.”

I shiver as those husky words wend a warm trail over the skin of my nape and turn around, surreptitiously eyeing the patio doors and the people milling about in the living room.

Justin is glued to Bee like a vine, the Parkers are laughing and joking with Mama and Daddy, and Jeffrey seems lost in his thoughts where he’s sitting alone off to the side, despite my attempts to draw him into conversation all night.

That leaves me alone on the patio, where I’d come for some fresh air and to walk off the nausea of a dinner I’d been forced to eat under the watchful eyes of my parents and Vincent.

Who seems to not take a hint and has followed me outside.

“I’m not avoiding you, Vincent, I just needed some fresh air.”

“Come now, dove, I thought we prided ourselves on honesty. No games, remember?” he chides, taking my face in one hand to bring my gaze to his.

“Like that game you played with me? ‘Oh, dove, I’ll call you. I can’t wait to hear your voice again. I’m dying to see you’,” I mimic, shooting him a scathing glare and curling my lip to let him know how disgusted I am. “You couldn’t go five measly days without sticking your dick in another woman. You seriously are a player.”

His eyes flare for the briefest second before the usual mask of urbanity falls back into place, and I panic somewhat when his full lips curl in a mocking show of humor.

“Jealous then, dove?” he drawls, spearing his hand into my hair to pull my face to his.

“No!”

But I am, I realize, resisting the urge to lean that scant inch closer and taste his sensual lips. I hate him for turning to another woman, as if what I’d offered wasn’t enough to hold him, and I hate myself more for wanting him anyway.

“Ah, but I think you are. I think the thought of me with another drives you crazy. Does it bother you to think of my lips caressing her skin?” he muses, blowing a puff of heated air onto my trembling lips. “Can you stand the thought of my hands stroking over another woman’s skin, her mouth, as I bring her the same pleasure I’ve given you?”

No! I want to slap his smug face and rip out his hair for doing this to me. I have never been one of those woman who would willingly humiliate herself for a man, and yet, as he stands here taunting me, I want nothing more than to hurt him the same way he’s hurt me.