Roman-2(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(120)

This is, not exactly home for me, no that’s the rat bastard who’s still glaring at me, but the scent of his skin, a mix of sweat and some woodsy cologne stills the tremors that have been quaking inside me enough that I feel the world shift and settle.

He’s laughing when I finally let go because my belly is so huge the hug consisted more of him folding himself double to get at me and I giggle back, closing my eyes on a sigh.

“So listen, I can’t leave now ‘cause we still have to do photos and Dill wants to have a lunch-”

“Are you coming home? That’s all I need to know.” Devon growls, his eyes still glued to Dillon and the pair standing beside him.

The question throws me for a couple reasons. First because the moment he’d said the word home I think of that hodge podge of colours and patterns and my heart almost cracks with longing. Second because I can’t hardly believe he thinks he has the right to growl at me that way. Third because I don’t know how to answer him without things blowing up.

Yeah, I see that twitch dancing at his right eye lid and knowing him if I say no and turn away like I’m tempted to do he’ll go batshit crazy and ruin Dillon’s day.

“Sure. Just let me finish up. I’ll see you at home.” I finally concede, avoiding his eyes to give Day and Ry both a kiss and another hug.

“We need to talk.”

No shit.

“Yeah.”

“Tonight. I’ll send the lads back to the jet and wait for you outside. Make your excuses. You have a half hour before I come back in here and fetch you. And no, do not test my patience right now because as far as I know you shouldn’t even be flying right now.”

“Fine, alright! Just give me a chance to go do what I have to.”

I swear to hell and back, as crappy as I feel now if Devon Baxter so much as breathes wrong in my direction I’ma be raising this kid after putting his father in the morgue.





Chapter Twenty Seven




Two hours and a lot of nail biting later I’m on a private jet, my feet up, the boys chattering happily around me about the shit fit Devon had had, his panic and the next football match which just happens to be the game to end all games.

Yeah, we take that stuff that seriously.

Oh and have I mentioned that Mr Personality has been sulking and glaring at me the whole time? As if I’m to blame for any of this. I mean, he’s the one who says things he doesn’t mean and then went off to put his filthy hands on some other woman while I’m waddling around like a bloated hippopotamus incubating his seed.

Talk about being an ungrateful asshole.

And no, I don’t feel like I’m all bitter and in need of therapy; I’ve been watching Dr Phil, he’s all the man I need right now and very into self-examination.

I’ve examined myself from top to bottom and know what I came up with?

I’m a big old spoilt baby who runs and hides at the first sign of trouble-yeah believe me I like this thought even less than admitting to myself that running away and threatening to marry another man was not my finest hour.

That had led to my next thought which had been-brace yourself-I should have stayed and confronted him so that-eeek-he could have the opportunity to explain himself.

And that’s when I’d started feeling guilty about my childish actions and for this reason I am on a plane, with hardly any argument, going back home to listen to what I know will be a mother of a lecture.

And to top it all off none of the boys are talking to me since Devon’s been glaring at them any time they seem to want to open their mouths.

Fine. Just fine.

We land what feels like hours later thanks to the white out and I slump into the passenger seat, trying really hard not to notice the flex and give of his thigh muscles beneath the legs of his slacks or the way his hands caress and squeeze at the gear shift.

“Are you going to give me the silent treatment all-?”

“We’ll talk at home. Ryan and David will not be present for this discussion.” He snaps out and I bite my tongue, mostly to keep from sticking it out at him like a total child.

I want to though, so badly that it must show in my expression because when I look back in the rear view mirror Day and Ryan are laughing silently and shaking their heads.

I flip them off and turn to look out of the window, feeling deflated and angry, a general mish mash of emotions that aren’t even close to being stable or calming.

To say that I’m dreading this conversation would be a massive understatement. I don’t want to talk about this for a couple reasons, the biggest of which is that I’m passed the hard, steely, dry eyed stage and my freaking hormones have landed me somewhere between teary and violence.