One Big Little Secret: A Secret Baby Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 2)
One Big Little Secret: Chapter 16

There’s a black cat in my bed and she might be the luckiest little creature alive.

I am fucking blessed.

Soft morning light streams through the curtains and illuminates her sleeping face. I’ve been awake for a while now, staring at her in awe.

We’re both still naked, though she’s wrapped the blankets around herself in a snug nest.

Usually, this is the time to sneak away.

It’s either a forgettable moment best left behind me or I have urgent business to get on with. But leaving, that’s missing from my mind.

Shit, I’d gladly throw away an entire workweek if it means adding a few more hours to this morning, stretching out time like the gold sunrays spilling across her mahogany hair.

She’s more relaxed in her sleep than I’ve ever seen. Her forehead lacks the lines that gather there so often, her mouth soft and her face worry free.

It’s a crime this isn’t her normal face.

I want her to feel peaceful.

Just about as much as I want to wake up beside her every morning without a care in the world—or a goddamned looming disaster.

Yes, I know. Everything about this is wrong.

The trouble is, it feels too right.

And she stirs, wiggling free from her cocoon of covers. When she opens her eyes and sees me lying beside her, panic flashes on her face.

Thankfully, brief. A startled second, a twitch of her lips before it fades behind the impassive wall she throws up.

“Morning,” I say with a yawn. “Haven’t slept that well in years.”

“Um.” She sits up, holding the covers up with one hand like a shield. With the other hand, she brushes her loose hair back from her face. “Patton, did we…?”

Oh, shit.

Not the words a man wants to hear from a woman after he’s made her scream half the night.

“We did,” I say carefully. “Let me guess, you regret it already?”

“No.” She clears her throat. “No, but we should probably talk about what happened.”

“What part?”

“The sex, Patton,” she says flatly, finger combing her hair again. “I mean, the fact that you’re my boss and we just slept together.”

Yeah, I get the dilemma.

I just broke my cardinal rule, dipping my pen in the company ink and damn near breaking it off.

Every part of me aches to take her in my arms, but I don’t move, staying propped up on my elbow as I look at her. “You regret it then?”

“I…” She stops, her eyes narrowed as she looks at me. “Do you?”

“Not for a second. I’d do it again in half a heartbeat.” I give her a lazy smile. “In fact, when we’re done talking, I’m game.”

Her eyes flick to my lap, to the hard-on tenting the sheets before she looks away. She sucks her lip helplessly. “Shouldn’t we figure this out first?”

“Figure out what, woman? The fact that we decided to stop bickering and fuck each other’s brains out instead? Sounds like progress with this relationship.” My jaw tightens on the last word.

Damn, this is bad when I’m casually throwing the r-word around.

I can downplay it to hell and back, but I think she knows this can’t be brushed off as business this time.

I don’t bother trying.

“No, it’s not that,” she admits, flushing. “I’m just thinking about the fallout, the consequences. What happens if someone else at Higher Ends replaces out? What about your brothers?”

I snort loudly. “No one needs to know. Frankly, Dex and Archer are oblivious, and if by some miracle they’re not, they’ll keep their idiot mouths shut. We’re adults, Salem. We’re old enough to keep a secret. Hell, we’re already pretending to be a couple for half this conference. If this is what we want—and I know I do—why is it anybody else’s business?”

My voice burns my throat.

I can almost see the instant when she comes to the same conclusion, or maybe just replaces the same twisted excuse for crossing lines that ought to be sacrosanct.

“Just for the weekend,” she says quietly. “You’re probably right. If we’re careful, no one has to know…”

“As long as you’re quiet. You think you can manage?” I pull her forward, kissing her until I growl in her mouth.

“I… I…” she stammers adorably as I sweep her hair back, closing my fist around a makeshift ponytail.

“I’m not going to make it easy for you,” I promise.

“Challenge accepted.”

The hot flicker in her hazel eyes cuts me in two.

This is how this woman brings me crashing to my knees.

The fact that she takes every challenge and inverts them, hounding me to be better in every way.

And as my free hand skims down to her ass, grabbing her until her moans taste like caramel, I can’t say I mind this capacity one damn bit.

Our routine continues through the rest of this surreal conference.

She’s my woman for the giddy little real estate apes who now look at me with a newfound respect, especially the men who look on with boiling jealousy.

In bed, she’s mine in the most primal ways. My very own atlas of sin and seduction I trace with my hands and mouth.

It’s like I need her topography branded into my brain for life.

I can never bury myself in her tight little pussy enough.

I can never press her lips to mine close enough while I sink my greedy teeth into her tender flesh.

I can never leave her leaking enough of my come.

It’s lunacy how well she’s fallen into her role, warming my colleagues and my bed until I feel like I need a brick to the head to come back to Earth. Sometimes, I have to remind myself she’s not mine.

Not for real.

And whatever this madness is, it won’t continue. Honestly, it shouldn’t once we’ve left the bleached sands and canyons long behind.

But try telling my inner caveman that.

I’ve never been good at reasoning with that grunting, possessive fuck. When it comes to her, he has me in a chokehold.

The chemistry feels like a drug and it’s just as addictive.

When we’re not hobnobbing for business, we’re replaceing quiet spots around us, places where I can fuck her against a wall or in the back of the car.

It’s like we’re back on that casino boat for an extended lucky stay, acting stupid and reckless and horny as hell.

God Almighty, I’ve never been so horny in my life.

I wake up wanting her when I’ve had her three times the night before, even when she’s lying breathless in my arms after burying her head in a pillow so she stays quiet.

Insatiable.

That’s the only word for a thirst this rampant.

We’re at a quiet dinner alone when she taps her knee against mine.

I realize I’ve spaced out, staring and imagining how I’m going to remove that dress she’s wearing tonight.

It’s white and gold like the sun against white clouds.

Soon, it’s going to be a ghost.

Or maybe I’ll just bend her over the bed while she’s still wearing it. Maybe I’ll take her into the shower or out to the pool like last night and watch the stars dance in her eyes while I mount her and break her again and again, listening to her whimpers for mercy.

“Patton!” she hisses. “We’re supposed to be enjoying this, aren’t we?”

“I happen to be enjoying my dinner very much, thanks.”

“Enjoying it with me.”

“I am, Lady Bug.”

She smacks my arm. “Can’t you wait until we get back? This place is too expensive to be thinking about that all the time.”

“On the contrary,” I say, linking my fingers with hers over the table, “anyplace is suitable for what I’m thinking.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I think you mean obsessed.”

“You’re shameless,” she gasps.

I grin again.

Shit, I can’t remember the last time I’ve smiled this much. Not since before I had the company, I’m sure.

This Mexican restaurant in Page, Arizona, is an intimate place without the resort’s bed and whistles. We have a table in the corner to ourselves. No one from the conference is likely to show up here, we’re mostly obscured from view, and the food is excellent.

Three good reasons to choose this particular spot.

“We can’t right here,” she says, but there’s a look on her face that tells me she’s considering it.

“There is a bathroom,” I growl.

“Not sexy, Patton.”

No, but it doesn’t dampen my disappointment.

“I never said we should do anything besides eat here,” I say.

As if on cue, a waiter appears carrying our food. A steaming pile of fajitas for Salem and carne asada for me.

“Thanks. This looks delicious!” Salem gives him a wide smile before she turns to me again. “Why are you glaring now?”

“Glaring? I’m not.”

“If you’re getting jealous over some college kid who just served me food—”

“Do you know how long it took you to smile at me like that?” I’m not jealous of that kid, no—not like the millionaire whales back at the resort who never learned to take no for an answer—but sometimes I hate the fact that it took her so long to warm up to me.

“You’re my boss,” she reminds me. “And when we reconnected, our history was pretty complicated.”

“Still is,” I say with a shrug, tucking into my food. “Six years. Almost a lifetime.”

“For some people.” She frowns at the table. Her phone, turned upside down beside her, vibrates and she glances at it. “Sorry. It’s just the sitter, I bet.”

“Arlo’s?”

“Yeah, she’s a rock star. They were supposed to go to this dinosaur art exhibit for kids over at the Nelson-Atkins.”

“Don’t turn him into an art nerd too soon. It hasn’t helped humanize Dexter one bit,” I say with a snort. “How’s he holding up with you gone?”

She winces. “He misses me, I think. I’ve never left him alone this long.”

“Ever? In five years?”

Her gaze hardens.

“You think I can afford a vacation and childcare? Cute.” She sighs, her lips pulling into a sad smile. “I’ve lived a very different life from you, Patton Rory. Down here at ground level, people are scraping by.”

Fair enough.

I forget that this lifestyle is new to her when she slides into it so seamlessly. It’s easy to forget this is just a fleeting break from reality.

Not the way our lives will be from now on, even if there’s no shortage of luxuries I suddenly have a mad urge to shower her with.

“You should call him,” I urge. “It’s still early enough. Say good night to your boy.”

“Over dinner?” Her eyebrows sweep up.

“It’ll be too late by the time we get back.” I run my fingers along the rim of my wineglass. “Plus, I’ve got other plans for you back in our room.”

She flushes and glances at her phone.

“Arlo would definitely interrupt that,” she murmurs. “The kissing was bad enough. I almost died when he walked in. Do you think anyone here would mind?”

I nod at a rowdy bunch in a corner, clanking micheladas in tall beer glasses together.

From the looks of it, they’re celebrating a birthday.

“Lady Bug, if they’re in here bellowing like drunken rhinos, you can call your son.”

“Come over here. We’ll do a FaceTime,” she says, beckoning me to her side. “He might as well see you too.”

I shuffle over and after a few seconds, she video calls Mrs. Gabbard.

“Hello, hello!” a grey-haired lady says cheerfully. “I wasn’t expecting you to call, dear. How are things?”

“Lovely, Mrs. Gabbard. I just wanted to see if Arlo wants to say hello, if he’s still up?”

“Well, he’s not in bed yet, that’s for sure.” The corners of her mouth pinch down as she walks through her apartment, carrying the phone. “Here he is, just wrapping up brushing his teeth. Look here, you rascal, someone wants to say hi.”

The camera swivels to face Arlo, who’s wearing Batman pajamas.

“Mommy?” He grabs the phone with a wide smile. “Mommy!”

“Hey, honey.” Salem’s smile is hardly any smaller. It’s endearing how she looks at him. “How are you? Are you being good for Mrs. Gabbard?”

“Very good. I’m the best!” he proclaims. A suspicious claim if Mrs. Gabbard’s heavy sigh is any indication. “I drew so much today, Mommy. I wanna show you.”

“Wow, sure. But just a few, hon. It’s late.”

He takes the phone, nodding vigorously at Mrs. Gabbard’s encouragement not to drop it, and leads us to the corner of the room and his little desk, stacked with fresh sketches.

“Look!” he commands, though his poor camera-ship means we can’t see more than a few blurred lines. “I drew you, Mommy. You’re driving your car.”

“I do a lot of that. Great job,” Salem gushes, though I know she can’t see it any better than I can.

“Oh, and I drew Mr. Rory, too.” Arlo holds up another sheet of paper that seems almost entirely white besides a few rolling lines. “He’s a snowman.”

Kid logic, you have to love it.

I’ll admit my snowman likeness looks better than the other drawings he’s come up with. Salem laughs and sends me a look that says she’s thinking the same thing.

“How was the museum?” she asks.

“Awesome! They had a silver T-rex. I practiced shooting it till Mrs. Gabbard made me stop. Then we went out for food and it was so cold.” He mimes his teeth chattering.

Kid’s cute, even if he’s a royal pain in the ass.

“I’ll bet. We’re lucky here, it’s really warm,” Salem says. “Isn’t it, Patton?”

“Comfortably.”

“There’s no snow?” Arlo asks, a little awestruck.

“None,” Salem says. “It’s sunny. I wore my long sleeves outside today just to keep my arms safe from getting burned.”

“Wow, like summer! In winter?” He loses interest in the weather and abruptly holds up a book. “I read this today.”

“What is it, sweetie?”

“My Inky book! He went all the way to India and he even met an elephant! I’m gonna write him a letter. You were right, Mom, he’s the coolest penguin ever.”

I can’t resist smiling as I cut in. “You know, if you’re lucky, sometimes Inky writes you back. I still have a letter from him floating around somewhere.”

I don’t tell them my mother framed said letter and I left it proudly hanging above my childhood bed until I moved out.

Of course, it’s not really a magic penguin writing kids back and helping them make friends. Until recently, it was the author and creator, Clara Marshall. I read an article that says her nephew and his wife are doing great things for reviving the brand, ensuring the famous pen pal penguin lives on for kids like Arlo.

“Tell him where you’d love to go. I’m sure he’ll write you back, Arlo,” she says with a laugh. She shakes her head. “When we get home, you’ll show me everything, okay?”

“Kay. Karate too! I’ll show you all my new moves.” He drops the phone and scrabbles to pick it up again. “Don’t tell Mrs. Gabbard,” he whispers, so close to the mic the sound distorts.

I chuckle at his antics.

“We won’t tell anyone,” I say.

“Are you coming home soon, Mommy?” Arlo asks, a slight whine entering his voice. He’s holding the phone so near his face all we can see are blue eyes. “I miss you.”

“Miss you too, honey. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I hope so. Mrs. Gabbard wouldn’t let me have ice cream and you always give me ice cream on weekends.”

Salem glances at me helplessly, then back at Arlo. “Well, if Mrs. Gabbard says you’re a good boy when we get back home, you’ll get a little extra. Maybe we’ll even go out for it.”

“Yay!” He pumps his little fist.

“But now it’s time for bed, okay, big guy? Can you do that for me?”

He bounces up and down, looking more like he’s ready for a marathon. “I wanna stay up. Can I?”

“Do you want that ice cream when I get back?”

He considers it, his little eyes ticking like a clock.

His face falls as he comes to the inevitable conclusion. “Yes.”

“So go get ready for bed. Mrs. Gabbard will tuck you in and read you more Inky. Give Mommy a kiss.” She puckers her lips and he makes a kissing sound. “Okay, sweetie. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“There we go,” Mrs. Gabbard says, taking back the phone before it starts spinning again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Salem.”

“See you then. Thanks so much for looking after him.” She waves, and after exchanging a few more words, hangs up.

“He’s a great kid,” I say, and for once, it’s not a total lie.

He’s grown on me, about as much as any little hellraiser can.

For some reason, that makes her tense. I run a hand up and down her arm.

“Don’t worry. I don’t hate him anymore because he called me Grumpybutt and ruined my favorite tie.”

“God, don’t say it like that.” She laughs awkwardly, but those lines in her forehead don’t fade.

“It’s fine.” I kiss her on the temple. This time, she relaxes. “Should we head back? That pool is calling my name.”

“Pool and beer,” she decides. “It’s our last night, after all.”

The last night.

Shit.

That stirs my blood and brings up things better left unsaid. Right now, in the middle of a restaurant, definitely isn’t the right time.

As soon as we’re done eating, we head out. I’m still holding her hand when we break apart so we can climb in the vehicle and drive back to the resort.

Neither of us brought swimming stuff, but that doesn’t matter now with a private pool.

My breath stalls when I see Salem pad out to the water naked.

I follow her in, doing nothing to hide my erection, and then we’re in the warm water under an endless starry night.

“Last night,” I growl, grabbing her waist and pulling her in. Her body fits against mine like it was designed for it. “How do you want to celebrate?”

“You mean besides beer?” She tosses her hair back and takes a sip.

“I meant after the beer.”

“I blame the beer for this whole situation,” she says, but there’s the hint of a smile. I take a swig from the open bottle she brought out with her and kiss away her protests.

“Then I’ll be forever grateful to the beer,” I tell her. “And to you for listening.”

She trails a finger down my front, skimming her way down my chest and abdomen. “I suppose you deserve some credit too, Mr. Rory…”

“So you do think I’m hot? About time you said it.”

“I have my faults, but I’m not blind, Patton.”

Grinning, I lean against the side of the pool and slide my hands down, cupping her ass. “What fucking faults, woman? Don’t see any here.”

She gasps wickedly.

“You’re just looking from the wrong angle.”

“What’s the right one, then?” I lift her up so I can kiss her neck. Below, her nipple hardens, and I try not to take it in my mouth. “From here?”

“Patton—”

“Or maybe”—I hoist her up so she’s balanced just above my cock, which is already hard, so ready to plunge in—“there’s a better angle here. Surely.”

She tightens her hands on my shoulders until her nails dig in.

“Not outside,” she whispers. “Someone might hear.”

“You’ll just have to be quiet.” Madness claims me. I tease the head of my cock against her slit, toying with the folds as she wraps her legs around me. Pool sex isn’t necessarily the best idea, but there are two perfectly good sun loungers on the side.

If this truly is our final night together, I want to make it memorable.

With her legs wrapped around me and my hands gripping her ass, it’s easy enough to carry her out of the water and haul her to the nearest chair. The cool air caresses our skin, but when she shifts her hips so I’m at her entrance, I don’t notice the cold anymore.

Hell, right now, I don’t think I’d notice if the whole resort exploded as long as I could still lay her down on this lounger and fuck her.

The ends of her hair are wet, looking almost black in this light, and her eyes are dark, all her thoughts shining like the stars above.

Lust.

Adrenaline.

Secrets.

There are so many things I still don’t know.

Wounds she hasn’t bared, whispers that singe the air before we sleep each night, but I don’t care.

I just want her, secrets and all.

I’m not one for making love.

Usually, I like to pull a girl’s hair as I fuck her from behind or pin her hands above her head as I wring one orgasm out of her after the next.

Now, I don’t want any of that.

I want her to know how much this last night means to me.

I want to try, hopelessly, to fuck her out of my system.

When I tumble her down on the bed, I take my sweet time, tracing the outline of her lips with my fingers.

I’ve already explored every inch of her skin, yet I slowly rediscover it tonight, letting my hands roam wild, hungry knuckles grazing her skin.

I squeeze her flesh like clay, wishing I could leave the imprints of my greed on it forever.

My tongue follows, mapping her with every moan, teasing and tormenting and leaving her dizzy.

“Patton—God!” she cries out real sweet for me.

Damn, when I finally reach between her legs, she’s drenched and ready.

But before I can use my tongue there and bring her off, she grabs my hair and pulls.

“I want you in me,” she whispers, wrapping her legs around me. “I want to feel you fill me now, Patton. Please.”

If there’s a man alive who can resist a plea like that, he’s a god.

Me, I’m a mere mortal.

A fucking chump for a beautiful woman with a prettier soul begging me to turn her inside out.

Swallowing a growl, I grasp my cock, teasing it against her hot little cunt as long as I can stand.

She’s so wet it’s hard not to slide right in.

When she gasps louder, I press my free hand over her mouth.

“Quiet,” I snarl. “Look at me, Salem. Tonight, you give me your eyes and your voice.”

She nods, her eyes rolling back in her head as I push into her, one fierce inch at a time.

I clench my teeth.

I’ve never had my nerves fire like they do when I take her.

There are terrible seconds where I’m afraid I’ll lose control and blow my wad like a virgin.

Thankfully, I’m not that wrecked. Barely.

She already knows to play with herself, the little minx.

She rubs her clit, using her other hand to pinch one nipple as she smiles up at me. She might as well be waving red at a raging bull.

My mouth pushes her hand away and I suck her warm nipple until she gasps through her teeth.

Music.

Goddamn music to my ears.

She’s an entire feast for the senses.

Watching her, hearing her, feeling her pussy squeezing my cock—it’s all one of the slowest, sexiest experiences I’ve ever had as a man. No model I’ve fucked with the money for endless salon treatments ever gave back this chemistry.

And hearing her frantic attempts to keep quiet as she nears her first orgasm is almost enough to push me over the edge repeatedly.

It’s like I have to meditate while I work her body, replace my zone so I can own her pleasure.

Breathing raggedly, I touch her face, stroking her cheekbone.

“That’s right, Lady Bug,” I tell her. “Don’t you dare hold back. Show me fireworks. Come for me.”

She bares her teeth, her eyelids flutter, and then—

Gone.

I feel it the instant her climax hits, the way she tightens around me like a vise. Holding my cock still while she pulses feels easier than wrestling a feral wolf.

Fuck, the way her breathing deepens and stalls before she moans loudly into my hand…

The way her pleasure vibrates through my skin, slipping out in messy cries from her open mouth, catches my very last thread of self-control holding back my inner beast.

I snap.

My hips go wild, pounding into her, crashing my way through one raging climax and pulling a second one out of her before the first ever ends.

I can’t stand to silence her anymore.

My hand slips down, catching her by the throat, just enough to feel her pulse raging under my fingers while she comes like a painting, lively and red-faced and undone.

Her pussy clings to my cock, tightening, jerking me off while I thrust.

I’m too far gone to be ashamed that I can’t last any goddamned longer.

My hips lunge, I bury myself balls deep, and erupt.

I finish inside her with a guttural noise that’s more animal than man.

We both spill our souls into the night, screaming and roaring, waking whatever dead are long buried and forgotten in the desert hills.

The cool breeze nips my back against the mingled sweat and water from the pool, but our skin feels molten where it touches.

I’ve officially left the building—hell, the whole fucking planet—until I feel an angel’s touch slowly stroking my face as I try to catch my breath.

“Hey.” She runs her fingers across my face. “Hey, Patton?”

I open my eyes, falling into the hazel wonder of her gaze underneath me.

“Are you okay?” she whispers.

“No. Did you know you’re the sexiest work of art to ever exist?” I grind out.

Do you have any fucking idea how impossible it’ll be to let you go? Thank God I still have enough wits to not ask her that.

The smile that curves her mouth ignites her eyes to gold.

If I had a superpower, I’d hit pause. I’d freeze time so I never had to stop seeing her smile like this.

“It’s been a pretty amazing weekend. I’ll give you that,” she says.

Reluctantly, I roll off her and hit the stone patio under us with a grunt. I lie there for a solid minute before I have the bones to grab a towel and help her clean up.

“You know what?” I tell her as we head back inside and flop down on the bed together. She snuggles right up to me like she was made to fit in the curve of my body. “There’s no rule that says this has to stop once we climb on the jet home. Nothing besides the stupid little handshake agreement we made up.”

“What do you mean?” She stares at me intently. “Patton Rory, are you second-guessing?”

“What do you think, Salem? I’m not second-guessing shit. I’ve made a decision. This thing we’re doing now that’s better than any high. The kissing, the sex, the pretend dating—it doesn’t have to end. I don’t want to put a pin in it. Yeah, I know you’ve got Arlo to think about and you’ll be happy to get home, but I just—”

“It doesn’t have to end,” she echoes roughly.

It’s my turn to stare while her eyes glow like gold discs.

“If you’re cool with this evolving… so am I. But there’s something you should really know first.” She twists around to face me, suddenly twisting the covers around herself protectively, her eyes too wide and glistening.

All the peace and contentment that was there seconds ago has shattered. I don’t understand.

“What is it, Lady Bug? What’s wrong?”

“Arlo, that’s what.” She hesitates, clearing her throat. “He’s—he’s your son. Arlo’s your son, Patton.”

What. The. Fuck.

My heart damn near rips through my chest like an alien monster as she twists around to hide her face.

There’s no way. It doesn’t add up.

Salem Hopper, one-night stand from six years ago. And Arlo, he’s her five-year-old kid with lightning blue eyes and dark hair and an endless appetite for shit-stirring.

Arlo, he’s—

Oh, fuck.

He’s mine.