Sinning in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 2)

“Of course not.”

“How is that ‘of course not’? If he’s fucking around, she should get to. Maybe she’s bored, too. Taking the same dick for a decade, then he decides to fuck around on her after they have a baby? Gio is an asshole.”

“Uh huh,” Rafe murmurs, knowingly. “We’re not talking about Gio, are we? I’m not fucking anyone else, Laurel. I’m not even fucking you. I’m more celibate than I have been since my teen years,” he states dryly, clearly not happy about it.

“Well, if you think refusing to come help me with an angry baby is a step toward ending that dry spell, boy, have you got some learning to do.”

Smiling faintly, he drapes his strong arm around my waist and easily yanks me over into his space. “Is that why you’re so fired up tonight? I can handle babies when they’re calm and cute, but I’m not experienced enough with them to be any help in a crisis. I’m sure I would have made it worse somehow.”

“I don’t care if you’re inexperienced with babies. How do you expect to learn if you don’t try? In your idea of us as a couple, is that how it goes? I do 100 percent of the parenting and you just… what, show up at home before bed time once or twice a week and pat it on the head? I’m not sure what gave you the impression I would ever be happy with that sort of life, but I am not remotely interested in an arrangement like that.”

“Skylar isn’t our baby,” he points out.

“It doesn’t matter. If that’s how you react when I’m in a jam, then I’m alone in this. I don’t want to be a single mother with financing. I want a partner. I want a co-parent. I want someone who is going to have a relationship with this baby, an emotional investment. I want someone who shows up and does the work.”

There is no longer amusement on his face, but he keeps his tone perfectly even, deceptively casual as he asks, “Why do you refer to this position like a job any applicant can fill? I’m the father. That’s not really optional. Or did you have a back-up in mind?”

I know he means Sin, and I am not in the mood to talk about that with him right now. “You’re the father, sure. But if you have no interest in being a dad, then I have no interest in even attempting to pursue this.”

I don’t know what I expect him to say to that, but he doesn’t say a damn thing. He watches me, his face inscrutable, then pulls me closer and tucks me into his chest. Files me away, like a problem he doesn’t feel like dealing with tonight.

I want to object on the basis of that being bullshit, but the physical comfort of being wrapped up in his strong embrace and snuggled up against his chest is too appealing. Too much what I needed tonight. If we fight, I’ll want to roll away from him, and snuggling a pillow isn’t quite as nice.

So, at least for now, I let it go.

Rafe doesn’t normally wake me up for no apparent reason, especially when I’ve had trouble sleeping all night long, but when I feel someone shaking my arm and I open my eyes, Rafe is standing above me, completely dressed for the day in a sharp blue suit.

“Time to get up, sleepyhead.”

Grumbling, I bury my face in my pillow, intent on ignoring him.

Rafe snatches my pillow and tosses it over on his side of the bed.

“Hey!” I object, shooting him a dirty look.

“Time to get up,” he tells me again.

“I’m sleepy. I have nothing to do. Let me sleep.”

“You do have things to do, actually. First, you need to get your cute little ass out of bed and come downstairs so you can make breakfast.”

“You have a maid,” I remind him.

“It tastes better when it’s cooked with love,” he jokes.

“Then you should definitely have Juanita cook it,” I deadpan.

Ignoring my sour mood, he adds, “Secondly, you have an appointment to get manicures and lunch with Lydia today. I guess she really appreciated you babysitting last night, and now she wants to thank you with pretty nails and female bonding time.”

That all sounds completely terrible. He knows I don’t like Lydia, so why would I want to have lunch with her? “I want absolutely no part of anything you just said. Tell Lydia I have morning sickness. I’m staying in bed.”

“Sin’s downstairs,” he states.

My heart stops beating and I freeze.

“Also waiting for breakfast,” he adds, mildly. Then with an equally mild smile, he adds, “You know how we both like to be served.”

This is a trap. It has to be. He couldn’t know Sin was here last night, could he? I suppose he could. The first day I arrived in Vegas, he said something about a security set-up of some kind. Maybe he has some kind of camera system outside to keep an eye on who comes and goes, for safety reasons. Does he check it? I certainly didn’t tell him Sin was here last night, but it’s not like he asked. Granted, he probably wouldn’t think to ask, “Did Sin come over to help you with the angry baby last night?”