Baby Maker (It Takes Two 1)

Ten minutes later, he’s breathing deeply, sound asleep. Strangely, soon afterward, I fall asleep as well. Every morning, however, I wake up to an empty bed and we both pretend it never happened.

“I don’t get it. Don’t you do enough physical labor during the day to tire you out?” I ask in bewilderment.

Dane’s face does something weird, something I can’t decipher. Levi snickers. Which makes me suspicious. As if they’re sharing a private joke at my expense.

“I need to clean up. Stella, how about we leave in an hour?”

“Sounds great. Thanks, Levi.”

With that, he walks inside, leaving us standing on the porch, staring at each other, a scowl still hanging on Dane’s face.

“You’re not going.”

I must not have heard him correctly. He couldn’t possibly have given me orders. “Would you like to use the shower first?” I ask as I turn and walk back into the house.

“Did you hear what I said?” he practically shouts.

My blood starts to sizzle. “I’m going to do you a kindness and pretend I didn’t.”

He’s fast on my heels as I walk into the bedroom we now share. The bedroom door slams shut. I continue on to the bathroom, stop and turn, gearing up for the argument I know is coming.

A wall of golden flesh manifests inches from my face…No shirt. What in the world happened to his shirt in the time we walked in here? Arms crossed, he’s wearing a mulish expression, which makes perfect sense because he’s acting like an ass.

I take a step back, into the bathroom, and his hand shoots out to stop the door from closing. Everything about him says he’s spoiling for a fight. Time to deflect.

“No ink, huh?” I casually ask.

“Nope.” He leans a muscular arm against the doorframe.

If that’s not an invitation for me to roll my eyes, I don’t know what is. “I thought all you guys had some these days.”

“First off, darlin’, you don’t desecrate a work of art with graffiti.” The idiocy of that statement makes me bite my bottom lip, curbing a bark of laughter. “And second, who’s you guys?”

“Never mind,” I mutter, leaving him to turn the shower on. “Can you get out? I need to get ready.”

Silence, so much of it I glance behind me to see if he’s gone. Nope.

“Do you want to jeopardize this pregnancy?”

“Stop being so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic!”

“Sure you’re not.” Heavy sarcasm. This performance is starting to rival Elizabeth Berkley’s in Showgirls.

I walk over to him and push his chest, his bare chest. The one that feels like solid rock under my hand. Except rock isn’t warm and doesn’t flex under my touch. Rock doesn’t make my mouth water and my stomach churn. Rock doesn’t make me want to get on my knees…naked.

A warm puff of air hits my scalp. I push against his chest and Dane exhales harshly, stepping back. Before he can get another word in, I shut the door, my heart pounding viciously.

We need space. And I need a cold shower…that’s the ticket––nothing a cold shower can’t remedy.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed in jeans and a black, long-sleeve silk top, the one that’s a bit tighter than usual because of my growing breast size. And the heels. Let’s not forget the heels.

Somehow I’ve managed to tame my hair into soft waves; a serious accomplishment in my book. Tonight, for the first time in ages, I care what I look like.

My appearance hasn’t been a priority for a long time. Working in an environment where the majority of my colleagues are men, it would’ve been either stupid, or naive for me to pretend that how I presented myself would go unnoticed.

In the beginning, I heard the sexist remarks. I saw the leers. I had other battles to fight, however. One of poverty, the massive student loans I had to pay back, proving my worth to the company. So I chose to hide behind my shapeless suits. Regardless, it was always my choice.

I step into the living room and get three very different reactions. Levi grins wickedly. Bill smiles affectionately. Face puckered, Dane grimaces like I’ve kicked him in the nuts.

“You’re not going out like that,” he says, game face on.

I’m not prone to bursts of anger. You would think being half Cuban and half Irish would make me hot-tempered and yet I’m not. Not even a little.

In my opinion, that’s a bunch of baloney. There’s hot and cool in every culture. And what little of it I may have had was easily snuffed out when I started working at Goldman Sachs. If there is one thing you must learn as a trader, it’s to control your emotions.

All the training in the world could not have prepared me for this however. I take a deep breath. Otherwise I may throw something at him.

“Yes, I am,” I say as gently as possible. This caveman routine is getting tiresome. I don’t care what lie he’s trying to sell to his father, I won’t put up with this.

My gaze does a cursory assessment of his wrinkled gray t-shirt and his threadbare jeans. “I guess you’re not coming. Levi, are you ready?”

“As my woman, you should respect my wishes.”

A miniature nuclear explosion goes off in my head. My fury is immediate. His woman? Does he have heatstroke from working outdoors all day?

I steal a brief glance at Bill and find him dusting off his jeans. My suspicion is there’s no dust on his jeans.

“I’ll give you exactly one minute to walk that back,” I tell him quietly.

Dane’s eyes narrow on me. Abruptly, he gets off the couch, stalks to the closet, and retrieves a Gladiator ball cap.

“Fine. I’m coming with you.” He stuffs the cap on his head, the flat brim just above his eyes.

Oh the joy.

“Suit yourself,” I retort and walk to the door, Levi leading the way.

Ten minutes later we’re cruising down a highway, Levi in the driver’s seat and the knuckle dragger in the back, arms crossed in protest of being consigned there.

“Where are we going?” I ask Levi.

“A place called Rowdy’s. They have dancin’ and live music.”

“Absolutely not. We’re not going to Rowdy’s,” someone in the back interrupts.

“Sounds perfect. Rowdy’s it is,” I say, practically giddy at the prospect of a night of fun.

After that, I turn up the music and Levi begins singing. His voice is sexy and soulful, raspy and edged with sadness that resonates in my bones. A pretty face aside, that voice will break a million hearts one day. I’m sure of it.

The parking lot at Rowdy’s is jam-packed, the painted mural of a cowboy riding a bull on the front of the building, one that looks like it was at one time a turn-of-the-century factory, pul

sates with energy. A neon sign throws hot-pink light on everything within its reach. I’m so excited I’m dancing in my seat.

The minute Dane gets out of the truck he places his hand on my lower back. The steady pressure grounds me. The warmth ripples up my spine and makes my hair stand on end.

I look up to find heavy-lidded eyes watching me. His expression stoic at first. But then a small smile tips up one corner of his sensual lips and those green-gold eyes might as well be shouting volumes without saying a thing.

“You two ready, or are we gonna stand around making eyes at each other all night?”

Dane levels Levi with a disapproving look and we all head for the door. Inside I can barely hear myself think over the roar of the crowd and the live music.

“I knew this was gonna be a shitfest,” I hear the man pinned to my side grumble. He throws a protective arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer. You would think that every person that walks by us poses grave and immediate danger with the way he’s behaving.

Levi points to a booth at the edge of the room. “That’s the one reserved for us.”

We make our way to the table, Dane draped all over me. He may as well be riding piggyback.

At the booth next to ours, three cowboys around Levi’s age laugh and carry on. It looks like they’ve been partying for a while. Beer bottles and shot glasses litter their table. One of them catches my eye and, smiling, tips his hat at me.

“Who are you smiling at?”

Dane doesn’t wait for me to answer. His gaze slides over to the three men. The one watching me continues to smile. Dane’s arm falls heavy across my shoulders while he shoots the poor idiot smiling a nasty glare.

“Wanna dance?” Levi asks.

“No, she doesn’t,” the Neanderthal sitting next to me answers. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore his shenanigans.

“I don’t know how to dance like that,” I confess, scanning the dance floor. Couples move around in some sort of country western-style dancing to a really good cover of a Lady Antebellum song.