Rapture (Renegades 7)

“Or?” she nudged.

“I have no idea. You’re so fucking beautiful, I can’t remember what I was saying.”

She laughed, just a soft chuckle, but he’d take it. Her smile dimmed, but her eyes remained on his, as if she were searching for something.

“Be honest,” she said, the hint of a smile tipping her mouth, coaxing him to confide. “You were with her, weren’t you? For old time’s sake? It’s okay. I get it.”

He frowned. “Lila? Hell no.”

“Just once. Just a slip.” She lifted her shoulder. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“I know what you’re doing, but I’m not admitting to something I didn’t do. Something I didn’t even want to do. I swear to God, Z, I haven’t even thought of another woman since I met you. There is absolutely nothing between me and Lila, and there never will be, regardless of what happens between you and me.”

He let his forehead rest against hers, let his eyes close. “I’ve been crazy about you from the start. Our weekend together only confirmed everything I already felt. I don’t want to lose this, baby.”

“I used to be able to judge people so well.” Her voice was soft, a little dreamy. “I’m probably being an idiot, but I really want to believe you.”

“I know you’ve had bad experiences in the past, and I know I’m not exactly a shining star right now, but I’m telling you the truth. I told her not to step foot on this set, and by the time we get back to LA, all the rumors about me and Lila will be history.”

She sighed and lifted a hand to his face. Her dark eyes slid over his features while her fingers trailed over his jaw, feathered into his hair. The woman made him drunk.

“Baby…” He tilted his head and kissed her. When she kissed him back, he hummed against her lips then lifted his head. Her expression was sober and a twinkle of vulnerability hinted behind her eyes. One she showed so rarely he wondered if it was a figment of his imagination.

She pushed up on her toes, sliding her body along his. Wound her arms around his neck, slid her fingers into his hair, and pulled his head down.

Now her mouth was open and hungry. The first slide of her tongue ripped him open, releasing all the pent-up lust. He slid his hands down her back, over her ass, and pulled her hips against his. In seconds, they caught fire, right there in the stairwell. A relatively safe location given the lack of security cameras. His need was wild enough to pick her up, push her against the wall, and sink deep into her. But his heart wanted more.

He pulled out of the kiss, breathless. “Come to my room.”

“We can’t.” She scraped her lower lip between her teeth. “The film. The rules.”

“Right,” he murmured with a half grin. “The rules. We all know how much you love to follow the rules.”

That got a smile out of her. “Shut up.”

“The woman who defies the laws of physics and all judgment based on stereotypes is worried about a rule no one could enforce even if they knew we broke it?”

“You’re like my best friend in high school, goading me into climbing out my bedroom window.” Her smile faded, and something far more serious filled her expression. “But I’m not a kid anymore, and this rule has a hell of a lot more riding on it than getting yelled at.” She stroked her hands down his arms and eased away. “We all have to grow up some time. I guess this is my time.”

He cupped her face and drew her close again. “Growing up is overrated.”

She groaned, closed her eyes, and kissed him again. But then pulled out of reach. “The choice is out of my hands.”

Zahara had spent the night cataloging all the choices that had been taken out of her hands by getting pregnant. If she really was pregnant. More than a sliver of her kept hoping the test recorded a false positive and something else was going on.

She stared up at the ceiling of Despina’s spare bedroom while Raymond Cardinally, Despina’s concierge doctor, finished an internal exam. God, she was almost thirty and these damn things never got less awkward.

“Okay.” Dr. Cardinally pulled the sheet over her legs and smiled down at Zahara. “You’re all caught up on your yearly exams.”

The least of her worries. “Does everything look okay?”

“So far, so good. Your uterus is enlarged to about the size of an eight-week pregnancy. That in conjunction with three positive pregnancy tests makes it pretty clear you are indeed pregnant. But I’ll do an ultrasound in a few minutes to confirm.”

Zahara’s thread of hope snapped, and her stomach fell to her feet. She swung her arm across her eyes with a soft “Shit.”

Jesus. She was pregnant. Zahara still couldn’t wrap her mind around it. Just the thought brought up so much anxiety, she wanted to crawl out of her skin.

“Unplanned, I take it,” he said, his voice warm and sympathetic.