Rapture (Renegades 7)

“Okay, I try. I don’t want to control you, Z. I just want you to be safe. I want the baby to be safe. You’re my family now.” He kissed her gently. “I don’t want to lose my family.”

God, that was sweet. But she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it. She’d spent so much of her life alone, only being absorbed into the Renegades family over the last couple of years. “One step at a time, okay?”

He nodded. “Boy or girl, I hope this kid looks just like you.”

This man was one of a kind. She’d known it from the very start, and she regretted doubting him—and her own instincts.

“I’m going to clean up.” He eased up on his palms and smiled down at her. “Want to read lines with me while we eat?”

Zahara sputtered a laugh, but she supposed she’d have to get used to this. He was an actor, after all. “Sure, as long as you don’t expect me to act.”

12

Something woke Chase, but he wasn’t sure what.

Zahara lay against him, her back to his chest. He had his arm around her waist and held her close. She felt heavenly. His morning wood confirmed her perfect ass was pressed in just the right spot.

He glanced at the clock, decided they had time for a morning quickie, and dropped kisses along her neck. She stirred with a pleasure-filled hum.

Someone knocked on the hotel room door. That was the sound that had awoken him. Zahara nearly jackknifed into a sitting position and pushed her hair out of her eyes. The woman was stunning first thing in the morning, all dewy and sleepy-eyed.

Another knock came.

Chase propped himself up on his elbow. “What the hell?”

Zahara was out of bed in an instant. She grabbed her jeans and pulled them on.

“Hey, relax,” he told her. “I’ll get rid of whoever it is.”

His phone chirped. He rolled toward the nightstand and picked it up just as another knock echoed through the suite. He found half a dozen texts from his mother and a few from his sisters. “Shit.”

He stood from bed and pulled on his own jeans. Zahara was already dressed and collecting her panties and bra from the floor.

Another knock came, followed by his mother’s voice. “Chase? It’s Mom.”

He rubbed a hand down his face. “Ah, Jesus.”

“Your mother?” Zahara asked in a harsh whisper, then glanced out the sliding glass doors to the balcony.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned her, knowing exactly where her mind had jumped. “Just stay put. I’ll have her go to the restaurant downstairs and meet her there.”

Zahara didn’t look convinced, but after another knock on the door, Chase exited the bedroom. He opened the door to his mom—and both of his younger sisters. Jesus Christ.

“There you are.” His mother hugged him.

His middle sister, Cleo, seventeen going on twenty-five with an attitude, stepped past them before Chase could catch her. “You’re so in the doghouse, dude.”

“Hi to you too,” he told her.

His little sister, Tabitha, thirteen, wrapped her arms around him and his mother, joining their hug. “Hi, Chase.”

“Hey, Tabby.” Her blonde hair was in one of those crazy complicated braids she loved.

“This is pretty sweet,” Cleo said, checking out the space and wandering onto the patio, where she turned her back to the view and stretched her arms across the railing. Her long blonde hair pulled forward over her shoulder. “Do you get to order room service whenever you want?”

He looked at his mom. “What’s going on? Is Dad okay?”

“Fine, fine.” She set her purse on a side table. She’d cut her hair, and the new style made her look younger than her fifty-five years. “I was so worried. Why aren’t you answering your phone?”