Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 126215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
“Where am I?” I repeated, trying to stall. I didn’t want to lie to my husband but I didn’t exactly want to tell him over the phone where I was. Because then he’d get all alpha and demand to know why I was at the doctor, and I was having trouble finding believable alternatives. Hence the stall.
“Mia,” he said in warning.
I sighed. “Jeez Louise, calm down. I’m just getting into my car,” I told him truthfully.
“Where’s the car?” he continued.
“In a parking lot,” I hedged.
“Fuck’s sake, Mia. Tell me why you’re at the fuckin’ doctor.” His voice broke with impatience, and also worry.
I straightened. “Why did you waste all that time asking me where I was if you already knew?” I asked on a sharp tone. “Furthermore, how did you know where I was? Do you have a bug in my car?” I bent down and felt below the seat, beginning my search. I so wouldn’t put it past him.
“One of the boys saw your car. Wanted to know why you wouldn’t tell me you were going. Now I wanna know why you were lying.” His voice was hard. “You okay?” he added softly.
I straightened and abandoned my search. “Damn you, Betty, for being so gosh darned cute and memorable,” I chastised my car.
“Fuck,” Zane muttered with impatience. “I can never have any conversation of importance with you over the phone,” he declared. “Get your ass to the club. Now,” he commanded.
To many his voice may have sounded brutal, scary even. To me I knew it was something else. Love and concern, wrapped in his usual alpha and biker speak.
“Um, maybe we should have this conversation at home,” I told him, not big on declaring the bun in my oven to the entirety of the club just yet.
There was a loaded pause. “I’ll be there in two,” he declared.
“Okay, try not to trample any prospects on your way out the clubhouse,” I half teased before clicking off.
I tried not to worry over the fact Zane said he’d be there in “two” even though the clubhouse was a good fifteen minutes away.
Due to the fact I was actually only five minutes away from home, I arrived before Zane. Which kind of sucked, ’cause in the five minutes it took to drive home, I worked myself into a slight panic over Zane’s possible reaction to his bun in my oven. Yes, we were married. Yes, we were in love. Yes, we were more than old enough to reproduce. I may have tamed Zane slightly, but he was still wild. He still spoke in monosyllables apart from with Lexie and I. We had got him up to smiling in public, and one time he even laughed. But most of the time he kept his scary macho man mask on. So maybe he didn’t want a little baby. Despite the fact he was amazing with Belle, and so gentle with Cade and Gwen’s newest kid, Kingston. It made my womb squeeze every time I saw it. Totally kick ass name, by the way. Then I got sidetracked with names. Our kid’s name would obviously have to be something to reflect the bad assedness of its father, and also the general awesomeness of its mother. Then genders. I already had a girl, so a boy would be nice to round it out. Though at the end of the day I wouldn’t care, as long as it was healthy.
The rumble of a Harley shocked me out of my thoughts and I realized I was still sitting in the car, seatbelt on and everything, staring into space. My door was wrenched open and Zane knelt at my door, eyes hard. He looked like he was bracing.
Shit. Maybe I should have told him on the phone this was actually good news—at least I thought it was—and not sat in the car like a crazy person wondering what Zane would think of the name Arden.
“Mia?” His hand went to my thigh.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned to him. “What do you think of the name Arden?” I asked.
His entire frame froze.
Maybe he wasn’t too happy.
“Not bad ass enough,” I muttered, and reached to retrieve the picture of Peanut. I thrust it in his face. “I’m knocked up,” I declared unceremoniously. I probably should’ve tried to be more delicate and announce it in some soft, throaty voice, but I went for the quickest way to calm his freak out.
Zane’s body unlocked and he slowly plucked the picture out of my hand, staring at it like it held the secrets to the universe. He then looked at my belly. Then my eyes.
“How pregnant?” he asked weirdly.
I chewed my lip nervously. “Um, how pregnant can someone be?” I paused. “Considering your general level of bad assedness and assuming that translates to your swimmers, I’d say a lot pregnant. Like the most pregnant you can be. Pregnant to my throat,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood and to disguise the fact I was terrified of the fact his face was betraying nothing.
Zane twisted me so my torso faced his and his hands rested on either of my thighs. “How far along?” he clarified, not finding me hilarious.
“Six weeks,” I informed him in a small voice.
He stared at me a long time before uttering something weird. “Not far enough.”
I frowned at him. “Not far enough for what?”
His hand moved to cup my face. “To fuckin’ tell every one of my brothers the woman I love is having my baby,” he said fiercely. “To inform the whole world I’m the happiest mother fucker on the planet.”
And with that he lifted me out of the car. My legs wrapped around him automatically. His hands squeezed my ass. “You’re having my baby,” he muttered against my mouth, walking us inside.
I smiled and a warm feeling settled in my belly. “I’m having your baby,” I repeated.
“Sunshine,” he murmured between kisses. “Just given me eternal sunshine with that, Wildcat.”
Seven Months Later
“Rolling Stone. Are you fucking KIDDING me?” Sam shouted into the phone. He paced around the hotel room. No, you could safely say he skipped. Noah lounged on the sofa eating Cheetos. Wyatt was doing sit-ups on the floor. Lexie was curled up in an armchair, scribbling their latest song into her notebook. It was about heartbreak. Shocker. Considering most of the songs she wrote were filled with pain and suffering, nothing that mirrored what she felt in her own heart, of course, but a fraction. And that fraction made for good music. The best, actually. Good enough to get them noticed in a big way. Well on their way to becoming famous. They had almost finished their album. Already released a single that made it to the top freaking ten within a week of being released. They were making money. Not a little, but a lot. They had fans. Not a little either. A lot. The boys had girls. Groupies, you might call them. A sickening amount of them. Lexie had her own group of guys who tried to sleaze onto her whenever they were out partying. She barely noticed them. How could she? They didn’t know her. Didn’t want to know her. Only one person knew her down to the depths of her soul, owned her soul. That person also ripped her heart out and stomped over it with motorcycle boots. It was a mangled mess, one that only beat for music, one she feared would never be repaired enough to give to someone else.