ARROGANT PLAYBOY (11 page)

BECKHAM

I walked around most of the
Upper East Side this morning. No destination in mind. I couldn’t stand another
minute trapped behind concrete walls. In the last twenty-four hours, my life
– and my mind – have become a prison.

Just before lunch, I hailed a
cab to New York General.

“Eva.” I stand in the doorway
of her hospital room. Dr. Brentwood told me not to come here, not to engage
her, not to give her what she wants. But I’m a man with limited options and the
stakes have been raised. I’ll be damned if I sit back and ignore her because
she’s not going away.

And it’s not about
us
anymore.

Bringing a baby into this
changes things, especially if she’s
my
baby. I’ve never been paternal. I don’t know the first thing about being a
father. I’ve never pictured myself coaching soccer or strolling around Central
Park Zoo with a kid on my shoulders and a camera around my neck, but if she’s
mine, I’ll try my hardest to be everything she deserves.

I’ll be the father Dane and I
never had.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”
Eva’s face lights, the baby snug in her arms sleeping. She grins, her hair
piled high on her head. As I get closer, I see she’s wearing makeup. Eva wanted
to look her best today because she knew I’d be coming back.

If she were any other normal
person, I’d be asking how she’s feeling. I’d refill her water or hold her hand,
but that’s not why I came here today.

“We have to do a DNA test,
Eva.” I keep a safe distance. “Just to be sure. Before any arrangements are
made. Before we can move forward from here. I have to know.”

Her smile fades, her eyes
dimming. “Why would you say such a thing, Beckham? She’s yours. She’s all
yours. She has your chin. Your ears. Your dimples.”

I try not to look, not to give
in and let her think she’s winning.

“I had a vasectomy, Eva, before
we were together. There’s no way this could’ve happened.” I swallow the
hardness in my throat but it returns. “I don’t want to believe you could’ve
tampered with anything at the clinic, but…”

“You don’t know what you’re
saying.” Her eyes glass over until large tears fill at their brims. “We’re a
family. You. Me. Our baby. To suggest that this wasn’t in God’s plan…”

She glances down, stroking the
baby’s cheek.

“She’s
beautiful
, Beckham.
We
created
her. She’s here because of our
love
.”
Her voice is strained.

My stomach churns. Eva is not
well. She hasn’t been for a long time.

“How are you going to take care
of her?” I ask. “When you leave here. Do you have someone?”

Eva whips her attention toward
me. “I thought we could come home with you. You have space for a nursery. A
couple phone calls and we could have one set up within a day.”

She’s clearly fantasized about
this a hundred times before.

“Eva…” Pressing my chin against
my chest, I squint across the room at her. “Did you really think it would
happen like that?”

“You’re a good man. I know
you’ll do the right thing. I know you’ll come through for us. It’s not in you
to walk away from family.”

She doesn’t know me. At all.
I’m not some valiant prince. I’m a man with minimal responsibilities, reigning
over a kingdom of beautiful women with my mighty cock in hand. I’m a playboy.
My only commitment is to a life of debauchery.

“Remember what Dr. Brentwood
said? About projecting?” I remind her. “I’m not a family man, Eva. I told you
that from the beginning.”

“Then why were you at a
fertility clinic?” she snaps back.

She has a point; a tiny point
that doesn’t help my case.

“You knew you wanted to be a
father, just not yet. Not now,” she says, her tone rushed and excited. “You
knew there was a chance you might change your mind someday.”

“My mind was made up, Eva,” I
groan. The sperm-freezing was nothing more than an insurance policy to keep me
from backing out of my decision to get snipped.

“Sometimes we don’t know what’s
best for ourselves,” she says, glancing down at the baby again. A tiny fist
rises above the blanket and stretches out, grabbing onto the flannel fabric of
Eva’s gown. She hums a little tune, something sweet and unfamiliar. I’m
guessing it’s an Argentinian lullaby.

“I can’t be in your life, in
her
life, until we get the results of
the test.” A sear of something sharp flashes across my chest. The thought of
leaving the baby in Eva’s care for God knows how long unsettles me.

“She’s yours, Beckham. I would
never lie to you,
mi amor
.” The
humming continues.

Convincing Eva to agree to this
is a tight walk along an unstable balance beam.

“And if you don’t think she’s
yours, I have no problem moving back to Argentina,” she says a minute later, lightly
raking her fingers through the baby’s jet black hair. “Raising her in my
homeland.”

My fist clenches. The thought
of the baby being whisked overseas despite not knowing if she’s mine was a
possibility I hadn’t yet entertained. I wouldn’t put anything past Eva.

“Did you decide on a name yet,
baby?” Eva smiles, looking up at me like we’re not locked in crossfire.
“Something pretty for our pretty girl?”

Dr. Brentwood would be waving a
checkered flag, telling me to abort the mission. Shut it down.

“You have to name her. It’s
tradition in the Delgado
familia
. The
fathers choose the names,” she says.

 
“I haven’t given it any thought.”

She holds the baby up, grinning
ear to ear and examining her. “You’ll think of something for our little angel.”

“The test, Eva.” I clear my
throat, crossing my arms. “There’s a clinic uptown that does them. Results come
back in two-three days.”

“No!” She holds the baby
against her chest, patting her back vigorously.

“I hoped we could do this the
easy way.” I grab my phone, dialing my attorney.

“What are you doing?” she
spits.

“Getting a court order,” I say.
Roger answers. “Roger, I talked to her. Make it happen.”

“You’re making a huge mistake.”
Eva shakes her head, bouncing the baby in her arms. “She is
our
daughter.”

“I’ll file the petition,” Roger
says. “Beckham, this won’t be quick. A judge has to determine if there’s
sufficient evidence before he can order the paternity test, and even then Eva
can hire an attorney. She’ll have thirty days to contest it from the time we
serve her.”

“What choice do I have here?” I
fire back. “Get it done.”

I hang up and step toward the
door, watching as Eva sits up and places her hand out. She pleads with me to
stay a while longer before slick tears slide down her cheeks.

Hate doesn’t usually reside in
my heart, but right now, I hate Eva for doing this, for creating a
self-serving, chaotic mess.

“I don’t love you, and I never
did.” A furious burn fills my chest. I want to look at the baby, but I can’t
bring myself to. “I will never be with you. And if she’s mine, God help us all
because you’re not fit to care for her. You can hardly take care of yourself.”

I’ll never forget finding a
medicine cabinet full of sedatives and benzodiazepine in her bathroom.
Tranquilizers. Prescription sleep aids. Anything a person might need to forget
about life for a while. None of it was in her name. I set her up with Dr.
Brentwood immediately after that. She needed managed care not black market
Xanax.

Her lips tremble as she
squeezes the baby tight. Maybe I’m an asshole. Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth
shut and walked away, but it’s all I can do to maintain my composure. It’s
building, burning inside me. It has to come out.

“We could be happy. Just give
us a chance.” Her voice is tired, small. I won’t stand around and listen to
this anymore. When I storm out the door, I hear her say, “I’m not lying,
Beckham. She’s your daughter...”

I don’t want to believe her,
and I fucking hate the fact that part of me does.

***

“You’re back.” Odessa glances
up from her desk when I return.

I’m not sure why the first
place I went was to her. I’m standing in her doorway. Not talking. I don’t know
what to say. In the blink of an eye, I lost all control over my carefully
crafted, painstakingly perfected bachelor life.

My hands ache for something
real. Fuck, if I could feel those sleek auburn locks through my fingers and
press my lips against hers, maybe I’d taste a bit of calm again.

“Hey, you okay?” Odessa raises
an eyebrow, shutting the lid to her computer. “You’re freaking me out here.”

She comes to my side with
hesitant steps, her sweet perfume filling my lungs. I’m in a mood. Fuck, am I
in a mood.

I’m in a mood to burn
everything to the ground.

“Say something.” Odessa laughs,
not because it’s funny. She’s nervous. She winces, slightly, as if I scare her.
“Where’d you go?”

She rises on her toes, brushing
a rogue strand of hair off my forehead. I close my eyes, pulling another
lungful of Odessa in. I have to have her. Fuck Dane’s rules. Fuck the
consultancy. Fuck mind games.

“Odessa.” I swallow, eyes still
closed.

“Yes?”

“Don’t touch me again.” My
instructions are concentrated, clear as day. I peer down at her now, catching a
slight shake in her chest when she breathes.

She backs up, her hand resting
across her chest. “I-I’m sorry.”

“If you touch me again, I’m
going to touch you back,” I say. “And I can’t promise I’ll stop once I start.”

“Beckham, you need to sit
down.” She reaches for my hand and stops, heeding my warning. “Let me get you
some water at least.”

“Stop being so nice. Thought I
made myself clear this morning.” Her kindness confuses me, and I sure as hell
don’t deserve it.

“Maybe I should leave for the
day. I can’t do anything right around you.” She zips around her desk and
gathers her things, shoving them into a bag and muttering under her breath.
“God forbid I try to be a decent human being.”

“Don’t go.” I need the
distraction. She grounds me.

She stops shuffling about.
“Maybe
you
should go home then. I
don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be around each other today.”

“Why?”

“Because you confuse me. And
you’re making me nervous, which never happens.” She stands two feet in front of
me, head cocked, studying me. “And I don’t trust myself.”

“Don’t trust yourself?”

“You’re clearly two seconds
from doing something we’ll both regret,” she sighs. “And I’m two seconds from
letting you.”

Odessa’s hands lift to her
face, tucking her hair back.

“Which is absolutely ridiculous
because hooking up with you is the last thing I should be doing right now, and
I–”

Without thinking, I rise and
grab her by the wrists, backing her up against the wall.

She doesn’t protest, she melts.

I crush her mouth with mine,
locked in a state of carnal survival. I don’t think. I just act.

Odessa moans against my lips,
and I let her arms drop. Her hands slink around my neck, her fingers twisting
into the hair above the nape of my neck. Impatient seconds pass before my hands
run down her sides, cupping her ass and scooping her up until her legs lock
around mine.

Thank God she wore a fucking
skirt today.

With lips locked and tongues
fused, I run my hand along her inner thigh, finding wetness at her core that
sends an aching throb to my cock. She fucking wants me, and there’s no better
turn on.

My kisses are generous, hungry,
and desperate. I drown in the sweet cinnamon taste of her tongue as my finger
slips under the crotch of her panties. Dragging a fingertip between her seam, I
separate the folds and slide a finger inside her tightness. Her head falls
back, leaving my lips. The soft flesh of her neck just above her collarbone
welcomes me, and I reward her with teasing grazes.

Odessa’s hips buck against my
hand, my thumb circling her clit. Her lips tighten as she struggles to keep
quiet. I pull my hand from the most exquisite pussy I’ve ever felt and drop to
my knees. The taste of her sweet arousal on my tongue fills a craving that runs
much deeper than it belongs.

Yanking her panties to her
ankles, she kicks them off and lifts the hem of her skirt to her waist. Hair
falls in her face though I can still see the ‘o’ shape of her pretty lips as
she loses herself with me at the helm.

Gripping her thighs, I run my
tongue along her seam before swirling it around her swollen nub. Her free hand
grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling it taut as she struggles to breathe.

She tastes of Heaven and sin,
and devouring her transports me to a world where nothing else matters. My
tongue explores her delicious pussy, making no apologies or concessions for the
enthusiastic vigor.