Getting Hotter (18 page)

Her hazel eyes filled with surprise. “Oh. Wow. Are you allowed to talk about it? I remember Missy saying you can’t give any details about your assignments.”

“She’s right. I can’t say much, especially about that particular op. Let’s just say we got someone important out of a dangerous place.”

“Okay. What about this one? September 20, 2007?”

“The day I got my SEAL trident.” He swiftly rolled over on his back before she could ask about the remaining two dates.

Subject change. Now.

Seth scanned his brain. His solution ended up putting Miranda on the spot. “You never talk about your children’s father.”

She exhaled slowly. “That’s because there’s not much to say about him.”

That heavy breath of hers had directed his gaze to her bare breasts, which momentarily distracted him. His cock twitched beneath the sheet covering their lower bodies, but he forced himself to ignore the clench of desire and concentrate on the curiosity her words had inspired.

“Are you still in contact with him?” Even as he asked the question, he knew what her answer would be.

“I haven’t spoken to him since the day he signed away his parental rights,” she said flatly.

“So you have no idea where he is?” Seth gently rested his hand on her waist, stroking the curve of her hip and upper thigh.

“Oh, I know where he is. Prison. Maximum security.” Disapproval rang from each word. “He robbed a liquor store outside of Vegas and accidentally shot and killed the clerk. Trent was convicted of armed robbery, manslaughter and a bunch of other stuff I can’t remember. He was sentenced to life, but I think he’s eligible for parole at some point. Not sure when.”

Rather than pose another question or urge her to continue, Seth waited it out. He’d discovered that people were more likely to share their secrets when they weren’t being pressured to spill them, but Miranda was obviously on to him, because she laughed softly and said, “I know you want me to keep talking. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

He chuckled. Busted.

“You’re curious about how I met Trent, right?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

She shrugged. “It’s not some big secret or anything. I was eighteen, just graduated from high school, and I was leaving for college at the end of the summer. I landed a dance scholarship at the University of Nevada. Full ride.”

“Nice,” he said, impressed.

Her voice took on a faraway note. “Yeah, it was nice. I was so excited about it. And then I met Trent. I was working as a waitress at this twenty-four-hour diner on the Strip and one night Trent rode up on his Harley. He was the ultimate bad boy. Leather jacket, arms covered in tattoos, and he was gorgeous. Like drop-dead gorgeous.”

With a sad smile, Miranda slid into a cross-legged position, bringing the sheet up with her and tucking it over her breasts. “I was such a goody-goody all throughout high school. I had to be—my dad was wild enough for the both of us, and I didn’t want to be anything like him. But when Trent walked into that diner? God, I wanted to be bad and irresponsible. Just once, I wanted to be the girl who rode on a motorcycle with a hot guy, not the one who saved all her tips in a jar so she could pay for college textbooks.”

“So you jumped on the back of that Harley and told your responsibilities to fuck off?”

“Yep.” She looked at him in wonder. “I know, right? Very unlike me. I quit my job, which wasn’t a huge deal since I already had a ton of money saved up. I packed a bag, left home and spent the whole summer riding across the country with Trent. I lost my virginity at the Grand Canyon, by the way.”

“You bad girl, you. You tarnished a national treasure.”

“Ha-ha.” She rolled her eyes, but the humor didn’t last long. “I’m pretty certain that’s where the twins were conceived. I was three months pregnant when Trent brought me back to Vegas.”

“Wait, you were pregnant that whole time and didn’t know it?”

“I was getting periods,” she explained. “Or at least I thought I was. And during the second month of traveling, I had morning sickness, but since I didn’t realize I was even late, I figured it was the stomach flu. The third month, I didn’t get a period, so that’s when I finally took a test.”

“Was Trent with you?”

She nodded. “We were at a rest-stop bathroom. We waited for the results together, and the second we saw that pink plus sign, Trent tossed the stick in the trash and said it was time for me to go home.”

Anger tightened his chest. “Are you serious?”

“Yep. He drove me home to Vegas, handed me some cash and told me to get rid of the baby.”

“Fucking asshole.”

“Tell me about it.”

“But you decided to keep the baby.”

“And ended up with two,” she said with a laugh. “Trust me, no one was more shocked than me when Jason popped out after Sophie. He was hiding behind her during every ultrasound. Even her heartbeat overpowered his. Not much has changed since the womb, I guess. Sophie is still the ringleader of whatever shenanigans those two get into.”

Seth sat up and reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand. He took a quick sip, then offered the bottle to Miranda, who shook her head.

“So what happened with Trent?” he asked, realizing she’d never concluded that chapter of the story.

“I called him to let him know I was keeping the baby and he told me he wanted no part in the child’s life.” She shrugged. “I expected that. But what I didn’t expect? Seeing Trent’s picture on the news a month later and finding out he killed a man during a robbery. That’s when I decided that
I
didn’t want Trent in my kid’s life either. Before, I was open to the idea of letting him visit the child if he ever changed his mind, but after he was arrested, I was all,
hell no
.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“So remember all the tip money I saved up for college? Well, I used it to hire a lawyer instead. He drew up some papers and I went to see Trent in prison. He signed away his rights, and I haven’t seen or spoken to him since.”

“Do the rugrats ever ask about their dad?”

“Never. I assume as they get older they’ll become more curious about him and start asking questions. God, I’m not looking forward to that day.” She bit her bottom lip, distressed. “What if they want to visit him in prison?”

“They won’t.” Seth didn’t even hesitate. “The rugrats are smart, babe. Smart enough to know that you’re the only parent they need.”

“You think my kids are smart?” She sounded astounded.

Discomfort squeezed his throat. “Yeah, sure. Of course they are.”

Miranda continued to stare at him as if he’d just told her he’d won an Olympic gold medal for synchronized swimming or some shit. “Can I ask you something?” she finally said.

Crap. He knew exactly where this convo was heading, and he needed to derail it. Now. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he answered.

“Why don’t you want children?”

And there it was.

Seth casually raked a hand through his hair, trying to hide his growing agitation. “Not everyone’s meant to have kids.”

Her dark eyebrows furrowed. “So you think you’re not meant to have kids?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” His brain struggled to locate an exit strategy. “I’m just not a kid person, babe. We operate on different wavelengths. They can’t talk to me, I can’t talk to them. And, uh…” He scrolled through the list of reasons he usually provided when people questioned his no-children stance. “I don’t have the patience for them, I guess.”

Miranda’s expression grew more and more doubtful with each word he said, so he decided to quit talking. Christ, he shouldn’t have let this damn pillow talk go on for this long anyway. He didn’t do emotional heart-to-hearts after sex. His emotions were locked up tight. Private thoughts, past mistakes, moments of self-doubt—he’d bottled all that shit up a long time ago and no way would he let Miranda pull the cork.

“I need my nicotine fix.” His voice was full of gravel, so he cleared his throat before continuing. “You want to come outside with me?”

Shaking her head, Miranda slowly slid out from beneath the sheet and rose from the bed. “I think I’ll head to my room.”

Her naked body made him forget every single thing they’d been talking about for the past thirty minutes. Long limbs sculpted with lean muscle tone, dark hair tumbling down her back, curves in all the right places. His mouth grew dry at the sight of her, and all the blood in his body traveled south and settled in his groin.

Miranda didn’t miss the thickening of his cock. “Down, boy. You have to wake up early.”

As he grabbed his boxers from the chair near the bed and pulled them on, his gaze shifted to the alarm clock on the end table. One fifteen. Crap. He had to be up in five and a half hours. And if he showed up exhausted again the way he had a few days ago, Becker would rip his head off. So, a quick smoke and then some sleep. Those were the only two items on the agenda for the rest of the night.

Of course, it would be easier to stick to the schedule if Miranda wasn’t parading around naked in front of him.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” he groaned as she bent over to pick up her discarded shirt.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, oblivious.

“Baby, you’re presenting your ass to me like a mare in heat. For the love of God, put on some clothes before I fuck you again.”

Her resounding laughter only succeeded in making his dick harder. “Next time,” he croaked.

She slipped her T-shirt over her head, the cotton fabric falling down to her knees. “Next time what?”

“Just that there’ll be one,” he reminded her. “Your words, babe.”

She visibly swallowed. “I know what I said.”

Their gazes locked. The air between them heated, crackling with tension.

“So when?” he asked huskily. “When can I have you again?”

Her voice came out a little husky too. “Whenever you want, Seth.”

Hot fucking damn.

He stalked toward her, catching her around the waist with both arms. She gave a rapid intake of breath, then squeaked in delight as he covered her mouth with his and kissed her long and slow.

When he pulled back, he studied her glazed expression, pleased with what he saw, and then he moved his lips close to her ear and said, “I’m holding you to that.”

Chapter Eleven

Addicted. She was addicted to Seth Masterson. And after three days of hot, passionate sex, Miranda was past the point of trying to convince herself this was about combating stress. Granted, the regular orgasms were a fantastic stress-buster, but forgetting the worries of the day was the last thing on her mind when she snuck in Seth’s room at every available moment.

She craved him. Craved his kiss and his touch. His wicked tongue and talented hands. His cock buried deep inside her. The pleasure he evoked in her was unbelievable. Unfathomable. How was it possible to feel
that
good?

“So you’re okay with the Lil Wayne track?”

Miranda’s head jerked up. “Huh?”

“For the hip-hop number. Lil Wayne. We good with the song selection?” Andre Howard, one of the instructors, watched her with expectant brown eyes.

“As long as it’s the edited radio version,” she answered.

“Of course, sweetie. Do I look like I want a bunch of outraged parents on my back?” Andre slung his gym bag over his shoulder and grinned. “By the way, my girls did good today. They’ll bring down the house on show night.”

They’d better, Miranda thought. The parents of those kids paid a lot of money for these classes, and if she wanted them to enroll their kids for the fall session, she had to give them a good show. Her own group, the girls in beginner ballet, were making progress too, including Sophie, who had a natural talent that made Miranda proud. But she suspected her daughter wouldn’t stick with ballet for much longer. Sophie was too smart for her age, too analytical and she could charm the bees right out of their honey—Miranda wouldn’t be surprised if her daughter became a politician someday.

“Oh, and Elsa’s in your office. She wanted to talk to you about one of her students,” Andre added as they fell into step with each other and headed for the door.

The school housed three large studios, two locker rooms with washrooms and a shower area, and a small office Miranda hardly ever used. Ginny, one of the other instructors, handled enrollment and payment, and Miranda had hired a business manager to deal with anything else that needed to be dealt with. Although she had a good head for business, she didn’t enjoy the business side of running the school. She would much rather focus on the creative aspect of it and let others handle the rest.

Andre, the forever-smiling African American with a flair for the dramatic, was the first teacher she’d hired. He was a recent Juilliard graduate who’d decided he preferred teaching to performing, and he taught mostly hip-hop, including a coed class that was growing in popularity—he already had a waiting list for the next sessions.

As she and Andre entered the hallway, he flashed her that big, dimpled smile of his. “You tending bar tonight, boss?”

“Unfortunately.” She let out a weary sigh. “Weekends are supposed to be lovely and relaxing, aren’t they? So why are mine always jam-packed with activity? By Sunday night, I’m ready to collapse.”