Obsession (28 page)

Peter’s eyes widened in alarm, then settled as understanding registered.

“Bella,”
he began, the hint of a laugh in his voice. “What are you doing?”

“Step away from my
husband,
” I said through clenched teeth.

I guess Peter didn’t want to see if I was serious or not, because he took a few steps backward.

“Andrew, come beside me. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What—you’re going to shoot me?” Peter asked, his tone incredulous.

Andrew came to my side. “I’ll take the gun.”

“No.” I shook my head. In the moments it would take for the gun to change hands, Peter could leap over the sofa and stab at least one of us. “I can do this.”

“You really believe you can
shoot
me?” Peter asked. “There is something undeniably special between us,
bella.
We are as one. The way God meant for a man and woman to be.”

I didn’t answer Peter’s question. Instead, I asked my own. “Did you kill my cat?”

“Don’t you remember how I made you feel in bed,
bella?
Everything we did—that was love. We made a baby because of our love.”

“Did you kill my cat?” I repeated, slower this time, my breathing loud and labored.

“The cat. The fucking cat!” Peter spit out. “Every minute you were running home to feed the stupid thing.”

Fresh tears sprang to my eyes, but I blinked them away. I needed to see Peter clearly when I shot him.

“And that’s why you killed her?” I asked. I had to know.

“It’s amazing how easily you can wring a cat’s neck. It was fast,
bella.
You don’t need to worry that she suffered.”

“You son of a bitch!” I screamed.

And then Peter lunged around the sofa, the knife raised.

I squeezed the trigger. And squeezed.

The bullets struck my target, and blood popped out on Peter’s chest. I saw confusion pass over his face before his eyes seemed to lose focus.

But he wasn’t dead.

Another squeeze. Another spurt of blood. Clutching his chest now, Peter stumbled backward.

I squeezed the trigger again. This time a bullet pierced his forehead.

He went down at the side of the sofa. I started crying hysterically, but moved forward. I had to make sure he was dead.

Suddenly I felt Andrew’s arms around me. He clasped his hands over mine and forced them down.

“It’s over, Sophie. He’s dead.”

“He killed our cat,” I sobbed, hysterical now, meeting Andrew’s gaze. “The fucking bastard killed our cat!”

“Shh, sweetheart. It’s okay now.”

I threw a quick glance Peter’s way, just to be certain he wasn’t finding the strength to rise the way villains do in the movies, no matter how many times they’ve been shot.

“It’s okay now,” Andrew said again, reassuringly, and took the gun from me. He placed it on the decorative table behind us. “Sophie, it’s okay.”

Then he drew me into his arms and held me while I cried.

Andrew was right. The wound he’d suffered had been superficial. He would have a scar across his chest, but he would be okay.

Well, as okay as anyone could be after nearly being killed. After enduring the wrath of a madman and living to tell the tale.

I thought I’d be an emotional wreck after taking a man’s life, but I was strangely at peace with what I’d done. I wasn’t happy by any means, and I cursed the day I’d ever met Peter, but I could live with myself.

Because I knew in my heart that it could be no other way. Peter
had
to be dead. Andrew and I would always have to look over our shoulders if he were still alive.

With him dead, we were free.

Perhaps having come so close to death, Andrew made the fast and easy decision that he no longer cared what had happened between me and Peter, even if the child I was carrying wasn’t biologically his. He assured me that he meant what he’d said as Peter had threatened our lives—that he would raise the child as his, no looking back.

I loved him even more for that.

We both agreed that we would sell the house. Once we replaced the bloodstained carpet, we would put it on the market. I knew I couldn’t live there anymore, raise my child there, and Andrew felt the same.

A new house would be a fresh start.

A week had passed since I’d shot and killed my lover. A crazy week with questioning from the police and intense media attention. I didn’t admit to the reporters my affair, only my friendship with Peter, but I’d had to tell the police everything. The media reported that Peter had been a friend who’d become obsessed with me, and had wanted to kill my husband in the hopes that he could have me for himself. I’m sure that at least some people would be skeptical of the media slant and draw their own conclusions, but I didn’t care what they thought.

I had my family to think about.

That family included a baby. One whose paternity I needed to determine.

I was surprised when Andrew told me Thursday night that he wanted to go with me to my doctor’s appointment on Friday. On one hand, I wasn’t—he’d spent pretty much every moment with me since the incident with Peter. But I knew that despite his bravado, he had to be worried that the baby wasn’t his, and for that reason, I didn’t expect him to want to go with me while I had my ultrasound.

But he did go with me, and even held my hand as the technician applied the cold gel and ran the probe over my belly. We both cooed when we saw and heard the baby’s rapidly beating heart.

“I meant what I said,” Andrew began softly when the technician was out of the room. “I consider this baby mine.”

I placed my palm on Andrew’s cheek. I wanted to say something, but my emotion filled my throat. Here we were in a predicament I wouldn’t wish on an enemy, and yet, Andrew and I were closer than ever. If only we hadn’t had to hurt each other to get to this point.

“I love you,” I finally said. “And I’m so sor—”

Andrew placed a finger on my lips. “No looking back—remember?”

Slowly, I nodded. “No looking back.”

The sound of the door turning had both Andrew and I looking in that direction. The ultrasound technician, a blonde, came back into the room.

“So,” I said, anxious. “How far along am I?”

“From the size of the baby, it looks like about ten weeks.”

“So the light period I told you I had?”

“Spotting is common with some women during pregnancy,” the woman explained. “Especially early on.”

My chest filled with warmth. “I’m ten weeks along. You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Your due date is March twenty-seventh.”

Andrew let out a whoop of joy. Looking at him, I saw an expression of happiness I’d never seen on his face before.

“Our baby,” I said softly. “
Our
baby.”

The technician approached me and Andrew and handed us a small, square piece of paper. It was a picture of the image we’d seen on the screen. “I figured you might want this,” the woman said, smiling fondly at us. “And that’s it. You’re free to go.”

Accepting the picture, I gazed at the image of the baby through happy tears. It was small, but the shape was clear. I could see the distinct form of a tiny, tiny baby.

“Our baby,” I repeated, looking from the picture to the man I loved. “It’s not Peter’s,” I went on, now that the technician had left the room.

Beaming at me, Andrew placed his hand on my stomach. He had to have been worried and now he literally looked like the happiest man on earth.

“I love you,” he said, and he kissed me. Kissed me through his own tears and laughter.

Giddy, we pulled apart, and once again stared at the picture of our child. “I think it’s a girl,” I said.

“A girl,” Andrew echoed, his tone filled with awe.

“Yeah. A little girl. I feel it.”

Andrew nodded. “I feel it too.”

“Oh, my God—we’re going to be parents.”

“The best damn parents the world has ever seen.”

I took Andrew’s hand in mine. “Our baby.”

“Yes, Sophie—
our
baby.” He pulled me to my feet and kissed me again, a kiss that was full of love and the promise of a happy future. I knew we had a long road ahead of us to repair the damage we’d both done to our marriage. But Andrew’s kiss proved to me we could get through it.

Smiling from ear to ear after we ended the kiss, Andrew led me to the door. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got some house hunting to do.”

Kayla Perrin has been writing since the age of thirteen and once entertained the idea of becoming a teacher. Instead, she has become a
USA TODAY
and
Essence
bestselling author of dozens of mainstream and romance novels and has been recognized for her talent, including twice winning the Romance Writers of America’s Top Ten Favorite Books of the Year Award. She has also won a Career Achievement Award for multicultural romance, from
Romantic Times BOOKreviews
. Kayla lives with her daughter in Ontario, Canada. This is her third erotic novel for Spice Books.

Visit Kayla at www.kaylaperrin.com.