Strong, Silent Type (13 page)

When they broke apart, she murmured, “My roommate is in a class right now. Wouldn’t it be fun to mess around? Especially when there’s a chance we’ll get caught?”

“Sounds like my kinda fun.”
Fun
. That reminded him. “What did you mean when you said you thought it’d be a fun surprise and we’d never done anything like it?”

Color tinged her cheeks. “Oh. When I saw those papers, I thought you’d found the tropical island

‘couples only’ getaway packages I’d printed out on Sunday. I wanted to tempt you into taking a real vacation, just you and me, the sand and the sea.”

Quinn brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Is that another one of your untold fantasies? Jetting off to a tropical island?”

“Only if it’s jetting off with you.”

“Then the week after you get outta school for the summer, we’ll hop on a plane and be sippin’ drinks on the beach by sunset. You can call it a fantasy. I’ll call it our second honeymoon.”

“Really? You’d do that for me? Even though you hate to fly?”

Quinn touched her, the woman he’d loved most his life, the woman who was his everything, the woman who loved him enough to give him a second chance. “Libby, I love you. I’d do anything for you. I wanna make you happy. I want us both to be happy. Not just for a week, or for a weekend, but for the rest of our lives. Let’s go home.”

Libby stepped back and gave him a wicked grin. “Right after we test the bounce factor of the mattress in my room.”

Yep, he was really grateful for second chances.

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Libby barely made it to the toilet before she threw up.

Again.

Damn flu.

She managed a sip of water. The liquid stayed down for a change. Good. She wiped her mouth and let the sink cabinet hold her up, hoping she could climb back in bed before Quinn returned home from checking cattle.

Yeah, she’d pop to her feet and walk those twenty steps to their bedroom. In a second. She just needed to rest her eyes for a minute or two.

“Nappin’ in the bathroom again?”

Her eyes flew open, giving her an instant case of vertigo. Dammit. She’d dozed off. Worse, he’d
caught
her dozing off.

Quinn crouched down, his face lined with concern. “Libby—”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you ain’t. You need to go to the doctor.”

“It’s the flu, Quinn.” When he scowled, she added, “It’s flu season. I work with coughing, hacking, feverish kids every damn day. Do the math. I’m bound to get sick a lot.”

“I have done the math, which is why I know it ain’t the damn flu.” He stood and stalked out of the bathroom.

Libby yelled, “I am
not
going to the doctor.”

No answer.

Crap. She hated arguing with him. It’d been a rarity since their reconciliation, but not because they weren’t communicating. They talked all the time. In fact, her formerly strong, silent type of husband had become downright chatty. Libby wasn’t complaining. She’d never been happier and Quinn felt the same.

Their life wasn’t perfect, but it was damn close.

Now, if she could just get over the flu that’d been hanging on for the last month.

Paper rustled and she looked up at Quinn leaning in the doorway. A white pharmacy bag dangled from his hand. She managed a wan smile. “You went to town and got me medicine? That’s so sweet.”

“No, I went to town and got you a pregnancy test.”

Lorelei James

Her stomach lurched. She crawled to the toilet and threw up again.

Quinn held her hair back and wiped her face. After he situated her on the floor, he stretched out across from her. “Better?”

When the queasiness subsided, she said, “I’m not pregnant. I’m never pregnant.”

“This time is different.”

“How do you know?”

“Pregnant is pregnant. I recognize the signs.”

Indignantly, she snapped, “I am not a heifer! You cannot judge me by the way I twitch my backside or behave erratically whether or not I’m pregnant for the first time.” To Libby’s utter dismay, she began to cry.

“Ah hell. Take a deep breath or else you’ll be right back hangin’ over that toilet after gettin’ so worked up.”

“Shit. Shit. Shit. I hate to bawl. I hate to whine. I hate to throw up. I hate that I’m sitting on the damn bathroom floor again doing all three.”

“I know you do.” He ripped off a chunk of toilet paper and handed it to her. “Lib, what’s really goin’

on?”

She sniffled and blew her nose. “I’m scared.”

“Me too.” He paused, but his silences no longer made her nervous.

“It’s just…things are so good between us now. I don’t want anything to wreck it.”

“You think havin’ a baby could do that?”

“Me wanting one so badly did before.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t the only thing that caused our problems. We’re different now. We’re probably better prepared to deal with all the issues involving a baby. So maybe there was a reason we didn’t get this gift until we were both ready to handle it.”

Libby stared at him. “You really think I could be pregnant?”

Quinn took her hand. “Come on. Indulge me. I believe in my gut and in my heart we’ll be fine no matter what the stick says.”

She did too. “All right.”

“Good.” Quinn cracked open the pregnancy test kit, read the directions a billion times and watched her like a hawk so she didn’t screw it up. In all the years she’d locked herself in the bathroom and conducted multitudes of pregnancy tests, this was the first time she’d involved Quinn in the process.

They left the urine-soaked stick on the back of the toilet and Quinn set his watch.

Holding her close, he gave her a reassuring kiss on the top of her head and murmured, “I love you.

Nothin’ll ever change that. Baby. No baby. Don’t matter as long as I have you.”

“I feel the same. I love you. God, I love you so much.”

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Strong Silent Type

The watch beeped.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” she answered.

They held hands as they peered at the indicator.

Finally, Quinn said softly, “I’ll be damned.”

The results window read…a plus sign in big, bold type.

Not the flu after all.

Libby didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You okay?” he said.

“Uh-huh. I’ll probably freak out once it sinks in.”

“That’ll make two of us, darlin’.”

“Don’t you mean, three of us?”

“Three. Right. God. A baby. We’re havin’ a baby.” His body went ironing board rigid. “Now that we know, get your butt back in bed, pretty mama. I’m callin’ Doc Monroe and you’re goin’ to see her first thing tomorrow. But today you need to rest.”

“But—”

“No buts. I’m gonna make sure you don’t move, even if I hafta hogtie you to the headboard. ’Cept I know how much you love bein’ tied up.”

“Quinn—”

“No arguin’, Lib, I mean it.”

She sighed. “Are you gonna be one of those hovering, overbearing husbands who obsesses about every little thing during this pregnancy?”

A beat passed. “I reckon so.”

Libby leaned into him, grateful to have him standing behind her, holding her up, in every possible way. “I can live with that.”

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About the Author

To learn more about Lorelei James please visit
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. Send an email to

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Rode Hard, Put Up Wet

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Mistress Christmas

Three’s Company Anthology

Wicked Garden

Running With the Devil

Dirty Deeds

Beginnings Anthology

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Coming Soon:

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Miss Firecracker

He held the reins to her heart once—and this time he won’t let go.

The Real Deal

© 2009 Niki Green

A
Wild Ride
story.

Willa Tate left Millbrook, Texas, years ago—along with her future, her fiancé and her heart. Now, as one of the headlining acts at a hot burlesque club, she looks into the crowd, sees a familiar face staring up at her—and her past comes crashing back.

Chase Kiel has some hard questions for the former love of his life. He spent forever looking for her, and now he wants answers—even if he has to throw her over his shoulder and drag her back to Millbrook to get them.

He’d find it a hell of a lot easier if the chemistry weren’t still there. If they didn’t still fit together like keg of dynamite and fuse. If he didn’t want not only his answers…but her heart.

Chase is still certain he and Willa belong together—and convincing Willa of it will be his pleasure.

Warning: This title contains explicit, powder-keg-hot sex, language that ain’t fit for your mama’s
ears, and a hot cowboy with a Texas-sized heart.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Real Deal: The music began roaring its way through the speakers filling the club. Nick recognized the song. It was popular and played on nearly every radio station numerous times a day. He couldn’t remember most of the words but he knew the overall theme, someone had kissed a girl and she had seemed to like it, or so he thought. He couldn’t remember. All he could think about was the pressure his zipper was putting on his increasing erection. Never in his life was he so grateful for a table cloth.

Hayden on the other hand didn’t seem to care if his arousal was evident to the rest of the patrons or not. There he sat an elbow’s length away laid back in the opposite chair, beer bottle lifted halfway to his mouth, eyes roving over the eye candy moving before the crowd. Nick shook his head at his captivated brother and returned his undivided attention to the stage and to the ones who occupied it.

After the first few beats introduced the song a throaty, ultra feminine voice rang out the lyrics that propelled the dancers along. Each movement from the two was synchronized. What one did, the other mimicked.

They moved with the beat of the music, at first only watching each other through the faux mirror in front of them. Black fishnet gloves traced an eyebrow and moved seductively to the sets of cherry-red lips.

Material ran gracefully and without pause over the glistening pair. Their fingertips stroked the top first, then bottom and then back to the top before blowing a kiss to one another via the mirror.

Without faltering, breaking their timing or rhythm, the pair removed the gloves slowly and let them fly into the crowd. With bare hands placed on the vanity top, the dancers rose and inched closer to each other, inspecting the reflection that should have been there. Closer and closer the pair drew to each other until only a breath separated them from each other.

When the crescendo proclaimed that the chorus had arrived the two stepped away from the prop and twirled and stomped their way around the stage. Each and every step they took was determined and full of intent—the intent being to arouse and seduce every man at their feet.

Little black pleated skirts barely reached the top of the thigh. Nick swallowed numerous times as he watched them both move closer and closer. Black garters ran the length of each leg, connecting the striped, sheer stockings under the skirt. Connected them to what, Nick wondered and then realized he didn’t care.

His knowledge of lingerie ran as far as the occasional Victoria Secret catalog placed in their mailbox by mistake. Those were good months.

Stiletto boots sheathed the long, trim legs that descended the stairs in time with the music. Those black patent encasements laced all the way to the knee looked both sexy and dangerous at the same time.

An image of the dancer in nothing but the boots flashed before Nick’s eyes and he felt his cock jump beneath his zipper. If this was any clue as to how the rest of the night was going to continue, he was in for a few hours of heaven and hell, either one welcome.

As the two made their way to their respective side of the stage, Nick was grateful they’d found an open seat near the stage. The long-legged, raven-haired goddess, with the fuck-me mouth, fuck-me eyes, fuck-me everything was right on top of them. Nick found that the garters connected underneath a pair of ruffled, red boy shorts that barely covered the firm little bottom peeking out from beneath the skirt.

Nick watched her transfixed. She swayed, dipped and thrust to the beat as did the dancer behind her.

He noticed that even though their backs were to each other the synchronization never ended.

He held his breath as she ran her hands down the front of the tight bustier top, releasing each clasp one by one on her way back to the top. Holding the top together with both hands she teased to the right of Nick’s seat and then to the left only revealing a flash of caramel torso here and a hint of round breast there.

In the next instant, both dancers crouched down balancing on the stiletto heels of their boots and exposed what the red camisole has concealed. Covering most of the breast and the entire nipple was a red pasty shaped like a pair of lips. And they were right in Nick Kiel’s face. He thought at that moment he could die a happy man. And in the next second wished he was a dead man. Then the realization came that he may in fact be a dead man come morning.

“Holy shit!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Even with the music blaring, the crowd’s screams and Hayden whistling, she heard him. Her midnight bob swiveled toward him and those eyes her bangs tried to hide met his. Her mouth gaped open, her hands pulled the sides of the bustier together and she repeated his sentiment, “Holy shit.”