Sin on the Run (29 page)

“Stupid shit,” Blake muttered under his breath.

Stupid wasn't a word she considered appropriate for Monty, but she wisely kept that to herself.

On the plane Rhonda settled into her usual seat, dumping her purse by her feet and leaving everything unsaid between them. Funny, she was getting used to flying in private planes. She'd come a long way. She was no longer the girl who'd had to quit her job to start stripping for money. That girl had changed who she was, then hid behind a fake persona to make certain no one confused her with the woman on stage. And then, little by little, the woman she'd been trying to insulate disappeared.

Rhonda was the woman who took care of her father. Black Opal was supposed to be the woman in the club. She herself had forgotten there were two of her. Maybe that's why she hadn't stopped stripping after her father died. It had taken Jason's attack for Rhonda to realize her life wasn't where she wanted it to be and she deserved more. That thinking had led her to Blake.

Running for your life wasn't something anyone would want to do, but look where she was because of it. The precious life she hadn't wanted to be responsible for was everything to her. But baring her soul to a man she loved was harder than baring her body. For her sake as well as their child, should she? Was Lady Helen right? Could they eventually have a normal life? And more importantly, could their child have a mother to be proud of?

Blake buckled his seatbelt for take-off. What was going on in that beautiful head of hers? He had this long speech prepared. Why they should be together. The press didn't matter. He'd planned on trying to convince her to move to Scotland, to help him renovate the house—their house. If she preferred to stay in Vegas, he would, but he believed it wasn't what she wanted. He just had to convince her of that. He hadn't touched her yet, but oh, he wanted to. He yearned to put his ear to her so very pregnant stomach, to listen, maybe even feel his child kick.

But if he didn't grow a pair soon, none of that would happen. They had an hour or so before they landed. He considered waiting until they returned to the cabin and she could rest. Pregnant women needed their rest. But what if she asked him to leave? At least here, there was nowhere for her to go. Why was he hesitating? He knew why. He was afraid. The first time he'd been shot had been in the jungles of Colombia. His team had had a hell of a time getting him out. It had taken days. He'd stopped bleeding, but everyone had feared bleeding out would be the least of his worries. Losing her was more frightening than dying in a Colombian jungle. He only hoped his mother had gotten her to see reason.

“Hey,” she said, breaking the silence between them. Now in the air, she unbuckled and turned sideways, awkwardly tucking one leg beneath her. “I just remembered.”

And she didn't look happy about it.

“With everything going on, I forgot to question you about it. We can add sneaky to
your
list.”

“I don't understand,” he said, worried that maybe he did.

“You tricked Maggie into telling your mother where I was.” She crossed her arms over that beautiful belly.

“I didn't trick her. I didn't even talk to Maggie.”

“No way, buster.” She wagged her finger at him. “You got your mother to call her.”

“How was that a trick? You think she'd have revealed where you were because of my mother's title? Maggie is a loyal friend and she isn't stupid.”

Rhonda appeared to consider what he just said. Then her eyes widened. “Loyal, my ass. She knew how I felt about your family, and why I didn't think you and I should be together. I don't know how,” she said, giving him the stink eye, “but she got you to call Lady Helen, didn't she? She'd never have asked directly. I know her. I've seen how she works her voodoo on the girls at the club.”

“She didn't.” And he wasn't lying. Christian had, with Maggie's help. But Blake didn't want Rhonda's relationship with the woman tarnished because of him.

“I don't believe you. She's smart . . . and nosy as hell. She has this mother complex she can't shake.”

“Sounds a lot like someone I know.”

Rhonda snorted, turning forward and reclining her seat all the way back. “Yeah, but she actually enjoys it.”

“Are you saying you don't?” He unbuckled and reclined his seat too. Together they stared up at the ceiling.

After a long pause, she surprised him.

“I'm scared. What if I suck when it really counts?”

He flipped onto his side and finally did what he'd been longing to do. He placed a hand over her protruding belly, on top of his baby. “Not a chance in hell of that happening.”

She swiveled her face toward his. He heard her swallow. “What happens if . . . when the baby is old enough to find out I was a stripper?” In Scotland, it would be inevitable.

He knew he'd eventually have to answer this question, and he was prepared for it. “I don't think it's something you want to hide. You may not be proud of it, and that's okay, but you did what you had to do to take care of your father. The same way you'll do whatever you have to do to protect our child.”

“Easy for you to say. I'm not ashamed of what I did. Not anymore. But a kid?”

“Shame is nothing more than the denial of truth.”

“You come up with that all on your own, or did you pilfer it?” she asked, not as impressed as he expected.

As she wasn't telling him to remove his hand, he rubbed her belly, hoping the little bugger would kick. “Nah, someone named M. Funkhouser. I saw it on the Internet. But the man, or woman, had a point. Besides, people like Harris should be ashamed. He was helping to incite a military coup. Sarah has several strikes against her. Not only was she unfaithful to my brother, but she plotted to take our baby. What did you do that was so bad? Anyone who knows you, truly knows you, knows you're not an evil person. Hell, every team member who's met you loves you. Bad people should feel shame. Not you.”

“That's very philosophical of you, but people won't see it that way. Children can be cruel. Our child could be ridiculed,” she said, staring at his hand with what he was certain, what he hoped, was a faint smile.

Then right on cue, the baby kicked. Blake grinned like a stupid fool, wishing he could place his face against her stomach for a tiny boot in the head. This was awesome. “This baby is a fighter. Just like his mum. Anyone who bullies my child will answer to me.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. “His or her mother is the best woman I know and anyone who says contrary will also answer to me.”

“You'll defend my honor, will you?”

“With my life. Which isn't worth much without you in it. I love you, Rhonda.” He pressed his nose to hers. “You and this baby are all that matters. The rest is bullshit.”

“Yes, I'm sure your grandmother will see it that way. She'll have a heart attack.”

It sounded like she was reconsidering them being apart. “And that's a bad thing?”

She swatted his arm. “Don't talk like that. You know you don't mean it.”

“I don't wish her ill, no. But I won't have her badmouthing my family either.”

“She is your family.”

“She and I share blood, but you have my heart. Say you'll marry me.” He held his breath, praying she'd come to her senses and that his mother had convinced her the past didn't matter.

“And if I wasn't pregnant?”

“Regardless of that, I love you. We don't need to get married. As long as we're together. But would you kick yourself later, if this baby was the heir apparent and we took that away from him? My brother could still have a child. When he gets over what Sarah did to him, he might very well remarry. And he might not. But think of what you could do with three point four billion. Scholarships for kids. Addiction programs.”

Her face lit up. “I didn't think of that.”

He was gifted another kick, this one so hard, he'd swear he felt toes. “Damn,” he said, proud of the little football player. “It's a boy for sure.”

“Or a girl who can take care of herself.”

He laughed, content to have either. “Just like her mother.”

“Here's the thing, Blake. We can find out the sex of the baby. If it's a girl . . .”

“It won't matter.”

“So, you don't care that I have the results? I can tell you right now.”

He was curious, but more because he was the kid who snuck downstairs to open his Christmas presents than because of his grandfather's will. “No. Girl or boy, I want to marry you.”

She bent over and reached into her purse, pulling out a small manila envelope. She tore it open and stopped, assessing him with speculative eyes.

“Put it away, Rhonda. And let me give you the things you never had. Help me restore Kendrick Manor. Be a family with me, allow me to take care of you for a change.”

Someone to take care of me
.

Slipping the envelope back into her purse, Rhonda stood, needing to stretch her back, and get the little bruiser off her bladder. She didn't care that she looked like a stuffed turkey. She hated feeling like she had to pee every five seconds. She wasn't keen on the whole breast thing either. Hers were already big enough. Now, she'd resorted to wearing sport bras just to look human—instead of the alien who could feed the entire world.

“Are you okay?” Blake asked, his furrowed brow making her smile.

He'd have waited on her hand and foot the entire pregnancy if she'd allowed him to. “No. I think I'm going into labor.”

“What?” He jumped out of his chair so fast, she didn't see him move.

Part of her felt guilty, the other part . . . didn't. “Kidding. We can add gullible to the list.”

He put a hand over his heart. “That was not funny.”

“Yeah, it kind of was.” She'd been cooped up in the cabin for months and then a serious nutcase wanted to take her baby. If anyone deserved a laugh, it was she.

Blake drew in a shuddering breath and visibly relaxed. “You are so mean.”

Then he kissed her so quickly and hard, he startled her, right up until he made her body tremble. Guess it was true. Pregnant women did get amorous.

She pulled back. “You know pregnant women can't have sex. It could cause early labor.”
Wait for it
. And there it was, resignation and fake acquiescence on that beautiful face, because really, what choice did he have? “And, then when the baby is born, they say to wait another three months because you're the most fertile after giving birth and birth control doesn't work.” Clearly it hadn't worked for them, regardless.

She watched his lips part just before he caught his jaw from falling open. God love him, he wanted to be supportive. And here she was, wrongfully amused. And one of these days she'd work on that. But not today. She'd tell him later. Maybe after she'd gotten him naked and teased the hell out of him. She
was
mean, and he loved her anyway. And he wanted to take care of her. Was that what she'd always wanted? What she truly wanted?

When she'd found her father passed out on the couch, she wished to not be alone. The first macaroni and cheese dinner she mucked up, she'd longed for a mother's help. For every morning she set the alarm to get her father up for work, she wanted it to be someone else's responsibility. When she was ten, she'd burned her hand on a lasagna pan. She'd cried, aching for someone to take care of her. That had been the start. The resentment began to fester and the guilt soon followed. She'd balanced for so long on that teeter totter of emotions that it had eaten her up inside, killed her self-esteem.

Maybe if someone had told her it wasn't her fault her father couldn't stop drinking, she'd never had taken that first job stripping. And her life would've taken a different turn. And she might never have slept with Blake, if she hadn't felt the need to think of herself for a change. Huh, maybe fate and luck did go hand in hand? She'd always considered herself unlucky. But perhaps everything
did
happen for a reason. Because she did want someone to take care of her. And vice versa. Someone of her own choosing. Someone who loved her completely, and she him. Someone like Blake . . . and their baby. And here he was, looking at her like he wanted to strangle and kiss her, all at the same time.

“You know what else we have to add to your list?” she said.

“What?” he asked, clearly expecting the worst.

“Married.”

She grinned at him, and when he smiled back, angels cried.

Lucy Farago
knows there's nothing like a happy sigh at the end of a good book. With the encouragement of her loving husband, she wrote her first manuscript. An unpublished historical novel, it sits in a file on her computer, there to remind her how much fun she had learning the craft and becoming part of an industry whose books make you believe anything is possible. A big fan of Agatha Christie, she set out to write her first romantic suspense novel. Thrilled to be a published author, Lucy also teaches yoga, enjoys cooking, and saying what other people are thinking. In her fantasy world, her beautiful Siberian husky, Loki, doesn't shed and her three kids clean up after themselves. Alas, that fantasy will never see fruition. Visit her at lucyfarago.com.