Secret Baby Daddy Read online

  “This is Sebastian?” he asks, and I think he’s in a little bit of shock.

  “Yes.”

  Sebastian stops messing around with the musical toy as Colt approaches. I walk over to the playpen too, looking into it to see my son gazing up at his father with those big eyes and a flummoxed look. Then he bats at the musical toy and babbles something that sounds like “Babababa!”

  “What did he say?” Colt asks.

  “I’m not sure.” I tentatively stand beside Colt. “He kind of says ‘mamamama’ for ‘mama,’ and he might be saying ‘babababa’ for ‘Bash.’ That’s his nickname.”

  “Bash. I like that.”

  Colt’s smile grows, and when Sebastian smiles right back up at him, waving around his hands, I laugh and sob at the same time. I’m back to being an emotional wreck.

  “I think he looks like me,” Colt says.

  “Yes, he does.” And there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that I haven’t thought the same, agonizing thing.

  “Can I hold him?”

  Oh, shit. I can’t talk. I can only nod.

  Colt makes a move toward the playpen, then pauses. “Is he…you know. Delicate? Because he’s a baby?”

  “He won’t break if you pick him up, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Maybe you should…”

  “Okay.”

  This chink in the armor of such a big, brawny, and broody man gets to me. His eyes are still aglow with the discovery of this wonderful secret I’ve been hiding from him, and I wipe my tears with my arm before reaching down to Sebastian. He holds up his chubby arms right before I lift him. Once I’m holding him, Sebastian immediately turns toward Colt to check him out, raising his head to take in the tall, muscled man in the tee shirt and jeans who is gazing at him just as intently.

  Colt extends his big arms, and I hand our son over to him. Even as Colt holds him, Sebastian keeps leaning back and staring in fascination.

  “I think you have a new fan,” I choke out.

  “I think he has one too.” Colt runs his large hand over Sebastian’s head, and our baby blinks up at him then laughs.

  “He’s a real happy baby,” I say. “I couldn’t have asked for someone easier to love and take care of.”

  “Babababa…” our son says as he pulls at Colt’s shirt.

  Colt presents his finger to Sebastian, who grips it. Then it’s as if they’ve known each other forever as Colt starts asking him about what kind of toys he likes and what kind of food he eats. I stand back and watch as Sebastian hangs onto his father’s every word and laughs every time Colt tickles him under the chin or…dear God, pauses to rest his mouth against his son’s head to close his eyes and smell his baby scent.

  I really did make a huge mistake, no doubts about it now. I shouldn’t have lied. I suck more than anyone has ever sucked in life because I took Colt’s choice away from him entirely. Worst of all, I still love him, now more than ever. Seeing him bond with our baby only drives that deeper into me like the blade of a long, never ending knife.

  Colt starts to walk around with Sebastian, commenting on the landscape pictures that decorate the walls and asking what our baby thinks about art when I finally say something.

  “Colt, I really want to explain my side of things.”

  He keeps his back to me. “No, Serena. Believe me, I’m not ready to hear it now.”

  Not now, while he’s basking in his newfound son. I get it, but even so, another stab of remorse twists inside of me.

  He looks partway over his shoulder, acknowledging me but not gazing at me. “I do think we need to spend some time together, though. Tonight.”

  Thank God he’s not shutting me out. “I’ll make arrangements to meet you somewhere.”

  For now, though, Colt seems happy getting to know our baby, and I sit on the couch, my heart in my throat once again as I watch father meet son.

  Chapter 3

  By the time my parents get home from work, Colt is gone. I had already planned to hole up in the University of Portland library to meet with a study group for my class. But that’s not where I’m headed and—God help me—I fib to Mom and Dad about it, just so they can take care of Sebastian tonight while I’m with Colt.

  I really do need to work things out with him, but my parents don’t need to know that right now. It’s all I can do to take matters one step at a time.

  I put on a flowery sundress with a light sweater and sandals, kiss everyone goodbye, then drive to the luxurious Royal Pointe Hotel in downtown Portland where Colt told me to meet him. After I leave my embarrassingly modest compact car with the valet, I look at the text Colt sent me.

  Check with the concierge and ask for my assumed name, “Darrin Hayward.” You’ll get a key for the penthouse suite.

  Reality hits me: Colt Brooks is waiting for me incognito in a movie-star, rock-and-roll hotel room, and I gird myself for the talk we’re sure to have there. I don’t belong in a place like this. And I sure as hell don’t belong in his room.

  But I’m drawn there anyway, and I consult the concierge, take the private, mirrored elevator, then arrive at Colt’s door. I swipe the key, my pulse floundering as I walk inside. “Colt?”

  No answer, but I’m a little busy being struck dumb by my surroundings. After the gilded foyer ends, there’s a floor-to-ceiling window with a grand view of the Willamette River, and everything around me is decorated in plum, gold, and black with velvet upholstery covering the opulent furniture. Dark marble floors gleam, and the ceilings are high with fancy crown molding. Everything smells like expensive lemon polish, and I can tell there are several rooms that branch off from here.

  I wander in farther until I get to the main room. “Colt?”

  I feel him before I see him: my skin prickles with heat, and my tummy flips as I turn toward my left, where he walks out of a bedroom with a massive, pillowy bed in the background. A glass of red wine is dangling from his fingers, and he’s wearing jeans with a white button down shirt that’s open, revealing his broad, tanned, ripped chest. His hair is loose, and he’s barefoot and incredibly hot, just like the grifter he played in his first movie. But he’s still my Colt—or at least he was once upon a time—and the sight of him is almost pornographic to my starved body.

  I glance away, already creaming. My breasts are aching as I imagine his fingers and mouth on them, just like the other night. My gaze lands on a bottle on the dining room table, along with another filled glass of wine.

  “It’s an Oregon pinot,” he murmurs as if he’s continuing a nonchalant conversation we were just in the middle of. “I poured some for you.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t be drinking anything around Colt. Then again, maybe I should do this one small thing to please him since I’ve already done so much to displease.

  “I like pinots.” I wander to the glass table and pick up the wine, swirling it around.

  Out of my peripheral vision, I see Colt sit on a tufted chair, then he leans forward on it, resting his arms on his thighs. He seems too in control of everything around him to be drunk. Actually, it’s the opposite—I’ve rarely seen him more sober.

  “I thought we’d get room service later,” he says. “For privacy. I’m not in the mood to be caught on camera again. The other night at the bar was bad enough with all those flashes going off around us. My PR reps even had to concoct a story for the press that I left Portland the other night so I wouldn’t be hunted down by paparazzi in town.”

  Okay. So room service means we’re meeting in secret again, just like we used to. The thought gives me a brutal, naughty rush that ignites a flame in my belly. “I’m glad you stayed around so we can talk about my side of the story.”

  “I think I told you that I’m not ready to hear it yet.”

  I glance at him, and his gaze is devouring me. I stifle a gasp and fidget with my dress. But it’s like Colt’s gaze is stripping every shred of material off me, telling me that he remembers the other night in every detail. I start to go weak.


  This isn’t the Colt who met our son today—the gentle, loving man who accepted Sebastian without hesitation, the one who was with me two summers ago. This is the Colt who used to go out on the town every weekend and get in fights, drink, and sometimes even get arrested and spend a night or two in jail. The cops liked and hated that Colt—hated him because he was edgy and mean when he was in a mood. But, at the same time, he’d give anyone the shirt off his back, so that’s where the like came in.

  I quiver when I realize that this is also the Colt who talked dirty to me the other night, finger fucked me, and made me climax again and again.

  My clit pounds with anticipation, and maybe even with fear of what’s in his intense gaze.

  “Go ahead,” he says. “Drink some of that wine.”

  I drink, and the wine is smooth and fruity. It sends a stream of warmth through me, and I put it down on the table before I imbibe too much. “So why did you ask me to come here if you didn’t want to talk?”

  The fire in his gaze tells me everything. He wanted to see me alone.

  As a sensual chill rolls over my skin, I fidget some more. “Colt…”

  “Did you like what happened the other night at the lake?” he asks.

  “I think you know I did.”

  He smiles ruthlessly. “That’s what I thought. Although how could I possibly think otherwise when you were coming for me so hard? I think you missed me a little, Cookie.”

  Yes, I missed his body, but now I miss the sweetness he used to save just for me. Then again, I betrayed him in every way I could, so I shouldn’t expect kindness. Even so, his closed-off demeanor and obvious disappointment in me is rubbing me the wrong way right now.

  “All right, Colt. You got me over here to your hotel room. So what comes next?”

  He smiles a dirty, sexy smile.

  My adrenaline is yelling at me to get out before I do something really stupid with him like I did the other night on the hood of his car.

  “Serena,” he says, capturing my attention again with his low, sexy voice. “I’d say you’re pretty good at guessing what comes next—what always comes next with us.”

  I melt, knowing I’m not going anywhere. Why fool myself anymore? Maybe he has one of those open relationships with J.Page and this is how they do it in La-La Land. Maybe I suck so much that it doesn’t matter if he has a girlfriend or if he’s angrier than hell at me, because all I want is him, and every wrong is right when I’m around freakin’ Colt Brooks.

  He clearly sees me fold, because he gets that ravenous look on his face again.

  “I can’t get you out of my head,” he says. “Damn you for that.”

  A flush roars through me at the jagged need in his voice.

  He goes on. “Admit it—when you came here this evening, you knew we weren’t even close to finishing what we started at the lake.”

  He’s testing me, probably seeing if I have it in me to lie to him again.

  So I nod, refusing to tell Colt anything but the truth from now on, no matter what kind of trouble it gets me into. I’ve got to be an idiot, but it’s getting easier and easier to be that way with the blood pounding in my head, obliterating all rational thought. The thudding, crashing sensation is echoing everywhere in my body—my chest, my belly, my clit.

  Colt leans back in the chair. “You came here because you couldn’t stay away. Admit that too.”

  “Yes.”

  His gaze only gets hungrier.

  “Jesus,” he says with a catch in his low voice. His gaze hardens again. “Maybe instead of standing on the other side of the room, you should show me how much you want to be here.”

  I see a flicker in his eyes, a glimpse into the Colt who still wants me more than life itself, and that does it for me. I succumb to the moment, to him, knowing I could never do anything but give in.

  I reach up to slide off my sweater.

  A fierce longing flares in his gaze as he lays his head back against the chair, watching every move I make. Bolstered by how much he wants this, I let my sweater drop to the floor. The only sound in the room seems to be my ragged breathing.

  “Goddammit, Serena,” he says with an edge.

  It’s my name that does it this time, because he says it with such torn desire that I could never possibly refuse him, so I unbutton the front of my sundress, letting it part to show how my breasts bulge out of my simple white bra with a pink ribbon in the center. As Colt clenches his jaw, I undo the clasp in front, then hesitate, feeling something dark and insatiable growing inside of me. Cream is coating my pussy, making me slick, urging me onward.

  I open my bra and expose my aching, swollen tits, wallowing in how much he craves me.

  “Now touch yourself,” he quietly commands.

  He’s never gotten this naughty with me, but…I like it. And I instinctively obey him, slipping my hands under my breasts, slowly kneading and fondling them. Colt leans forward again, watching raptly, seemingly moments away from bolting out of the chair, closing the space between us, and pulling me to him in a crushing kiss.

  At the thought, lust spikes me, and I slide my hands up my breasts to stroke my fingers over my nipples, arousing them. Then I drag my palms down to my stomach, then to my belly, which isn’t as flat as it used to be before I had a child. Colt doesn’t seem to mind, because his gaze has gone completely hazy.

  “Is this why you wanted me to come here?” I ask. “To watch?”

  He closes his eyes, then opens them, almost as if he’s trying to regain control. Then it’s as if he remembers what I did to him with our baby, and he clenches his jaw, something like fury taking the place of everything else.

  The temperature in the room seems to drop to freezing.

  He stands from his chair, his obvious, building anger making him cool and detached. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, only lifts his glass of wine and takes a long drink. Then he starts walking toward me, taking his time. His bared abs flex with every step, the veins in his neck are standing out, the muscle in his cheek ticking. I’m palpitating all over as he gets close enough for me to smell the clean scent on his skin.

  He begins to circle me.

  My skin is blazing, steam seething through me, making me moist all over, but I don’t cover myself. I want him to see me, to clamor for me with every harsh breath he takes.

  He stops in back of me, and I can hear him struggling to breathe as I tremble. I’m swollen and pumped, and I wonder if he can tell how turned on I am.

  Then I feel my hair move, skimming my upper back as if he’s brushed his fingers over it in a tender moment, and my heart revolves so quickly in my chest that it feels as if it’s going to drop to my belly.

  The seconds pile up one after another until it feels like they’re about to tumble over, and just when I’m pretty sure I’m about to scream out of anticipation and frustration, Colt walks away, leaving me as suddenly as I once left him.

  This time, anger consumes me, and I shout after him.

  “Don’t play these asinine games!”

  He comes to a full stop, then slowly turns around.

  “Games.” His injured gaze lasers into mine. “You’d be the one to talk about games, Serena.”

  Then he turns and walks into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

  Chapter 4

  If I hadn’t seen the naked hurt in Colt’s eyes, I wouldn’t understand what just happened. But it’s clear—he’s frustrated by and angered at how I lied to him about Sebastian and robbed him of the opportunity to raise our baby boy.

  Colt can’t stand the sight of me after all, and I think he left before he got even angrier.

  I shouldn’t be turned on by any of it, but I’m tragically excited, my pussy humming as I wait for him to cool off and open that door. Because he will, right? Or is he going to leave me hanging here like this? Was that his intention all along, to wind me up and watch me go?

  We’ll see about that.

  I button my dress so that it covers my b
are breasts, then kick off my sandals and wander to the dining table to drink from my glass of wine. I might as well pass the time until Colt comes back out here. Then I settle in to wait for him to burst out of that bedroom so he can scratch this itch that’s gradually consuming me. Come and get it, Colt. Show me how much you missed me. Then once we’ve got it out of our systems, maybe we’ll be able to talk without sex getting in the way.

  But he stays in that room.

  When I put down the wine on the glass table, I catch my reflection on the surface. The girl I see isn’t the same one from two summers ago. Like Colt, I have a lot of baggage now. I might only be twenty-two and stupid in love, but I’m sadder and wiser these days.

  Unfortunately, I’m not wise enough to stay away from that door.

  With steam in my veins, I walk over to his bedroom. I don’t even bother to knock. I just open it right up to find Colt sitting on the bed in the near darkness, his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands buried in his loose hair. He slowly gazes up at me, and it’s as if he hasn’t had any time to collect himself.

  “So what was that all about?” I say. “You’re the one who asked me here tonight.”

  “It turns out that I’m still too angry to deal with this, Serena. I shouldn’t have asked you to come over.”

  I take a few brave steps into the room. “Well you did, so deal.”

  He narrows his feverish gaze at me, and my sex convulses so hard that I have to wrestle back a gasp.

  His eyes get that dangerously lustful haze to them before the anger returns. He’s all over the place tonight, and the fact that I can’t predict what he’ll do next just gets me going more.

  “All this time,” he grits, “you didn’t want me around. Now you can’t seem to get enough of me.”

  He’s right. I’m standing here because I can’t imagine leaving without feeling him inside me, and as he rises from the bed, all sex and heat, I’m rooted to the ground. My clit palpitates, my pussy gushing like a wet heartbeat.