Special Delivery (Always Satisfied Book 5) Page 7

  The only thing that would make this better would be if Vaughn were here too.

  And because there’s no reason to hold back, I tell him that night via text.

  Quinn: Thanksgiving was amazing, but I have a confession.

  Vaughn: You ate all the leftovers already? Oh wait, that was me.

  Quinn: You are going to be in so much trouble. But that’s not my confession.

  Vaughn: Don’t make a man wait. Especially since I have one for you too.

  Quinn: Ooh, what’s yours?

  Vaughn: I miss you like crazy.

  Quinn: Same. I miss you so much. I’m counting down till I see you again. It’s four miserable days.

  Vaughn: Four endless days.

  Quinn: Four lonely nights.

  Vaughn: Stop, or I’m going to fly back early, and I can’t do that. But I want to. Badly.

  Quinn: Just know the sex will be red-hot when you return—I want you that much.

  Vaughn: And I’m on the next plane.

  He doesn’t catch the next flight, but when I see him the Sunday after Thanksgiving, all systems are go.

  I fling open the door, yank him in by the collar, and strip off his shirt in seconds flat.

  “You did miss me,” he muses.

  “I miss you, I want you, I need you. Now get inside me.”

  He laughs, scoops me up, and carries me to my bed. “Inside you is the only place I want to be.”

  Before I know it, I’m naked on all fours, and he’s banding an arm around my waist and fucking me hard.

  It’s delicious and dirty, rough and frenzied. It’s everything I want from him. And the orgasm is so intense, my entire body shakes, and the sounds I make are animalistic.

  As I’m coming down, he flips me over so I’m on my back, then hooks my legs around him. “Want to look at you. Want to see your face.”

  He stares at me intently, the vein in his neck pulsing as he thrusts deeper—so deep I see stars.

  The pleasure is almost too much.

  But I’m feeling more than pleasure.

  When I fall over the edge again, I’m falling into him.

  Into a love I shouldn’t let myself feel.

  Later, when we’re half-dressed, he does the very thing he promised to do the night we met.

  He doesn’t need a step stool or a crate. He simply raises a strong arm and sets a glittery red star on the top of the tree.

  “I believe this was your fantasy.” There’s a gleam in his eye, a knowing sort of look. “How’s reality living up to it?”

  I tap my chin, surveying the living room and the windows that show off the first flakes of falling snow. “Hmm. If memory serves, I didn’t tell you the rest of the fantasy I had that night.”

  He closes the distance, loops an arm around my waist, and tugs me closer. “Tell me now.”

  “Well, it involves you decorating all the tallest branches, stringing the lights, and, pretty please, hanging up all the Christmas decorations in the rest of my apartment.”

  He growls at me. “Not what I was hoping to hear.”

  “Oh, wait. I forgot something.” I stand on tiptoe and whisper in his ear.

  And boy, does that man make fast work of the decorating so we can turn off all the lights save the blinking ones on the tree.

  Nat King Cole plays softly from the speakers as Vaughn brings me to the couch and makes love to me while the snow falls and blue-and-white bulbs wink on and off.

  What can I say? This woman has Christmas sex fantasies, and this man is fulfilling them.

  Every. Single. One.

  Including the classic snow-day fantasy.

  We wake up to twelve inches that drifted down overnight.

  Yes, I make jokes about twelve inches.

  But mostly we hunker down together. The city is nearly shut down, so we both work from home, making calls, answering emails, and then ignoring calls and emails because being naked is so much more fun.

  “Best snow day ever,” he says that night in the shower.

  “Yes, and you’ve worn me out so much I need a day off tomorrow,” I say, teasing him.

  “Sorry, not sorry.”

  That night, we slide under the covers, and he draws his fingertips down my shoulder, kissing me as he goes. “Quinn . . .?”

  “Yes?”

  He props himself up on his elbow, looking at me. “Have I ever told you about the time I broke my diet in a truly spectacular fashion?”

  I laugh. “I didn’t realize you were on one.”

  He slashes a hand through the air. “Total woman fast. Complete romance-free diet. I was zero women, zero dates, zero romance.”

  “You’re hard-core.”

  He nods exaggeratedly. “All the way. All or nothing. I was on the nothing side for the last year. And now . . .”

  My chest warms. “And now?”

  His eyes lock with mine. “I’m on the all side.”

  My whole body is glowing, lit from head to toe with so many bright and powerful emotions. “I’m on the same side.”

  It’s blissful and painful to spend another night in his arms, wishing I could make the next month last forever.

  Of course, I can’t. And perhaps that’s why I feel free to tell him what’s going on in my heart. Maybe that’s the unexpected benefit of an expiration date—you can be more honest with nothing to lose.

  “Hey, you,” I whisper when I turn off the lights.

  “Hey to you too.”

  “Did you know I’m going to miss you when you leave?”

  His smile is a bit sad. “Tell me about it. I’m going to miss you like crazy. How the hell did that happen?”

  I frown, punching him playfully. “Exactly. You’re not supposed to be so likable.”

  “I could say the same about you being all funny and sweet and too good to be true. You really ought to cut it out.”

  I laugh, but it’s tinged with wistfulness too. “And you. Please stop being wonderful.”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. I promise I won’t stop treating you like you’re the one person I want to spend every night with.”

  My heart aches, knowing those nights are winding down far too soon.

  In the morning, I say goodbye as he heads to the office, then I make my way to the shower so I can do the same. The next two weeks pass in a blur of falling snow, final party prep, and all our December nights and mornings together.

  The evening of the fete, as I shower and get ready to meet Vaughn, something hits me.

  Something I’ve been missing.

  Something that is three days late.

  14

  Vaughn

  “Whoa.”

  That’s the reaction from Callie when I show her my nearly empty apartment on FaceTime.

  “And this surprises you?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, then nods. “Yes. No. I mean, it doesn’t surprise me, because I’ve got all the boxes here at your new condo,” she says, panning around to show me the place in Florida, stacked with the boxes I shipped down, plus most of my furniture. “But it does raise the question—where are you sleeping?”

  A grin threatens to take over my face, but I school my expression. “Quinn’s.”

  One brow arches. “Every night?”

  I count off quietly, stopping when I’m well past ten. “Yeah, every night, I guess.”

  “Huh.”

  “What’s the ‘huh’ for?”

  “The ‘huh’ stands for ‘What are you going to do when you can’t see her every night?’”

  I hate the thought of not seeing her. And I hate hating, so I do my best to avoid the pain of the question. “Then I won’t see her,” I say as matter-of-factly as I can.

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  I give her a look like her question doesn’t compute. “Did you wake up in the body of Freud this morning? ‘And how does that make you feel?’” I ask, mimicking her.

  Wow. That came out kind of snotty.

  “And I have
my answer,” she says.

  I drag my free hand through my hair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to act like an ass. To answer your question—it sucks. That’s how I feel. But what can I do?”

  She grins like she knows something I don’t. “Oh, gee. I don’t know.”

  “Callie,” I huff.

  She rolls her eyes. “Do you want me to spell it out?”

  “Sure.”

  “Keep. Seeing. Her.”

  “Long-distance?” I ask, as if she’s just suggested Quinn and I commute to Mars every weekend.

  “Yes. Long-distance. Why not? It’s only a two-and-a-half-hour flight. You have the money.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “But what’s the ‘but’?”

  I scrub my hand over my jaw, trying to figure that out. Is there a “but” anymore? Quinn and I have spent the last month together, four intense weeks where we can’t seem to get enough of each other, like we’re trying to inhale all the goodness before it’s gone.

  And it’s all been good.

  Every damn second with her has been great.

  Like I said to Quinn, I’m an all-or-nothing guy. I’ve given her my all. I feel all in. Once I’d experienced a taste of her, I couldn’t stop.

  The last thing I want from Quinn is the “nothing” part. Not after we’ve had the “all.”

  Which brings me to Callie’s question.

  “But I was trying to avoid romantic entanglements,” I point out.

  She laughs like that’s the funniest thing anyone’s ever said. “How’s that working out for you?”

  I laugh, too, at the bluntness of her question. At the awareness I have now that I didn’t a month ago. And at the chance that’s now in front of me. I broke my no-romance rule in a spectacular fashion, and I want to keep on breaking it. I want to find a way with Quinn.

  Screw expiration dates. Callie’s right—I should ask Quinn if she wants to stay together.

  “It’s working out great,” I say dryly.

  “Yeah, you’re doing a top-notch job at being single.”

  I blow out a long stream of air. “I just ask her to do the long-distance thing? It’s that simple?”

  Callie smiles, bright and excited. “What’s the worst that can happen? She says no, and then you do what you’d planned anyway—which is not see her.”

  The worst thing that could happen sounds pretty damned bad.

  And so, I can’t let it. I need to do more than ask her to stay together.

  I need to tell her the one thing I haven’t yet. The thing I’ve been keeping inside.

  I have to let her know that I’m already madly in love with her and I don’t ever want to let her go.

  15

  Quinn

  I. Can’t. Breathe.

  My stomach is upside down.

  My world is inside out.

  Amy guides me from my bathroom to the couch in my apartment, draping an arm around me.

  “How did this happen?” I ask, my voice stretched thin.

  “Well, when a man loves a woman—”

  “I know how it happened! But how the hell did it happen?”

  She shrugs, rubbing my shoulder. “Protection doesn’t always work perfectly. I guess you’re in the one percent of something.” I drop my head into my hands, breathing hard. She runs her hand over my back. “It’s going to be okay.”

  I snap my head up. “How?” I cry out. “How is it going to be okay? The father of my child is leaving. I’m going to be a thirty-year-old single mom.”

  She flashes me a cheery smile. “You’re going to be an awesome thirty-year-old single mom. And your baby is going to have an amazing aunt, because I am going to be here for you. So will Josh and Mom and Dad, and maybe even Tabitha when she deigns to return from Paris. But that’s beside the point. You’re going to be all right. That’s what matters.”

  I gulp, emotion clogging my throat, tears filling my eyes. “I love babies. I love kids. I want them. I just didn’t expect to have one accidentally. When I’m not even married. Or engaged. Or living with the father. I’m not even with him,” I say, my voice breaking.

  Amy waggles her head in a maybe, maybe not way, saying softly, “Well, you kind of are.”

  “But I’m not. We’re not.”

  “You’ve spent the last month hunkered down in your apartment watching Netflix Christmas specials and banging to ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.’”

  I laugh at her summary of my relationship with Vaughn. “I wouldn’t say we did much watching of Christmas specials.”

  She stares pointedly at my belly. “That much is apparent. And so is my point—you two pretty much are together.”

  The pang in my heart returns, the ache that happens every time I think about him leaving. But I try to focus on the practical. “We agreed it would end when he moves. That was always the plan. But this? This, I did not plan.”

  A laugh bubbles from Amy’s chest. “That’s the part that’s hard for you, isn’t it? Since you hate surprises so much.”

  “They’re the worst. But what if it was a mistake? Should I take another test?” I ask, voice wobbling.

  “Sure. If you think the five you already took were wrong.”

  I wince, squeezing my eyes shut. “Ames . . .”

  “Quinn,” she says, soft but firm. “You’re going to be an amazing mom.”

  I let her words sink in, let the reality wash over me. I’m going to be a mother. I’m going to have a baby.

  It’s all so thoroughly unexpected, and I have no clue what to do with surprises.

  But I know this: I have to be at the party in thirty minutes.

  I take a deep breath, wipe away my tears, and put on my best party-planner face.

  Because in thirty minutes, I’m going to see the man who’s walking out of my life while I’m carrying a piece of him inside me.

  And I’m going to have to deliver one hell of a surprise.

  16

  Quinn

  Just do it.

  Just tell him when you see him.

  Just say the words.

  I repeat these new mantras as I head to the boutique hotel.

  As I walk through the entryway, I flash back to the night we first visited this place, and a smile tugs at my lips as I recall how we clicked. How he found the mistletoe in the hallway and gave me a heads-up before he swept me away with a kiss.

  A kiss that made me swoon.

  A kiss that melted me from head to toe.

  He still kisses me that way. He kisses me with passion and tenderness, with hunger and need. And lately, with something more.

  My heart flutters, and I set a hand on my chest as I walk into the lobby, thinking of how it feels when Vaughn kisses me now. It feels like he wants all the same things I do.

  All of them?

  A woman can hope.

  My hand slides to my belly.

  It’s flat now, but if all goes well, it won’t be flat for long.

  And even though I didn’t plan for this change in my life, I can prep every damn day for the next nine months. Even though babies have a way of surprising you, I can handle this. I can do it on my own if I have to, because I know how to do things. I’ll make a plan.

  And as “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” floats through the lobby, sparkling with white flickering lights and decorated with wreaths, I don’t feel sad.

  Which is odd because this song brings out the loneliest parts of me. The hurt parts of me. But as I listen to it now, I don’t feel that pain I used to. I don’t feel the sadness in my bones.

  I feel . . . possibility.

  I feel hope for the life inside me.

  And I feel certain that even though I can do this alone, I don’t want to.

  I want Vaughn beside me.

  The man I love.

  I have more to tell him than the baby news. I plan to tell him that I’m in love with him too, no matter how scary that is.

  I want it all, and I want it all with him.<
br />
  I take a deep breath and head into the venue. I’m the first one here because it’s my job to be early and check, then make sure, that everything is in place.

  The tree looks magical, lit up and decorated with red-and-white bows and sporty ornaments—footballs and basketballs and baseballs and more, all with the names of Premiere’s clients on them. Garlands festoon the walls. A Skee-Ball machine occupies one corner. In another, a hot chocolate bar is ready to go. The catering staff has prepped yummy appetizers and a full buffet. Athletes have big appetites, after all.

  Everything is ready.

  And I suppose I need to be ready too.

  We likely won’t have a minute alone till late into the night, so I’ll tell him everything when the party ends.

  Deep breath.

  I square my shoulders as the music switches to “Frosty the Snowman.” The memory of how we shared this song makes me laugh.

  Then it makes me tingle.

  Oh.

  That’s not a memory. That’s a finger brushing down my spine. A hand lifting the hair from my neck. Lips pressing gently to my skin.

  And a voice in my ear. “Just to let you know, I’m madly in love with you, Quinn.”

  I spin around and meet the eyes of the man I’ve fallen for. All my plans for the night fly out the window.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  17

  Vaughn

  That wasn’t on my radar at all.

  Not anywhere on the list of possibilities I entertained when I walked in early for the party, expecting she’d be here but never expecting her to tell me that.