Unforseen Daddy: A bad boy second chance romance Page 3

  It is nearing six.

  Putting on my helmet, I throw one leg over the bike and dangle the small bag from the handle before roaring away.

  This entire thing is more complicated because every time I look at Eve, I want her under me. At the same time, I know that I shouldn’t want her.

  Despite the fact that her luscious lips are always seconds away from spouting vulgarities in that husky voice, the way she drawls them out, that casual smirk in her eyes, it makes my cock harden.

  So wild and untamed.

  She answers to no one, her energy relentless, filled with heat, twisting me into her inferno till all I can see, hear, smell, or taste is her.

  How did I survive two years with her, I wonder, without throwing her on the bar and fucking the defiance out of her?

  Because I was scared of myself.

  She wasn’t someone whom I could just have fucked and walked away from. The way she would look at me, that knowing in her eyes as if she could see past the persona I adopted for the world to see, it terrified me.

  I was damaged beyond repair and the darkness that was in my blood, this thirst for blood and violence that I concealed with this mask of civility and class, surrounding myself with beauty and money. She saw the creature that lurked inside and accepted it.

  And that frightened me.

  Her allure was always too much, that mocking smile in my direction, the insolence in her gaze when she would use her words to push to me to the edge, because only she had the ability to do that.

  And that one fateful night when I let myself, she pushed me too far.

  I took her in every position imaginable, made her scream my name over and over again, beg me for more. I discovered the secret that she held so close to her chest. I unraveled her so beautifully, till she was a quivering mess in my hands, so pliant, so eager, her eyes desperate and begging. She let me take her in every way I wanted to, and it still wasn’t enough.

  That morning after, as I watched her sleeping on the couch of my office, arms and limbs tangled with mine, I came to a pained realization that I couldn’t keep her. She was too wild and free to be caged by someone like me.

  I would have broken her.

  My possessiveness when it came to her, as I stroked my fingertips over her soft cheeks and curled her hair around my finger, she would suffocate under it. If I thought that I could salvage anything from our previous friendship, I was wrong.

  Watching her walk away was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and one I’ve always regretted, and yet it made me breathe easier.

  I stared at her resignation letter, which had half a dozen ‘fuck yous’ in them as well. She complimented my dick in a few interesting ways as well.

  I still have that letter.

  I just wasn’t able to throw it away.

  Walking inside the building, I take the stairs, bag in one hand and flowers in the other.

  Sarah suggested flowers as a peace offering.

  But as I reach the door, I wonder whether it is a wise decision after all.

  I ring the bell, and a few minutes later there is shuffling on the other end, and the door opens to reveal my daughter, who gazes up at me in curiosity.

  I stare down at her not knowing what to say.

  Her piercing blue eyes, the same icy color as mine hold innocence and curiosity. She wears a small sundress, and her cheeks are rosy, her hair in a small pony.

  She would have continued the staring contest if she hadn’t seen the bag in my hand.

  “Why do you have Pocahontas?” she demands with her girly voice.

  I glance down at the bag before offering it to her. “It’s for you.”

  Her eyes widen before she looks over her shoulder and shouts. “Mama, a stranger wants to give me a doll! Can I take it?”

  I wince at the pair of lungs on her, and I hear another shuffling sound before a familiar-looking man rushes over and scoops Mila up by her waist, frowning. “How many times do I have to tell you not to answer the door?”

  I feel unsettled at seeing an unknown man manhandling my daughter, but Mila seems perfectly content being held by him and wraps her arms around his neck, whispering conspiratorially. “He’s got a Barbie doll.”

  “Mila!” The man gives her a scandalized look. “What have we discussed about judging people?”

  Mila blinks at him. “But it’s weird. He’s a big boy.”

  Should I be insulted?

  The man looks at me, exasperated, and then grins. “Hi, I’m Ron. You must be Zayn. Come in. Eve’s cooking.”

  If I thought Mila was loud, Ron is two steps ahead of her as he practically screams, “Eve, your boy-toy’s here!”

  “Boy-toy!” Mila repeats, gleefully. “Mama’s boy toy!”

  Boy-toy?

  I don’t know whether to be amused or put off. But the man who just answered the door has my attention.

  Ron is a like a canvas that is splashed with bright colors. His shirt is orange, his pants blue. His pink belt makes me try not to stare at it. The man is fair with silver hair and striking green eyes. The only word that can be used to describe him is pretty.

  As he leans down to let Mila on the ground, I realize where I saw him.

  He is the man from the pictures!

  Eve’s friend.

  He looked more normal in the pictures, and his hair was a sandy color.

  Mila stares at me, and when our eyes meet, she smiles at me, revealing a set of baby teeth. “You’re mama’s boy-toy.”

  “Mila, be nice.” Eve appears from what I presume is the kitchen. She unties the apron around her neck before tossing it at Ron. “Check on the chili, will you?”

  Ron gives her a dirty look before he puts on the apron and leaves to do as he is told.

  It irks me for some reason that she is so comfortable with this man.

  I turn my gaze back to Eve.

  In a pair of shorts and a black tee that reads ‘Unicorns are fake like your ass,’ her hair is tied in a long braid that my fingers itch to unravel. Her toes are painted a bright red, as is her mouth, and my fingers itch to run over her figure, to caress each dip and curve.

  “Hi. Nice place.”

  She looks around the apartment.

  It isn’t small by any means and is done in various hues of blue and silver, and everything matches, a far cry from the man who let me in.

  “Thanks,” she says and eyes the flowers. “What are those for?”

  I offer them to her. “You.”

  She narrows her pretty brown eyes at me in quick suspicion. “You got me flowers?”

  “It was that or wine,” I shrug my shoulders.

  She starts walking towards a vase. “Always go with the wine. With these two driving me crazy all the time, I’m always up for wine.”

  I try hard to ignore the child standing near me, staring up at me unabashedly.

  “I didn’t know your friend would be here.”

  “You mean Ron?” she asks, giving me an innocent look. “Why wouldn’t he be here? We’re roommates. He’s an artist.” She puts the flowers into the vase without putting any water in. “A good one.”

  She is living with a man.

  I can deal with that.

  It is none of my business.

  Except that I want to punch his teeth out.

  “Mila, stop staring and say hello,” Eve chides.

  However, Mila just raises her arm and points at me, her eyes shining with an unholy gleam. “Boy-toy.”

  Eve rolls her eyes. “That’s a bad word. Do we need a swear jar for you?”

  Mila moves her shoulders in a big gesture. “But I don’t have money.”

  Eve gives her a pleasant look. “I’m sure we can sell your Barbie dolls.”

  Mila’s face blanches. “No bad words. Pinkie promise.”

  Eve walks over to her and pulls her against her leg. “All right, say hello to your father.”

  When Mila doesn’t look surprised, I realize that Eve must told her beforehand. Whi
ch means that this four-year-old was testing the waters with me.

  “Hello,” Mila stares at me. Then without a second thought, she blurts out, “Macy’s dad takes her to eat ice cream.”

  She gives me an expectant look, and I find myself walking on unstable ground. “That’s, uh, Macy’s a lucky girl.”

  “He also took her to Disneyland.”

  Eve sighs. “Mila.”

  Mila looks up at her mother and then her small shoulders droop in an exaggerated movement. “Sorry.”

  Remembering the bag in my hand, I hold it out to her. “This is for you.”

  “What do you say?” Eve looks down at the little girl, who grips the doll to her chest.

  She beams at me. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She runs off with the doll, and I stare after her. “She called me weird and a boy-toy.”

  Eve looks amused. “I’ll talk to her. But if she’s talking to you, that means she’s comfortable around you. Besides, Ron has rubbed off on her.”

  She leads me to the kitchen, which is huge.

  Ron is on the phone when we walk in, and he looks at Eve. “You mind if I skip dinner? Mark’s mom needs to be picked up from the airport, and she called me.”

  Eve blinks, and the man pleads. “She never calls me, Eve. I have to.”

  “Yeah, sure.” The words are barely out of her mouth before Ron flees.

  “Who’s Mark?” I ask, standing in the doorway, hands tucked in my pockets.

  Eve tastes what was apparently the chili and then replies, “Ron’s boyfriend.”

  “Ron’s gay?” I speak out loud. “Of course he’s gay. Friendly. A little weird, though.”

  Eve points the spoon at me, her eyes glinting. “Don’t tell him that. He takes it as a compliment.”

  I am in her territory, so I study the kitchen.

  Whoever built this place must have had enjoyed cooking because this whole room is a dining-area-slash-kitchen. It is massive.

  “How long have you lived with Ron?”

  Eve gives me a sharp smile. “About since you knocked me up.”

  If I feel the sting, I don’t let it show.

  She is being courteous enough, but one could never tell with Eve.

  I look at her form. All that dancing toned her legs, and I have to force my eyes away from the long sleek lines to pay attention to what she is saying. “…difficulty in finding the place?”

  “No,” I reply, automatically. “You’re pretty close to where I live.”

  She looks over her shoulder at me, and I shrug. “It’s a ten-minute drive.”

  Just then, Mila decides to walk in, holding two dolls in her hands. She walks over to me and hands me a doll. “Ariel is asking if you want to have a tea party.”

  She looks up at me with her wide blue eyes.

  She is so tiny.

  A surge of protectiveness rises in me.

  This is my daughter.

  I can feel Eve’s eyes boring a hole in the side of my head as I gaze down at this child who seems to have inherited more from me than just my looks.

  I give a reluctant smile. “Which one’s Ariel?”

  Mila blinks at me. “The one with red hair, silly! She’s a princess. She lives in water.”

  “A water princess?” I look confused.

  “She’s a mermaid!” Mila looks at me as if suddenly realizing that I am stupider than she thought.

  “Of course. A mermaid. Why wouldn’t she be a mermaid?” I mutter.

  Mila’s hand curls around my much larger one, startling me. “So do you want to come to our tea party?”

  I don’t have it in me to say no, so I nod. “Sounds like fun.”

  I know how tea parties work so I am not surprised to have a tiara on my head and I sigh, grateful that my friends aren’t here to see me.

  My daughter is smart for her age, I learn soon enough. And quite coherent.

  Her room is pink and blue, and I can see story books next to her bed and an impressive doll collection.

  I play along with her, interacting with her.

  She has a witty tongue, and in the half hour that we play together, I realize she is mischievous, and yet, at the same time, has a sweet temperament. She likes to talk, and she tells me about the swear jar that Ron set up for Eve, the annual amusement park trips, the time when she threw a shoe over the kindergarten wall because a boy in her class said that she couldn’t, and then she got his fruit.

  As I listen to her babbling about her escapades with childish pride, I feel a warmth grow in my chest.

  She is so pure and so untouched by the world that being around her makes me feel lighter, more content, like a breath of fresh air in the darkness that is my life.

  I watch her with a small smile on my face as she talks and pours imaginary tea into a tiny teacup.

  Maybe having a kid isn’t the worst thing in the world.

  4

  EVE

  Z ayn wearing a tiara on his head and offering his plastic teacup to Mila for a refill is the last image I expect to see when I walk in.

  His usual arrogant look fades into an uncharacteristic expression of softness and wonder as Mila wraps him around her little finger.

  I linger in the doorway for a few seconds, just watching them.

  Did I deprive Mila of this?

  However, I shake that traitorous thought from my head as soon as it slides in.

  I was protecting her.

  My daughter is a happy child.

  A loved child.

  I made sure that she didn’t lack anything in her life.

  As my eyes focus on Zayn, I find myself studying his form.

  He got more tattoos.

  I can see one peeking out from the edge of where he rolled up his sleeves. I never understood his style. He is always dressed to the nines.

  Even in his black shirt, which is form-fitting, his lean and muscled frame is very obvious in it. A pair of fitted blue jeans tops off his outfit.

  It is simple, so elegant, and so Zayn.

  He emits class and breeding, but a part of me is wary of him.

  I know he wants people to think of him in a certain way, so he adopted the role.

  Five years shouldn’t seem like much, but it feels like a lifetime ago. I can still, however, remember how it felt having him watch me from his office. Inside his suits and skin lurked a predator, one that set its sights on me.

  Oh, he was always careful never to touch me.

  But he also disliked other men putting their hands on me.

  I saw the quiet fury in him when someone would brush their hand against mine, the possessiveness.

  And I bathed in it.

  I enjoyed playing with fire, taunting him with what he wanted but refused to allow himself. Our game veered on the edge of danger and chaos.

  A Russian roulette of sorts.

  I wanted a man who could take me, dominate me in bed, and the steady way in which he would watch me, it would make me shiver at times in desire. There was always something so watchful, so deadly in his gaze.

  Our friendship was odd, hesitant, but it existed nonetheless, a comradeship underneath those heated glances, the burning desire.

  I never expected him to toss me away so quickly.

  As he sits here in our daughter’s room having a tea party with her, I wonder if this is the same man that I knew. I wonder if he is actually planning to step up or is all this just lip service?

  There are slight changes in him.

  His demeanor is different. There is a certain calm to him that wasn’t there before, a steadiness that never existed five years ago, as if he managed to overcome the demons that haunted him.

  It is at that moment that he looks up and that blue gaze that always used to make my womb quiver locks on mine and he raises a brow, not at all bothered by the fact that he has a tiara on his head and is sipping from a plastic cup.

  “If you’re quite done here,” I drawl, enjoying the sight far
too much, and not wanting him to see the effect he still has on me, “dinner’s ready. Put your dolls away, Mila. Zayn, you can keep wearing that tiara. It suits you.”

  He leans over to glance in the full-length mirror that stands next to the bed, completely unfazed. “It brings out my best features.”

  I roll my eyes. “Hurry up. I’m not heating anything up again. It’s fresh off the stove.”

  In the half hour that Mila spent with Zayn, she bonded with him a little bit. Kids seem to adjust easier to changes.

  Dinner is a loud affair because Zayn keeps asking Mila questions and some answers she gives clearly, some nonsensical, some just bizarre.

  She is four.

  What does he expect?

  However, he seems content with the conversation, amused and yet so very patient. Once Mila is put to bed, he lingers in the kitchen.

  “What?” I say abruptly, feeling him stare at me from where he lounges on the chair as I put the dishes away. “You’re staring at me.”

  “Yes, I suppose I am,” Zayn says leisurely.

  My hand clenches on the plate that I am holding. “Stop then. It’s creepy.”

  “You’ve raised her well,” he finally says.

  I look over my shoulder at him, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Stop sounding so shocked.”

  He shrugs. “I wasn’t expecting her to be this normal. Or for you to be so domesticated.”

  I feel a flare of anger, and I turn around to face him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  He is unaffected by my tone. “You weren’t exactly a very maternal person, Eve. You’ve changed a lot. You’re calmer, more together.”

  I bare my teeth at him. “I can still break a bottle over your head for old time’s sake.”

  The corner of his lips tugs up unexpectedly. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing or a good thing. It is just an observation.”

  I turn around to put the glasses on the drying rack, muttering, “Well, keep them to yourself. I’m not interested in hearing them.”

  I am a different person.

  Getting pregnant and then kicked out by my family hadn’t exactly been easy for me. It was a rough road, and it straightened me out some. I had to make major alterations in my life. My pregnancy wasn’t a walk in the park, either.