Accidental Soulmates_A Vegas Accidental Marriage Romance Page 4

  The redhead turned and beamed at me with luminous green eyes, extending a pale hand.

  “Your photos online don’t do you justice,” she demurred. I stared at her fingers and glanced at their companion who stood off to the side quietly.

  “You really can take the girl out of the trailer park,” I commented harshly, ignoring Genevieve’s palm. “But you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl. Your etiquette still suffers, my ghetto relations.”

  I strode toward the silent girl who gaped at me in surprise.

  “Julian Bryant,” I introduced. “Eloise’s step-brother.”

  I didn’t need to turn around to know I was being glowered at by not just Eloise but by my blind date. I didn’t care. Being blindsided was not something I appreciated and I intended to show Eloise that I couldn’t be handled no matter how hard she tried.

  4

  Kennedy

  I bolted awake sometime in the middle of the night. I wasn’t sure the exact time but I was seized by a nausea so strong, it was reminiscent of my one and only encounter with tequila when I was sixteen.

  I barely made it to the bathroom and as I retched, my head began to pound.

  Uh, I’m sick, I thought miserably. There is nothing in the world a lower-class person wants to realize less than that they are sick. We can’t afford it. We don’t have the luxury of using sick days as we’re dispensable. For every one of me, there are ten more waiting for my job. Sick is not an option.

  I can’t be sick. I won’t be.

  I vomited twice more before I felt the sensation passing but the dizziness remained and my body was hot and achy.

  What did I have to take for a flu?

  I dug through the medicine cabinet in the dark, moving things around. I was opening the store in the morning. If I popped something and went back to bed, I might be okay when I woke up.

  But only if I had something to take.

  I found a bottle of Tylenol which had expired and some rubbing alcohol. I highly doubted that was going to kill whatever bug was in my system.

  I made my way back to the single mattress which I called a bed and lay on my back, concentrating on my breathing. Sometimes it helped to alleviate nausea but even as I lay there, I realized that I wasn’t feeling nearly as bad as I had when I woke.

  The time on my alarm read 3:23 a.m. I needed to be up at 5 to open the store for 6. It almost defeated the purpose of going back to bed for an hour but what else was I going to do? An hour and a half wasn’t enough time to binge watch anything good on Netflix.

  I didn’t move. Instead, I lay there with my eyes closed and listened to the sound of my heart thumping in my ears.

  Deep breaths, I coached myself. In and out. Deep breathing.

  I smirked to myself, realizing how much I must sound like a Lamaze instructor. Just as quickly as the smirk appeared, it froze and faded completely.

  That’s a weird thought to have, I told myself tersely. Lamaze instructor. I could have thought yoga instructor instead.

  But I knew where it had come from.

  I was three weeks late.

  You’re not pregnant, I scolded myself as a combination of hot and cold washed through me, fighting to humiliate and shock me simultaneously. You have to have sex to get pregnant and you’re a born-again virgin. You haven’t had sex since you and Tom and that was over a year ago.

  As if I’d spoken the magic words, it came flooding back to me in a torrent.

  I was on my knees, his nakedness flaunting itself boldly in front of my face without shame. I wanted to taste him so badly but I was seeing double. God, I was drunk. Was he as drunk as me? Or was he drunk at all?

  I hadn’t been paying attention to anything but the curve of his lips, the timbre of his voice and the way his eyes bored into mine. Suddenly, all I could think was how much I wanted that huge, swollen cock inside me, filling every inch of my core.

  Even as I thought it, I felt a drip out from my panties and make its way down my thigh. I grabbed him and slid him fully into my mouth. Into my throat I felt him, my cheeks closing around to suction him tightly and I choked on him slightly.

  He let out a low groan, gently forcing my head forward until his sack touched my chin.

  It was becoming difficult to breathe but I felt him growing harder, bigger and fuller inside my mouth.

  “Ah fuck, Kitten!” he moaned. “You’re going to make me blow.”

  The words excited me and suddenly I was bobbing against him, willing him to cum for me but without warning, I was pushed backward and pinned to the ground mercilessly. His cock jabbed at my upper thigh and his own juices were already dripping for me.

  Two palms found the backs of my knees and I was spread apart, my eyes fixed on his. Our gazes locked, the thrust of his engorged unit so close, just a thin layer of lace between us.

  To my shock, he plunged forward, his fingers gripping my legs so tightly, I was sure there would be bruises. I heard the rip of my underwear as the head of his cock fought its way toward my slick middle. I’d never had anyone do that before!

  He was huge and I was throbbing, pulsating against him. I didn’t think he would fit but slowly, deeply, he made it happen and I screamed with pleasure when the entire ten inches filled me into my abdomen.

  I clenched around him, feeling him rise further and my fingers dug into the muscled blades of his shoulders.

  Again I cried out but now he was not being soft but hard and primitive, jabbing into me as if he could wait no longer. It took four slides before my own climax mounted and I spilled onto him in a gush of warmth, tears rolling down my cheeks but my release was met with his.

  In hot spurts of lava, his seed filled me, overflowing and joining in mine in a mess of sweat and fluid.

  My eyes flew open and I sat up, sweat touching my forehead. I didn’t have to double check. I could smell my own wetness through the boxers I had gone to bed in. I was aroused and confused.

  Had he really been real?

  For weeks I had convinced myself that none of it was real, that I had wasted my expense paid trip to Vegas on binge-drinking and being pathetic and that I had concocted the sexy dark-haired stranger as a way to alleviate that guilt.

  But if I was pregnant, there was only one possibility as to who the father could be—the mystery man from Vegas.

  I threw my legs over the side of the mattress and scrounged around for my work uniform. I was going in early.

  God, I needed to do laundry. How did it all pile up so fast?

  There were benefits to working in a box store. Not a lot but once in a blue moon, it came in handy that everything I could be found within the walls of Sav-A-Bunch.

  Things like flu medicine.

  And pregnancy tests.

  I got dressed without turning on the lights. I didn’t even bother to check my reflection in the mirror because my looks were the least of my concern at that moment.

  Slamming out of the apartment, I bolted down the stairs as fast as my legs would take me. Another bout of dizziness threatened me at the bottom of the stairs and I had to remind myself to take it easy.

  Either I was sick or carrying a kid. In both cases, I would need to watch it with overextending myself.

  I paused to catch my breath and when I was confident that the vertigo had passed, I continued into the parking lot where my second-hand Ford Fusion sat inconspicuously.

  There was no traffic at that hour and aside from the usual suspects loitering around selling something unsavory on the corners, I was virtually alone on the streets.

  I made my way to work in ten minutes and with trembling hands, I let myself inside.

  The cleaning staff had already deactivated the alarm and one guy still lingered near the employee entrance as if wanting to get every last second on his punch card.

  He looked at me shamefully when I appeared and I’m sure my expression told the same story.

  We both had something to hide which made us allies.

  I gave him a brief,
sheepish grin.

  “Morning,” I offered.

  “Hola,” he replied and we both parted ways from there.

  Some of the lights were on but I didn’t need a stage light to guide my way to the pharmacy section of the store. I’d been an employee there for five years. I knew my way to every section in the dark and blindfolded.

  I grabbed the first box I saw, not bothering to check its price or accuracy. There were two tests in the box and surely two tests couldn’t be wrong.

  I’d pay for it later when the registers opened and no one would notice a charge like that at 4 o’clock in the morning.

  In seconds I was in the bathroom, huddled in a stall and of course I had stage fright. It took me several minutes of talking nicely to my bladder to instigate any movement and finally, I managed to do what I had to do.

  Waiting was the worst part. Two minutes felt like two hours. I kept expecting Christine to burst through the bathroom door and yell, “I know what you’re doing in there, Kennedy! Everyone knows!”

  In my mind’s eye, she pinned a scarlet letter on me or walked me through the store naked, chanting, “Shame!” while customers threw produce at me.

  But the guilty mind always thinks things like that…I guess. I’ve never been one to have a twisted conscience.

  What do you even have to feel guilty about? You did nothing wrong…except get drunk and forget who you slept with. It happens on Maury every damn day!

  My pep talks weren’t helping and I wondered who I could call on to walk me through this but there was no one. No family, no friends. No one but Belle who would likely just tell the entire store and hassle me until I told her the entire sordid story.

  I clung to the fact that I still felt feverish. That had to be a sign that I just had the flu, didn’t it? Morning sickness didn’t come with fever, did it? I had no idea. Outside of biology and health classes, I knew very little about pregnancy.

  In my twenty-five years on earth, I’d never had a pregnancy scare. Of course, I’d only ever been with three men—well, four if Vegas guy was not a figment of my imagination.

  I’d never considered myself an overly sexual person and it had probably led to the demise of my relationships. If I had the choice between watching a movie or having sex, I would have always picked the movie.

  Although the way you acted in Vegas was highly sexual, wouldn’t you say?

  Was it the booze? The atmosphere? The guy?

  Probably a combination of the three. I thought about how the mere idea of that man sent shocks of warmth through me. I’d never felt that way about any of my exes. With them, sex had been a chore, something I did to keep the relationship going. I’d certainly never instigated it the way I had with Vegas guy.

  I realized I’d been lost in thought for a while and I dare to look down at the plastic stick in my hand.

  Two lines.

  I was pregnant.

  But I was Kennedy Christensen. I wasn’t going to take the word of one piece of plastic made in China. No, I needed two pieces of plastic made in China for confirmation. Shit, I might even need four pieces of plastic made in China. Or maybe I just wasn’t ever going to accept it.

  I didn’t know why I even bothered. I knew in my heart what it was going to say but I was nothing if not thorough.

  The second test told the same story as the first.

  I sank back against the cold tile wall and tried to evaluate what I’d just learned.

  It defied logic that me of all people would find herself in such a position.

  I was boring, poor, methodical.

  You can’t be that methodical, I thought, sitting straight, my face paling as the severity of the situation came crashing down around my head. I don’t even know my baby daddy’s first name. Isn’t that kinda the first rule of being organized? Know who the players are?

  That time, I was expecting the vomit when it came.

  5

  Julian

  Eloise was not happy with me and that put a spring in my step. I knew there would likely be repercussions to pissing her off but for the time, it felt good to put her in her place.

  It wasn’t like I wasn’t used to Eloise trying to interfere with my life. She’d always done it since the day we met. She’d been seven and I was ten when our parents married, shocking the hell out of me. Eloise had taken it in stride. Her mother had only just divorced Raffi Sinclair a month earlier and it seemed like my father had been the next in her sights even before the ink was dry.

  Of course, this was all hindsight. I didn’t know much at such a young age. All I knew was that I suddenly had a new sister and one whom I didn’t particularly care for.

  Call it child instinct but from day one, I knew there was something wrong with that girl.

  It wasn’t really surprising really. Her mother carted Eloise around like an accessory, teaching her the ways of manipulation and gold digging from a young age. It would have been a miracle for any child to escape from such an upbringing unscathed.

  Not to say I didn’t give her a chance—or at least I tried the best way a kid can under those circumstances. But it quickly became evident what kind of person my little sister was; cunning, deceitful and outright narcissistic. Whoever says you can’t judge psychopathic tendencies in children clearly never met my step-sister.

  I couldn’t count how many times she would steal something and then plant it in my room before running off to tell my father or her mother.

  My father didn’t pay her much mind and Maddy would reprimand me but when nothing beyond a scolding would manifest, Eloise had to up her game. She got three maids fired before I intervened and told her and threatened to have her arrested.

  She was young enough to buy into my threats but I had also made an enemy for life. Her mannerisms became more pathological and more passive/aggressive over the years but I watched a sociopath in the making. I never trusted the girl and while she maintained contact with me after I left home after college, I would have happily dismissed her from my life altogether if it had been up to me.

  I knew that this thing with Genevieve had nothing to do with her being sisterly and setting me up with a friend for the sake of seeing me happy. True, Genevieve was beautiful enough for any man and honestly, if I hadn’t met her through Eloise, I probably would have asked her out…well, maybe before that enigmatic Vegas adventure. Who didn’t love a big busted redhead? And I could see she was interested in me.

  But just knowing that Genevieve had any ties with my sister was enough to turn me off to the woman forever.

  “You’re a fool,” Eloise crooned into my voicemail. “She’s rich, beautiful and too smart for you. You don’t deserve her.”

  In another she screamed, “Are you gay for real? What’s wrong with you?”

  Eventually she just jammed up the space and I left it like that but I had to admit that the wheel in my mind was turning, trying to anticipate her next move. Eloise did not take rejection well and to reject Genevieve was obviously a direct slap in the face to her. Well, it was obvious to her, not me.

  It didn’t matter anyway. The new PR campaign was underway and I had a feeling that we were hearing the last of the weird, unsubstantiated rumors which had come from God only knows where.

  According to the marketing experts, I was Julian Bryant, family man, family values. Whatever that meant.

  Anyway, I wasn’t receiving any backlash from the tenants that I knew of. The drama was more or less over as far as I could tell. Then again, I didn’t exactly keep my eyes on the tabloids. I was too busy running an empire.

  I was knee deep in paperwork when Terry knocked on the door, his eyes clouded with worry as usual. I had forgotten he was there. I considered that a good thing—it meant he wasn’t obsessing about something.

  “Julian, sorry to bother you but a package just arrived for you.” The lawyer looked ill at ease but what else was new?

  “A package?”

  I tried to remember if I’d ordered anything from Amazon lately
but I drew a blank. My online shopping had taken a back-burner lately too. I really needed to step up my social game. I was turning into a work-crazed misfit.

  “What is it?” I asked, focusing my attention back on him. Terry stepped forward into the room, a manila envelope in his hand.

  “Before I give this to you, do you want to tell me anything?”

  I guffawed.

  “You’re going to need to be more specific than that, Terry,” I replied, sitting back to run my fingers through my chestnut hair. I needed a haircut. I’d have to remind my assistant to do that soon. Man, I really was falling apart those days. I wondered if my lack of self-care had started when I returned from Vegas.

  I turned my eyes back to the computer, almost forgetting that Terry had come in for a reason. The lawyer cleared his throat and I looked at him again.

  “Here,” I said impatiently, gesturing for him to give me the envelope. No wonder it took me forever to get things done. I was being interrupted every six seconds.

  “Julian, I need you to be straight with me. What happened when you were in Vegas last?”

  My lids dropped and narrowed my aqua eyes into slits. That was a very pointed question, two months in the making. What did Terry know that I didn’t? I studied his face closely.

  “What do you mean?” I asked slowly. He had my undivided attention now.

  “Anything you want to tell me? Anything you did?”

  A dozen images of the black-haired girl flashed through my mind at once and for a second, I was breathless by the vision.

  Kitten. This is about her.

  “Nope. Why?”

  Terry’s gaze locked on mine and his lips formed a line which spoke volumes about how much he believed me.

  “Julian…who is Mrs. Bryant?”

  The question didn’t compute at all. There had never been a Mrs. Bryant, at least not as long as I’d been alive.

  Even my mom had kept her maiden name. My poor dad couldn’t get a woman to take his surname, even with a fortune attached to it.

  “My grandmother?” I suggested. “What is that? Give it to me.”