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“I think you fucked me into a stupor. Your manliness is affirmed.” But she sighed into the blankets. “But maybe I will just lie here for a sec.”
He brushed his fingers over her hair and looked down at her. “Rest. I’ll take care of everything. I’ve got you.”
She closed her eyes at the words and the tender tone of his voice. I’ve got you.
Yes you do, James Pike Ryland. Yes, you do.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Pike lay in bed, listening to Oakley sleep at his side, and stared at the slowly spinning ceiling fan. He should be exhausted. He and Oakley had fallen into bed after that phone call and had screwed like they were in combat—rough and hard and frantic. After her bath and his shower, they’d collapsed into the bed like they’d run a marathon. She’d told him not to say anything, that they should just enjoy the afterglow and go to sleep.
He’d agreed, not wanting to spook her with serious talk. But the fact that she was letting him sleep here at all wasn’t lost on him. She’d told him he needed to be gone before Reagan woke up at seven, but the Oakley of a few weeks ago would’ve kicked him out right after sex. She’d wanted him next to her in bed as much as he wanted her there—even if she hadn’t said as much out loud.
But what he couldn’t get out of his head was that when she’d come tonight, it hadn’t
been the name Pike she’d called out, but James. At first, he’d figured it was because of the caller, that she was protecting Pike’s identity by using James, the more common name. But it’d happened again when they’d made love. And hearing that name he’d so long ago left behind had made his chest tighten. Oakley saw him. The real guy beneath all the other crap. That’s who she’d invited in her bed.
And Pike didn’t want to leave it.
The broken condom had yanked him and Oakley apart before they’d gotten a chance to give this a shot. Yes, this was only supposed to be a hookup, a fling, but he’d learned over the years that his gut didn’t lie to him. And he’d felt the difference with Oakley from the beginning.
Pike got off on kink and daring sex. That’s what got his motor going and held his interest when it came to women. And Oakley could play that game like a champ. But with her, it was an added bonus, not what drew him to her. Everything was different with her. The simple things lit him up—kissing her, conversations over dinner, watching her with her daughter … lying next to her while she slept.
A week away from her had been torture, especially knowing she was dealing with all that stress and worry on her own. Protective instincts he hadn’t known existed had consumed him. And then tonight … when she’d said she was his, he’d wanted it to be true. The desire to claim her had been potent and absolute.
He had no idea what to do with that. Oakley could be pregnant. He was leaving for the tour in a few weeks. She already had a child. This had gotten complicated quickly. And the impulse that was pounding through him on how to handle the situation was a seriously idiotic one. He could hear all the words his mom and cops and social workers had thrown at him through the years—reckless, impulsive, stupid. He was so out of his depth with this.
He sat up in bed, careful not to disturb Oakley, and grabbed a pen and pad off the bedside table to scribble a note about having to go back to his place to feed Monty. His heart was beating too fast and his head was spinning, a panic attack waiting in the wings. But within a few seconds, he was up and dressed and headed for the door.
He needed fresh air.
And some perspective.
And he needed both right now.
Foster opened his door with no shirt on and his dark hair sticking up on end. He scratched his chest and yawned. “I swear to God this better be good.”
Pike looked his best friend up and down. “What’s with you? Usually you’re up and halfway through your morning run by now. Your woman not giving you a chance to rest?”
Foster smirked and opened the door so that Pike could come in. “I wish that were the case. We babysat last night, and Lucy decided she wanted to pull an all-nighter with Uncle Foster and Aunt Cela. Apparently, she’s not used to sleeping in strange places.”
Pike chuckled. “The big bad dom taken down by an infant. Nice.”
Foster flipped him off and led him into the living room, where a blanket was bunched up on the couch next to a harassed pillow. A few feet away, a playpen type thing sat near the unlit fireplace. Lucy’s dark hair poked out between the netting of the makeshift baby bed.
Foster cocked his head toward the sleeping child. “Keep your voice down. Cela finally got her to settle down around three, but she didn’t feel comfortable leaving her sleeping out here even with the monitor. I volunteered to stand watch in case she woke up again.”
Pike peeked over the side of the playpen, a knot of nerves gathering. Jace, Evan, and Andre’s little girl looked as sweet as an angel sleeping, but Pike couldn’t help the rush of anxiety at the thought of being responsible for one himself.
He raked a hand through his hair and sat on the couch opposite Foster. “Sorry I woke you.”
Foster’s eyes narrowed, his ever-perceptive best friend evaluating him. “You look almost as bad as I do. What’s going on, man?”
“You know that woman I was … am … seeing? The one you saw at Wicked?”
“Yeah.”
Pike leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs, unsure where to start. “Well, things have gotten … complicated.”
