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Lucas had the can of baby formula open and sitting on the counter, white powder scattered everywhere, and an almost empty bottle laying abandoned on its side, going sour since it wasn’t rinsed out. I marched to the sink, ready to tackle the mess.
Fifteen minutes later, the counter sparkled. I loved rich people’s kitchens. Everything was well appointed in case a chef came to cook. I couldn’t see Lucas with a spoon in his hand—unless it was a silver heirloom.
The baby bottle was filled with fresh spring water I’d found in the refrigerator, ready to be made into milk when the baby woke up. The fridge was like a mini-mart, stocked with everything imaginable. Cheeses with names I couldn’t pronounce. Fresh fruits and vegetables spilled out of their bins. I was in awe one man had this much food and still ordered out tonight for dinner. I glanced over my shoulder, then snatched up some grapes. They were almost as big as plums.
The idea that Lucas walked the aisles of Trader Joe’s and bought all of this stuff made me laugh. I pictured him smelling melons and sampling cookies. One thing I knew as a frequent shopper there, he’d never survive the lines. Whoever stocked the shelves in front of me had bought enough essentials to survive for days.
Next on my list was ordering baby gear off Prime. With its dense population, New York City was home delivery central. A person could get anything delivered fast. Want bone broth soup at nine in the morning? No problem. Need diapers, a car seat, bottles, infant clothes, baby shampoo, and a portable crib by eight the next morning? Easy. Though, I maxed out my credit card when I checked out of the cart.
I peeked in on Esmé after I mentally crossed off all the things I’d needed to do. She hadn’t moved from the spot I’d laid her down on, but she had found her thumb. Her lips were secured around it but didn’t move. My heart swelled as I watched her sleeping so peacefully. She was so precious and innocent; I had to take a photo and send it to my mother. If I was a baby lover, she was baby crazy. Like cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs whacked.
I got down on my knees, leaning on the edge on the bed, so I could get an eye-level shot. I clicked a few photos with my phone, then placed it in my back pocket, happy to have something to share with my mother besides my latest cocktail or storefront window with something I loved but couldn’t afford.
With a big smile on my face, I turned around, heading out to the main area of the apartment to wait for the food delivery.
Seeing Lucas leaning against the doorframe, I gasped as my heart skipped a beat. He was too tall to fit under it. His arms were crossed over his chest. Add the scowl on his face, and I knew I had screwed up.
But what in the world had I done?
18
Lucas
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Daggers in my eyes, I locked my gaze on her.
“Um, I was checking on the baby. Doing my job.” She still had her hand at her throat. Eyes wide, having been caught doing the unthinkable.
“I saw you taking photos of her.” I pushed off the door, walking to her slowly. Her brows knitted in thought. Nice try. “What? Were you going to sell them to the gossip rags?”
The last comment was a low blow, even for me, but I needed her to delete those photos. I wasn’t taking any chances. The last time a woman had tried to expose me, I’d ended up writing a check for millions of dollars.
“Wait. What?” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the sleeping kid. She grabbed my hand and proceeded to pull me out of the room. Her touch did things to me, and I followed.
After she shut the bedroom door without making a sound, she faced me, her index finger in the air. “If you wake up the child, you will be the one putting her back to sleep. Got it?”
I nodded out of fear. It wasn’t Peaches who alarmed me. Hell, I could throw her over my shoulder and spank her ass before she blinked her eyes. It was the thought of dealing with the child in any capacity that freaked me out.
Hands on her hips, I watched the rise and fall of her chest. She was pissed about more than just waking up a baby. She was pissed I’d called her out on the taking the photos. But why was she so fucking sexy when her eyes flared with anger at me? And distracting? She was skilled at running me around in circles from topic to topic.
“The photos.” I held out my hand. “I need to delete them from your phone.”
