Bliss Series Boxed Set: The Whole Damn Harem (57 page)
Read Bliss Series Boxed Set: The Whole Damn Harem Online
Authors: B.J. Harvey
“How are you doing, Mac?” he asks.
I bite my tongue, stopping from saying the first thing that comes to mind.
“Okay. It’s getting worse, though.”
“I imagined it would be. I’m just going to check how far along you are and see how these babies of yours are doing. You’ve done so well to get to thirty five weeks, Mac.”
“Thank you,” I whimper as another contraction strikes. I start crying again, I can’t help it. Damn these pregnancy hormones. I’ve been crying at everything for the past nine months. The Glee kids won regionals, and I burst into tears. The Bachelor chooses the right woman for once, then gets down on bended knee to propose marriage, and I leak like a water fountain. A baby turtle clambering down the beach to reach the safety of the sea, and I’m a blubbering mess. Daniel rubbing my feet after a long day at work, and I turn into a leaky sprinkler. Don’t even get me started on when I started leaking milk out of my boobs two weeks ago.
“Okay, Mr. Winters,” he says, looking over at Daniel who is now lazing back in the chair beside the hospital bed like this is a Sunday joy ride. “If you could just hold Mac’s hand and try to keep her calm, I’ll be finished in no time.”
“At least buy me a drink first before you fist me,” I mutter, Daniel’s eyes go wide as he tries not to laugh. Kate doesn’t have that luxury and is rolling around, laughing her tits off at me.
Note to self: Must reconsider my choice for godmother.
After sticking his hand inside me, and moving it around like I’m a talking puppet, he removes his hand and drapes the sheet back over my naked lower half.
“You’re fully dilated, Mac. It’s show time. Can you feel any pressure down there?”
“I can feel fucking everything down there. Your hand, the gloves, the demon spawns called my children that are trying to climb out of me as if there’s a ladder in my crotch.”
He has the audacity to chuckle. I mean, I’m a health professional. I know all there is to know about bedside manners, and laughing at a lunatic pregnant woman is NOT the thing to do. It’s not cool, man. NOT. COOL.
Daniel entwines our fingers and squeezes. “Gorgeous, you can do this. I’m with you all the way. We’re going to meet out son and daughter. I know you can do this because you can do anything you put your mind to. I love you. Let’s meet our babies.” The smile on his face is my undoing. I wouldn’t give this moment up for all the craziness in the world.
“Superman,” I stutter as I feel tears welling up again. “I love you.”
He leans down and kisses me softly, gently, with just a little bit of superhero tongue. Well played, Mr. Winters.
Twenty minutes, and a lot of obscenities later, Jared Daniel Winters enters the world. Ten minutes later, Riley Mackenzie Winters decides to grace us with her presence.
And I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
Chapter 3: “If You Ever Come Back”
Chapter 5: “Take Me or Leave Me”
Chapter 6: “Playing With My Heart”
Chapter 8: “Can’t Remember To Forget You”
Chapter 9: Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word
Chapter 11: “Everything Will Change”
Chapter 12: “Me & My Jealousy”
Chapter 13: “You Got The Love”
Chapter 15: “Goodbye, My Lover”
Chapter 22: “Let’s Stay Together”
To Nikki aka Bulldog
You’re the bestest friend I’ve never met.
My rock, my cheerleader, my motivator and most importantly my dear friend.
Sean will always be yours now ;)
“Bad Day”
Sean
I’m not one who is easily rattled.
In fact, my cage is so secure it might as well be anchored to the ground in concrete. It’s why I’m so damn good at what I do—corporate law. ‘The Shark’ is what they call me. I revel in it, thrive under pressure. In fact, cool, calm, and collected should be my middle names.
Then, like the flip of a coin, there is the other half of my life. The side that isn’t so organized. My personal life, the part of my life that should be under control, is a cluster fuck right now. And as always, it all points to one person.
By day, I’m like Teflon—shit doesn’t stick to me. I don’t let it. My work doesn’t get brought home; it starts and ends at my office door. Just the way I like it.
I should be sitting back in my soft leather recliner, drinking a well-earned glass of Macallan on ice. So why am I sitting in front of a computer screen watching security footage of my younger brother Ryan hand an envelope to an unknown man at the club?
My
fucking club.
Thankfully the video I’m watching isn’t a live feed. That would have been too much for me to handle. I have a pretty controlled temperament, but I’d be barreling down there and punching him in the face, then kicking his useless ass to the curb once and for all. Instead, I’m watching delayed footage from yesterday afternoon that my private investigator sent me.
Blood or not, nobody fucks me over. I suspect Ryan is putting the club and me on someone’s unwelcome radar, and I don’t need the attention or the bullshit. Yes, I know the fact that I have a PI watching my own brother speaks volumes. Ryan is a gullible son of a bitch with a magnet for assholes and trouble in equal measure. As soon as I had an inkling that he was involved in dodgy shit (again), I asked my friend Asher to step in and monitor the situation for me. It was a necessary step to take. He fucked up two months ago and I stood by him but now … well, enough is enough.
“Trouble”
Sean
Let me explain how we got to this point. A quick run down memory lane, so to speak.
My name is Sean Edward Miller, first born son to Harvey and Annette Miller. Two years later, Ryan Anthony Miller was born. Two rambunctious sons that were very much wanted and loved by our parents. My brother and I were born into privilege, not wanting for anything. Unfortunately, this only exacerbated my brother’s sense of entitlement. Even at a young age, Ryan had a love of money and wealth rarely seen in a young boy.
When we were twelve and ten, our parents were killed in a carjacking. I still remember the day the police came to the door with our grandfather who had flown in from Chicago. They took us into the living room and told us that our parents had been killed and that we’d have to go live with our grandparents in Chicago.
Although it was twenty-one years ago, I still remember that day like it was yesterday. The soft floral scent of my mother’s perfume that filled the room as she was getting ready for a fundraising event in the city. The look of awe in my father’s eyes as he watched my mother walk down the stairs with poise and grace. The love poured into the kiss goodbye that she gave both of her sons as she left, and the smile my father gave us as they waved and walked out the front door, telling us they’d see us soon.
But it wasn’t just another night.
Those are the last memories I have of my parents being alive. It’s a moment forever burned into my subconscious and has been the driving force in my life ever since. Everything I’ve achieved, and everything I’ve ever done is to make my parents proud. I’ve wanted to lead a successful, happy and fulfilled life in their honor, and I like to think I’ve achieved that so far.
Ryan was affected in far deeper ways than I was and as much as I try to help him, he just can’t seem to stay on the straight and narrow, and I keep bailing him out of trouble. I’m his safety net.
I pull off my tie that hangs limp around my neck before undoing my platinum cufflinks and dropping them onto my antique Chinese Elm desk. Pausing the video, I leave the office and make my way through my dark empty condo to the living room, the sound of footsteps bouncing off the walls, echoing through the air. Stopping in front of my drinks cabinet, I wrap my hands around the crystal decanter of whisky calling my name and pour three fingers into the matching glass—a wedding gift that belonged to my parents and a rare antique that my brother has always coveted. Knocking back the burning amber liquid, I pour myself another, drinking it down as quickly as the first. The burning sensation in my chest eases into a nice warmth that quickly spreads throughout my tension-filled body. I pour a glass again, this time walking over to the refrigerator and adding two ice cubes before turning on a few lights in the living area and returning to my office.
I sit down in front of the paused screen and push play, watching in slow motion as my brother appears to pay someone off. It’s all assumption and hearsay at the moment. But an empty club plus a bulging envelope being handed over to a stranger who does NOT look like a banker or a security guard … well, it doesn’t look good does it?
And it was all done while I was ten blocks away in my tall glass building, knee deep in a hostile takeover mediation. Who knew the real hostility was being carried out in my own back yard.
As I take another sip of my drink and I watch another camera angle of the ‘transaction,’ the sick feeling in my stomach increases. He has not only involved himself in the shit this time, he’s dragged my ass into his mess. The shit that my brother attracts just never fucking ends.
If my father or grandfather were alive today, they’d have me tanning his hide and throwing him out on his ear. But I can’t seem to do that. Every single fucking time I save the day. As much as I try to clear the way for him to stay legit and finally make something of himself, he always stumbles. Despite the time, effort and many opportunities afforded to him by me, nothing seems to change.
Well, this time it’s going to be different.
Once I’ve calmed down enough to talk to him, I’ll make him understand that this time he’s gone too far.
This time he’s going to have to learn the hard way.
Alone.
Sam
Two Days Later
“Roberts, get your ass over here. Stop mooning over your fiancée or I’ll have you written up sooner than you can say yes ma’am.” I try to keep a straight face but on the inside I’m having trouble backing up my threats. He knows as well as I do that when it comes to Zander, I seem to lose my ice queen tag.
Zander Roberts has been my partner for six months and in that time he’s managed to do what many before him have failed at—loosen me up. I’ve been, for lack of a better word, uptight for the best part of a decade. In order to be the strong, capable and independent woman my mother raised me to be, I’ve had to wear what I now liken to being my invisible armor—impenetrable to anyone and anything. I’ve been all about the job; the academy, then working on the street doing general patrol and a field training officer. Zander was the last recruit I took on as a field training officer. I worked him to the bone for a month while he experienced what the reality of being a cop in Chicago entailed. And he did me proud. So much so that I requested he become my partner when I returned to patrol.
