Savage Secrets (Titan #6) (39 page)

After a few minutes of watching Jared watch her, she sidled up to Rocco on the couch. “Did you tell him?”

He shook his head. That was going to be quite the conversation, and Cat had no idea how Jared would react.

“No time like the present. Let’s do it.”

Her stomach bottomed, and that wasn’t the morning sickness. It was the right thing to do—
the
only thing to do—but nerves were floating in her stomach, side by side with her baby-nausea, and she didn’t want to get sick on Boss Man’s shoes.

Rocco tugged her the last few feet. “Jared—”

“I need to talk to Cat.”

Uh-oh
. She gulped.

“Us first.” Rocco moved her in front of him, and suddenly she felt like a little thing in an alpha-man sandwich.

Jared grunted. “Fine.”

She took a deep breath and hoped Rocco would do it quickly, just like he’d ripped off the last of the bandages on her shoulder. “Cat and I had a lot of time to think this over.”

She gulped, and Jared’s eyes narrowed.

Roc kept going, “There’s no other way to put it.”

Get to the point already
. She nudged him.

“We think you should be the baby’s godfather.”

Jared’s jaw dropped. “Godfather?”

She smiled. “Seems like a job for Boss Man. I always thought of you as mine.”

He uncrossed, then re-crossed his arms. “Well, fuck yes.”

Caterina had to laugh. Only Jared. “
Gracias
.”

“Thanks, man.”

Jared, apparently only able to handle one minute’s worth of an emotional moment, nodded curtly. “One more thing for you.”

She took Rocco’s hand, always a smidgen nervous when Jared had that this-is-a-heavy-moment tone. “What is that?”

“Come with me.”

He didn’t wait for an answer and stormed off. They followed just like he probably expected they would, following him into a side room that looked like a home office. On his desk was a small box, wrapped in dry, blood-covered, faded paper.

The present.

It was straight out of her nightmares. No. Her memories.

“This is yours. I kept it. Don’t know why. But there it is.” He popped one knuckle at a time, and she stepped toward his desk, pulled by the little present.

She picked it up. Weathered. The paper was crunchy and aged, the ribbon flat, as if it’d been packed away.

“Open it,” Rocco urged.

It was almost too much. She didn’t want to disturb it. Curiosity encouraged her to tear the paper off, but it also felt like disturbing history. Carefully, she ran a finger under the taped sides, and they came up with ease. Twenty year old tape didn’t keep its adhesive. She unfolded the paper without tearing and found a non-descript box. The top opened easily, and she found a bright red 1980s tape recorder and a cassette tape. The kind that allowed recordings off of her boom box.

“What is it?” Roc asked.

She pulled it out. All three of them studied it like they were preparing to disarm a bomb, and Rocco lifted it from her hands and turned it over, popping the back off. “Four double-A batteries.”

Jared moved to his desk, removed the back of a clock, put it down, grabbed a remote,and opened it. “Got two.” He tossed them to Rocco, who put them in. Jared continued through another remote, cursing when he found triple-As. “Give me a minute.”

How many remotes could a man have?

Walking out the door, he was gone long enough for nerves to kick in over the homemade tape. The label read Caterina Cruz’s Tenth Birthday in her mama’s handwriting, as if she could ever forget that.

Jared stepped back in. “Bingo.”

Two more double-As flew at Rocco. He snagged them mid-air and popped them in, closing the back.

Jared shifted in his boots. “I’m pretty sure I need to make sure Sugar isn’t terrorizing people.” After a couple of steps, he turned around, looking like his usual angry self. “Thanks for the godfather honor. You two blew my mind.” Then he left.

Rocco sat in a chair, pulling her onto his lap.

She laughed nervously, remembering all the things she used to do with her family. Her brothers singing to the radio. Leaving silly messages and recording, re-recording over and over until the tapes wouldn’t take anymore.

“You want to listen to it?”

Yes. No. Thousands of butterflies flew laps in her stomach. “It’s probably nothing. Spanish radio, circa 1980s.”

“So put it in, and press play.”

“I can’t.”

“Hell yes you can, Kitten.”

Without thinking about it anymore, she hit play. Spanish tunes screamed out. She jumped, and Rocco adjusted the volume. The music cut off.

“
Feliz cumpleaños
!”
Happy birthday
! A tidal wave of emotion hit her as her mama’s voice sang into the air. “
Feliz cumpleaños
!
Feliz cumpleaños
!
Feliz cumpleaños
! Feliz cumpleaños!” Her brothers each took a turn wishing her a happy birthday.

The tape crackled. “
Feliz cumpleaños, mi pequeña
!” Her daddy’s voice.
Happy birthday, my little one
. A full-body shiver started at her nape and spread. He kept talking, and she let the tears fall without bothering to wipe them away then hit the stop button.

“What?” Rocco’s face shot up. “What’d he say? Why’d you stop it?”

She rewound the tape. Translating after her daddy. “Ten years old and you're turning into such a young lady. Your family loves you. Always remember, love is strong enough to survive anything. Even what you're about to hear.” She took a breath. “That’s where I stopped it. I don’t want to hear—”

“It’s your birthday present, not something awful.” Rocco pressed play. She slammed her hands on top of his, trying to stop it. What would it be? Horrid family secrets? A reminder that she’d wanted her birthday party the way she wanted it, and it got them all killed? It was too much too—

Wham! blasted from the little speaker. Her brothers—the toughest boys she knew at the age of ten—broke into a booming. “Jitterbug.” Four freaking times, singing along with George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley. Here brothers were singing along with Wham!?

“
Ay Dios mio
!” She slapped her hand over her mouth.

“What the hell is that?”

“I drove them nuts with that song. Non-stop.”

All four of them sang, if it could be called that, at the top of their lungs over the music. “You put the boom-boom in my heart.”

“That
is awful
.” Her husband was failing to keep it together. His lips sucked in. His chiseled cheeks reddened. His eyes danced. His chest rumbled, trying to suffocate hysterics.

“Awful! I love it!”

Hands covering her face, she couldn’t stop laughing. Rocco couldn’t stop laughing. It was so bad, and exactly what she needed.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

“I think I’m done.” Caterina lay in bed, twirling her wedding band around her finger. “It’s over.”

Rocco rolled over, tucking his chin over her shoulder and slipping his hand over her swelling stomach. He couldn’t get over how the bump kept changing. “Done, huh?”

“It’s been a week.”

“That’s a long time?” One day, her stomach hadn’t looked so flat. Then it had a little lull to it. Now it had achieved full-fledged baby bump status.

“It is when you have the world’s longest morning sickness. It’s been like a vacation.”

“You may be the only woman ever to call pregnancy a vacation.” He could feel her smile in his arms. His hand drew lazy circles on her growing belly, using it as more of an excuse to lay his biceps across her looking-fuller-by-the-day breasts.

She turned her head. “Are you excited for tomorrow?”

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough. He never really needed to sleep and probably wouldn’t get any that night. “Am I excited?” He kissed her neck. “Hell, woman.”

“Me too.” She nudged her head back and—he could’ve sworn—gave him the slightest bit more skin to kiss.

She didn’t have to tell him twice. Her back arched, and he groaned. The erection he’d been carrying for two-months-going-on-eternity raged to life, and he shifted. Away. One day, everything would be okay.

He wasn’t complaining. It would happen when he least expected it. At least that was what the pamphlets and counselors, and websites had all said.

“Boy or girl?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

Her hand rested on top of his. The big fat book of shit-he-was-supposed-to-know said that any day now, he’d feel the baby move. Any day now. He was waiting. She pressed his palm to her belly. Any day now could happen any minute now ’cause he wanted to feel his kid.

“Did you feel something?”

“No.”

“Sorry.” Her voice was feathery, and it tickled over his senses, just like her hand, no longer pressing but hovering, barely touching him, teasing his skin and drawing prickles that cascaded like thousands of shimmery bites, up his arm, down his spine. Straight to his groin.

God, he was going to die. Not wanting to be more obvious than he already was, Rocco tried to add a bit of space between them. He needed space, and she needed holding. It never balanced.

“Don’t move away from me.”

“Oh, Kitten. I don’t want to. But I kinda have to.” He kissed her neck as chastely as he could. “I’m sorry.”

Her back arched into him again, her sweet ass backing up against his erection. The touch stole his breath, shut his eyes, and left him just savoring the closeness. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues. Maybe he didn’t have any. But he had been trying like hell to behave, and little moves like Cat was making weren’t helping.

Her hand stayed with his, still drawing circles on her stomach. Tiny pinpricks erupted on her skin. Goose bumps. Her warm hand pressed his, taking the lead across her belly. His heart beat slowed down. Got louder. His shaft was painfully hard, and she was doing bad things to him. Guided by her hand, the tips of his fingers touched the lace top of her underwear. His hand snatched back, an automatic reaction, but her fingers caught him, moving his hand closer to the lace again. Closer. Then skimming across the top.

Holy hell
.

His cock throbbed, and he held his breath. Unsure where to go, what to do, or what she needed. Unable to both think and feel, he thought too hard, and his hips flexed, feeling the curve of her ass through her pajama bottoms. His head lulled back. Hell, he could kiss her. That hadn’t been a problem. Lips finding her sweet skin, he gently trailed a path to that special spot behind her ear.

Her hand still guided his as his palm smoothed back and forth over the lace front. His tongue swept, and her hand pushed down, stronger, surer, and further down. Again, further, such incremental moves, his breath held, coming in short bursts against her neck, and then her fingers cupped his against her sex.

“God, you are wet, Kitten.”

“I know…” She nodded, her soft hair moving against his chest.

His fingertips curved against her, daring to touch and tease. Have mercy…

“Is this okay?”
Please let it be. Please…

She nodded again. “Yes.”

Thank fuck.

Sliding under the lace scrap, his fingers found her folds slick. His fingers caressed softly, carefully. She sighed, arching again, and he dared to part her folds and seek her clit.

She sighed, aroused, enjoying, and it made him bolder. His fingers explored. Little sounds he’d memorized months ago purred out of her lips.

Molding himself against her body, he inhaled the smell of her shampoo and savored the taste of her skin. “Is this what you want?”

“More than anything.” Her voice was low, seductive, and seriously doing bad things to his control.

He’d kill to keep her and their baby safe for the rest of their lives. The amount of trust she’d found and placed in him made his heart clench. How was it possible to love so damn hard? He slid one side of the lace underwear over her hip bone. “Still with me?”

“Uh-huh.”

His hand trailed her thigh, desperate to get back between her legs and wanting to make sure this worked for her as much as it was working for him. Fingertips dragging over her skin, goose bumps flashed against his palm, slowing him. Slower… Slower…

“Rocco.” Her voice was husky and sexier than he could ever remember, and he’d spent an inordinate amount of time recalling every one of their moments.

He cupped her mound again, and she murmured and writhed against him. He abandoned her sweet pussy and hooked the lace from her other hip, dragging it down. To her thighs. Then over her knees, ankles, until she was bare to him. He didn’t have a condom. But hell, they didn’t need one. Breaths caught in his chest.

Caterina turned her head. “You’ve been so patient with me.”

“If you’re not—”