Blown Away (A Romantic Comedy) (Five More Wishes Book 1) (5 page)

He rubs my back and nestles his chin on my head. “What was that?”

“It’s not just you and me in this balloon.”

“You mean the ghost of Samba is here? I think he took that with him, too.”

I wrap my arms around him and slip my hands under his shirt for warmth. He feels so good. Comfortable. Comforting. “No, not Samba’s ghost. I mean the baby. Our baby.”

There’s a moment of silence, and I can swear that Cade stops breathing. His hands drop and then come between us, pushing us apart. He arches an eyebrow. “Say that again. I heard something funny. I think my ears are playing tricks on me.”

“I may be pregnant.”

“May be pregnant. Is that like you may win the lottery and may be discovered by Hollywood? Or is that like you may get up in the morning or may eat dinner? What’s your definition of may?

“Well, it’s not official.”

Cade takes a step backward and clutches his chest, laughing loudly. “Oh my God, you terrified me. It’s not official. I really believed you there for a second. ‘We’re not alone in this balloon.’ Wow, you sure know how to scare a guy.”

I laugh, too. “Right? It’s not like I’ve gone to the doctor. I just took some tests.”

Cade stops laughing. “Test? You took a pregnancy test and it was positive?” There’s not a drop of color anywhere on his face. I can almost see right through to his panicking brain.

“Four of them.” I stick four fingers up in the air. “But I haven’t seen the doctor yet.”

He steps back again until he’s leaning against the side of the basket. “Four pregnancy tests? All positive?”

I nod, biting my lip. I feel for him. I had the same reaction.

“And you think this is my baby?”

I put my hands on my hips and give him my I’m-going-kill-you stare. “Who else’s would it be?”

“I don’t know your private life.”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t have a private life. Every moment of my life is spent with you. I work with you. I watch TV with you. I only go home to shower and wash my bras. I even pick up my dry cleaning with you.”

“That’s because the dry cleaners is next to Paco’s Taco Shack.”

“Whatever. The point is that you’re the only one that I’ve ever had sex on a desk with, and the only one I’ve had sex with in a long time.”

“But that’s the thing. We only had sex once. Once! How could you be pregnant?”

“I don’t think you understand how this works,” I say. “It’s not like commitment. Sperm don’t take a wait and see approach. They swim hard, and it doesn’t matter if it’s the first time they’ve ever taken a swim. They’re goal-oriented.”

It finally hits him. He’s going to be a daddy. He got his co-worker pregnant. He’s going to have to change diapers and save for college, even though he’s still paying off his student loans. His eyes flick to my belly and then back to my face, searching for something. There’s still no color in his face, and he’s stopped blinking. Then, he stops breathing.

I check his chest for some movement, but yep, he’s stopped breathing.

“Breathe!” I shout. “Breathe!”

He doesn’t breathe. He crumbles like a house of cards, landing on the cooler in the corner of the basket.

“Wake up,” I say. “Don’t die and leave me here, alone. That’s typically selfish of you, Cade.”

I slap him to bring him back to consciousness. He begins to wake up, and I slap him again, because I’m pretty pissed about him questioning if the baby is his.

“Ouch!” He swats at my hand, and I slap his face, again. Just because. He opens his eyes. “What happened?” he asks.

“You passed out.”

“I don’t pass out.”

“It’s the new you. The daddy you.”

Cade sits up and rubs his back where he fell on the cooler. “This is a bad joke.”

I sit down next to him. It’s not so scary deep in the basket. I can almost pretend that I’m not hovering thousands of feet in the air. “So, having a kid is worse than dying in a runaway balloon?” I ask, wanting to slap him again.

“No, no. Of course not,” he says and looks away. It’s his tell. The sign that he’s lying. I slap him hard on the face. Four slaps are a bit much, but do you blame me? Cade’s head snaps back, banging into the basket. “All right,” he says, putting his hands up in surrender. “I guess I deserved that.”

“You think?”

“Well, you surprised me with your little surprise, you know.”

“You passed out,” I say. “A man jumps out of a hot air balloon and leaves you here to die, and you don’t pass out. You find out that I’m pregnant, and you pass out. I guess this doesn’t mean you’ve dreamed about starting a family with me.”

Cade opens the cooler and works to open the champagne bottle. “I’m not the white picket fence kind of guy.”

I know that. I’m not the white picket fence kind of girl. Sure, I live on a tiny island in a village of quirky people who believe that cavities are caused by bad karma and acne can be cured by group chanting and throat singing, but I’m a career woman. I’m like one of Cade’s goal-oriented sperm…I’ve worked toward fulfilling my journalistic dreams for years. I’ve never dreamed of a white picket fence or a white wedding dress or a white baby. I’ve done very little dreaming about white things.

Cade uncorks the champagne and takes a long swig. He holds the bottle out for me, and I grab it, bringing the bottle to my lips. Then I remember about the positive pregnancy tests, and I hand it back to him. He arches an eyebrow in question, and a second later his gaze flicks toward my belly, as he remembers what’s in there.

“You’re wrong, you know,” he says, taking the bottle.

“I’m not wrong. Wrong about what?”

“I have thought about it,” he says, taking another drink.

“About picket fences?”

“About a family. You know, with you.”

It’s my turn to pass out, and I’m shocked that I’m still conscious. It’s a hell of a time to stop drinking. “Open the caviar,” I demand. He twists open a large can of caviar with Russian lettering on it. I take the caviar from him, dip two fingers into it, and shove it into my mouth. Yum.

Normally, I need a Snickers bar when I’m confronted with shocking information from my life-long crush. But caviar will have to do, considering the circumstances. I eat about a thousand-dollars-worth of the Russian fish eggs before I’m physically able to respond to his confession.

“You thought about having a family with me?” I ask after I swallow.

“I’ve sort of had a crush on you since kindergarten. I thought you knew but didn’t care. Didn’t you notice that I couldn’t leave you alone?”

Of course I noticed he couldn’t leave me alone, but I never figured that T.P.’ing my house was a sign of attraction. Maybe I’ve been wrong about Cade’s seduction skills. He definitely needs a tutorial in flirting. The real Hugh Jackman would never freeze a woman’s bras.

Still, Cade’s confession has broadsided me. I’ve almost swallowed my tongue. It’s hard to believe that he’s had a crush on me since kindergarten. It’s a lot to digest. I scoop more caviar into my mouth. It isn’t working to calm me. Cade hands me the champagne. I take the bottle, but I refuse to drink it, just like a good mommy-to-be.

“Maybe we can make this work,” he says.

My body seizes up in shock, and I drop the champagne bottle. Cade puts it back in the cooler.

“Work how?” I ask.

“I’m a family man, a happy man, a working man.”

“That’s three men.”

“I’m serious,” he says, and his goo-goo eyes are back, the same eyes that made me pregnant. I’m terrified of those eyes, but they draw me in, anyway. He’s got some gorgeous kind of eyes, and they should be registered with the FBI as dangerous weapons and with Planned Parenthood as unplanned parenthood weapons. Chemical weapons. Biological weapons. Terrible weapons wrapped up in a gorgeous package.

“What do you mean, you’re serious?” I ask, purely for informational reasons. I have no idea if his serious is my serious. His serious could mean anything. It could mean that thinking of me gives him indigestion.

He points at me and back at himself. “You, me, baby makes three. That kind of thing. That kind of serious.”

I gasp. “Yeah, right. Sure. I’m ready for the punchline.” But I’m secretly hoping there’s no punchline. I’m secretly hoping that I’ve won the commitment jackpot.

“No punchline,” he says, caressing my cheek. “I’m serious. I wouldn’t mind putting the toilet seat down or eating home cooking for as long as we both shall live.”

“You would have to do the home cooking. I’ve never even owned a frying pan.”

“We’ll order in.”

I nod. “It’s more than that. More than the toilet seat and the toothpaste cap.”

“I didn’t agree to anything about the toothpaste cap.”

“Let’s be clear here,” I say. “You would have to agree on the toothpaste cap. But it’s more than that.”

But I don’t know what the more is. I’m an only child. I’ve never babysat, and I’ve certainly never had a baby before. What does it take to make a successful relationship, a happy family and home? I’m clueless. I wish I had chocolate. The caviar isn’t doing the trick.

“This is a lot to think about, but I don’t want you to think you’re alone. You’re not.”

I realize that I’ve been holding my breath, and I exhale. “Okay,” I say.

I study his face to determine how much of what he said is truth and how much is bullshit. I haven’t had a lot of luck with men in the past, and I’ve no reason to believe that Cade is going to change his hide just for me…and for the little bean growing in my belly.

I don’t know if I see truth or lies in his face, but we lock eyes, and then I’m sure of what I’m seeing. It’s all written in his killer, fertile eyes.

Whoa, Nelly.

I guess Cade likes pregnant women, because I’m pregnant, and his big dark eyes focused on me tell me that he likes me a whole lot. He crawls toward me until he’s almost on top of me. His breath smells of champagne and I’m-going-to-get-you-pregnant-again. Thankfully, Mrs. Sullivan taught me that I can’t get pregnant again while I’m pregnant. It’s like a get out of jail free card.

“What are you doing?” I ask, scooting backward until I’m leaning against the basket.

“What do you think I’m doing? I thought you were pretty familiar with this kind of activity.”

“You want to do it when we could die any second?”

“Millie, we can always die any second. Life is full of surprises, as you know too well.”

Cade’s voice is dark and filled with hubba-hubba. I melt at the sound of his voice. His lips lightly touch mine, and I put my hand on his shoulder to push him back a little.

“In a balloon basket? You want to do it in a balloon basket?” I ask.

“The mile-high club, Millie. Come on, be a sport.”

Be a sport. Be a sport. I try to wrap my mind around the idea of being a sport in a hot air balloon basket in the minutes before my likely death. But Cade is ready to go. He’s nuzzling my ear, making me squirm with pleasure, and he’s busting out of his jeans. I beg my common sense to make an appearance, and it makes a half-hearted attempt at re-routing the situation.

“Calm it down, buddy,” I moan, as he continues to nuzzle my ear. Wow, I could have him do that all day long. Ear nuzzling is woefully underrated. “There isn’t enough room in here for the two of us plus one-eyed Willy.”

My protest is pretty lame, and Cade has a clever solution about where to put one-eyed Willy so it won’t take up too much room in the basket. His lips move from my ear down my neck, and my traitorous hands reach around his neck and draw him in closer.

Oh, what the hell. You only live once, and if you get the chance to have sex in a runaway hot air balloon, you should take it.

Since movement in the basket is difficult, we only get partially naked, revealing just the parts that are absolutely necessary. Despite the cramped quarters and our impending doom, Cade takes his time, and I let him.

I take back every negative thing I thought about Cade’s seduction abilities. He’s big-time talented in the seduction arena. Without saying a word, he’s seduced me right out of my panties. He sits down and lifts me up onto his lap. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he holds me tight against him. Our lips touch, and then he’s devouring me with his mouth. Tongue, lips, tongue, lips, tongue. We’re like the grand champions of Dancing with the Stars but with our mouths.

I can hear the judges: Perfect scores to Millie and Cade for kissing. Extra points for tongue action and the ability to do hot, sweaty snugglebunnies, even though Millie’s head is spinning like a top with dizziness and her blood is rushing through her veins like it’s the pace car at the Indianapolis 500.

As impossible as it seems, Cade is growing underneath me, like his penis is angry it’s being neglected and wants some attention. I squirm against it, and it moves in gratitude.

Cade moans, his voice deep and guttural. “Holy shit, woman. You’re the best.”

I take him at his word…I’m the best. I’m super vagina, able to leap tall penises with a single bound.

Cade slips his fingers between us, touching my most sensitive skin. My insides melt, and the panic of my pregnancy and uncertain future fades away in a cloud of passion that makes my eyes roll back in my head. I begin to pant, doing a pretty good impression of a Pomeranian, when Cade suddenly stops. Before I can complain, he shifts me onto my back, and his tongue replaces his finger.

His…tongue… His glorious, talented, I-didn’t-know-tongues-could-do-that, tongue. I begin to sing opera. Somehow I manage to sing an entire aria from Aida, even though I’ve always been tone deaf and I don’t know a word of Italian. Cade doesn’t stop his performance during my performance. All of his years of incessant talking have given his jaw enormous powers of strength and endurance. He has great eye-hand coordination but even better eye-tongue coordination. He’s magical. He’s the wizard of oral sex. He’s the Dumbledore of cunnilingus.

Have you got the picture? He’s amazing at giving head.

I writhe in ecstasy as I reach my climax and a high C. As soon as I’m totally sated with a line of drool running down my chin and my heart rate down to a comatose five beats per minute, Cade hops to it, flipping me up and over his lap, again. With his hands on my hips, he lifts me up slightly, and when he puts me down again, he’s inside me to the hilt. My heart rate speeds up, and I’m wide awake.