The Anchor (31 page)

“I hate that you’ll be born fatherless, but he really did it to himself,” she starts and mumbles on in an endless thread of threats against my life.

“Can’t I meet the kid at least once?” I query, causing her to jerk up and bump her head.

“Shit,” she hisses as she grabs the back of her head.

“Damn, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I drop the groceries and rush to her, running my hand over the area she hit to check for a bump.

“This is all your fault,” she whines.

“You hitting your head?”

“Yeah. If you hadn’t invited everyone for dinner, I wouldn’t have been sticking my head in the fridge searching for food, cursing your soul for it.”

Laughing, I grab the dish towel that’s sitting on the counter and open the freezer, scooping out some ice. “Yes, well,” I chuckle, “I’m going to help you cook it. I wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself.” Setting the ice cubes inside the towel, I gently place it on the back of her head. She stares up at me, her blue gaze soft, as her hand finds mine where it’s holding the ice.

“I know you wouldn’t,” she murmurs. We stare at each other a moment and I have to swallow back my need for her. Being just her friend is becoming harder than I thought. I want to kiss her so fucking badly. She’s wearing jeans and a long sleeve pink shirt and her hair is in a loose braid to the side. And damn, she smells so freaking good; like vanilla and sugar. The weekend we met, I saw her in nothing but heels and dresses. She was sexy and alluring. But right now, as she stands here barefoot, in simple clothes, I’m captivated. I’ve heard people use the expression ‘she’s glowing’ when describing pregnant women before, but I can actually see it now. She looks radiant.

“You look beautiful, Nikki,” I manage to get out before pulling my hand from under hers, still holding the towel. Her cheeks flush pink as I hand it to her and she takes it, but she doesn’t look at me when she says, “Thank you.”

“I need a beeeeerrrrrrrr,” John sings obnoxiously as the door whips open and he saunters in the kitchen, Edie following closely behind him. When he sees me, he grins. “Hey, shithead.” He’s dressed in a long johns shirt and worn jeans, looking nothing like a lawyer. I forgot to bring clothes to change into after work so I’m way overdressed.

I open the fridge and grab three beers, handing one to him and Edie. “Hello to you, too, Johnny,” I reply saucily.

“So how’d you convince Nikki to cook dinner tonight?” Edie asks me as she twists the cap off of her beer bottle.

“He didn’t,” Nikki mumbles.

“I told her I’d allow her to ravish my body if she did,” I answer casually before sipping my beer.

“Dude,” Joey says, as he enters the kitchen. “No sex talk tonight. Not even jokes.”

John and I chuckle. I guess as Joey considers Nikki and Edie like sisters, he probably wouldn’t want to hear us joke about having sex with them.

“Besides, you’d have to offer a lot more than your body before I’d just agree to cook dinner for five people,” Nikki adds. “Or cook in general.” She opens a drawer by the fridge and pulls out a little, yellow apron with cherries all over it and ties it around her waist. I’m staring at her when she looks up and catches me.

“What?”

“Where’d you get that?” I ask.

A sad kind of smile runs across her lips as she pushes some hair behind her ears. “I met your mom one day. We went shopping for stuff for the house and clothes. She brought over a few things to get the kitchen started. This was in with it.”

I’m smiling as I walk up to her and grab the edge of the apron, staring at it. I recognize it. My mother wore it often while standing in our kitchen, cooking the best meals. It’s one of those material things that just seeing it makes me feel loved. My chest tightens as I think of my mom. I wonder if she gave it to Nikki knowing what it would mean to me. She’s an amazing mother. And this apron is sentimental. I wore it a few times myself when I was a little kid, but I won’t mention that. Thank God those pictures weren’t in the box of photos my mother showed Nikki.

“She gave me this as well,” Nikki giggles as she pulls a photo from the same drawer. It’s a picture of me at five years old wearing my mother’s heels and apron with lipstick smeared on my face. Did I just call my mother amazing? I take it back.

Before I can snatch it from her Nikki leans back against the counter, holding it back. I move to reach over her but can’t press against her too hard without risking hurting her. She’s laughing and taunting, “It’s so cute, Parker!”

With no other options, I have to pull out my lethal weapons. My fingers. I gently tickle her sides and her laughter goes into full throttle hysterics as she writhes against me. Her hand holding the photo is still extended out over the counter in an attempt to keep it from me as she tries to fight me off with her free hand. Her cheeks are flushed and her mouth is open revealing her perfect, straight, white teeth. I almost forget about the photo for a moment as I watch her and feel her move against me.

Fucking beautiful.

“Mercy! Mercy!” she squeals just as John snatches the photo out of her hand.

Motherfucker.

He immediately bursts into laughter and holds the photo up for Edie and Joey to see. Nikki, recovering from her tickle fit, holds my arms with both hands and rests her forehead against my chest as the laughter racking her body dissipates. I don’t move. I don’t care if our friends are making fun of me. Nikki is touching me, using me to hold her steady until she collects herself. It’s all I want—to be her rock. And I’m happy I get to hold her steady while she’s laughing.

She finally manages to look up at me and wipes the tears from under her eyes. “I really hate you, you know that?” she giggles.

“If hating me makes you laugh like that, I’ll make you hate me every day for the rest of my life.”

Her giggling ebbs and our eyes are locked when John yells, “I’m posting this shit on Facebook.”

Well, now I care.

“No you won’t, fucker!” I yell as I take off after him.

Dinner was a success. I mean, nobody died so that means success in my book. I did burn the rice and everyone had a good laugh at my expense over it.

Assholes.

But otherwise, with a little of Parker’s help—okay, a lot of Parker’s help—the rest of the meal turned out great. Our friends have all left, not a one offering to stay and help with the dishes.

Again. Assholes.

Parker and I stand in the kitchen. He washes the dishes while I dry and put them away. When we’re done, I realize how tired I am as my lower back begins to ache. “Come on,” Parker says, as he juts his chin toward the living room. “Someone needs a massage.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I insist even though I’m already obeying him and walking toward the living room. A back rub sounds amazing and I won’t miss a chance to have his hands on my body in any capacity.

“Consider me a friendly neighbor doing you a favor,” he jests. “Think you can lie facedown on the couch with your belly?”

“Maybe with a pillow under my hips.”

Parker grabs a throw pillow and lays it in the center of the sofa. I don’t hesitate to climb on the couch and position myself. He seats himself on the edge of the couch and begins massaging my shoulders, causing me to groan.

“Damn, that feels good,” I murmur.

His deft fingers move lower, kneading and massaging the tight knots in my back.

“Fuck, it feels so good,” I moan. His hands freeze, causing me to turn my head.

“Why’d you stop?”

“I need you to stop making noises and saying shit like that, okay?” he replies, his voice deep and husky.

I can’t help smiling and turning my face to the sofa cushion as he starts massaging again. I have to mess with him. “Oh, Parker,” I whimper. “Please don’t stop.”

In a flash, he stands and heads toward the kitchen. “Wait!” I shout. “Don’t go,” I beg. “I promise, I’ll stop.”

“I don’t believe you,” he says, as he comes back to the living room, slipping his suit jacket on, his erection straining against his nice slacks. Heat blossoms in my belly and seeps lower. Licking my lips, I push myself off the couch, stifling the grunt I want to let out from the effort, and straighten my shirt when I get on my feet. I want him. I want him so badly I think I’d turn myself inside out to have him.

I’ve felt so uncertain about us, about what will happen with us, but my heart swells knowing he still wants me. Knowing I have this effect on him makes me brave. “Don’t go.” The words have left my mouth before I know what I’m saying.

His nostrils flare and he raises his chin. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Walking to him, I grab the lapels of his jacket. “Stay.”

As I gaze up at him, he runs a hand over his face and it’s the first time I notice how tired he looks. “When’s the last time you slept, Parker?”

“Honestly,” he murmurs somewhat humored. “The last time we slept together. I never sleep. But with you, I do.”

Fucking A.

How can words fill me up so much? How can they touch me so deeply? Taking his hand, I lead him back to my room, but he stops short of the door.

“Nikki, I—”

“Need a good night’s sleep, Parker,” I interrupt. “Take your clothes off.”

I don’t wait to see if he listens as I grab some pajamas from my top drawer and walk into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I change my clothes and brush my teeth. When I come out, Parker is standing by the bed in nothing but his boxer briefs. He’s messing with his phone; my guess is he’s setting the alarm to wake him up in the morning.

Maybe sleeping together isn’t such a good idea. How can I sleep near him and not touch him when he looks that damn good? I give a small smile and together we toss the throw pillows to the floor and pull the comforter back. When we climb in bed, I turn off the light. We’re both lying on our backs as we stare at the ceiling for a moment. This is weird. I’m used to him curling up behind me and crushing me to him, using me like a body pillow.

“Parker,” I say, and he turns his head to me, the moonlight seeping through the window accentuating the perfect cut of his face. “Just hold me. I know it doesn’t mean we’re us again, but I think we both need it tonight.”

He blinks a few times, his lips flat, and for a moment I think he won’t do it. But then he rolls to his side and indicates to me to do the same, and snakes one arm around my hips, and pulls me to him.

Even if I wasn’t pregnant, I’d want him. But the ache between my legs right now is so intense I’m squeezing my thighs together and unable to stop myself, I grind against him.

His erection presses against the back of my leg and he groans. “Nikki,” he says my name in a breathless whisper. His fingers dance along the exposed stretch of skin between my shirt and shorts, drifting against the elastic band.

I’m biting my lips to contain the whimpers as his mouth brushes the flesh of my neck. “Parker . . . please touch me. Please,” I beg. I hate how desperate I sound, but I am desperate. Gently, his fingers push beneath the band of my shorts and panties and slip down. The moment he touches my clit I moan.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so goddamn wet.” His breathing picks up as he moves his fingers gently in a circular motion. I pull my shorts midway down my thighs with my free hand to give him better access, then place my hand over his, encouraging him. Together, our hands slip down further until two of his fingers slide inside of me.

“Ah, baby,” I whimper in pleasure.

Parker Hayes loses it.

He curls and thrusts his fingers faster, the heel of his palm rubbing against my clit as he does. “You like that, Nicole?” he growls. “So fucking tight and wet. You make me fucking crazy.”

I leave his hand and reach behind me, threading my fingers in his hair, tugging hard, letting him know not to hold back. His teeth graze my neck gently before biting me, hard, and I unravel. My orgasm releases and a stream of words come pouring out and I repeat his name over and over, thanking him. He doesn’t pull his fingers out right away, but holds them there, almost as if he doesn’t want to move, while peppering my shoulder with little bites and kisses. After a moment, he pulls his hand away and attempts to help me pull my shorts up.