Louisa took a step back. I scanned her body. She was, indeed, a delightful creature. Not as wildly exotic and exciting as Belle, but satisfying nonetheless.
It was good to remember that Louisa would never put herself in a position of getting death threats, would never opt out of contacting the police, nor would she carry a gun or eat Froot Loops for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“Can I stay here in the meantime? I gave myself a tour and noticed you have a couple of guestrooms,” Lou murmured.
The idea of sharing a roof with both Emmabelle and Louisa was about as appealing as castration by a blind man. This could easily end in a double murder. Frankly, I didn’t want the mother of my child to give birth in prison.
“Get a hotel.” I took a step forward, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “I’ll pay.”
“No, thank you. I have my own money.” She smiled politely, but I could tell by her face that she was wounded. “Dinner tomorrow? Show me Boston?”
“Sure,” I groaned. “Just let me check my calendar.”
She immediately melted into my body, smiling up to me, her eyes shining with the same intensity they had when we were kids.
Louisa.
She’d never cheat.
Never show a hint of disloyalty.
Would be so easily trained.
“I’ll stay local.” She caught my wrist between her fingers, pushing her cheek into my palm like a spoiled kitten.
“I’ll stay in touch.”
“God, Devvie, I’m so glad we had this conversation. Your mother will be delighted.”
Apparently, Belle would be too.
I escorted Louisa to the door, kissed her cheek goodbye, and closed it after her.
Maybe it was time to let one door close and another one open.
She was gone.
But not before he rubbed his thumb across her cheek.
Not before he looked down at her with the same aloof amusement he looked at me.
I spied on them through the crack of the slightly ajar door of the guestroom.
I had spent the entire day telling Louisa how much I didn’t care for Devon, how I was eager to get back to my normal life. All in order to save face.
But none of it was true.
Admit it. You have feelings for the father of your child, and you’re in over your head.
I clutched my belly, flinging myself on a bed that smelled like him.
Betrayal was betrayal. And this felt reminiscent of my past. That same helpless feeling of putting your heart in the hands of a man and watching as he crushed it into shards of nothing.
I curled into myself over the linen of the queen-sized bed and seethed.
I needed to get out of here. To move back to my apartment.
Thank fuck I hadn’t stopped paying rent.
I wanted to give it a few weeks, just to see if Devon and I would get along. Turned out we did.
Only one thing was standing in our way—his fiancée.
Or maybe she wasn’t his fiancée right now, but she was right in what she told me this afternoon, when he wasn’t here.
“Devon always does the right thing, and the right thing is to marry me. Bow down, Emmabelle. It’s game over for you. He doesn’t have a choice.”
A soft knock on the door sounded behind my back. I made no move or sound.
“May I?” Devon asked gruffly from the other end.
He didn’t sound apologetic at all. More like he was looking for a fight. Well, this was his lucky day.
“It is your apartment.”
He’d told her I was a stripper. Otherwise she wouldn’t have said it. He probably bragged about my being a burlesque club owner. Many men found my occupation sordid and attractive. Not a marry-her-one-day attractive. More like, look-at-the-freak-show-I’m-fucking attractive.
I felt the edge of the mattress dipping behind me. His impressive frame filled the bed, and there was nothing I could do about it.
“I would like to stress to you, again, that Louisa and I are not currently together nor are we engaged. I never would have bedded you had I been with someone else.”
I snorted out a laugh, refusing to face him. “Please. You admitted to me yourself that you were fucking around after I conceived.”
“Fucking around is not the same as having a partner.”
“Well, go tell all your other hookups that you finally found a keeper.”
“I don’t have any other hookups,” he said irritably, like I was the one who was being unreasonable. Was I? “The day your tires got slashed was the day I stopped taking other women’s calls. What do you take me for?”
“Oh, you really don’t want me to answer that question.”