Somebody's Lover: The Jackson Brothers, Book 1

was a melodramatic sentiment. He’d been fucking her. Didn’t he always call it fucking instead of making love? It hadn’t bothered her until this moment. In fact, the word was sexy when said in that husky, needy way of his.
    “He won’t talk to me,” Connie moaned.
    Ah, the silent treatment. Lou had been an expert. But she couldn’t think about Lou now. She needed time alone for that. For reflection and analysis. Like tonight, after she’d dropped the boys off at Connie’s. In the bath—a nice, steamy bath with a tangerine fizz ball scenting the water.
    While she waited for Jace to arrive.
    She knew he would. He had to. She wanted to believe he couldn’t help himself. How far she’d sunk. Their affair would eventually blow up in her face, but taking him in the bathroom had been an irrevocable decision. She’d chosen not to stop, to have him whenever she could. She just needed to figure out how her revelations about Lou changed everything.
    “You’re not listening to me.”
    “Of course, I am.” What had Connie said?
    “I said my period started this morning. I feel all bloated and ugly and achy and I hate it.”
    She knew Connie hadn’t said all that. “Did you take some ibuprofen?”
    Connie scrunched her lips mutinously. “I don’t need drugs. I need a baby.”
    The truth hurts, but sometimes it had to be said. “You know, Mitch has got to want the baby, too.”
    “But I’m the one who carries it. I’m the one up all night feeding and diapering and soothing. I take care of everything.”
    “And Mitch pays for everything.”
    “You sound just like him. A big family was something we always planned on having.” Connie glared.
    Well, she’d said her piece. Connie didn’t want to listen. Done. “What did he say when you told him you weren’t pregnant?”
    “I haven’t told him. He’d already left.”
    “Well, at least it will give you a chance to work out a compromise.”
    “How do you compromise on a baby, Taylor? You either have one or you don’t. There is no compromise.”
    “You can compromise on the timing.” She patted Connie’s hand. “You’re only twenty-nine. There’s time.” She wondered if Jace wanted children of his own. He was so good with the boys.
    The ultimate quick-change artist, Connie dried her eyes and sighed. “You’re right. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.” She touched Taylor’s hand. “I don’t know how you put up me.”
    “Because I love you like a sister.”
    Connie sniffed one last time. She was never down for long. “Mitch and I will work it out. I’ll convince him somehow.”
    “I know you will.” Taylor wasn’t sure of that, but she didn’t want Connie to start crying again. “What time shall I bring the boys over?”
    Connie’s eyebrows popped up. “Better make it around four. Are you sure you’re going to be all right on your own? You could come, too, if you want.”
    Right. That is not what Connie had planned. Taylor didn’t know how she felt about Connie playing matchmaker. Connie didn’t really get all the family dynamics. Everything was black and white to her. She had a baby, or she didn’t. What Mitch wanted was irrelevant. Taylor wanted Jace, or she didn’t. What Evelyn and Arthur thought about it was immaterial.
    Things weren’t that simple.
    Maybe they would be after tonight. After she’d slept in Jace’s arms and woken up beside him in the morning.

    * * * * *

    Jesus, he was freaking nervous. He parked around back on Lou’s old motor-home pad so his truck couldn’t be seen from the road, since he intended to leave it there all night.
    Taylor had turned off the outside lights. The kitchen and family room were dark, blinds closed, as well as her bedroom. The only beacon guiding him, besides the moon, shone from the small bathroom window.
    Unlocking her front door, Jace stepped into a collage of scents and candle flame flickering across the walls. She’d left four candles burning on the table. The main bathroom was to the left of the family room. Steam spilled out into the hallway.
    He braced himself with his hands on either doorjamb.
    The long, narrow room smelled like tangerines. Steam beaded on his forehead. She stood in front of the mirror, hair streaming over her shoulders, torso wrapped in a towel, and her left foot on the counter. Smoothing lotion from her calf to her knee, she then delved beneath the towel to knead the cream into her thigh.
    Je-sus. He went up in smoke.
    She put her foot down and