Page 113 of Nash

A smile lifts my lips, hiding the goddamn fireworks bursting in my heart, imagining having a baby with Vale. Yes, it stirs my cock, too. “So, we’re having a family together? Me and you?”

“Yep.” She pops her lips. “It’s not like we just met. It’s not like we just fell in love. Remember? You’ve always been home for me.” She rushes, “But not yet. I want lots of orgasmic sex with you first, and changing diapers may get in the way, but when we do, we’ll name our daughter Wednesday and our son?—”

“We are NOT naming our daughter Wednesday Allen.” But I’m laughing because Vale gets her way. Sometimes.“And no son of mine will be Pugsley or Lurch.”

She bats her eyelashes. “Gomez?”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “To be negotiated.”

We drive for minutes, swimming in happy silence, while I dream of diapers, bottles, and baby carriers.

I missed a lot with Alena.

But if I get my dream of a second chance? If Vale makes me a father again?

I’ll carry our baby in a front carrier and holster my Beretta in the back.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

VALE

“Where are we going?”

I’m finally curious. My surprising rush of baby fever has passed. I can see a future with Nash, so now I’m focused on staying alive.

“Sire’s place.” Nash aims this big SUV down a narrow alley off the popular King Street in historic Charleston.

Pressing an app on his phone, the gate to a parking area opens, and we pull in. He kills the engine, then grabs his gun and our bags.

I could get all snarky with comments, but this chase is starting to feel too real.

Too close.

Too dangerous.

Holding Nash’s shoulder, my heart races as we enter a secure door using a code and climb a narrow stairwell. At the top, Nash presses a doorbell. After a minute, I hear aclick, and the steel door opens.

“Well, let me be my brother’s keeper.” Sire fills the threshold, grinning at me. “Look at what his pretty cat is dragging in.”

Dressed in grey cotton pajama pants and no shirt, Sire has more ink than Nash. From some on his handsome face to his thick neck, all the way down to his drawstring, he’s covered in vivid tattoos and defined muscles. He looks menacing yet radiates calm, like a big, evil angel.

“Sorry for waking you,” I state the obvious. With Sire’s mussed hair and the late hour, he wasn’t expecting us.

“It’s fine!” A woman chirps from inside. “Stallion, let them in.”

Stallion?

I smirk, intrigued by Sire’s amorous nickname, as we brush past him.

Nash holds my hand, leading me into a modern, two-story penthouse loft atop an old brick mercantile building.

“Hi!” A stunning woman, much younger than me, rushes my way. “I’m Wren!”

Her gorgeous raven waves are piled on her head in a messy knot. She’s wearing a man’s white button-up that fits her like a gown, contrasting with her dark, glowing, tawny skin. Her eyes sparkle like she’s thrilled to meet me as she yanks me into a hug. “You must be Vale.”

“You must be burned if you’re here,” Sire adds.

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