Page 47 of The Bad Girl and the Baby

She waved a hand to where her bag sat on the counter. “I might be able to help with that. In my bag.”

“You carry condoms in your bag?”

Did he sound censorial? She’d let him get away with it this once. “Doesn’t every sensible girl?” Then she gave a shrug. “Actually, they were a present from Regan. She took me out Friday night. She reckoned I needed to get laid.”

“So she’ll be happy, then.”

“Not really. She reckoned I needed to get laid to stop thinking about getting laid by you.”

“Oh. You were thinking about us?”

“Maybe.”

He frowned but reached across and slid the bag over to her. She rummaged inside and tossed him a condom. “And did you get laid on Friday night?”

“Hell, no. Regan said I was giving off ‘fuck you’ vibes when I should have been giving off ‘fuck me’ ones.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad. Not that I’m going to get possessive or anything.”

“Me neither.” But she’d had enough of talking. She pushed her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, then flicked open the button, and rolled down the zipper. Underneath, he was naked. His cock sprang free, and she melted just a little bit more. As she wrapped one hand around him, he groaned.

He tore open the condom with his teeth, handed it to her…and the phone rang.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Ignore it.” She reached for him, but he stepped back. She should have known he was the sort of person who couldn’t ignore a ringing phone.

“It’s six o’clock in the morning,” he said. “No one rings at six unless it’s important.”

He turned away, zipping his fly with difficulty, and crossed to the phone. He glanced at the caller ID and shook his head, but he picked up the phone. “Mom. It’s six o’clock in the morning.”

Darcy jumped down from the counter and fastened her robe. It didn’t seem right being naked while he talked to his mother.

She tuned out the call and wandered around the spotlessly clean kitchen, switching on the coffee pot, getting milk out of the fridge, a mug from the cupboard. By the time Matt ended the call, she was seated at the table, sipping her coffee.

“That was my mom,” he said, taking the seat opposite her and running a hand through his hair. He appeared a little hassled.

“Don’t you get on with your mother?”

He leaned back in his chair and considered his answer, so it clearly wasn’t a simple one. He got up, poured himself a mug of black coffee, then came back and sat down.

“Truth? I love her like crazy, but she drives me nuts. Always did. And Dad’s just the same.”

“Why?”

“They’re just the most unorganized, impulsive people I’ve ever come across.”

“Were you swapped in the hospital?”

“Hah. Probably. But they’re so volatile. Either up in the air or down in the dumps. Madly in love or hating each other. By the time I was seventeen, they’d split up and got back together again five times. I always felt I had to be the responsible one.”

“That’s how come you turned out so…”

He raised a brow.

“Organized?” she suggested.

“Someone had to be,” he grumbled. “The last time they got back together, they decided a new start was what they needed, and so they headed off halfway around the world.”

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