I rise and waddle to the door, very conscious of his dark eyes following my ever movement.
“Shaw.”
“What?”
“For your sake, I really hope you’re telling the truth. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Yeah. It’s no biggie. I’ve been hurt my whole life. What’s one more?”
Chapter Six
Cam
It’s hell watching Shaw and Mum chatter together constantly while all I have for company is Dad and his disinterested huffs every once in a while…when he can bare to drag his attention away from the sports pages.
It’s hell because I’ve been dying to talk to her since that night in the kitchen, but the bloody woman scampers off and avoids me at every turn. She wants nothing to do with me, and who can blame her.
I can’t, because while I’m curious about what she’d been about to say, I can’t promise that my intentions are good. I still won’t entertain the thought that the child in her belly is Rob’s, not until I have irrefutable proof.
But that doesn’t stop me from noticing her seductively swollen body, and the way her face has filled out from that gaunt, haunted pallor to a nicely curved, rosy cream.
And then I haven’t even begun on the list of things my cock has perked up and noticed. Like the way her tongue peeks out and worries at the top corner of her lip when she smiles or laughs. I’ve never wanted to taste a tongue so badly in my life, but the thought of sucking that pink muscle into my mouth and letting her take mine in turn makes me so hard I’ve spent whole nights jumping between tossing and turning and ice cold showers.
It’s sick, I know, but there is just something about her swollen body that has captivated me, and I can’t bloody stop. After having that small taste of her in the kitchen, I’d been so hard I couldn’t stand up to stop her from leaving, and then after an hour’s worth of pacing, I’d given into temptation and stroked myself to one of the best releases I’d ever had.
The need to touch her and taste every inch of her delicate skin has become an obsession that I hate. An obsession I’m starting to hate her for. It’s wrong and unfair, but I can’t help it.
She’s done something to me; she must have.
“What do you think, Cameron?”
I look up from my plate and focus on them, only catching a glimpse of Shaw from the corner of my eye.
“I was telling Shaw that we should accept that invitation to the Larson’s garden party. Molly sent it over today, and I think it’s a fabulous way to introduce Ducky to everyone.”
I finally allow myself to look at her fully, and her captivating eyes are trained on me, a plea I don’t think she’s aware of blazing in their depths.
She obviously doesn’t want to go and doesn’t have the heart to refuse Mum but too bloody bad. If she wants to be a part of this world, she has to grow up and face everything that is thrown at her.
“I think that’s a brilliant idea, Mum.”
Her shoulders sag, and I restrain the urge to laugh when she looks back up at me with a bland expression I’m starting to resent. It’s as if she doesn’t see me, something I would have appreciated months ago but despise now.
It’s immature and obnoxious, but I want her to see me—even if it’s only to acknowledge the barbs I throw at her.
“She’ll fit right in with Molly since they’re both on the larger side and not very sophisticated.”
“Cameron! You apologize to Ducky right now young man!”
“Sorry Mum, but my bullshit quota is quite full for the day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do if I’m going to be expected to raise my dead brother’s child. If it’s his, that is.”
I hear her gasp and the sound of Dad blustering at me, but I keep walking, determined not to show the shame blazing on my cheeks.
***
Shaw
As the acrid taste of embarrassment and a not so little amount of outrage fill my mouth, I can do nothing but sit quietly and surreptitiously wipe at the tears spilling from my eyes.
The barb has hit its mark. Very accurately, and I look down at myself and take in the spread of my thighs and the huge barrel that is my stomach. It’s so easy to see myself in a bad light right now, especially with the way Mom used to put me down about everything, but I refuse.
I’ve worked hard to get myself back to a healthy size—okay so maybe it’s not hard to eat every sweet treat my eyes encounter, but you know what I mean—and I absolutely refuse to let Cameron Bloody Stone make me feel shitty about doing what’s right for my baby.
I’m not crying for the insult, I’m crying because I’m right back in that horror movie, only this time I wasn’t prepared. The kitchen incident had seriously messed with my mojo.
Now I’ll have to start all over again and learn to show him the ‘I don’t give a lump’ side of myself.
“Ducky, dear…”
“Don’t worry about it, Marge. I’m pretty used to people saying shitty things because they’re shitty people. I promise I won’t go into depression over one silly comment. Now tell me about this Molly. I might as well get to know her if I’m going to be parking my ‘fat ass’ with hers all day,” I muse, giving them both a mischievous grin.
Rule number one: Deflect attention if you want to survive.
“That’s the spirit, Ducky!” Vic bellows, his blue eyes twinkling back at me. “Now have you seen the latest editions of Antiques and Oddities?”
I shake my head and allow him to dazzle me with his next project in the titillating world of antiques hunting and buying and totally let go of Cameron’s insults.
Too bad he can’t be a nice person. With his looks and a better personality, I’d bet an organ he’d be as attractive, if not more than, his sleazy brother ever was.
“Victor darling, that’s quite enough of that for now if you please. Ducky and I need to discuss the garden soiree, and we need to start planning ensembles.”
Oh no. I hate it when Marge goes all designer duds on me. Every time she buys me something new, Cameron spots it and smirks sardonically at me as if to say ‘See, I knew you were all about the money.’ I half expect to wake up one night with the lunatic trying to collect ‘samples’ from me like some version of the crazy Dr. Frankenstein.
“Uh Marge, could you maybe not go on an all-out spree this time? I have so many things in that room you guys call a closet that I’ll never get through them all before sprout makes an appearance. Can’t I just wear that nice purple thing you got me last week? It doesn’t make me look like a cow dressed in Clingfilm.”
Seriously, everything she gets me is “fitted” and by that I mean I’m covered fully, but everything is on display with the tight fit. Now I don’t know about other pregnant women, but having my ass and belly all out and proud while still trying to keep my two girls out of your face is not my idea of a confidence-boosting outfit.
“But Ducky, I saw this amazing baby blue St. Laurent yesterday, and the shop girl said they can resize it for your petite figure.”
“Er, firstly, though I adore you for saying it, there’s nothing petite about my behind. No, don’t start. I was a chub before I got pregnant, and I’ll be the same after. I like food and being alive more than I like looking good for the meatheads that are today’s modern man.”