His Pretend Baby Read online

  His Pretend Baby

  50 Loving States, Oregon

  Theodora Taylor

  Rom Tell That

  Contents

  Copyright

  Subscribe to the IR Weekly Bestseller List

  Also by Theodora Taylor

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Dearest You….

  HIS ONE AND ONLY

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  HIS FOR KEEPS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Her Russian Surrender

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Theodora Taylor

  Copyright © 2016 by Theodora Taylor

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Also by Theodora Taylor

  HOT CONTEMPORARIES WITH HEART

  The Owner of His Heart

  The Wild One

  Her Perfect Gift

  His One and Only

  His for Keeps

  His for the Summer

  His Pretend Baby

  HOT RUSSIANS WITH HEART

  Her Russian Billionaire

  Her Russian Surrender

  Her Russian Beast

  Her Russian Brute

  HOT HARLEQUINS WITH HEART

  Vegas Baby

  Love’s Gamble

  HOT PARANORMALS WITH HEART

  Her Viking Wolf

  Wolf and Punishment

  (The Alaska Princesses Trilogy, Book 1)

  Wolf and Prejudice

  (The Alaska Princesses Trilogy, Book 2)

  Wolf and Soul

  (The Alaska Princesses Trilogy, Book 3)

  Her Viking Wolves

  HOT SUPERNATURAL WITH HEART

  His Everlasting Love

  1

  I’m pretty sure my dead ex-boyfriend’s brother is still scowling at me. I casually lean to the right, peeking past the shoulders of everyone standing in front of me, to where Go Gutierrez is standing with his three sisters, parents, and Sophia. They’re all receiving condolences from those who attended Marco’s funeral and then came back to his parents’ mini-mansion in Oak Park for a final gathering after the service. This is a sad day. Probably the saddest day ever for the family Marco left behind when he died in that car accident, but…

  Yep, Go is still glaring at me over his heavy black beard, his eyes little more than slits behind his black frame glasses. And as if sensing his agitation, Sophia—Marco’s girlfriend at the time of his death—follows the direction of his gaze...

  Oh crap. My former foster sister was sweet back when we lived together, and she’s even nicer now. She’s been almost unfailingly kind to me—even after what happened twelve years ago. But when she sees me standing in the receiving line, her eyes widen with frank alarm beneath the netting of her fashionable radiator hat.

  And she gives me—her dead boyfriend’s ex—a look that very clearly asks, “What are you doing here?!?!”

  Tough, tough, tough…I’m so tough. Everyone who’s ever met me knows that. If not because I refuse to let anyone—especially men—intimidate me, then definitely because I have enough silver hardware in my face and ears to let anyone passing by me know I’m not afraid of needles, and I don’t care what anyone thinks.

  But Sophia’s shocked stare makes my insides all squirmy. She’s oh-so-appropriate in her black cap-sleeve dress and tasteful chignon. Fits right in with Marco’s family—such a pretty Catholic girl, you could have easily mistaken her for one of Marco’s sisters or even Go’s wife.

  While I, the heavily pierced black girl with the dramatically long gray-with-black ombre weave shaved on one side, stick out like a sore thumb. Unlike Sophia, I’m not at all appropriately dressed for a cop’s funeral reception. Unless you call a pair of leather pants and a torn black sweater appropriate, which judging from the way Sophia and Go are eyeballing me, they don’t.

  But I didn’t exactly plan to come to Marco’s funeral. It was more like a last minute decision, made after waking up late this morning and followed by a frantic search for clothes that were both clean and black. I’d rushed out the door after doing the best I could with the wardrobe I had, but my best hadn’t been good enough. I’d arrived at
the huge cathedral where Marco’s funeral was being held twenty minutes late.

  And even though I’d done my best to stand in the shadows at the back of the church, which was filled to capacity with family, friends, and officers in dress uniform, Go still managed to spot me coming in late from where he stood at the front of the church. Spot and scowl at me across the yards of pews and people.

  Scowl at me then, just like he’s scowling at me now. Like I’m somehow tainting his parents’ stately living room, with my messy gray-and-black hair, and my punk rock clothes.

  I fight back the urge to remove my nose ring and maybe a few eyebrow hoops before I reach his family. They’d never approved of me, and I know it probably brought them all kinds of relief when Marco dumped me last year and got with Sophia, a nice Latina girl with a normal job as a college office administrator soon after. The only extra jewelry Sophia’s wearing right now, beyond the two small studs in her ears, is a tasteful gold cross around her neck.

  It seems like removing the face jewelry is the least I can do, considering. But I don’t want to give Go the satisfaction of scowling me into submission with his obvious disapproval. Tough girls don’t let themselves get intimidated, I remind myself while squaring my shoulders. Especially by geeks. Even handsome billionaire geeks who made the cover of magazines like Wired before reaching thirty.

  Go might be a lot taller and richer than me, but I’d managed to get myself a lot farther than anyone who knew me when I got kicked out of Sophia’s house would have thought. I remember the vow I’d made back when I got my first piercings: two eyebrow rings that Sophia’s parents never would have approved of punched right into my thickened skin. I’d promised myself back then to never again let anyone else influence how I looked, thought, or acted.

  I remind myself of that promise now, inwardly whispering, you don’t owe anyone anything, as I pretend not to notice Go and Sophia staring. But still, it’s excruciating.

  And it feels like hours, not minutes, have passed when I finally make it to the family. I simply nod at Go, Sophia, and Marco’s sisters, before turning my attention to his parents, Maria and Antonio Gutierrez, who are at the very end of the receiving line.

  To their credit, they both smile warmly at me.

  “Nyla, it was so kind of you to come,” Maria says, pulling me into a hug.

  And Antonio actually seems sincere when he says, “Marco would’ve been real touched you were here.”

  They both still have strong working class Mexican accents which makes it seem a little like they don’t quite belong in the huge, opulent room where the gathering is taking place (even if it is technically their house). Just like me. I feel a little closer to them in the moment. Like we actually have something in common other than their dead son.

  “I’m so sorry,” I tell them both. Out the corner of my eye, I can see Sophia and Marco’s sisters are back to receiving condolences from the people in line behind me, but I can practically feel Go scowling a hole into the side of my face.

  This is going to be tougher than I thought it would be.

  But it has to be done. As much as I hate this situation, it has to be dealt with.

  Keeping my expression neutral, I say to Maria and Antonio, “I know this is a really hard time for you, but there’s something important I need to talk with you about. If not today, then tomorrow. I wouldn’t ask at a time like this, but it’s sensitive, and just …well… really important.”

  I take it from the twin expressions of shock on their faces that this was not the kind of request they expected to receive today. Beside Maria, Daniella, Marco’s oldest sister, wraps an arm around her mother’s shoulder, her corporate lawyer eye’s slitting just like Go’s as she asks me, “What could you possibly need to talk to my parents about right now?”

  “Um…” Before I can answer, a large hand wraps around my arm, and without warning, I find myself being dragged out of the line and away from Marco’s parents. By Go. Of course by Go.

  My back prickles with the gazes of the other reception attendees as he takes me away. And as gracious as Sophia has been to me since getting together with Marco a year ago, I can almost hear her cursing me under her breath for creating a scene at her boyfriend’s funeral.

  Go doesn’t seem much happier as he hauls me out of the grand room, up some stairs, and through a set of doors into a wood paneled study.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing trying to arrange a meeting with my parents at my brother’s funeral?” he demands, as soon as the door closes behind us.

  I cringe, not feeling quite so tough as I answer, “I wish there’d been some other way to talk to your parents without coming here. But I didn’t have a number for them or even an email address, and this morning I realized this might be the only way to get in touch with them, so…”

  I’m pretty tall, five-eight, and I’m really thin on top so I look even taller in my heeled boots. But still it feels like Go’s glaring down at me from an even greater height as he finishes, “So you made an impulse decision to disrupt my brother’s funeral?”

  I cringe, wishing I could say it hadn’t been impulsive at all. But seeing as how it only occurred to me to try getting to his parents this way this very morning, I had to settle for… “It was the only way I could think of...”

  His eyes sweep to the side, as if processing my words. Then he reminds me, “You have Daniella’s contact information.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I guess I do,” I say, fidgeting with the frayed cuff of my black sweater.

  “Did you lose her number?”

  That would have been the perfect excuse, but I don’t lie, so…

  “No. No, I didn’t. But I didn’t want to go through her to get in touch with them. It’s a personal matter—”

  “What kind of personal matter?” he demands.

  And my heavily silvered eyebrow raises as I shift and tense my body to stand my ground. “The kind of matter that’s personal and none of your business. Because. It’s. Personal.” I answer, not bothering to keep the snark out of my voice.

  He scowls down at me for a long moment before saying, “At least you don’t smell like weed today.”

  “Okay,” I say with an exasperated reset of my usual tough girl expression. “Why don’t you just give me your parents’ contact info? That way I can get in touch with them at a later, more appropriate time, okay?”

  He actually seems to think about my request, before coming back with, “No, not okay. You talking with my parents isn’t part of their recovery plan, so that’s not an option,” he says, like we’re sitting across from each other a conference table. “Whatever it is you want to say to them, tell me first, and I’ll decide if it’s really something they need to hear.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I can almost feel all my silver quivering with my barely contained irritation. “They’re grown adults! They’re the ones who should decide whether they want to hear me out or not.”

  “Yes, they’re grown adults who just lost their son,” he answers, his voice so dispassionate, it’s verging on monotone. His gaze rakes up and down my outfit. “And now you’re here in your post-apocalyptic outfit, requesting a private audience. I’m failing to see why you’re surprised I’d insist on a pre-screen before giving you access to them.”

  “And you’re acting like I’m some kind of rando who just showed up out of the blue. You know who I am. I’m not a total stranger,” I remind him, crossing my arms over my thin chest. “I mean, I may dress a little weird, but I manage a women’s abuse shelter for God’s sake! It’s not like I’ve ever done anything to make you think I can’t be trusted to talk with your parents alone.”

  Another up and down gaze from Go. Then: “No, I suppose you haven’t.” However, his lack of things to hold against me seems to annoy him rather than give him the peace of mind it should.

  “I just don’t like you showing up here and disrupting the reception,” he says, scowling down at me.

  “Okay, well…” I answer
with a shake of my head. “I came here to tell your parents this thing. This private thing. And I can’t leave here until I either do that or get a meeting to talk with them on the books. So where does that leave us?”

  Go’s scowl deepens. “You talk to me and then maybe you can talk to them. Take it or leave it, Nyla. I am not a man who appreciates a disruption—especially at my brothers funeral.”

  I want to remain tough. I want to keep standing up for myself. But his last statement gets to me. He’s right. It is his brother’s funeral, and I don’t want to cause his parents more grief…

  As annoying as I find his insistence that I go through him to get to Marco’s parents, even I can see he has their best interest at heart. Hell, if my parents hadn’t died in a house fire when I was twelve, I’d probably feel the same about them. I can understand him wanting to keep his lovely parents safe from a freak like me…

  So for all those reasons and a few more, I take a deep breath and finally confess…

  “I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant with Marco’s baby.”

  2

  Hindsight being 20/20, I probably shouldn’t have smoked weed the morning before Marco took me to Thanksgiving at his parents’ house.

  But I was nervous and it was an impulse decision. Followed quickly by an outfit change and full on Febreeze of both my apartment and clothes. I’m almost 90% sure Marco didn’t smell it on me.

  But still, it wasn’t a great way to start the day, because by the time he picked me up from my apartment, I was already feeling dumber than one would want to feel before she met her boyfriend’s family. First of all, Marco was a cop—a really cool cop with adorable dimples and a way of making everyone he encountered from the homeless on the street to the women at our shelter feel completely at ease—but a cop nonetheless. And I knew there was a chance he and/or his close-knit family would smell it on me, no matter how much air freshener I sprayed over the situation.

  Second of all, I couldn’t help but feel like I was sabotaging myself. Again. Like purposefully setting myself up for another relationship fail. This thing between Marco and me was still fairly young—we’d only been dating for about six months. But it had been going pretty well. And meeting a guy’s parents is definitely a conversation starter about the future.