Chapter 30
“Is that really a cake?” Beckham asks as he enters the kitchen, the familiar sound of Monte’s paws against the hardwood floor following him. But I don’t look up, keeping my focus on putting the final touches on my latest creation.
“It’s really a cake.”
I finish applying some of the coloring to it and take a step back, making sure it looks like a real dinosaur. I’ve lost count of the number of dinosaurs and unicorns I’ve done lately. But that’s not all. I’ve successfully managed to complete a cake that looked like a bunch of chicken wings, a fireman’s helmet, and even an iguana.
Each one of them has had their challenges, but I’ve enjoyed every second. For the first time, I feel like I’m taking control of my life instead of life constantly beating me down. This is what I’ve always wanted. To have my own business. Not have to depend on someone else for my livelihood.
As much as I didn’t want to admit it at first, I have Beckham to thank for it.
Even Oliver’s unexpected appearance a few weeks ago hasn’t unsettled me like it would have in the past. Instead, Beckham’s done everything to make sure he doesn’t come near either of us, going so far as coming with me to drop Maggie off at preschool in the morning and pick her up in the afternoon.
And every time I watch my little girl run straight into Beckham’s arms, I find myself falling for him a little more.
“How does it look?” I ask Beckham, finally glancing his way.
As always seems to be the case lately, my heart races at the sight of him in his dusty jeans and plaid button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Forget suit porn.
I’m a sucker for forearm porn.
Especially Beckham’s forearms. Not only are they tastefully covered in artful tattoos, but I can make out his veins as his muscles flex.
“It’s incredible, Haley.” He looks at me in awe.
This isn’t the first time I’ve shown him one of my cakes. Over the past few months, he’s seen quite a few of them go from a rough drawing in my sketchpad to a complete cake.
Yet with every one, he acts just as amazed.
“Even up close, it looks so real.” He leans toward it. “If this one weren’t on your cake stand, I wouldn’t be able to tell which is the cake and which is the toy.” He looks between the plastic dinosaur I used as a model for my cake. “Think I can book you to make my birthday cake this year?” His expression falls. “Then again, I’m not sure you have a pan big enough to make a life-size version of my cock.” He playfully waggles his brows.
“Jackass.” I roll my eyes and move through the kitchen to clean up my mess. But just as I grab a dishtowel, he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against him.
“Where’s my kiss?”
“Why? Miss me?”
“Always,” he replies in a low, husky voice that sends a rush of exhilaration through me.
“In that case…” I hoist myself onto my toes and touch my lips to his in a soft kiss, keeping it relatively tame.
But Beckham has other ideas.
He tightens his hold on me as he coaxes my mouth open, his tongue sliding against mine. The familiar taste of him consumes me, all thoughts of cleaning fading away.
What is it about this man and his kisses? It’s only been a few short hours since he kissed me goodbye before heading to work. Yet I kiss him like it’s been years since I’ve felt them.
“Now this is my kind of lunch break.” He moves from my mouth, each hot kiss along my jawline making me feel like he’s branding me as his, igniting a fire deep inside me.
“Beckham,” I whimper when I feel his erection pressing against me.
“I just want to be inside you every damn second of every damn day.”
“Think you can last that long?”
He pulls back slightly, his hungry eyes locking on me. “For you, I’ll put in my best effort.”
Then he slams his mouth back to mine as he reaches for the hem of my t-shirt.
“What about lunch?” I manage to gasp out as he tears away to rip my shirt over my head. “Don’t you want to eat first?”
A wicked grin lights up his face. “I’m about to.”
His mouth collides with mine as I hook a finger into his belt loop and yank him closer. I make quick work of his belt and am about to push his jeans down his legs when the doorbell rings.
“Expecting anyone?” Beckham asks, sliding his hands underneath my bra and cupping my breasts.
“No,” I pant, throwing my head back. “You?”
“Even if I were, they can wait till my wife is satisfied.”
He moves the cup of my bra to the side, my breast spilling out. Then he takes my nipple in his mouth, his teeth lightly nibbling.
“Fuck, Beckham.” I reach into his boxer briefs and wrap my hand around his erection. “I need you. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He clutches my hips and lifts me with ease, carrying me toward the couch. Just as he sets me down and crawls between my legs, whoever’s at the door tries again, this time knocking.
At first, we continue to ignore it, too caught up in each other. Until an urgent voice calls out, breaking through my lust-filled fog.
“Haley McBride? Process server. If you’re in there, please answer.”
“Process server?” I ask, the words like a bucket of cold water.
Beckham looks between me and the door, his own unease evident. Then he stands, running a hand over his face.
“I’ll go talk to him.” He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, lingering for several moments as dozens of scenarios fill my mind about why a process server would be standing outside.
And none of them are good.
When he finally pulls away, he adjusts himself, then makes his way into the foyer. I strain to listen as I get dressed, but I can’t make out more than a few non-distinct words.
Seconds later, Beckham reappears, his jaw ticking and nostrils flaring. “He needs to see you.”
On shaky legs, I walk toward the front door, Beckham’s hand never leaving my back. I can physically feel his ire as I open the door and meet the eyes of a lanky man in a dark suit standing on the front porch.
“Haley McBride?”
“Y-yes.”
Without another word, he hands me a large envelope, then retreats to his car, leaving me dumfounded and scared about what this envelope may contain.
Although I already have a premonition about what it is.
After my recent encounter with Oliver, I worried how he might respond to learning he had a child he didn’t know about.
But after the first few days passed, I convinced myself I was just overreacting. After all, he didn’t want Maggie in the first place. I figured he’d already forgotten about her.
Or maybe I hoped he’d already forgotten about her.
Now I fear he was just biding his time, lulling me into a false sense of security before striking hard and fast.
I make my way back into the house, my hands trembling as I pull the tab on the envelope and remove a stack of legal documents. Dread fills me as my eyes scan the pages, my heart twisting in my chest.
“What is it?” Beckham asks, a hint of trepidation in his voice.
“He’s filing for joint custody of Maggie,” I manage to respond, each word a heavy weight on my tongue. . “But the arrangement he’s seeking will give him primary custody. He questions my fitness as a parent.”
“That’s bullshit,” Beckham spits out, the vein in his neck pulsing. “If anything, the fact you’ve provided for Maggie without any help for the past four years shows just what an amazing mother you are. Hell, the bastard threw a wad of cash at you and told you to get rid of her.”
“That may be so, but he contends this isn’t a safe environment to raise a child, citing…” I trail off.
“Citing what?” Beckham demands through a clenched jaw.
I hand him the papers, barely able to breathe through the tightness in my chest. “Your criminal record. As well as your most recent ‘violent outburst’,” I say using air quotes.
His eyes race over the pages, anger and frustration evident with every strained muscle of his body.
“He can’t do this,” he murmurs, his voice trembling with panic and fear. “I just… Fuck!”
He bends over as if in excruciating pain, his breathing ragged. I can see the weight of this crushing him.
“It’ll be okay,” he says softly, composing himself and straightening. “I’ll give Mark Sellers a call this afternoon. Hell, I’ll ambush him in court if that’s what it takes so we can start fighting this.”
I lift my eyes toward him. “This isn’t your fight, Beckham. We’re not?—”
“If you’re about to tell me yet again that you’re not my responsibility, I’m going to stop you right now. There’s no fucking way I’m going to stand aside and let you fight this on your own. Not when I got you into this mess.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I didn’t?” he retorts incredulously, waving the papers in front of me. “He’s using my past in his argument for why Maggie’s better off with him.”
“It’s just one argument.” I take the papers from him. “He also mentioned my unstable job history and the fact that I used to work as a cocktail waitress at the casino. Trust me. Oliver was going to use anything and everything he could against me once he found out I kept Maggie. He doesn’t actually care about her. All he does care about is asserting his power back over me. He’s just using your past to strengthen his case.”
“Possibly, but you can’t turn down my help about this. I won’t let you. It’s one thing to refuse my offer to get Maggie a new bike or put in a trampoline. You can’t refuse my help about this. Not when you’re my wife.”
“Fake wife,” I remind him, unsure if it’s more for me or him.
“You’re also someone I care about.” He brings his hands to my face. “So is Maggie. This may be a strange notion to you, considering your parents, but people who care about each other help each other. So that’s what I’m going to do. You can yell at me all you want. Hell, you can hate me if that’s what you need to do. But you are not going through this alone.”
His grip on my face is firm, almost desperate as he pleads with me. Begs me to let him in. To let him do this for me. For us.
And therein lies the problem. I’ve never let anyone in before. Not even Beckham all those years ago. I always kept him just out of reach, always protecting myself because I knew I’d never have the strength to fight for him.
“You’re making this really hard for me,” I admit through the emotion in my throat.
“What? To say no?” He smirks, breaking through the tension. “I have that effect on people.”
Normally, I’d laugh or roll my eyes at his joke.
Not right now, though.
“No, Beckham. You’re making it really hard to keep you out.”
His expression softens as he tips my head back, inching his mouth toward mine. “Then let me in.”
“I’m not sure if I know how.”
A serene look crosses his face. “I’ll help you with that, too.”
He covers my mouth, his kiss achingly soft.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be between us. It’s supposed to be filled with lust and raw need. It’s not supposed to be filled with emotion and warmth.
But I can’t manage to push him away. Instead, I do what I didn’t think I could.
I let him in.