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  I dig my fingers into his shoulders, slick with sweat. The rough sound of his breathing is the best aphrodisiac to my ear. His erection presses against me, and I squirm, wanting him to fill me, until we’re joined, as close as we can be to each other.

  When he reaches for a condom, I take his wrist. “You don’t have to,” I whisper. My heart flutters at the significance—the commitment and trust I’m placing in him. “I’m already pregnant. And I want to feel you—just you—inside me tonight.”

  His eyes darken with burning need. I spread my thighs in silent invitation, then rock my slick folds against his erection.

  He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re killing me.”

  The laugh tearing from my throat is low and seductive. I didn’t know I could sound like that, but Emmett makes me feel like a goddess of sex and desire. “Shut up and deal.”

  He does, gliding all the way in with one smooth stroke. I gasp at the pleasure of having him inside. We’ve had sex many times before, but this feels different. More connected. More intimate. Our fingers thread, link. We hold on to each other as we move, both of us contributing to a hot, sweet rhythm until a climax shatters over us.

  And when our breathing settles, I know I’m open to giving us a chance as a family.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Amy

  Over the next week or two, Emmett sends more pictures and options for me to look at for the nursery, while I look for a present for his father. Emmett said just showing up would be enough, but it is his dad’s birthday. I want to make a good first impression, and that means not arriving empty-handed.

  So while working, I browse the Internet for options. Finally, I settle on a set of gorgeous onyx cuff links with Ted Lasker’s initials—something he can wear when he has to dress up for an award ceremony or something.

  Emmett told me it’s a pool party, so I should either have a bathing suit on underneath my outfit or else avoid the pool area completely, because otherwise people will drag me into the water for fun. So I put on a pink bikini under a sundress, stuff a beach wrap and sunscreen in my waterproof tote bag and head over to Emmett’s.

  “If my dad talks to you, just nod and say as little as possible in return,” Emmett says as he drives us to his father’s place. “The more you talk to him, the worse it gets.”

  “How come?”

  “You’ll see. Dad can get a bit too…rowdy when he has a lot of alcohol in him, and there’ll be tons of booze at the party.”

  Emmett must be worried about his father making a bad impression on me, especially since they’re tight.

  “Don’t worry,” I say with a smile. I’m not going to make a snap judgment based on a few drunk comments. We’ve all said things we wished we hadn’t while under the influence.

  “And ignore his friends, too. Or—if you have to interact—just smile.”

  “I can do that.” I sigh as anxiety starts to rachet up. “I wish I’d watched more movies.”

  “Why?”

  “So I could fit in better? Won’t people at the party be talking about them? I mean, they’re all movie people. I think I’ve only seen, like, two of your dad’s films. I should’ve at least tried to watch them all.”

  “You’ll need more than watching movies to blend in,” he murmurs.

  Probably, but I decide the party won’t be as bad as Emmett makes it sound. My guess is he’s trying to set my expectations low so I’ll be pleasantly surprised. Besides, it’s for somebody my father’s age. Probably something fun, dignified and expensive. Maybe with a stripper in a cake or something similarly “risqué.” I’m sure I can handle it.

  Emmett pulls in to a gigantic mansion, a huge, shiny ivory structure that looks like a château with turrets and balustraded terraces. The windows are arched and spotless. The landscaping is immaculate, green and lush with precision-cut lawns and bushes. Bronze and marble statues dot the green. They don’t seem contemporary because they are in the shapes of people who are recognizable. But they’re all nude and in sexually suggestive poses, although the crotches are strategically hidden. I don’t know much about art, but they’re probably expensive, the kind of pieces that would be gracing museums if Ted Lasker hadn’t bought them.

  All sorts of fancy European cars line the driveway. Emmett squints at a couple of them. “Huxley and Griffin are here—two of my other brothers. I’ll introduce you later. They’re great.”

  “Awesome.” I smile, happy to note Emmett and his brothers seem close.

  We get out of his Lamborghini. Music throbs in the air, with high-pitched squeals cutting through the beat from time to time. The guests must be having a good time, which is perfect. Meeting his family is going to go smoothly.

  Emmett and I make our way to the main entrance. A slim orange-haired man in a teal shirt and jeans stands guard. He’s of average height and slightly below average attractiveness, but his mossy-green eyes are alert and his short, stubby fingers are fast over his tablet.

  “Emmett, so good of you to come.” Without giving him a chance to respond, the man turns to me. “And who is this young woman?”

  “My date,” Emmett says.

  I wave and give the man a pat smile.

  The man looks me over, taking in my sundress and hair and makeup. “I didn’t know you were bringing one. Is she going to make Ted—”

  “You’re not my mother, Joey.” Emmett’s tone says, Shut up.

  “And thank God for that. You couldn’t pay me enough.” Joey smiles thinly and turns to me. “I’m Joey Martin, Ted Lasker’s assistant.”

  “Amy Sand. Nice to meet you.” I extend a hand, which goes ignored because Joey is too busy tapping his tablet screen.

  Emmett sighs. “So rude.”

  I agree, and smile a blatantly fake smile.

  Joey looks up, then blinks at my hand. “Sor-ry. Just busy.” He shakes my hand perfunctorily. “The party’s that way. And presents go over there, if you brought anything.” He points to a huge pile right behind him.

  I place mine on the pile as Emmett shakes his head. “You didn’t have to get something.”

  “Bribes do work,” Joey says.

  “It’s a gift,” I say.

  Joey waves us away. Since I don’t want to deal with him any more than I have to, I link my arm with Emmett’s and move toward the party.

  The inside of the home is cool, with lots of black and white tiles that make the floor look like a chessboard. Suits of armor and alabaster horse heads sit in the corners like chess pieces. There are murals on the ceiling, but I can’t make out exactly what they are because the ceiling is too high, and the light from the windows up there make everything appear hazy. All I know for sure is there are lots of flesh tones.

  Emmett takes me upstairs to a huge bedroom. “This is my room. We can change here,” he says.

  While he starts taking off his shirt, I look around for any hint of what his childhood was like. But the room is sterile. A bed, a landscape painting that looks like an original, an empty closet. The room doesn’t even smell like him. It’s nothing like mine in Vegas, which still has posters of hot actors and bands from my teen years taped to the walls, the pink sheets I loved when I was growing up, my old clothes in the closet and the trophies I won sparkling next to stacks of worn paperbacks of my favorite YA romance novels.

  “Did your dad redo the room after you moved out?” I ask, disappointed.

  “No. I never really lived here.” There’s a strange sense of relief in his tone. “It’s ‘my room’ as in, Dad told me I could use it when I visit.”

  Well… That’s an odd arrangement when Emmett has his own place in the city, but then, maybe it’s for those rare occasions he can drag himself away from the office and spend time bonding with his dad. The house in Switzerland where Emmett grew up probably has a room that could shed more light on Emmett’s past. I wish I could see it one day, assuming his parents kept the place.

  Emmett has stripped down to black trunks, and I’m in my bikini, which I will put with an almost-sheer wrap.

  “Do you need some sunscreen?” I ask, smearing some on my arms, legs and belly.

  “Sure.” He helps himself to the bottle, then rubs it all over my back, lingering and massaging.

  I sigh, loving the way he finds small ways to pamper me. “You’re so good at this.”

  “Applying sunscreen isn’t really that difficult.”

  “You know what I mean.” I turn around when he’s covered every inch of my back. “Let me return the favor.”

  I squirt a dollop of sunscreen and spread it all over the lean expanse of his back. The repetitive motion is soothing and helps me calm my mind before meeting his dad.

  “Okay, so we’re going to go out to the pool now.”

  “Okay.” I laugh. “Is that some kind of warning?”

  “Just try not to be shocked, no matter what you see,” Emmett says.

  “It’s just a birthday party by a pool, not an orgy. Why are you being so serious?” It’s like he’s a Catholic priest about to perform last rites.

  He opens his mouth, then shrugs. “Okay. Hopefully it won’t be that bad.”

  I pat his shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  Emmett and I go downstairs and walk through the house to reach the pool that’s on the other side. Apparently, the place is built in a U around the pool for maximum privacy.

  Arches and more arches. Ted Lasker’s residence is almost like a castle, just slicker and more contemporary. Finally we reach the pool.

  Holy mother of God…

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Amy

  Balloons in deep red, purple, silver and gold float everywhere. Every single one is shaped like an open mouth with a tongue hanging out, a penis or a vagina—although maybe those last ones are supposed to be orchids. A gentle breeze stirs the balloons, and the X-rated decorations bob cheerily as music vibrates in the air, the bass booming.

  Ted Lasker must film porn on the side. Or maybe his party planner didn’t get the memo that it was a birthday party.

  Emmett has a small smile on his face, like he’s enjoying the scene. Maybe this is how his dad likes to celebrate his birthday. I mean…it’s Hollywood, right?

  I try to hide my discomfort. Everyone else is laughing and cheering, and who am I to ruin the fun, especially when I asked to have Emmett introduce me to his family? Besides, the attendees are adults. Emmett’s dad wouldn’t have thrown a party like this if there were little kids present.

  At least it’s not an actual orgy. Ms. Positivity, that’s me.

  As Emmett and I enter the area, there is a pair of what look to be large, salmon-colored exercise balls in front of us. Emmett smacks one of them hard. Cheers erupt from the crowd several yards away.

  White liquid shoots out from a huge, curved shaft attached to the double balls, and I realize that it’s an erect penis. He isn’t the first to have smacked it, either. There are wet spots everywhere. The apparatus in front of us isn’t the only giant dick present. There are nine more, set to the left and right of the entrance, like a line of porno arches. Some people have the red balloons that I saw earlier—the ones that look like mouths or vaginas—wrapped around their torso. They’re covered with the white goo.

  “Do it again, Emmett!” a blonde in a barely-there thong calls out. She doesn’t have a top on, but she has a vagina balloon. The white liquid is in her hair and on her left shoulder. Ew.

  Emmett shrugs. “Already did it. Don’t blink or you’ll miss the action.”

  “Oh come on!” a redhead whines. At least she isn’t topless. She has a mouth balloon.

  “Em-mett! Em-mett!” The blonde starts a chant, waving her fist.

  Others join in. I can do nothing but watch. Shock wrecks what thoughts or emotions I might be capable of.

  Emmett laughs. “If you insist.” He smacks the other ball, and white liquid arcs in the sky again.

  “Yeah!” The crowd whoops with laughter.

  The blonde shuffles left and right as partygoers scream instructions at her. The milky thing splats, hits some, misses some. But the blonde manages to position the vagina so that some goo lands on it.

  “Score one for Team V!” a guy calls out.

  More whooping. Somebody showers the people with champagne.

  “Your turn,” Emmett says to me.

  The question jolts me out of my stupor. “What? Are you high?”

  “Everyone has to hit it when they enter the pool area for the first time.”

  I look at the balls and the eagerly waiting mouths and vaginas dubiously. “I don’t think I can hit that hard.”

  “Don’t have to. There are sensors inside.” He gestures at the curved shaft above us.

  I can’t believe I’m about to do this. “Okay…” I make a fist and hit the ball.

  Another squirt of white from the tip of the shaft. “Score one for Team M!” More cheering and hollering.

  “Great shot!” a middle-aged man says, while taking me in from head to toe. I don’t care for the lasciviousness in his gaze, which is glazed with too much alcohol or drugs or something. “I’m Sean.” He says his name like I should recognize it. He’s probably somebody famous in movie business. Wonder if he’s going to be ego-bruised if I tell him I have no clue who he is.

  “Amy,” I say politely. Just because I’m surrounded by porno stuff and dealing with an obnoxious drunk doesn’t mean I have to lose my manners.

  “My girl,” Emmett adds as he wraps an arm around my waist, giving the guy a back-off-creep look.

  The man raises his hands. The gesture is innocent, but his eyes are anything but. “Hey, no problem. Just being friendly.”

  “There are other women to be friendly with,” Emmett says.

  I don’t try to soothe the tension between them since I’m not too crazy about being friendly with the man.

  I turn my attention to the party. Emmett and I are still standing in front of the entrance. To get to the main section, we’ll have to walk through the, um, dick arch colonnade. A bunch of people are congregated around the balls to shoot the fake cum, while the people with the vagina and mouth balloons are trying to catch it. I don’t want to have that crud all over me before I’ve even had a chance to say hello to Emmett’s family.

  The breeze blows in our direction, carrying the scent of the mess on the floor. I wrinkle my nose. I thought the giant dicks were shooting syrup, but the smell is weird. It’s almost like…real ejaculate.

  As Sean stalks off to impress people with his name, I tug at Emmett, slightly worried about our next move. “We’re not walking through that, are we?”

  “We don’t have to,” Emmett says.

  I sigh with relief. Emmett leads me through a narrow side path I didn’t see when we came out of the house.

  “Did the party planner rob a sperm bank?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “That…” I gesture at the mess under the arch. “That stuff. The smell.”

  “Oh.” He shakes his head, wrinkling his nose. “It’s some kind of starch solution mixed with chestnut pollen. Chestnut flowers have a very distinctive scent.”

  “Well! Learn something new every day.”

  “Yeah. Dad’s a guy who can teach you many things.”

  Emmett looks at me, and I give him a smile like I’m perfectly fine. This party is probably sedate by Hollywood standards. Besides, the arch setup might not have been Emmett’s dad’s idea. One of the guests—some wild, coke-snorting director or producer—could’ve brought it in for “fun” and Emmett’s dad didn’t want to upset them by turning it down. I shouldn’t make assumptions.

  The path takes us to the other side of the pool. A buffet is laid out with lobster, shrimp, steak and more, with everything cut into bite-size pieces and skewered on bamboo picks. Seven fountains are set up. From the way they smell, they’re all laced with strong alcohol.

  “Want something to drink?” Emmett asks.

  “Yeah, sure. Water would be great.”

  “There won’t be any water out here. Let me see if I can go find some.” He looks around. “You, ah, going to be okay on your own?”

  I don’t want to make a big deal about how bothered I am by the party setup. His dad is a Hollywood guy, and this sort of public display is probably something I’ll just have to tolerate. He’ll probably turn out to be a nice man with lots of positive attributes once I get to know him better. “I’ll be fine.”

  Emmett talks to somebody manning the drink station, then walks away.

  Trying to act cool, like attending this kind of Hollywood bash is something I do every weekend, I stand by the table and study the people. About half of them are dancing, gyrating against each other. The other half are standing around with drinks in their hands and chatting. I look for Emmett’s dad—I know what he looks like from publicity pictures—but can’t spot him. He’s probably surrounded by friends and colleagues. I should wait for Emmett to make an introduction to avoid any awkward misunderstandings, in case his dad assumes I’m a wannabe actress or something.

  “Hey, want to try the lemonade?” a bleached blonde says. Her dark roots show a little as she flips her hair.

  “Where is it?” Holding a drink would give me something to do with my hands.

  “Right there.” She gestures at one of the fountains. “Sarah makes the best lemonade. Want a sip of mine?” She moves her clear plastic cup closer to me.

  The waft of alcohol is so strong that I can’t smell any lemon. “No, thanks.”

  “You sure? Bummer.” She frowns, then brightens. “You can try the cherry-ade, then.”

  I’d bet my degree that that’s heavily laced with alcohol as well. “I’m okay. Really.”

  “Okay. So who are you? I haven’t seen you around,” she says.

  “This is my first time at Ted’s birthday party.”