Page 125 of Merciless Desires

I pad down the stairs, but when I get to the bottom, I can’t remember where the kitchen is. Much of yesterday is a jumbled mess in my head. After a few wrong turns, I see it at the end of a corridor, but the sound of grunting stops me in my tracks.

An open door reveals a sliver of light and a set of carpeted stairs descending to a basement. Male grunting noises down there sharpen when I nudge the door open more.

Darragh…

What is he doing? If that’s how he masturbates, I feel sorry for his dick. A dirty fantasy crashes into me, and a wave of lust hits me again.

Whether he’s working out or beating off, I bet he’s sweating. Are his thick, sculpted muscles flexing and throbbing? All the months of feeling nothing catch up to me. But I can’t fall for Darragh. He’d never entertain something between us. I’m his twin’s ex. That’s got to be icky for him.

This business about my baby being his baby is just him being an alpha. Even if his acknowledgment that my baby is technically his family’s heir is true.

Am I really having a son?

I hold my stomach, and whisper, “So that’s what all the kicking is about.” I’m having a boy.

A bad boy. Of course, it’s a bad boy.

He’s half Irish mob and half…

I grab the railing to take a seat at the top step as bile fills my throat. “Oh no,” I whisper, realizing I’m not carrying some random male in the Koslov bloodline. My brothers are dead. This boy inside me is the future pakhan of Astoria.

Once my father figures out the newest O’Rourke is my baby, he’ll blow up this house to steal him.

I yank on the railing to stand up, and everything creaks around me. Turning, I catch Darragh wavering at the bottom of the stairs, shirtless, sweaty, his golden blond hair slicked back. His black shorts… gulp… show the outline of a very big cock.

“Are you all right?” Darragh’s deep voice cuts through me.

If this is his baby inside me, then that cock theoretically has been inside me, too. Cormac was huge, even if he didn’t have the greatest finesse. I bet Darragh is much better in bed. A man that brooding and grumpy probably also likes it a little rough.

Struggling to breathe, I groan, “I heard groaning. Just making sure you weren’t having a heart attack.”

“Close.” His gaze tracks across my legs. “Ever do burpees?”

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Show me.” Holding the railing, I amble down the steps, wanting to talk to him. I haven’t really talked to anyone in months.

“You want to see burpees?”

Under brighter light, I see a room full of gym equipment and mirrored walls. The air reeks with the faint smell of male sweat. My center throbs again, and the hint of masculinity torments this ache inside me.

I perch gingerly on the bottom step, legs splayed wide to make room for my belly. “Sure. I’m going to have to get back in shape after the baby.”

“Have you seen your arms? Your thin face? You need to eat more first.” His concern is sweet. But his harsh tone hints at a darkness I think he tries to hide.

“Noted. Burpees?” I just want to see his body in action.

Smirking, he steps back and turns on an angle. He squats to the floor, his hands outstretched when his legs snap back behind him. He lowers and does a beautiful pushup, the muscles in his forearms throbbing along with his thigh muscles. His legs bend, and in one swift impossible move, he jumps up.

“Again,” I mutter.

Darragh stares at me, and it’s the kind of look that says so much. That look when you know someone is… dear God… your soul mate. But that’s impossible.

I have an excuse for being so wired and unhinged. But why is Darragh looking at me like that?

God, I need a drink, but tea will have to do.

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