HIS BABY TO BEAR - TEN

C H A P T E R T E N

"Isn't this wonderful, Zay?" Raven exclaimed above the music, revealing her flawless row of beautiful white teeth.

She was sipping a Cosmopolitan, while Libby had chosen a glass of Glenlivet as a treat for herself. She could at least enjoy one aspect of the evening, right?

To be honest, she was fatigued. She'd check her phone every ten minutes, half-hoping and half-worrying that Christine had left her a Tom or a call about how Reid Andrew had orchestrated some sort of jail break and was now missing. That was something he was prone to doing. Since he could grab onto something, that kid has been able to climb over anything. Which had occurred much sooner than it should have.

Of course, Libby understood why. She wasn't a moron. If the five-month pregnancy wasn't enough, the fact that he had the largest head of hair any nurse had ever seen on a baby and was holding his head up a few days after birth painted a very clear picture for her. One that she had been fairly successful at avoiding.

It was terrible enough that she'd fucked a guy the one and only time she'd met him, but the fact that he'd gotten her pregnant with a werebear kid using her birth control was just the icing on the cake.

Another check of her phone confirmed that nothing had occurred that would warrant her leaving early, so she placed it back inside the small Zara purse she'd purchased online. Something hot burnt her neck, and she turned around, sensing that she was being watched once more. But this time it wasn't the cold, foreboding feeling she was used to, but something quite else. Perhaps even a touch familiar? With a sigh, she brushed the thought away.

"It certainly is. When are we going to leave? "Libby inquired, attempting to pose the second question as nonchalantly as possible.

Raven closed her eyes and grumbled, laying one of her long arms over Libby's shoulders and conspiringly pushing into her.

"We're leaving when you pick a guy and fuck him," she remarked confidently, as if she'd devised the perfect plan in the world.

As Raven revealed her brilliant plan, Libby's jaw dropped open and she felt blood rush to her cheeks. She blushed like a schoolgirl hearing the word "fuck" for the first time in a split second.

"Stop joking around, Rav," she remarked, poking Raven on the side. "I'm now a mother. I can't go around doing dumb things like that."

"I think the lady protests too much," Raven declared with a flourish, her gaze already searching the potential victims.

She flashed a few of winks and smiles, and before Libby knew it, there was a swarm of men surrounding them, and Raven was busy introducing her to all of them. Since she was a sophomore in college, Libby hadn't heard so many cringeworthy pick-up lines. She had to confess, though, that it made her giggle, which she desperately needed.

Libby felt the heat of the whiskey warm her as she eased herself into conversation with a guy who appeared to have much too many teeth and his shirt was cut a little too low. It softened the sting of being watched by substituting one tempting warmth with another. Dodging a round of "so what do you do?" like a pro, Libby found herself floating away from Raven and her group, being directed to some chairs by the guy with the horse teeth. He was called Bob, Jake, or something equally incomprehensible.

For a little while, she considered that she might, just might, be able to enjoy herself. But the moment she sat down, Jake was immediately next to her, so close that a penny couldn't fall between them. She slid slightly to the right, but he quickly filled the gap, grinning like a famished cat gazing down a songbird.

Even the heat of the whiskey couldn't get rid of this nonsense.

"Hey, I believe I should get back to my friend," Libby remarked, smiling briefly and rising to her feet.

Before she could get up from the cushions, his hand was on her wrist, roughly pulling her back. Libby caught herself yelping and dropping some alcohol, but before she could tell the creep what she thought, a whirlwind of raw violence flew past her. Jake was dangling from the wall, his legs uselessly dangling below him, his hands grabbing Jerome's sleeves.

"Fucking hell, dude! "You let me down," he grumbled, attempting to kick Jerome.

Jerome snarled as he moved one hand from Jake's shirt to his neck, clamping down as if in a vice. Libby's expression was a mix of terror and excitement.

Is it indeed him?

The thought that her eyes were playing tricks on her and that she had had one too many glasses of alcohol seemed equally plausible. Libby regained her composure when Jake's face became white and blue and no one came to take Jerome off the guy, despite the fact that they were hiding in a remote nook. She leapt to her feet and wedged herself between Jerome and Jake, pressing her finger into his chest.

"Let him have it, Jerome. He's not worth it," she said.

"Are you certain you don't want me to pop his head off like a balloon?" Because I'm quite tempted to do so right now," Jerome hissed, his gaze fixed on Jake, filled with the kind of hatred that should take decades of torture to accumulate against a single individual.

It appears that all it took was one false move to unleash the full power of the werebear SEAL. She may have been flattered if she hadn't been so terrified about Jerome actually killing the guy. Jake let out a gargling sound, which could have been the final half-breath of oxygen seeping from his lungs.

"Yow, Rambo. Keep your eyes down here," Libby said, waving her hand in front of Jerome's face.

He jerked his dazzling blue eyes down, thick with emotion, and she was taken aback yet again by how much they resembled Reid Andrew's. He'd be a carbon copy of his father one day. But hopefully without his predilection for thrashing whatever he didn't like.

"That's better," Libby murmured quietly, fighting the current that drew her safely into the depths of his eyes. "Put him down. He's just a jerk. He didn't hurt me in any way."

Jerome paused for a while, but Jake's hands were suddenly lifeless at his sides. Jerome sighed and indicated for Libby to move out of the way before gently lowering the man to the ground. Jake crumpled to a ball, coughing and wheezing, as soon as Jerome released go of him, his knuckles white with strain.

"You fucking psycho," he wheezed, his eyes crimson and bulging from his skull.

He'd undoubtedly ruptured a few blood vessels. The way Jerome was rolling and unrolling his fists, the guy was lucky to have gotten away so easily.

"At your service," Jerome snarled back, his face contorted in rage.

It fell through as soon as he looked at Libby. The wrath had faded from his eyes, and his jaw had relaxed. That cocky bad boy she'd fallen for like a crack junkie was back in a second, smirking and entirely at ease. Or, to put it another way, not fully at peace. Libby noticed the strain in his shoulders, the way he kept himself ramrod straight, as if he couldn't trust himself to let go around her.

"Would you like to tell me what you're doing here?" Should I make another dash for the rear door? " Libby inquired, injecting as much venom as she could into her tone.

That was all swept away by his low chuckle. Jerome looked at her as if the only thing he wanted to do was bend her over the bar and fuck her in front of everyone in the bar. Libby wasn't sure she could have refused him if he had offered that as an option.

"No. "This time, the only person you need to be fleeing from is me, honey," he added, emphasizing his subtle drawl that made her knees buckle beneath her so readily.

"Yeah? Is that an official recommendation? " she inquired, the corners of her mouth raised in a grin.

She couldn't help herself. That's what he did to her. It made her feel confident, as if she could ask for anything and obtain it. She looked like she could fly if she jumped off a building. But klaxons were going off in her head at the same moment. He wasn't exactly the type of guy to put your trust in, was he? That smirk vanished from her lips, and a healthy scowl took its place.

"Just a friendly caution," he replied, putting his hand on her elbow and leading her farther into the club's back room.

He seemed far too serious when he said that.

"Can you tell me where you're taking me?"

she inquired, having flashbacks to the last time he'd been cryptic with her.

"Somewhere we can discuss," he continued, looking straight ahead and guiding her past the onslaught of people surrounding them.

Jerome took her to the club's fluorescent-lit back passages, which led to the club's second, mostly abandoned exit. He came to a halt and turned, essentially cornering her in a corner where all she could see was the ghostly blue light lapping at Jerome's exquisite face. They were the ones she had imagined every night when she was alone with her thoughts.

Yes, she had remembered a couple things incorrectly. She hadn't remembered, for example, the mole that produced a small dot on his right earlobe, or the nearly chiseled straightness of his nose.

He was still able to take her breath away. Even if she was meant to despise his guts. It was... infuriating.

"What do you want to say to me?"

" Libby inquired, putting her arms across her chest.

She felt helpless in the face of him. He was probably enjoying it, knowing him-though she definitely didn't. But the confident smirk had vanished, and the man who peered back at Libby was no longer the arrogant jerk who had raped her on every piece of furniture in that tiny cottage. It was the man she'd noticed staring at her as she was escorted into the back of an armored Humvee and driven to an unknown place.

A man who was haunted by a loss he had already experienced and was about to experience again. It made all the sass in her throat dry up.