Undeniably Married (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires Book 4)

For a moment, time stands still. I almost can’t tell if I’m hallucinating at this point—it’s been a hell of a day—or if he actually said every word I was hoping he would. Mason is young. He’s a guy in his twenties and a football player at that. I didn’t want or intend to saddle him with a pregnancy that’s not even his, and in truth, I didn’t think he’d want to be part of it, let alone burst in saying that.

He continues to surprise me in all the best ways.

Mason Reyes is the stuff of superhero fantasies and ultimate book boyfriends. I was friends with him for a year. How did I not see him until now?

“I’ll call you later.” Serena’s voice comes through my phone, but I’m no longer paying attention to her. I can’t pull my eyes off the large, sweaty, determined man filling up the doorway. I love you, and I want you, and I want the baby. My face falls into my hands, and I shake as more freaking tears start to pour out of my eyes. How I can still produce new ones is a marvel to me, and I’m positive I’m going to need an IV to rehydrate after all this.

But right now, I don’t care.

I crawled into bed and called Serena the moment Mason left. I couldn’t go into his room. It was his and definitely didn’t feel like mine. For a moment, I thought about leaving, but he promised he’d be back, and I believed him. How could he not take time to think? Of course, he needed that.

So despite how painful and nerve-racking it was, I came in here to wait. I don’t even know how long Mason was gone because Serena was next-level excited to become an aunt. She told me if Mason didn’t come through, that she’d move back to Boston and the two of us would raise the baby like badass spinsters. She even started to plan the whole thing out for me, though I knew it was all to keep me distracted and make me laugh until Mason returned with a verdict.

Serena lives in Paris. Serena loves Paris. Lucky for her, it seems she’s off the hook now.

Mason toes off his shoes and yanks his sweat-soaked shirt off before he climbs on the bed and pries my hands away from my face. “Is this good crying or bad crying?” he asks, hoisted up on his knees and hovering over me.

I gaze up at him, his green eyes light and sparkling with a smile on his lips that makes the dimple in his chin sink in enough to make him almost look amused.

“Did you mean it?”

He lowers to his haunches and holds my face in his hands as he stares deep into my eyes. “Every word.”

“Good crying,” I sob as tears fall like raindrops down my face.

“Shh, princess. No more tears.” He practically chuckles as he gathers me into his arms.

I tuck myself against his chest, not even caring how sweaty he is. “I can’t stop,” I wail, feeling ridiculous and sublimely happy all at once. “You love me? Are you sure?”

Now he does chuckle. “I’ve never been so sure about anything. It’s not new either. I realized it in Vegas.” He lifts my chin. “Sorel, I’ve loved you for a year. You had me stuttering over my words the first time I met you, and no matter how hard I tried not to, I’ve wanted you like crazy every moment after that. I called you my instalove.”

“What?” I pull back and look at him like he’s crazy, my eyebrows folded together. “Your what?”

He smirks and smooths out the crease between my eyes. “My instalove. At first, it was more of a joke than anything. I haven’t liked any woman as much as I liked you, and it was pretty immediate. It wasn’t until we got married that I allowed myself to accept what it was and that I really was in love with you. It wasn’t a crush or an infatuation as I had told myself. It was—is—love.”

I wrap my arms around him and climb farther onto his lap until I’m straddling him. My face falls to his neck as gratitude like I’ve never experienced cascades over me. “Thank you,” I whisper against his skin, keeping my face buried. “I was so afraid I was going to lose you and so heartbroken that the baby isn’t yours. I still am.” I pull back and meet his gaze so he knows. “I’d give anything for it to be yours.”

He presses his lips softly to mine. “It will be mine, Sorel. I won’t lie, that was a devastating blow, but I’ve thought about it, and I’ll love it just as much as if it were biologically mine. I’ll be its dad. If that’s what you want from me.”

Oh hell. Oh my hell. Oh my freaking hell.

My heart is racing so fast it explodes in my chest.

This man. I can’t even with him. How is he real?

I hold him tighter and wrap myself around him like a vine, not even caring that he’s next-level sweaty. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so grateful for you. I think…” I swallow and lick my lips. “I think I love you too. In my head, it feels like it should be too soon for that, especially after everything I’ve been through over the last month, but in my heart, it doesn’t feel that way. It feels right.”

I sit back and wipe my face, but it’s useless. These tears are persistent fuckers.

He kisses my cheeks, licking them off me. “Why are you still crying then?”

I laugh lightly. “I’m a broken faucet. I can’t stop. But you know I’m going to get big and fat and be hormonal. More hormonal than this even. You know all of this, right? It’s not the best way to start a new relationship. And there’s that side of this too. This is so new for us.”

“I don’t care.” He kisses me and kisses me and kisses me until I’m breathless. “You’re going to get big and fat and I’m going to love every inch of it. Every curve. Every swell. Hell, I already love how big and sensitive your tits are. I’m going to have a fucking blast with those.”

I laugh as he stares down and tries to squeeze one. I playfully smack his hand away, and he kisses my neck.

“As for the hormones?” He shrugs indifferently. “I’ll do my best and try to be as supportive as I can. I’m not sure any guy can promise more than that. But if your hormones mean you cry, then that only means I get to hold you and kiss them away, so I’ve got no complaints there.” A kiss to my nose. “Stop trying to scare me off. It won’t work. I’m in this. For all of it. We’re going to have a baby together. It’ll be great.”

“Stop!” I wail. “I want to stop crying and you’re making me cry harder when you say perfect things like that.”

“Are you okay with this? With me not just being a boyfriend or supportive? With me wanting to be part of all of it, including being a dad or stepdad or whatever I’ll be. Because Sorel? I don’t think I can just be there as a side character. If I’m in this, I need to be in this all the way.”

“Am I okay with it?” Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Yes. I’m more than okay with it. I mean, it’s new and I’m scared. So much can happen between us at any time, but if that’s what you want, it’s what I want too. I hadn’t even allowed myself to get that far with my thoughts. It’s a dream I didn’t think I’d have. I thought you’d run off, and I wouldn’t have blamed you for it.”

“It’s a lot to process. I won’t lie about that. And I’ll have moments. Dark moments. Especially if I’m sharing this baby and you in any way with Brody.”

I lean in and kiss his lips, shifting so my feet go on either side of his waist. “I don’t know what Brody’s going to be or not going to be. I told him this morning, and other than asking me to move to New York, he didn’t commit or not commit. I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I’m going to be honest and tell you everything.”

He swallows and nods. “I want you to. Even if it hurts to hear.”

I gulp. “I told him if he wanted to be part of the baby’s life, I’d welcome that. He’s the father, and I’d never keep a willing parent out of my child’s life. But I also told him I’d do this without him, and I’d be fine with that too.”

“So the ball’s in his hands now?”

My expression grows soft and contrite as I answer, “Yes.”

He hisses out a breath and falls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. It’s an awkward angle, and I adjust myself.

“Stop moving like that. You’re making me hard, and right now I have fucking Brody in my head.”

I giggle. I don’t even know why.

He pops his head up and glares at me. “That’s funny?”

“That I’m making you hard while you’re thinking about Brody? Kind of.”

His lips twitch before his expression sobers again. “I don’t know what I want to happen. I mean, I want him out of your life forever because that’s the jealous, possessive guy in me, but for the baby… I don’t know.”

I collapse forward until I’m directly on top of him, my face right above his. Mason is intense. He’s all gut reactions and strong feelings. Feelings he’s not shy or afraid of. I admire that about him. In many ways, we’re opposites like that. But right now, I’m trying. I’m trying to be more like that and less closed off. It’s a fight. It’s an internal struggle. But I owe it to him. That and so much more.

“I don’t know either,” I admit. “I think we need to prepare for either eventuality. But it doesn’t change how I feel about you. It doesn’t change that I’m with you and not him. I swear.”

“I trust you.”

I smile. Swallow. Lick my lips. And ignore the thrashing of my wary heart. “I trust you too. So don’t do something stupid and fuck that up.” I say it in jest, but he knows I mean it too.

“Yes, ma’am.” He stretches his neck and kisses me. It’s a promise. A bond. “When did he say he’d let you know?”

“He didn’t.” I pause. Hesitate. But if I’m doing this with Mason and he’s doing this with me, it’s what I’d do with the father of my baby. “I um. I have a picture.”

“A picture?” he parrots.

“I had an ultrasound this morning. It’s how I knew how far along I was.” I bite into my lip but force myself to stop. I’m done questioning or waiting for Mason to run. He’s here. He says he’s in this, and I just told him I trusted him. “Do you want to see it?”

His green eyes glitter. “Can I?”

I climb off him and go over to the nightstand. The picture is sitting there because I showed Serena. “Serena says it looks like her,” I quip, tossing back the same corny joke she threw at me. It did manage to make me laugh when she said it. Serena and I are mirror-image twins.

Mason rolls his eyes and sits up. I try to ignore the fact that he’s sweaty and shirtless, but hell, that’s not always so easy when it comes to him and his sexy man muscles. He takes the four-by-four square from my hand and holds it in his. He doesn’t say anything, and for a few minutes, he simply stares at it, his expression unreadable.

“What are you singing?” he asks absently, his gaze still on the picture.

I hadn’t realized I was singing aloud. “‘Friday I’m In Love.’”

He squints. “Who sings that one?”

“The Cure.”

A head bob and a quirked eyebrow. “You’re going to raise my child on ’90s music, aren’t you?”

“Mason, stop!”

He laughs and nips at my neck, but his hand takes mine, and he threads our fingers together. “Nineties music and HGTV. That’s a lot to grow up on.”

“Oh, and your chick flicks, weird protein shakes, and peanut butter bomb things aren’t? Let me guess, you won’t let it eat sugar.”

“Not during football season, I won’t. If it’s a boy, promise me you won’t be one of those mothers who doesn’t let him play football.”

I grimace. “I’ll think about it. But girls can play football too.”

“True.” He smirks. “That would be badass.” He sets the picture down on the nightstand and pulls me back onto his lap until I’m straddling him.

“What are you doing?”

“Come on, princess. I need a shower, and you’re taking one with me.”