Stranded but not Alone (Midnight Moanings Collection)

Table of Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Stranded but not Alone

By Cora Blu

Copyright 2012 © Cora Blu

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

ACKNOWLEGMENTS

This book I dedicate to the women on the night shift that informed me that,

“Seth wasn’t sex on the beach” he is “Foreplay in the Forest.”

My editors: Wendy Ely and Amy Eye, my fantasy editor and formatter. Thank you both so much for your patience and guidance and friendship.

~
Cora Blu
~

Prologue

Michigan winters were a contrast in beauty. Sunny and hopeful, but cold and suspicious—much like the couple inside the immaculate bungalow on 3212 Lawrence street. Everything appeared perfect on the outside. To the untrained eye, they were a beautiful, loving, and affectionate couple, but that would change with one unasked question. The question that could end it all. Sometimes, step back and listen. Mother Nature may be talking to you.

~~~

Over a simmering pan of chicken cacciatore, Simone Daniels stood thinking of all the ways she would spoil Butterfly, her baby. It was silly to call her baby that when it could be a little boy; she would stop once they knew the sex. With a hand on her stomach as if protecting her tiny bundle from hot tomato sauce splatter, she rubbed and swayed as she monitored dinner and hummed along with the radio.

A baby. Surprised? Yes. However, she loved her baby and the thought of being a mother thrilled her. With her professional life stable and her finances secure, a baby felt nice.

Ronald, her boyfriend and father of her baby, sat mere feet away and watched T.V. in the living room. A liquor salesman for Bacardi, he was the picture of professionalism. He could sell a tree to the forest with markup. Salesman he was, but father he never wanted to be.

Turning down the flame under the skillet, she padded across the kitchen to the living room, certain she heard Ronald saying something over the music and the T.V. With a hip on the back edge of the sofa, she sat, her white house shoes bright against the mahogany floors.

“Sorry, honey, I let Bandit in so I didn’t hear you.” She waited with a loving smile. Only a month pregnant and she felt as if she glowed.

That joy faded when Ronald dragged a hand down his face. That sexy steely gray gaze he taunted her with at night reshaped itself into a harsh gray thunderstorm of clouds. She tensed for whatever bad news he would tell her. “How do I know that’s my child?” He swung a glance at her flat stomach, then back up at her.

She reeled back in response to that verbal slap, almost fell off the back of the couch. Her breath came in slugs as her stomach churned in agitation. “What?”

“Are you sure that’s my child?”

“You’re serious? Whose child would it be if it isn’t yours, Ronald?” Disbelief played across her face. She loved this man. How could he think such a thing? Why? She closed her eyes as small fireworks flashed behind her lids.
Not a migraine, please, anything but a migraine.

“I’m not with you every day, Simone. How do I know that’s my child?” Ronald glanced at her before he returned his attention to his movie. “What about that chef you had dinner with last week?” His tone was unmistakable. He didn’t believe her. He turned from the movie again, tilting his head up to watch her.

“Chef?” Tucking the dishtowel she held into the waistband of her apron, and folding her arms under her chest, she grimaced with discomfort at the tenderness of her breasts so soon in her pregnancy. “I photograph restaurant food. Who should I be talking to? The cable guy? I have dinner with chefs all the time.”

She stood taking slow steps to get around the sofa to stand before him. Pain rocked through her skull. She squinted under the light pouring through the window and planted herself between his legs. He swirled the Bacardi Sangria before taking a deep swallow.

“Was this an accident or did you do this on purpose?” Those same gray eyes that filled with desire and passion when he made love to her now held distrust and suspicion.

“On purpose? Do you hear yourself?” Stunned, she leaned against the chair. “You think I tried to trap you? Is this a joke? Where is this coming from? Did I do something that has you upset?”

Leaning back against the sofa, he rubbed his closed eyes, his suit jacket bunched up over his shoulders with the movement. His gold watch gleamed in the afternoon sunlight that forced its way in through the silk curtains.

His suspicion left an odor in the air like fried catfish. She could not get away from it. It clawed at her heart like a feral cat, poisoning every sweet memory they shared together. This smelled of another woman—had to be—this was out of character for him.

She watched and waited. Stepping back to ease down on the sofa, she lowered herself to the seat and waited with her hands clasped in her lap. She thought of all the women he worked with. No one fit. He focused so hard on getting the Regional Sales Manager promotion… maybe he didn’t get it and was taking it out on her.

Her patience hit the end of its rope. Grabbing a pillow from the couch, she flung it at his head.

“Simone!” Holding his drink out away from his suit, Ronald swore out. “Baby, stop.”

“Now I’m baby.” A second pillow flew through the air, hitting the curtains, the tieback slipping off to the floor.

He set the glass on the coffee table. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this all week and…” He looked past her. “Simone, something’s burning.” They both bolted for the kitchen.

Damnit, her chicken had scorched. Grabbing a towel, she threw the pan in the sink and spun around. Ronald backed up after she shrugged his hands off her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.”

This was not the same man she made love to last night
.

“Simone, we talked about kids. I was upfront with you. I didn’t want any.”

That dark skin, those deep-set eyes, and thick lashes had captured her initially. Now he just looked arrogant and mean. Like the tycoon he’s trying so hard to become. The gold and platinum watches, only flying first-class, and buying the condo in Florida for golf outings. Why hadn’t she seen they were on two different roads?

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, eyeing his watch and leaning over the kitchen table. “I think we should cool it for a while.” With the sun shining at his back from the kitchen patio door, his big body threw a shadow across Simone. She watched him leave the room.

“Ronald? What’s this about?” The wood floor announced each step he took on the way toward the bedroom. He reappeared with his coat and keys. He didn’t look at her, shrugging his wide shoulders into the leather trench.

Simone stood with her jaw slack. First he denied his child and now this? This baby was his responsibility as well. Didn’t matter that they weren’t married or didn’t live together. They spent every day together and shared each other’s lives.

He stood in front of her and attempted to hold her. “Baby girl, we talked about kids,” he said, reaching out to touch her arm. “Not looking to be a father.”

She jerked away from his hands. “Don’t touch me if you’re that serious about not having a child. You should’ve been more careful to not make any.”

“Simone, you’re on the pill.” He wound a Burberry scarf around his throat.

“I’m not the one that doesn’t want this child,” she bit out. “Go under the knife. You’ve made this all about me. I didn’t get myself pregnant,” she said, twisting the kitchen towel between her fingers.

Something about the way his jaw tightened reminded her of his mother and it dawned on her—his father never stayed with his mother. Said he left for another woman.

“I have to go.” He didn’t move but just watched her with a pitying glance. “I need to think. I’ll stay at my place this week.”

She found her hand still twisting the towel tucked in her waistband into a knot. Twisting his head off might feel better—off both of them. “Who is she, Ronald? Who could make you deny your child? A client? Someone from the office?” She regarded his cool stance and another thought clouded her mind. “I have never cheated on you, so why would you accuse me of it? Are you hiding another woman, Ronald, and pinning your guilt on me?” She accused. Nauseated and winded, she propped a hip along the counter and slid the sleeve of saltines from the canister. Bad for her migraine, great for her stomach. She broke off a corner popped it in her mouth.

“There is no other woman.” He crowded her at the counter, standing a breath apart. “I have never cheated on you, on us, but this.” He glanced down at her stomach. “I can’t do this—not a child.”

“My baby is not a ‘this.’” She groaned and shoved at his chest. She’d had enough of his mess. It only moved him a fraction, but his eyes widened as if she had smacked him. “You know what? Just forget it. I don’t care.” She braced her hands up to stall any comments when his lips started to move and focused on the wall above his head to calm herself.

Ronald raised his hand in the air and took another step back, running the hand over his jaw. He didn’t blink or acknowledge her question. “Simone, you don’t have to keep it. You can…”

“Get out! Get the hell out of my house.” She pointed to the door. “Now!”