Page 87 of Never Forever

Malcolm Bettencourt moved to town a few years ago after a gruesome helicopter crash. He’d caused quite a stir at the time, not just because he was a billionaire who bought the old lighthouse and the caretaker’s cottage and kept to himself.

No, the scars were what caused a stir.

Then he went and blackmailed Jolie Petite into working for him.

And they fell in love, despite the scars, the age gap and his general bad attitude.

They were a modern day beauty and the beast fairytale. Lucky them.

I unrolled the window and let the ocean breeze blow the sweat off my forehead. It was still hot and Malcolm’s house would be a nice air-conditioned reprieve. Even if everyone was going to be talking non-stop. The wives might show up too.

And a random baby.

Bobby would pry. Levi would avoid my eyes because I knew what was going on with him and Annie, but Malcolm was a blood hound when it came to secrets.

He might take one look at me and know somehow that I’d gotten laid.

Maybe I shouldn’t be going to poker. Maybe I should just go to the Gull instead. Get shit faced, kill some brain cells and try to forget how perfect Carrie’s skin was. How her body had made good on every single promise it made. How the sound of her moaning was still the hottest sound ever made on this earth.

Fuck. Now I was on my way to poker with a semi hard dick.

And then, like a freaking bolt out of the sky, it hit me.

We didn’t use a condom.

20

The Dumont

Carrie

Ispent the better part of the day in bed, considering my options. I didn’t like any of them.

On the one hand, there was a chance I could have the thing I’ve wanted for so long. A baby.

On the other hand, it meant Matt would be the father.

Which was a complete and utter disaster. For both of us.

He hadn’t called or texted all day. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he went around having unprotected sex with lots of women. Maybe this entire town was filled with Matt Sullivan’s babies.

So, what was one more?

I groaned and rolled my face into the pillow. Shouting into the cotton so no one could hear my existential crisis.

Someone banged on the suite door.

I lifted my head.

No one should be banging on my door.

I’d put up the Do Not Disturb sign, but maybe it fell off the door handle?

Maybe it was the wrong door?

More banging. Louder if possible.

Jeez Louise.