Pregnant by My Ex-Boyfriend's Brother-in-Law

Josiei’s Point of View

’The room was thick with the smell of alcohol in the dead of night.

I sat slumped on the carpet with my back against the bed, pouring glass after glass of strong whiskey down my throat and letting it burn through me like sulfuric acid, scorching everything inside.

My makeup was ruined. My clothes hung crooked on my body. My loose hair clung to my face, tangled with my tears.

His words kept replaying in my head: "You have to forgive me. This marriage alliance with the Hawthorne family was unavoidable. I promise that once the ranch's financial problems are solved, I'll find a way to divorce Scarlett Hawthorne. Just endure it for now. Wait for me. Trust me!"

Wyatt Callahan had said that to me twenty-eight hours ago.

Today, he got married!

To hell with "unavoidable"!

"Liar! Wyatt Callahan, you big liar!" The tears came pouring out again.

I came to the Callahan family at ten years old as a child bride, and for thirteen whole years I was devoted to him, heart and soul. I never so much as glanced at another man. I thought we would grow old together. And what did I get? He married another woman in a flash, without a word.

Even a death sentence comes with a stay of execution. He could at least have given me that.

The thought of him in the next room, holding his bride and making love to her, made my heart burn even hotter.

I would never believe he wasn't touching that woman. "Unavoidable"? He was probably having the time of his life right now.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Why should I be crying here like a pitiful wretch while he enjoyed the warmth and softness of his beauty?

If I wasn't going to have a good night, neither was he.

With my mind scorched by whiskey, my usual rationality had long since been thrown to the dogs.

I tossed the glasses aside and staggered to my feet, dizzy and light-headed. Barefoot, I weaved out of the room in a zigzag, steadying myself against the wall until I reached the room next door. I leaned against the door and knocked: "Open up. Open the door for me!"

No one came for a long time.

Ignoring me, is he?

Wyatt Callahan, you forced me to this. Don't blame me for not saving your pride. I gripped the handle and gave it a light twist, and the door opened.

It was dim inside, lit only by a single bedside lamp. I stumbled in and headed straight for the bed. Through my drunken haze, I saw a tall, lean figure lying on its side.

"Hey, get up. Wyatt Callahan, get up!" I grabbed his sleeve and yanked at him.

The man in the bed furrowed his long brows in his sleep.

I pulled for ages and couldn't budge him, so I simply climbed onto the bed, plopped myself down on top of him like a wild mustang, grabbed his neck, and shook him wildly: "Are you getting up or not? Get up!"

The drunk man, sound asleep, was finally jolted awake. He pulled me off his body, flipped over, and pinned me down.

“What the f*ck is this?!” he roared. Then suddenly, his palm traveled down my stomach down to my curves and suddenly stopped on my breast.

"Huff... huff..." I gasped for breath. My eyes were blocked by my messy hair, but I could faintly make out thin lips beneath a high, straight nose.

I could feel his strong, warm body and the crisp scent of tobacco on his breath.

In my daze, my mind turned him into Wyatt.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulled him down, and lightly brushed his thin lips. "Kiss me!"

He froze for a moment. Even that feather-light kiss was unexpectedly soft. Testing the waters, he pressed down harder on my lips and pried them open. One small taste and he couldn't stop.

Now that his mouth was rich with the scent of whiskey because of me, it was suddenly unbelievably sweet.

*****

Colt's Point of View

I kissed her deeper, and I didn't bother being gentle about it.

She melted against me, and the whiskey on her tongue went straight to my head. Somewhere in the haze, I caught hold of myself. I broke the kiss, pushed her off, and said coldly, "You got what you asked for. Get off."

"I won't get off!" She clung to me. "You're mine!"

Crazy woman.

I pried her slender fingers from my neck one by one and set her aside. She wrapped right back around me. I peeled her off again, and this time she fought with everything she had. Her legs locked around my waist, her arms around my neck, her whole body pressed against mine, warm and trembling.

"What the hell do you want from me?" My voice came out rougher than I intended. I'd faced down hostile boardrooms with steadier nerves than this.

"Hold me tighter." She shut her eyes and tilted her chin up, lips parted. The tangled hair slid from her face, and I saw her properly for the first time. Flushed cheeks. Wet lashes. A mouth made for trouble. She was ridiculously beautiful.

Any man alive would have lost his head.

I felt my restraint slip, thread by thread. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, and her pulse fluttered wildly under my fingers. "Are you sure you want me to do this?"

She nodded, suddenly shy, a blush creeping down her throat. "Mm. I'm sure."

"You'll regret it," I warned her, low, against her lips.

Then I stopped warning her. I kissed her until neither of us could think, until her breath came in broken little gasps and her fingers curled helplessly into my hair. The lamplight shivered over her bare shoulder. She smelled of whiskey and rain and something sweeter underneath, and I wanted to drown in it. Her hands shook as they found the buttons of my shirt. Mine weren't much steadier.

Then, I ripped down her panty. Without restraint, I pushed inside her hole.

Nonetheless, she went rigid in my arms and cried out, and everything in me stopped.

She was a virgin?

The thought hit me like a blow. I hushed her gently as she cried out. When she stopped crying, I held perfectly still, my forehead against hers, my heart slamming.

"Relax," I murmured. "Look at me. Breathe."

She did, slowly. Her body softened, and her arms tightened around my neck. For a moment I thought I might actually be gentle.

Then she whispered a name into the dark.

"Wyatt..."

Wyatt?

The world went cold.

Wyatt Callahan? The groom? The man who had stood at the altar beside my sister that very afternoon, smiling for the cameras?

Something dark and possessive rose in me, sharp as a blade. I looked down at her flushed, tear-streaked face, so sure she was in someone else's arms, and I tightened my grip on her waist.

"Not him," I said, quiet and certain. "Not tonight."

I kissed her to silence the rest of whatever she might have said, and I didn't stop until the only name she knew was the one she'd never find in her memory.

Josie’s Point of View

A freezing winter morning. Frost clouded the window, turning the glass white.

The room was silent. Two people lay tangled together, breathing in rhythm, sleeping soundly in each other’s arms.

When the sun rose and light spilled across the bed, birdsong slowly pulled me awake.

I opened my eyes slowly, still heavy with sleep, and my gaze landed on a flawless profile. His nose was as high as a mountain ridge, its line clean and sharp against the soft morning light. Below it, pale pink lips rested in a faint, relaxed curve. His jaw was firm, defined, as though it had been shaped by a patient hand. Beneath long lashes lay deep-set eyes, closed in peaceful sleep, and his fair, smooth skin seemed almost to glow in the dim room. He looked like a sculpture, every line carved with perfect precision, something that belonged in a museum rather than inches from my face. He was devastatingly handsome.

I blinked. Once. Twi