Limitless Love (Lotus House #4)(77)

Mila frowned. “Clay, she was violated. I imagine that messes with the light in one’s eyes.”

I shook my head and rubbed at my face. I needed to shave. My whiskers were too long and abrading my woman’s skin. I didn’t want any more marks on her. That ex of hers had done enough damage. “I don’t know. Why now? She called Monet instead of the police when she woke up after being beaten and raped. Does that sound normal to you?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“And then the fact that they hadn’t spoken since all the shit went down? He attacks Monet and makes it clear that he’s doing so in order to get Matisse the money. So what changed?”

The more I thought about it, the more things didn’t add up.

“I think those are all questions you need to ask Matisse. Only, go in gently. If she’s hurt as bad as you say…” Mila offered what I already knew.

“See, that’s the thing. He didn’t hurt her as bad as he did Monet. She needed surgery and almost a hundred stitches. Could have bled out with the damage he’d already done, let alone what he planned on doing to her.”

“Yeah. Sounds like knives must be his weapon of choice.” Mila’s jaw hardened, and one of her hands went into a tight fist on her lap.

“Still, the knife wounds on Matisse are superficial. They didn’t even need stitches, just bandaging.”

“But he didn’t rape Moe,” she whispered and glanced across the open loft toward the kitchen, making sure Lily was occupied. I respected her even more for that—thinking of Lily the way she always did.

Mila made an excellent point. I couldn’t deny how devastated Matisse was while giving her statement. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that things were off.

“I don’t trust her,” I admitted on a weighted sigh.

Mila stood up, walked around the coffee table, and placed a hand to my shoulder. “You don’t have to. You look after Moe”—she flicked her eyebrows toward the kitchen—“and that little girl. That’s what you do. They are your priority.”

“Thanks, Mila.” I placed my hand over hers.

“Anytime, bro.” She winked and went toward the kitchen. “Baby wants pancakes and hot sauce,” she announced dramatically to the room while rubbing her belly.

I burst out laughing and followed the crazy pregnant lady to check on my girl.



* * *



We were cuddled up in our bed, Monet’s bare leg flopped over my thighs, my hand on her ass. “That was phenomenal, baby.” She kissed my chest over my rapidly beating heart.

Damn, she was not wrong. “Yes, it was.” I firmed up my grip on her ass cheek and hugged her close. I loved having her warm skin over mine like a blanket.

She mumbled something sleepily under her breath.

I figured it was the perfect time to dig for information. “What’s Lily’s blood type?” I threw out the question hoping she’d answer and not ask why.

“Huh? What?” She clung to my ribcage more tightly.

“Her blood type. I was just wondering what it is. Want to make sure I know the important details about our girl.”

I could feel her grin against my chest. “Our girl.”

“Yep. Our girl.”

“Mmm. I like the sound of that.” She kissed my chest in a way that didn’t encourage aftersex cuddling and sleep; it said round two was well on the way.

I locked my arms around her. “So what is it?”

Her body relaxed and she rested against me again, her attention diverted for a moment. “It’s actually really rare.”

I knew it before she said it.

“AB negative.”

Only one percent of Caucasians had AB negative blood, and less than half a percent of Asians, which Lily was, making the likelihood of that blood type far more rare.

“Mine too.” I forced out the words, trying to make it sound calm, but my mind was raging with impossible scenarios.

She ran her hand up and down my chest methodically. “Well, that’s good. You have something in common.”

“Monet, there’s something I gotta tell you. Something on my mind.”

Her body stiffened in my arms. I moved both my hands up and down her bare skin to try and put her in a state of relaxation once again.

She nuzzled my chest and then rested her ear over my heart. I noticed she often did that. Said it reminded her that she wasn’t alone. I didn’t like the idea of my woman ever feeling alone. Not if I could help it.

“This is way out of left field, but Mila told me you got the sperm donation from Berkeley Health and Reproductive Services.”

Her tension eased, thinking we were going into a topic that wasn’t threatening.

“Yeah, I did. So?”

Gooseflesh danced across my forearms as I came clean. “I donated samples there on a few occasions while putting myself through college.”

“Really? Why?”

“Remember when I told you that I’d gotten scholarships and put myself through college?”

She nodded against my chest.

“Well, I worked a lot and lived on my own. Donating sperm and plasma were awesome for extra money back in the day.”

For a long while, she was quiet. Every minute felt like an acupuncturist putting one more needle directly into my skin.