I have ruined this poor girl’s life.

During the short trip from the canyon over to Willow beach, it’s all I can think about. Laurel started the day off happy enough, but something happened at the Grand Canyon. Now even as she stares out the window of the helicopter, there’s a hint of sadness hanging around her instead of the light, happiness she emanated earlier.

I yearn to reach out and tuck the tendrils of hair falling out of her messy bun behind her ear, but that might only make her feel worse, so I keep my hands to myself.

This is all my fault. If she’s sad because she’s pregnant, that’s my fault. If she’s sad because she feels guilty for having fun with me today, that’s my fault. I’m the reason she turned to Sin in the first place. I should have invited her to stay while we figured out what to do about her situation—even if it hadn’t been mine, I should have done that. She came to me for help either way.

When Mateo called earlier though, he corroborated Laurel’s claims that she hasn’t slept with anyone in a long-ass time—certainly not since me. He asked if I wanted him to keep looking into it, but I told him not to bother. I would still feel more comfortable if she would agree to a DNA test, but I’m not going to ask again right now. It’s taken a few days to get here, but I believe her.

It makes my stomach hurt, but I believe her.

When the helicopter lands at our next destination, I climb out first and help Laurel. I keep hold of her hand once she’s out, even though it probably doesn’t help. I can’t help it. I generally use touch to cheer women up, and I’m unaccustomed to having that trusty tool off the table.

I want to kiss her, so just holding her hand is frankly a compromise, whether she sees it that way or not.

“Where are we going?” Laurel asks, holding her skirt down as we hasten away from the helicopter. “I thought we were going to lunch.”

“We are,” I assure her.

“This is a beach. Are you going to drown me?”

“Damn, I thought I was being so slick.”

Flashing me a smile, she implores me, “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“You know.” She lifts her eyebrows at me. “Come on. Say it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Smacking me on the arm, she says, “Tell me I’m gonna sleep with the fishes! God, don’t you know anything about the mob?”

“Nothing,” I deadpan. “Will you teach me?”

With a solemn nod, she says, “I will. Under my tutelage, you will learn all you need to know about how to run your very own criminal organization.”

“What would I do without you?” I tease.

“Be the worst mob boss ever, clearly.” Looking over at me again, she says, “Do you know how old I was when Carly let me watch The Godfather?”

“I’m going to guess way too young.”

Laurel nods. “Nine. She had this boyfriend—too old for her, obviously—and he would come over after Nana and Granddad went to sleep, but I was a night owl and I always wanted to stay up with Carly. He brought it over to watch with her, and I was just sort of there.”

“Aw.” I release her hand and drape my arm around her shoulder, tugging her close. “Always the afterthought, huh?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. Carly always put me first. She’d do anything for me. She’ll be a great mom. She’s already good at it and she doesn’t have any kids of her own.”

Her tone drops at the end of that statement, her mind clearly going back to her own problems.

If we can’t ignore them, maybe we can address them. “You don’t think you’ll be a good mom?”

“I don’t know. I hope I will be. It’s a big, scary job.”

At least on that, we agree. “Yeah, it’s pretty permanent.” Glancing at her to gauge her reaction, I ask, “Should we talk about that, or keep ignoring it for a while longer?”

“I think the second one, the ignoring it thing.”

Smiling faintly, I nod my head. “All right.”

Laurel falls quiet, looking around at the scenery as we continue on our way. Once we get to the private beach, she sees what I had set up ahead of our arrival. A large, wicker picnic basket sits atop a traditional checkered blanket. Laurel clasps her hands together, grinning up at me.

“A picnic?”

“Unless I have a Tommy gun stashed in there instead,” I tell her.

Delighted, she breaks away from my hold to go over and investigate. I follow a little slower, smiling as she drops to her knees and opens up the basket. I had Juanita pack it up, so everything is nice and neat. Laurel pulls out two plates, some napkins, two bottles of ice cold water, and a couple spoons. She looks so pretty with the emerald green water behind her, a few ducks floating along, minding their business. I can’t resist pulling out my phone, turning it sideways, and framing her up.

I take the picture, but I can’t see her face. I want to be able to see her smile in the days ahead, when I’m trying to remember why I’m working so hard when I don’t have to.

“Laurel,” I call, to get her attention.

Her head snaps up and she smiles, resting her hand on the picnic basket.

That one’s perfect. I nod my approval and she goes back to unpacking our lunch.

I look at the picture one more time, then I start to slide my phone back in my pocket, but I stop. Sin crosses my mind. I don’t want to play dirty as far as Laurel can see, but pissing off Sin can’t be a bad idea.

Well, I mean, it could, since he works for me. But in the spirit of competition, it can’t be a bad thing. It won’t hurt me if he’s a dick to Laurel because he’s jealous—and I know this will make him jealous. Sin is a possessive motherfucker, and if he really likes her, it has to be killing him that he’s competing with me, of all people.

Since Laurel is still busy, I open my message to Sin. Nothing new since this morning, but I’m not surprised. I have him running his ass off today. I attach the picture of Laurel smiling at me at our picnic lunch and send it without any accompanying text.

It’s petty as hell, but I’m playing to win here, I don’t give a fuck.

Now I tuck the phone back in my pocket and go over to join Laurel on the beach.

“These are still warm,” she marvels, lifting a sandwich out of an insulated bag. She puts one on my plate and hands it to me, then puts the second sandwich on her own plate. Inhaling and closing her eyes, she says, “Oh, this looks and smells so good.”

Juanita made roast chicken sandwiches served up on ciabatta bread—they are good. She also gave us an assortment of fruit—sliced strawberries, grapes, watermelon—and a container full of carrot sticks.

“My housekeeper keeps me fed, especially when I’m single. You met her, didn’t you?”

“Briefly. You’ll have to tell her thank you for me. This is a perfect picnic spread.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Her smile warms. “I do. Thank you.”

I nod, glancing beyond her at the little cluster of mallard ducks. On impulse, I take the top piece of bread off my sandwich and start ripping off a couple chunks. I throw the first piece, then Laurel looks back, noticing the ducks.

“Don’t feed them,” she says.

That surprises me. I would have taken Laurel for a girl who got a kick out of feeding the ducks. Looking back at her, I ask, “Why not?”

“Because ducks are assholes. I mean, also because you’re not supposed to feed wildlife, but mainly because ducks are assholes.”

I cock an eyebrow, but I stop picking my bread apart. “Those cute little mallards, right there? Assholes?”

Nodding firmly, she says, “Bunch of gang rapists. If you’re going to feed them, only feed the females. Let the males starve.”

I sputter, taken off guard by her accusation. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Her eyes widen at my skepticism. “Don’t you know about the secret life of ducks? They’re rotten bastards. The male ducks, anyway.” Seeing I’m completely clueless, she sighs and curls her legs to the side, getting more comfortable so she can impart a lesson. “Okay, so, there are a lot more male ducks than female ducks, and because of that, females can afford to be very selective with their choice of mates. You have to really wow them, otherwise just forget about it. It’s a good thing, but these lazy asshole male ducks can’t be bothered to step up their game and impress the ladies. Oh, no. Some of them decide, hey, you know what’s easier? Rape.”

“Are we really talking about duck rape over a picnic lunch?”

“Yes,” she says, firmly in teacher mode. “So, the asshole ducks accost the women, even if they already have a mate and ducklings, and they’re violent about it. They’ll push her under water if they get her in the pond. They’ll chase her around on dry land, pecking her into submission, trying to mount her with their stupid duck penises.” Pausing, she holds up a finger. “As an aside, ducks are also well-endowed, for avian creatures.”

I shake my head, grabbing the spoon and scooping some grapes onto my plate. “Thank God I know that now.”

“You’re welcome. So, yeah, duck rape is an epidemic. And sometimes it’s just one rogue bastard who accosts the lady duck, and in that case she has a better chance of survival, but sometimes the male ducks attack in gangs. They brutalize these poor lady ducks, sometimes even killing them in the midst of the attack.”

This is the strangest date I have ever been on.

Laurel continues. “As a consequence of this, duck vaginas have evolved and become quite complex, as nature tries to correct this situation and make it harder and harder for the egg to be fertilized in a forceful attack. Some species of lady ducks have secret pouches to catch unwanted sperm and, like… almost, like, vagina teeth.”

“I don’t understand why you know any of this,” I tell her.

Shrugging nonchalantly, she opens the lid on the watermelon container. “I read about it in a book, and then I was like ‘what the fuck is this shit?’ so I researched it more online. Yale did a study and everything. It’s crazy shit. I could show you a video on your phone.”

“You want me to watch a duck snuff film while we eat?” I ask. “And I thought I was hardcore.”

“Not a snuff film, but people have filmed examples of it in nature. I’m just saying, if you don’t believe me, I can show you.”

“You watch weird porn,” I inform her.

Laurel smiles, rolling her eyes at me. “Don’t be gross. It’s not explicit.”

I shake my head at her. “You’re a fascinating little nerd, kitten.”

She picks up a grape and rolls it between her fingers. “It’s a real problem. I can’t sit by and let you nourish rapists.”

“We probably shouldn’t host my family for the holidays, then,” I tell her, dryly.

Eyebrows rising, she meets my gaze. “Huh?”

I shake my head, watching her pop the grape into her mouth. “Nothing, never mind.”

After taking a sip of her water, Laurel tells me, “We should have discussed this before we went to the bookstore; I could’ve looked for that one book I read. It’s called The Evolution of Beauty. There’s a whole chapter on duck sex.”

“I’ll make sure I order myself a copy as soon as I get home,” I assure.

Laurel nods her approval as she takes a quartered strawberry between her fingers and brings it to those plump lips of her. “See that you do. Your library needs it.”

Fuck, I can’t concentrate on anything right now except the sudden, overwhelming fantasy of her being a professor. I want to bend her over her desk and fuck her, holding that messy bun like the horn of a saddle. “Do you have glasses?”

She looks up at me and blinks as she chews her strawberry, then swallows. “Glasses? Yes. I don’t wear them often though. They make it easier to read small print, but they’re ugly.”

“Perfect.”

This seems to amuse her. “Why is that perfect?”

“I’m picturing something in my head, and you are definitely wearing glasses.” I had no idea I was into nerds, but I’m getting behind this fantasy fast. Laurel naked but for her glasses and messy bun, tummy down on a desk, my hand caressing her bare ass right before I fuck her. Yes, I like that a lot. I’m going to remodel one of the spare bedrooms so she has her own office.

“When we were in Chicago over Easter, didn’t you tell me you wanted to be a professor? That’s what you’re going to school for?”

Laurel nods her head, uncapping her water bottle. “Yep. Someday. I still have quite a bit of school before I get to that point, but that’s definitely where I want to end up. A tenured position, ideally.”

“Do you have your heart set on a school you would want to teach at?”

“Nope. I’m keeping an open mind. It will be easier to find a position I’m happy with that way.”

I can think of several positions she would be happy with, but they all involve her naked, and none of them have anything to do with college.

Fuck. I shift as my cock stirs and I try to clear the images of Laurel out of my mind. I look back at the ducks, but somehow that doesn’t even help. Horny little bastards. I’ll never look at a duck the same way again.

“I should have Juanita make us a male duck à l’orange for dinner one of these nights.”

I don’t know whether Laurel will be tender-hearted and horrified, or amused, but she cracks up and I’m relieved. “Yes. That’ll show them. Just no female duck à l’orange.”

“I’ll interrogate the duck first, make sure we get a guilty one.”

Laurel grins. “Please do. Stopping duck rape, one dinner at a time.”

I shake my head, teasing her, “I knew you weren’t a vegetarian, but I didn’t know you were a beast.”

“Please. I’m basically an activist. They should learn to keep their little duck dicks behind their feathers and I wouldn’t cook them up and serve them with roasted veggies.”

“You are ruthless.”

“Nah, I’m sweet, remember?” As soon as the words slip out of her mouth, she loses her smile. She realizes she just openly referred to when we spent those few days together, and due to whatever complications she sees now, she doesn’t want that.

I let it go so she keeps having a good time, but it’s too late. I haven’t actually spent time with Laurel in the few days she has been here, but now that I’m in her company again, I am absolutely enchanted. Now I remember how much I enjoyed her—why I made the decision to invite her to Vegas while Vince dealt with listing the house he inherited to begin with.

None of that had to happen. Vince didn’t even have to be here to sell the house. He had no reason to step foot back in Vegas, but Easter was over and I couldn’t stay in Chicago. I needed a reason for Laurel to come back with me, and the only one available to me was Vince dealing with his inheritance.

It certainly wasn’t in my plan, and I’m still not entirely sure how to feel about it, but one thing is for sure: now that Laurel is carrying my baby, I have a significantly better reason to keep her in Vegas.