by Shayla Black
corner of her lip curled up. She couldn’t quite repress her triumph. “Perfect, darling.”
Gwyneth turned back to the stove, heating the bottle. Liam freed Kyle from the car seat and laid him across the couch. As he changed the baby, one little chubby fist snagged his finger, gripping with surprising strength. Liam smiled. Are you mine, little man? No time like the present to find out…
Glancing up to make sure Gwyneth was out of sight, Liam withdrew the kit from the pocket of his jacket. Tearing open the cellophane wrap, he withdrew the swab stick and slid his little finger across Kyle’s face. As the boy opened his mouth, Liam ran the cotton tip gently against the inside of the baby’s cheek. He only whined a bit.
Popping the sample into a slender plastic receptacle, Liam shoved the test kit back in his pocket. Mission accomplished in less than sixty seconds—with Gwyneth none the wiser.
Satisfied, Liam carried Kyle with him to the window, patting his back and murmuring softly to the cranky boy to calm him.
Gwyneth returned with the bottle. The second Kyle spied it, he began kicking and wailing impatiently.
“There.” She handed Liam the bottle. “Would you mind feeding him? I need to take care of a few things.”
He took the warm bottle and tilted Kyle back in his arm. “Fine.”
She brushed her fingers through Liam’s hair. “You’re such a love, darling. Kyle didn’t get much rest, so if you wouldn’t mind putting him down in his playpen after—”
“Go on.” The sooner she left the room, the better. “We’ll manage.”
She disappeared through the kitchen and into the hall as Liam paced back to the couch and sat with Kyle. He watched, fascinated, as the babe grabbed at his bottle, searching for the teat, and put it in his mouth himself.
“Whoa, tiger.” He laughed. “Give me a second and I’ll help.”
Kyle had other ideas as he latched on and greedily suckled, staring up at Liam with big, dark eyes as he concentrated on each pull. The tyke was cute. He’d give the boy that.
As Kyle slurped, Liam heard the clink of the shower pipes. The woman was grooming again? Liam rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t mind a shower and some hot food, considering he’d been up since four a.m. and hadn’t managed either one.
He relaxed into the buttery leather cushion as Kyle’s eyes drooped heavily and his pulls slowed. Shortly, the lad sucked nothing but air from the empty bottle, so Liam gently eased it from his little mouth. Kyle’s face scrunched up, as if he meant to start wailing again. As he parted his lips, it wasn’t a cry that emerged but a sturdy burp. Kyle blinked, looking surprised. Liam chuckled and stood, carrying the boy to the playpen and tucking the fuzzy blue blanket around him. Kyle dropped off in seconds.
Liam wasn’t sure how long the boy would nap, but he hoped to have a good hour to get to the bottom of Gwyneth’s scheme. As soon as he found some more fucking food. God, he was starving.
Grabbing a cup of yogurt and a spoon from the kitchen, Liam ate and glanced around the condo. He spied Gwyneth’s open purse lying on the counter and began to prowl through the black Versace hobo bag. He wasn’t exactly sure what he sought, but he hoped to find a clue about her intentions—notes, correspondence, documents—anything. Other than cosmetics and some breath mints, he found it nearly empty…and surprisingly void of baby things.
Gwyneth had tucked her cell in one of the pockets. Picking it up, he scrolled through the device. No apps that charted child development or programs designed to entertain the wee one.
He launched her Facebook and scrolled down her timeline. Nothing about work, family, or even Kyle. Instead, he saw lots of shopping and trips to the spa. Of course, some people never posted about their personal lives or children for security reasons. Understandable, he supposed. She had a friend request from some young chap in London eager to show off his chest.
Liam frowned, then flipped to her text messages. James, Colin, Andrew, Ryan. The list went on… At the bottom, a message from her sister. Gwyneth had wished her older sibling a nice holiday. He flipped open the message from the bloke at the top of the list to find some sexts and a close-up of him wanking himself. Liam quickly shut the window with a grimace.
After that, he could only imagine how dreadful the pictures on her phone’s camera would be. He hoped to hell she hadn’t taken pictures of herself masturbating and sent them back to the man.
The shower shut off, and he knew he didn’t have much time to spare. But he couldn’t be squeamish now if he wanted any clue about what his ex-wife intended.
Liam quickly scrolled until he found her camera roll. The images were chronological, listed by month and year. The more recent ones even listed days.
He chose the photo she’d last taken—a pair of Prada shoes—and began scrolling back. Food, spas, girlfriends, bars, and men. Lots and lots of bars. Even more men. Selfies of her partying at various London nightclubs, each with a different glass and a different fellow. Last week, the week before, the month before… He frowned. She’d been drinking it up three days after Kyle’s birth? And somewhere called Paramount Bar two days before she’d delivered the child, when she was supposedly very pregnant?
Cursing under his breath, Liam shoved the phone away. So Gwyneth hadn’t been the chaste flower she claimed since he’d seen her last at that bloody benefit. What he hadn’t noticed was a single picture of Kyle—not sleeping or playing or looking cute. What mother didn’t have a picture of her infant? Of course, Gwyneth hadn’t seemed like a model for motherhood. Still, the fact that she lacked even one snapshot of the boy she’d nurtured inside her body and given birth to made Liam’s suspicions whirl.
She’d tracked him down to introduce him to his supposed son and plead with him to become a family. In the absence of any other motive, Liam had believed her…somewhat. He’d been disturbed that she seemed to view the child as a nuisance more than a blessing. Of course, she’d once seen her husband in that same light. Still, he might have been persuaded to believe she’d changed a bit, maybe shifted her priorities since becoming a mother—until now. Everything on her phone just reinforced that she was the same good-time girl he’d divorced.
Not only did he wonder if Kyle was his son, Liam now wondered if the lad was even Gwyneth’s. He had his doubts, which was a huge fucking relief. But if the kid wasn’t hers, who did he belong to? And why had she tried to pass Kyle off as theirs?
The way Liam saw it, Gwyneth seemed almost desperate to have him in her life again, perhaps even recklessly inventing a son. What the devil was she really after?
Liam had no bloody idea. Time to turn up the heat.
He had no more than tucked her phone away when his own began vibrating in his pocket. He slid it free and checked the screen as he moved to the window.
“Seth, talk to me.”
“Well, hello to you, too, asshole.” His friend laughed.
“Sorry. I don’t have a lot of time. Gwyneth is getting out of the shower.”
“Did you get her dirty?”
“No. Fuck no. Would you touch her?”
Seth made a gagging noise. “The thought made me throw up in my mouth a little.”
Liam rubbed at the back of his neck. “Me, too.”
“Turns out her father actually is terminal,” Seth confirmed. “Cancer. He’s not expected to live much longer. Maybe a month at most.”
“No shit, huh?” So his ex-wife occasionally did tell the truth.
Liam wondered if she’d been honest about anything else. Had he misjudged Kyle’s parentage? Was it possible he’d fathered the boy after all? His gut said no, but…
“Lots of speculation in the business section of the paper about what will happen to his empire,” Seth continued.
“Gwyneth and her sister have never been interested in actually working, so I’m not surprised. Anything more about Kyle’s birth?”
“That’s where things take a weird turn. I’m coming up empty handed. There are no recent births recorded under the name Kyle O’N
eill, which is already odd. I also looked up Kyle Sinclair, just to be thorough. Nothing within the last six months. Then I tried to cross-reference Gwyneth’s name as the birth mother. No record of that, either.”
Which meant the birth certificate she’d shown him earlier today had likely been forged.
“If Gwyneth had given birth, she should be listed as a mother on that baby’s birth certificate,” Seth explained. “Can you think of another name she’d be using?”
“No. She’s always used Sinclair.” Even when they’d been married.
“Liam…I’ve got to tell you, I’m not even sure this is her kid.”
“I’m thinking that myself.” In fact, Liam was almost convinced.
“That’s all I’ve got so far. I’ll keep looking and let you know if I find anything else, but I’m not expecting much more today. The UK is eight hours ahead of us, so all official government offices are closed for the night.”
“I appreciate all you’ve found.” Liam hung up and sighed. He needed a game plan to make Gwyneth talk—and fast.
The snick of the bathroom door opening and a soft rustling sound made him turn. And stare.
Gwyneth stood before him in almost nothing. What little scraps she wore were siren red. The bra, if he could call it that, sloped over her shoulders with delicate scalloped straps. The quarter cups cradled the underside of her enhanced breasts, exposing her tight pink nipples. Below the long, lean line of her abdomen that didn’t bear a single stretch mark, a tiny scrap of peekaboo mesh cupped her hips—and completely exposed her waxed mons.
If that body has ever been through pregnancy and childbirth, then I’m the bloody Pope. You’ve yanked my chain long enough, woman.
She struck what she thought was a seductive pose, sliding a hand into her fluffed hair now spilling in wide curls around her shoulders, batting her false lashes and pursing her red-painted lips in a pout. Liam felt his stomach buckle.
Gwyneth flashed him a come-hither smile and turned slowly to reveal her wiggling ass, adorned with a red, silky bow just above the pert cheeks, bisected by her lacy thong. The ensemble looked like something out of a Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog, but Gwyneth couldn’t get even the slightest rise out of him.
Swaying, she faced him once more, curling her lips coyly. “Liam…”
She approached on red patent stilettoes, tiptoeing in six-inch heels secured by cuffs around the ankles, drawn together with a black silken tie like a corset. Everything about her looked overblown and ridiculous. She was trying far too hard to seduce him.
When they’d been together, she’d often tried to control him with sex. She hadn’t seemed terribly interested in the sex itself. Liam didn’t imagine for a second that he alone flipped her switch in some way she couldn’t live without. So what the bloody hell did the woman want? Him, he supposed. Or more likely something from him.
Either way, her desperation would make it easier to manipulate her until he got the answers he sought.
Then his nightmare grew more real as she settled awkwardly onto her knees before him, her back stiff, her thighs spread as if she tried to emulate a submissive pose she’d seen on the Internet. Unfortunately, in those knickers, he could see the bare lips of her sex. He grimaced.
Liam had no doubt Gwyneth had never attempted such a position in her life.
What. The. Fuck?
“What do you think, darling?” Gwyneth purred as she caressed her way up her thighs, as if wanting to display all her treasures there just for his taking.
Somehow, he managed to paste on a smile. “Well, this is unexpected.”
“I’ve missed you. I wanted to show you all the ways I’ve changed and prove that I’ve learned to embrace your needs.”
Liam stared down at her, trying not to snort. She didn’t know the first thing about his needs. But if she wanted to hand over her control, he’d use it to get some answers and give her an experience she’d never forget.
Standing above her, as immovable as a mountain, legs parted, shoulders squared, Liam folded his arms across his chest. “My needs?”
She bowed her head in a parody of surrender before she peeked up at him from under her fake lashes. “I understand now. I’ve read all about them and I want to give you my submission.” She licked her lips. “Make this the best you’ve ever had…Master.”
Gwyneth had no idea what she was talking about. He stared at her throat and fought the urge to shake the silly bitch until her teeth rattled. “You want my Dominance, do you?”
“Mmm. I like the sound of that,” she moaned.
“Are you sure? I’ve changed, too. My tastes run dark now.”
She paused, then flashed him a mega-watt smile. “Yes. Yes! Dark sounds lovely.”
You think that now. Just wait…
“Please give me a chance… Since we have Kyle now, you and I should begin a new life together. I’ll surrender everything so you know I’m serious. Let’s try, darling. Do it for me. For Kyle…”
He should scene with her for the baby’s sake? Twisted logic. Liam shook his head. He couldn’t look too eager, but he intended to have fun with this. “I suppose.”
“Wonderful.” She cupped her breasts in her hands for him and moaned. “I’ll satisfy you so completely you won’t ever want anyone else.”
Liam tried not to sneer. “You’ll need a safe word, Gwyneth.”
“I know what that is.” She nodded, as if excited by her own ability to read a website. “It’s a word I say if things get too intense. Then we’ll stop and we discuss.”
“Usually, but not in my case. If you say your safe word, I’ll know that my needs are too much for you and we’d be better off apart. If you say it, everything stops…forever.”
“I won’t need it. I’ve been looking forward to this since the moment I saw you again.”
“Your safe word is…” Infidelity. “Abstinence.”
“Why that?” She reared back.
“Because you would never say it while you’re having sex, now, would you?”
“No,” she breathed. “I wouldn’t. You are clever. Liam, this is an exciting game.”
“Game, yes.” He managed not to roll his eyes as he gestured her across the room. “Come to the living room.”
She sauntered across the kitchen, swinging her hips in an exaggerated sway, making the floppy bow at the small of her back bob. With a kittenish smile, she tossed him a saucy glance over her shoulder. When she reached the sofa, she turned and leaned back, unhooking her nearly nonexistent bra. Her breasts didn’t move as she flung the garment away.
Pinching her own nipples, she sent him a teasing stare. “Do you like what you see?”
“I’m in charge, girl. You don’t talk unless I give you permission. I didn’t tell you to strip.”
“But don’t you want me naked?” She shoved her knickers off, then slid them back and forth over her pussy with a groan.
Liam tried not to wince. “Stop. You’re not allowed to touch yourself without my permission.”
“I’m not, at least not with my hands. You can do that for me.”
Not in a million years. “Drop the knickers. Put your hands behind your head, girl.” He twisted his face into his most serious Dom expression and waited until she complied. “Good. Now stay right here. I need some special toys for our…game.”
“Toys?” She sounded as excited as a child at Christmas.
“I told you not to talk. Are you ill-equipped to handle me? Do we need to stop here and now?”
She shook her head frantically and pressed her lips together. Thankfully, she didn’t say another word.
Spinning on his heel, Liam whirled back through the condo and into the bedroom. Sure enough, in the back of the closet, he found a big, dark duffel bag. He hoisted it onto his shoulder. Heavier than fuck. Liam smiled for the first time since arriving here. Now he could have some fun. He’d bet the good doctor kept an arsenal of interesting shit.
Shutting the bedroom door behind him, he r
eturned to the little living room. Gwyneth had splayed herself out on the back of the sofa, long legs spread wide. “I know I’m not supposed to talk, but I wanted to show you that I waxed just for you.”
He couldn’t look. “Quiet! I’ve told you to hold your tongue. We were going to start with pleasure, but now…” He shook his head in mock regret. “Well, it’s punishment for you.”
She gasped. “Will it hurt?”
“It will now.”
Liam was almost thankful for the months he’d spent as a sadist after his divorce. At the time, he’d thought that inflicting pain on subs who craved the hurt might release the resentment he felt toward Gwyneth for her betrayal. But it hadn’t, and he realized he wasn’t the kind of man who simply enjoyed doling out torture. For his ex-wife, he’d make an exception. Not that he’d hurt her
