by Naima Simone
Project manager. She’d been at FamFit for three years, and she’d never been appointed to head the numerous teams on which she’d participated. The excitement edged out the unease and resentment. This could be her chance to show not just Brian, but herself, that she could handle the responsibility and succeed. She’d been burned by her supervisor before, but she couldn’t turn away from this opportunity for advancement in the company and her field.
“The person whose proposal is accepted will end up project manager?” she asked, needing that verification.
“Yes,” Brian replied. “Are you in?”
Sophia smiled, an idea already swirling in her head. “I’m in.”
Minutes later, after a quick stop in the bathroom to replace her lip and eyebrow rings, she exited the FamFit office building and stepped into the hustle and bustle of a Friday night in Pioneer Square. Even FamFit’s relaxed dress code had a thing about piercings in places other than the ears. With her keys in hand, she replayed the scene in his office, and her eagerness continued to rise.
This time is going to be different. I just know it. The words ricocheted off the walls of her head, fervent, hopeful, and yeah, with a tinge of desperation.
Her cell phone vibrated in her hand, Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” pealing and drawing several amused glances Sophia’s way. Without glancing down at the screen, she answered; she’d assigned that ringtone to one person.
“Hey, Vanna,” she greeted her sister, entering the parking garage. “Are you on your way home?”
“Hola, chica!” Giovanna’s cheerful voice echoed clearly across the long-distance connection. After not hearing from her sister for a couple of days, Sophia had missed her. “No, I’m still in Milan.”
“What?” Sophia frowned, jabbing the elevator button for the third level. “I thought you wrapped up yesterday and were leaving today. Did you miss your flight?”
Giovanna laughed, and the infectious glee in it had Sophia smiling even though she had no clue why. “You’re not going to believe this. I mean, I’m still pinching myself.”
“Well, stop that. They’ll think the bruises are track marks,” Sophia advised.
Her twin snorted. “Only your mind would go there. But, anyway,” she continued, and Sophia could easily imagine her swiping a hand through the air as if sweeping aside Sophia’s crack-whore observation. “Leo Bianchi himself asked my agent if I could walk in another show he has next Wednesday. Isn’t that amazing?” she shrieked.
“Wow, Vanna.” Sophia grinned, joy for her sister surging inside her like the accomplishment was her own. “You must’ve knocked him on his ass. Not that I’m surprised. You’re—wait. Does this mean I have to pose as you for something else?” she asked, suspicion and horror creeping in.
“God, you’re paranoid. No,” her twin assured her. “I just wanted to let you know I wouldn’t be home when planned and to see how the shoot went yesterday. Did I do a fantastic job?”
Reaching her car, Sophia unlocked it and climbed in. “Well, I wasn’t outed as an imposter and kicked out, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said, tone wry. “So I guess everything went okay.” If by okay, she meant meeting the sexiest man breathing air and having a scorching one-night stand with him, then yep, everything was A-okay.
A pause on the other end. “What aren’t you telling me?” Giovanna demanded.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sophia leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. Sometimes being the other half of one egg sucked. She sometimes swore that twin ESP crap was a real thing. “Why do you think there’s something I’m keeping from you?”
“Oh damn.” Giovanna groaned. “Now you’re hedging. Some serious shit must’ve gone down. Spill it. Wait. Just tell me this. Am I going to end up on the cover of a tabloid?”
Sophia blinked. No, she didn’t think… Nobody saw her leave with Zephirin last night, right? Well, at least she hadn’t noticed any flashing camera phones or photographers…
Another groan sailed down the cell’s connection. “Oh God. What did you do?”
“First off, I think you’re tabloid-cover-free,” Sophia assured her twin.
“You think,” Giovanna gritted out. “I’m dead.”
“Look,” Sophia said on the end of a sigh. Not like she could keep this from her twin. Not when, technically, it’d been Giovanna having the one-night stand. Even if in name only. “You didn’t tell me I would be modeling with Zephirin Black.”
“Did it matter?” Giovanna countered. “You don’t know a football from a whiffle ball. I definitely didn’t think you’d recognize him.”
“Okay, you got a point there. But still, you should’ve prepared me for him. I mean, the man is gorgeous. A hazel-eyed Shemar Moore with a shaved head. A little heads up would’ve been nice. Something like, ‘Now, Sophia, be prepared to meet Zeph Black. He’s sex walking, so make sure you wear both flame-retardant and water-resistant underwear.’ But nope, you let me walk into that one like a lamb to slaughter. So in essence, this is fifty percent your fault—”
“Madre de Dios!” Giovanna gasped. “You had sex with him.”
Hah. Sex. That hadn’t been sex; she’d had sex before. That was…the fucking unicorn. Fabled. Heard of. But never seen and damn sure never experienced. Wincing, Sophia shook her head back and forth on the wheel. “Yes and no.”
“What the hell does that mean? That’s like being a little pregnant. Either you fucked him or you didn’t,” she yelled.
“I mean, I did. But he may have, y’know, thought it was you.” Bracing herself for the imminent explosion, she curled the fingers of her free hand around the steering wheel.
“This is Twin of Fire. Holy hell, I’m living a romance novel,” came the whispered reply.
Not the response Sophia had been expecting. Blinking, she lifted her head. “Huh?”
“Twin of Fire by Jude Devereaux. Remember? The one twin was engaged, and she asked her sister to pretend to be her and take her place on a date for just one night. The sister ended up going to bed with the fiancé, and all the time, he believed he was with the other twin, his betrothed.”
“Betrothed?” Sophia snickered. Couldn’t help it.
“Shut up, you. Anyway, the whole charade exploded in both of the twins’ faces. So how well do you think this is going to end?” Giovanna snapped.
“I know, I know,” Sophia muttered. “Not about the book, because I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about with that. But Zephirin? It’s a mess. He thought he was with you. Even called me by your name.”
“Okay, one. Eew. And two, I’m sorry, Fi.” Her voice softened. “That had to hurt. If you slept with him after knowing him for a matter of hours, you must’ve really been into him.”
And the upside to having someone able to read her mind was Sophia didn’t have to explain her feelings. Giovanna just knew.
“Yeah, it did hurt,” she murmured. “Even though it’s stupid, right? I went in with my eyes open.”
“Irrational, yes. But not stupid.”
A beat of silence passed between them. Then Giovanna’s laughter reverberated in Sophia’s ear, and her own filled the car.
“You do realize you have to let it go, don’t you?” Giovanna counseled. “You didn’t lie to him on purpose, but just thinking back on the brooding, uh, hard, man from the one time we worked together, I can’t see him accepting that as an excuse.”
“No, you’re right.” Staring out the windshield, she conjured up an image of an intense, broody Zephirin. Not that she had to try too hard. Since she’d met him, that picture had hovered at the edge of her consciousness, refusing to be banished. “I told him it was just that one night. I can’t go on lying to him. And telling him the truth would risk your reputation and career. So, yeah, I don’t intend to continue anything beyond last night.” Sophia shook her head. “I hate that I put you in this position, though. Seeing him from now on is going to be incredibly awkward for you.”
“Nothing
I can’t handle,” Giovanna assured her. “Don’t worry about it. Just…take care of yourself, okay? On one hand, I’m actually glad you did something impulsive. Sometimes you act like an old maid on the verge of a trip to the pet store for the first of fifty cats. But still. I don’t want you hurt. Especially when you were doing me a favor.”
“I’m fine.” Sophia waved off her twin’s concern even though she couldn’t see the gesture. “And a cat is a companion, not an indictment on a person’s social relationships.”
“Uh-huh,” Giovanna drawled. “It’s one o’clock in the morning here, so I need to get some sleep. But can you go by my place, check on it, water the plants, and grab my mail?”
“Sure thing,” Sophia agreed, turning the key in the ignition. “Be safe, okay? And don’t forget to call Mom and let her know about your extended stay before she blows my phone up.”
Who was she kidding? Their mother would phone Sophia anyway, complaining about all the dangers and pitfalls a young, single girl could encounter in a foreign country. Sophia rolled her eyes but smiled. Alicia Cruz was the epitome of a worry wart.
“I will. One more thing though… Since you did use my name, I think it’s only fair that I know if he’s as…big…as the rest of him. Like, are you walking funny today?”
“Bye, Giovanna.”
Grinning, Sophia hung up on her sister’s cackling.
But as she drove out of the parking deck into the summer evening traffic, that smile dimmed. Her twin was correct; Sophia had done the right thing by limiting sex with Zephirin to one night. Anything—a relationship, a friendship, friends with benefits—based on lies was doomed to failure. And maybe she could find Zephirin and confess the truth to him. But the reason she hadn’t yesterday still remained. She wouldn’t jeopardize her sister’s career.
And then there stood the reason she couldn’t admit to her twin…could barely confess to herself.
What if Zeph preferred her sister over the real Sophia?
It was a possibility. When compared to glamorous, outgoing, gorgeous, sophisticated Giovanna, Sophia—shyer, fashion-challenged, hermit, sometimes rude, at times awkward—couldn’t compete. High school had taught her that, as well as the few men she’d dated who had either courted her just to get close to Giovanna or, worse, had forgotten about Sophia as soon as they laid eyes on her more dazzling half and had fallen for her twin.
It smacked of cowardice, but after witnessing that admiring, lustful gleam enter one too many men’s eyes after spotting Giovanna, Sophia wasn’t willing to risk that happening with Zephirin.
Nope, better to cut things off with him before he could disappoint her.
Before he shattered her.
Chapter Eight
Zephirin frowned as he stopped before the door of the address Jason had texted to him an hour earlier. Zeph remembered Giovanna telling him she lived in Alaska Junction, but Jason had sent him to this apartment in an older but well-kept, pretty building in the heart of Belltown, about ten minutes from the photography studio. How could he forget? The reason he’d chosen his place over hers last night had been the location; his downtown condo had been closer than the twenty minutes to her Alaska Junction home.
He lifted his fist to knock on the door, the question still rolling around in his head. But before his hand could connect, the door opened, revealing the object of his inexplicable fascination. She gaped at him, eyes wide, lips parted in an “O” of surprise.
Slowly, he lowered his arm. Even knowing he stared at her like some kind of starstruck teenager, he still couldn’t remove his gaze from her. Not when he’d spent the entire day rewinding and replaying the night before. The sweet, addictive taste of those full, sensual lips. The glow of her bare skin. The wet, hot embrace of her sex. The haze of pleasure taking over those pretty eyes as she came so hard, so uninhibited. His cock throbbed, hardening as the images scrolled across his mind like a peep show. With the force of a will he hadn’t known he possessed, he kept his hands down at his sides instead of reaching out and dragging her against him. That mouth with its pierced bottom lip. It was a temptation that would’ve sent Adam into sin quicker than that apple.
Today, in a T-shirt, skinny jeans, and flip-flops, her blue-tipped hair in one of those topknots, she appeared less like an up-and-coming supermodel and more like one of the everyday women sipping lattes in one of Seattle’s coffee shops. Or one of the internet cafes.
“Nice shirt.”
She glanced down at the thumb drive graphic under the words “Back That Thing Up,” a frown furrowing her forehead, then returned her attention to him. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, still wearing the scowl.
Ignoring that question since he had yet to fully answer it for himself, he instead nodded toward her apartment. “Can I come in?”
Her teeth sank into the lush curve of her bottom lip, and for a moment, he thought she was going to deny him. But then she gave her head a small shake and stepped back, allowing him entrance. Taking immediate advantage before she could change her mind, he strode past her.
He studied the spacious studio apartment, taking in the wide windows that added an illusion of more space, the exposed brick walls, hardwood floors, and eclectic array of furniture. He assumed the floor-to-ceiling Japanese screen hid the bed from the rest of the room, separating the area into the living section and the bedroom. Pretty and stylish, it somehow still didn’t jibe with the woman in front of him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something seemed to be missing. As soon as the thought passed through his head, he dismissed it with a scoff. One night of sex didn’t mean he knew her.
“I thought you lived in Alaska Junction,” he said, voicing the question that still nagged at him.
The door closed behind him, and she crossed the small distance separating them, arms crossed. His gaze dipped to her breasts; no force on earth could’ve kept him from looking. Not after he now knew in vivid, intimate detail how the dark brown tips contrasted with her coffee and cream skin. Or the slight weight of them in his hand.
“Hey. Excuse me. Up here,” she snapped, pointing toward her face. “I definitely don’t live in my tits.”
The polite, gentlemanly thing to do would be to apologize.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Hashtag not sorry,” she muttered.
He controlled the quirk of his lips before they could betray his amusement. She was right. He wasn’t sorry. She had a body that deserved to be worshipped. From the firm thrust of flesh under her funny-as-hell T-shirt to the feminine flare of hips and long display of slender, toned legs shown to perfection in the tight jeans—she had him a breath away from falling on his knees and burying his face between those beautiful thighs. Thighs he knew would spread for him in abandoned welcome like they had the night before.
Slowly, he retraced his visual path back up her tall frame, finally meeting her eyes, the piercing in her eyebrow glinting under the lighting. Those chocolate eyes that couldn’t hide the arousal darkening them. He’d bet his left nut that under those crossed arms, her nipples stood at strict attention.
“Alaska Junction?” he asked again, his voice as rough as churned-up gravel.
Her shoulders stiffened, and she turned away from him, heading toward the small kitchen nook. Like she was a magnet, he followed, leaning a shoulder against the adjoining wall.
“Do you want something to drink?” She pulled open the refrigerator door. “I have water, juice, or wine.”
“I’m fine,” he said, waiting for an answer.
Withdrawing a bottle of water, she closed the door and faced him. “I’ve only been here a short time. I guess ‘home’ is still my old apartment until I get used to living here.”
He nodded; it made sense. He’d lived in the downtown condo for a couple of years now, but the house in Redmond had been his home for the four years he and Shalene had been together. Sometimes the apartment still felt like a place he crashed after games, not a home with memories. But that wasn’t necessarily
a bad thing, either.
“This is a nice place,” he said.
And just managed not to punch himself in the face. He’d never been one for small talk—it’d always seemed a complete waste of words and time. Not to mention painful, like right now. Hell, he’d been deep inside her body, talking shouldn’t be this damn difficult. He scanned the area, and seconds later, his scrutiny landed on the tall curio cabinet that housed a surprisingly huge collection of DVDs instead of knickknacks. Not requesting her permission, he pushed off the wall and moved across the floor to the cabinet.
Horror movies. Comedies. Action. Fantasy. But three shelves were devoted to movies of the eighties and early nineties. St. Elmo’s Fire, of course. Pretty in Pink. The Breakfast Club. Some Kind of Wonderful. Back to the Future. Parts one, two, and three.
“I notice a theme going on here,” he observed. “But Back to the Future Three? I wasn’t even aware anyone had actually seen that one.”
“The whole series is a classic,” she sniffed, her arms slowly unfolding as some of the defensiveness in her posture peeled away. “All of them are. They were the gold standard of original movie making. Lost Boys. First teenage vampire movie. Dirty Dancing. Became a phenomenon between the movie, the music, and Patrick Swayze’s hips. God, I still miss him.” She sighed, then continued. “Mystic Pizza. Launched the careers of Julia Roberts and Vincent D’Onofrio. Before there was Bobby Goren and Wilson Fisk, there was Bill Montijo. And let’s not even get started on how Say Anything gave us John Cusack.”
“Uh-huh.” He cocked his head to the side, studying her animated expression. “You’re a romantic.”
She stared at him. Snorted. “Boy, did you miss the boat on that one.”
“Did I?” He shifted closer, closing the distance between them in slow increments like a trainer approaching a spooked mare. She reminded him of that elegant, wary animal. He had the sense if he rushed her, she would run as far from him as this studio apartment would allow. That both worried and intrigued him. “All of those movies have one thing in common. They’re romances or have romance in them. Is that why you watch them, Giovanna? Is that what you want? Someone to see you, date you, take care of you?”
