by Cate Beauman
“I do that.”
“Show me.”
She set the wet circular sponge to the outside and put her hand in the small opening with her hand formed the way he showed her.
“Good. Just more gently.” He wet his hand and stuck it in the widening hole, shaping the piece with Abby. The clay moved up perfectly.
“How do you do that? It must be in the genes.”
“I’ve done this a time or two.”
“I feel like Unchained Melody should be playing instead of Come Back.”
He grimaced, sticking his hand in the bowl once more, flattening the bottom. “Let’s stick with Pearl Jam.”
She twisted at the waist, meeting his gaze. “You continue to surprise me, Mr. Quinn—an animal in bed and a skilled potter in the studio.” She touched the tip of his nose with her dirty finger.
His brow shot up. “And we’ve only hit the tip of the iceberg.”
“Oh, do tell.”
He pressed his messy hands to her breasts, molding his palms to her white cotton shirt.
Her eyes went wide, gaping at him. “Jerrod, how am I supposed to explain this to your mother?”
He shook his head, smiling, sliding his thumbs over her perky nipples. “I’d just plead the fifth.”
“Jerrod.” She tried to turn further. “It’s the middle of the day.”
He snagged her around the waist, pushing her back against his chest, sending one hand to her crotch, rubbing through denim.
She froze.
“We can’t do this here,” she said with less conviction, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder as he kissed the back of her neck.
“I’m only sampling.”
“I guess that’s okay then.” She looked up, turning her head slightly, and he captured her lips, diving deep, humming in his throat as he lost himself in her addictive flavor.
“My mother went to town.” He said against her mouth. “She’ll be gone for hours.”
She spun on her stool and crawled in his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist, attacking his neck with greedy nips. “Why didn’t you say so?”
He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes as she pulled his shirt free from the waist of his jeans and sent her clay-streaked hands up his back, making him shiver. “My mistake.”
She went after his ear next. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“Never,” he said as he stood, palming her ass, staring in her eyes. He walked with her to the table by the wall and set her on top of the dusty space. Her breasts brushed his chest with each heaving breath, and he wondered how he’d managed to keep his hands to himself over the last six months, because there was no way in hell he could now.
Their mouths met, wild and ravenous, and she went to work on his snap, tugging at his jeans as he changed the angle of the kiss, taking her deeper, groaning.
He unhooked her bra through her shirt and lifted her filthy top, exposing taught, pink nipples begging for his attention. He drew her in, tasting her perfumy flavor. “Right now.”
“You don’t have a condom,” she said, arching up, angling herself so he took in more of her breast as she ran her fingers through his hair.
“I’ll pull out.” He ran frantic palms along her waist. “I’ll pull out, Abigail.”
“Okay,” she panted.
“I just need to feel you for a minute.”
“Yes.” She snuck her hands into his boxers, clutching his butt, pulling them crotch to crotch as she rocked against him. “Just for a minute.”
He yanked at her pants and the table creaked ominously. He tugged again, grabbing her around the waist as the tabletop collapsed, crashing to the floor, the dishes shattering in a pile to their right. They both stared, gasping, and came back together desperately. “We’ll fix it later,” he murmured as she nibbled his mouth.
“Later,” she agreed, pulling at the elastic of his boxers, exposing him as he sent her jeans to her knees and she kicked off her sneaker, pulling one leg out. “I want to ride you.”
He sat on the edge of the broken table, leaning his back against the wall. She followed and immediately took him deep, moaning as she gripped his shoulders.
“God, Abigail,” he hissed through his teeth. She was so damn hot and tight.
She moved up and down, continuing the frenzied pace, and he clutched her hips, watching Abby bite her swollen lip and close her eyes as her whimpers grew longer with every rock of her body.
“Go, Abigail, go,” he encouraged, out of breath, on the brink as Abby teetered on the edge, revving him impossibly higher.
She clawed at his shirt, throwing her head back on a stunned cry, freezing, then gyrated faster, working him harder as the orgasm consumed her.
“Abby,” he gasped, “I’m close. I’m going to come.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, but she continued to move her taut, sexy body, staring in his eyes, moaning, lost in pleasure as her throbbing center begged him to follow her.
“Abigail,” his fingers bit into her hips and he exploded, filling her, shoving himself deeper in his ecstasy. He rested his head on her shoulder as she collapsed against him, still shuddering and shivering.
He brought his arms around her, stroking her back beneath her shirt as they caught their breath, closing his eyes as she pressed a tender kiss to his neck. “Abigail.” He drew her away, cupping her sweaty face. “That was a really bad idea.”
She nodded. “I know.”
He slid his thumb along damp skin, unable to stop touching her. He still filled her as she clung to him, but they weren’t close enough. “I should’ve pulled out.”
“Definitely.” She licked her dry lips, staring at him, her eyes still glazed with passion.
“This would be a really shitty time to end up pregnant.”
She nodded again. “I agree.”
“I can’t get enough of you, Abby. I absolutely can’t, but we can’t do this again.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m pretty sure we both made the decision. Neither one of us stopped.”
“I like the way you feel inside of me.” She traced a finger down the buttons of his plaid worktop, glancing up from under her lashes. “I’ve never had unprotected sex before. Josh, my friend with benefits in college, we were safe every time. It was never like this.” She shrugged. “You feel good—different—perfect.”
He clenched his jaw as her confession kicked his hormones back into high gear. “I like it a hell of a lot better this way too, but—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “I get it.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Condoms from now on.”
“Every time.” She hugged him and stood, pulling her pants back on.
He got to his feet, zipping himself up as the studio door opened.
Shelby walked in, stopping, her eyes going huge as she stared at the mess on the floor. “What happened in here?”
Abby cleared her throat as she tied the shoe she’d kicked off. “The table broke.”
Jerrod struggled to suppress a smile as Abby glanced at him. “You should clean up while I fix this.”
She nodded, smiling at him as she reached for her jacket with handprints on her breasts and ass, her ponytail a mess, her cheeks rosy and her lips still swollen. “I’ll make us some lunch.”
He sent her a wink. “Sounds good.”
She walked out, ignoring Shelby altogether.
Shelby slammed the door shut, her cheeks going pink with temper. “What are you doing?”
He bent down to examine the bent joint on the table leg, already knowing this wasn’t going to go well. “Fixing the table.”
“You have clay in your hair, on your face, on your button snap. And her… You were making out in your mother’s studio.”
“I’m not having this conversation.” He stood, figuring the table was a loss. He’d have to build mom a new one.
“You are sleeping with her.”
His eyes flew to hers. “That’s none of your
business.”
“What happened to ‘Abby’s my friend’? How could you do this to me?” She sniffled as tears poured down her cheeks.
He rubbed at his forehead, trying to figure out how to proceed from here. He hadn’t expected Shelby to walk in seconds after he pulled himself free of Abby. “Shelby, you and I aren’t together.” He grabbed a broom and swept up Abby’s dried attempts at…whatever that had been.
“Do you love her?”
He stopped the broom, not willing to go there with his ex. He didn’t know exactly what he felt for Abby, or maybe he did, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to discuss it with Shelby. “Shelby—’’
“Jerrod, I love you.” She rushed to him and grabbed his arm. “Come back to me. Please come back to me. We’ll make it work this time. I can move to Los Angeles.”
He could smell Abigail on his skin and taste her on his tongue. She was the only woman he wanted. He peeled Shelby’s hand from him. “Shelby, you need to move on. You can’t keep doing this.”
“Bastard!” She shoved him, her green eyes flashing. “You’re going to pay for this, and so is she.” She whirled.
He grabbed her, turning her back. He’d had more than enough of her threats. “Leave Abby alone.”
“Jerrod.” She collapsed against him. “I love you,” she sobbed.
He moved away, attempting to find a stirring of compassion as he looked into her genuinely hurt eyes. “Shelby.” He took both of her arms gently. “We didn’t work. You know that.”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently.
“Shelby, come on. Come on,” he said again, staring at the woman he’d traded peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with in grade school and lost his virginity to in the back of dad’s old Chevy his sophomore year. He couldn’t help but hug the pretty journalist he’d tried to build a life with. “You’re holding on to the past. You deserve so much more than what we had. We both do.”
“I’ve never wanted anyone else.”
He closed his eyes. “I can’t be with you anymore.”
“You’re in love with her.”
He sighed.
She yanked away from him. “I hate you. God, do I hate you.” She ran to the door, slamming it behind her, and hurried away.
He clenched his jaw, watching through the window, making certain she didn’t detour to the house to mess with Abby. He unclenched his jaw and shook his head, wishing somehow he and Shelby could’ve ended as friends. They had a long history, and not all of it was bad, but somewhere along the way she’d grown vengeful and bitter.
He steamed out a breath, rubbing at his jaw. There was little doubt Shelby would be hot for revenge. Tim was going to have to help him put out this fire. Tim had a way with her; he always had.
He swept up the mess and grabbed his phone from his hip, dialing, glancing at the house through the window again, eager to put Shelby behind him. He wanted Abby and their quiet lunch. More, he wanted the trial over with so they could get back to their own home. He’d been exactly right when he said he and Shelby both deserved better, and he finally had it.
~~~~
Shelby typed the last word, added a period, and sat back, smiling. Her self-satisfied grin quickly dissolved into hopeless tears. “Damn it.” She stared at the bright screen in her dark living room, her breath rushing in and out in her misery as she thought of the way Jerrod and Abigail smiled at each other in Mary’s studio. Never once had he looked at her the way he did Abigail. Never ever did he want her so ferociously that they broke tables and crockery in their haste to be together, nor had he been playful the way he was with her.
Jerrod and Abigail were different; he was different. He’d never been unkind during the months they lived together, but he wasn’t attentive and sweet the way he was with her. She closed her eyes, dropping her face in her hands, giving into another bought of tears as she finally understood Jerrod wasn’t coming back. He was in love with his fashion-designing supermodel.
She’d been right all along. Something about Jerrod’s ‘friends visiting the farm’ story had been off from the beginning. The advanced copy of Trendy confirmed her suspicions. She’d read the March issue cover-to-cover after she raced home from the Quinn’s, surprised by the tidbits Abigail shared of her harrowing story and her dedication to the Escape line’s mission, with the enthusiastic backing of Lily Brand Designs. She’d searched the internet for hours, finding plenty of information on Abigail’s show-stopping designs at numerous college fashion fairs, her abduction and rescue, and rumors that she was the prosecution’s star witness against the Mid-Atlantic Sex Ring. Then there was nothing. Abigail Harris ceased to exist until Toni Torrell’s article outed her as Lily’s hot new designer three weeks ago—the day before Jerrod and Abigail made their surprise appearance in Parker.
Google Images had several photos of Abby pre-graduation, walking the runway in Washington D.C., London, Paris, and Milan, wearing fellow designers’ clothes. She posed with some of fashion’s biggest names, flashing her stellar grin, but the picture Shelby came back to time and again was dated two days after her rescue. Abigail wore dark shades and a black cap hiding her hair while she looked down, gripping her arm around Jerrod’s waist, clinging as he hugged her close on their walk through the airport. He wore his own shades and black cap tugged low, holding up his hand to block any further pictures from the crowd of photographers.
Abigail and Jerrod had been together since July—months. He’d moved on quickly enough after he dumped her and headed back to Los Angeles as if what they’d had was nothing. Shelby looked at the picture of Abby smiling with her famous fashion friends, then back at her and Jerrod snuggled up on their jaunt through Reagan International, detesting the bitch for her beauty, talent, and success, but mostly for stealing Jerrod Quinn.
She exed out of the pictures and pulled her laptop closer, ready for payback. Abby had the spotlight for now, but Shelby Haggerty was about to try it out for a while. Toni Torrell had promised her a feature page in The Times along with a position if the article was everything she’d promised. Her feature story was going to kick ass. Parker Nebraska would be a thing of the past once her exposé broke in the morning. Abigail and Jerrod were in for a surprise.
Shelby reread the piece she’d painstakingly written and attached Abby’s spring sketches she’d downloaded from her phone. LA’s Fashion Princess was going to have to start her Escape line from scratch. The poor thing wouldn’t want to launch her new product with ideas the world had already seen. She pressed ‘send’ with a flourish and closed her laptop, eagerly anticipating her big break and the opportunity to knock Jerrod and his hussy down a few pegs.
Chapter Nineteen
“Jerrod,” mom whispered.
“Hmm?” He wrapped his arms tighter around Abby’s warm, naked body, pulling her closer, nuzzling her neck, content to lay just like this and surrender to another hour or two of sleep.
“Jerrod,” she hissed louder, and his eyes flew open in the dark.
“Mom?” He blinked away his sleep-induced confusion and shoved himself up to sitting, already tense. “What’s wrong?” Mom rarely came upstairs, and she sure as hell wouldn’t have walked into his room once she figured out he was in bed with Abby.
“I think you might want to see this.” She held up the Parker Gazette.
He took the paper, holding it close to his face, reading the headline: LA’s FASHION PRINCESS GONE COUNTRY. There was an old picture of Abby filling the front page.
“Son of a bitch.” He glanced at the byline and rubbed at his eyes as he started reading.
From skyscrapers to corn fields, LA’s Fashion Princess and former sex trafficking survivor Abigail Harris…
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He flipped to the next page, noting that the extensive article continued, showcasing several of Abby’s latest designs among the print. “Goddammit.”
Abby rolled over. “Jerrod?”
“Mom, call Timmy and tell him to get here.”
She nodded and hurried from the room as he got out of bed, searching for the pants and shirt Abby had peeled off him hours before.
Abby sat up, covering her breasts with the sheet. “What’s going on?”
“Get dressed.” He found his jeans, yanking them on, then the long sleeve t-shirt. “Pack your bag. We have to go.”
Her face paled in the dim light. “They’re here.”
“Not yet.” But they would be.
She crawled across the bed, gloriously naked, her hand shaking as she reached for her robe. “What are we going to do? Where are we going to go?” She stood, her jaw tense, fighting her chattering teeth as she wrapped herself tight in the white cotton.
His mind raced with the steps he needed to take, but he couldn’t stand seeing Abby trembling in terror. “Hey,” he said, speaking with a calm he didn’t feel as he framed her face, stroking his thumb along her cheek as her whole body shook. “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.” He kissed her forehead. “Stay away from the windows. Grab what will fit in the suitcase we came with. Don’t forget your cap and jacket.”
“All right.” She nodded and hurried from the room.
He dialed Ethan, waiting impatiently through two rings.
“Cooke,” he said groggily.
“It’s Quinn. We’re evacuating.”
“What? Why? Where?”
“Abby’s been discovered. She’s in the local paper. We’re heading to Cheyenne. We’ll take off from there. I don’t think it’s a good idea to go back to Denver.” He grabbed jeans from his drawers and a few simple, nondescript tops, shoving them in a small carryon, then took his black cap and the jacket he arrived in from the closet. “I can have us there in a little over three hours. Book us anything leaving around the ten-thirty/eleven o’ clock range.”
“I’ll call you back in less than twenty. Be careful.”
“Thanks.” He hung up, glancing at his watch. They’d only been up for ten minutes, but it felt like hours. “Abby, come on.” They needed to get the hell out of here.
