What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 9)

by Kristine Cayne

  Her face flushed as desire and longing turned to frustration and irritation. All roads lead to home…she was horny.

  Grabbing hold of the heart, she wedged it between her thighs and gripped her fingers over each hump. She cocked her head and gave Tony a sultry grin, knowing how her night would end.

  Tony had captured the perfect photo within five minutes.

  Shayla assumed the worst part of the day was over when she heard That’s a wrap!, but she was wrong. Following a long, hot shower, she fell to another round of four different curling irons and nine separate makeup brushes, all of which Rachel assured were a necessity for every woman’s bag of tricks. Sitting still long enough for one makeover was tolerable, but two in one day compared to a trip to the gynecologist and dentist, until she examined herself in the mirror.

  All primped and in her stunning red dress, Shayla had never felt more glamorous in her life.

  Carrie Ann entered the dressing closet, giving Shayla the once over.

  Staring wide-eyed into the full-length mirror, she pinched at the shirring on the left side, positioning the jeweled pin at the cinch of her waist. The loosely pleated fabric draped down the natural waist of the sophisticated gown to the tip of her perfectly painted toes. Shayla loved to shop for everything except designer dresses. She’d never even attended her prom and Carrie Ann had always helped her choose dresses for every other red carpet event. She turned, proudly showing off the drape, which exposed her bronze back. “The sales lady said it’s stylish, elegant and refined. What do you think?”

  Carrie Ann lifted her shoulders and raised her brows in speculation.

  “What?” she questioned apprehensively.

  “You look…” Carrie Ann paused, circling her in a stalking fashion. “Fabulous. Rachel did an amazing job on your hair and makeup.”

  “I feel a but coming on.”

  “But, red is the color of the night. You don’t want to be the shrinking violet. You need to be the bouquet of roses at full bloom.”

  “If I get any fuller, I might combust.” Anticlimax drowned her tone.

  “Exactly” Carrie Ann rummaged through the drawers, retrieving a pair of scissors. She knelt on the ground in front of Shayla, giving the sheers a quick snip snip.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Shayla gasped, taking three steps back. “I spent a full week’s pay on this dress!”

  “It is lovely and classic and unfortunately boring as hell. It certainly doesn’t say come fuck me, Mat at all! Do I need to remind you that you haven’t gotten laid in a month?”

  Shayla shook her head. “But tonight isn’t about—”

  Carrie Ann raised her pointer finger to Shayla’s lips. She crept closer and grabbed hold of the hem of her dress. “It’s simply missing the wow factor.”

  She ran the sheers up the side of her dress to the top of her thigh. The slit remained hidden behind the loose ruffle until she spread her legs hip width apart. “You can thank me later.”

  Shayla graced the stage with confidence and conviction. She spoke of the continuing efforts in the fight against heart disease and a call to action, inviting people to Bare Their Souls and share their stories. As she announced the Humanitarian Award, the ballroom erupted with applause honoring the outstanding individual, a world-renowned chef making a difference in food culture on a global scale.

  Attendees rose from their seats, giving a standing ovation, but Mat’s chair sitting center stage three tables back, remained blatantly vacant.

  As Shayla exited the stage, Carrie Ann was waiting in the wings with a glass of Shayla’s favorite poison, Kentucky whiskey.

  “Sorry Shay, I know you really wanted him to be here.”

  “No, I understand. Mat’s dedicated to his job and his family. No man or relationship is going to be perfect. He’s very giving and devoted. Those are great qualities in a man.” Her voice sounded dismal even to her own ears.

  As the emcee called people to the floor, Carrie Ann wrinkled her nose with a pathetic scoff. “That’s complete bullshit, but if it makes you feel better, keep telling yourself that. The man is devoted as long as it looks good in the public eye. You know I adore him, but calculated kindness runs in his genes. It doesn’t matter if you are in his bed or wearing his ring on your finger, Mat is married to politics.”

  “I’m not completely sold on the possibility of wearing his ring.” Shayla shirked coolly at the idea of marriage, then wriggled her brow with a sly grin. “But I am fascinated with his thread count.”

  “You have to be in his bed in order to count the threads, Shayla.” Carrie Ann reminded, nodding toward the opposite end of the crowded room, observing Mat as he greeted California’s elite. “He should’ve been here on time. And don’t take any crap for helping me out today. By the way, I forgot to tell you, you’re Miss July.”

  “July? What?” The word centerfold quickly added to her growing tension.

  Mat approached Shayla, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Sorry I’m late. Hello Carrie Ann. Congratulations, it looks like another successful year. Grateful donors are opening up their hearts and their checkbooks for a great cause.”

  “Thanks, but save it. I’ll leave the two of you alone.” Carrie Ann patted him on the lapel of his jacket before walking away.

  “I needed to close the deal, Shayla. After eighteen years in the Senate, my father’s affair left a bad taste in the mouth for most Californians. It was an embarrassment to our family name. My mother has a chance to repair the Huntston image and do great things for this state.”

  Shayla listened to his eloquent well-rehearsed apology. She knew Mat was uncomfortable talking about his father’s rampant affairs and the pain it caused still lingered in his voice. “Let’s just forget about it and try to enjoy what’s left of the night.”

  Clasping her petite fingers around her whiskey tumbler, she nursed the sweet smoky liquid and moseyed into the auction room.

  Mat schmoozed the California elite while guiding her through the room. Uncertain if she truly accepted his excuses for the delay or if it was the sheer fact he was so damn compelling, she opted not to make a big deal of it. Yet the fact she’d fully expected the evening to play out exactly as it had nagged at her, causing her stomach to coil with tension.

  Shayla spent an hour listening to him maneuver effortlessly through each conversation, treading gingerly over his campaign message, repeating the same lines to each new couple they approached. Strolling by an exquisite painting of an elderly grey-haired woman, Shayla recalled one of her grandma’s favorite sayings. That young man can talk the bark off a tree, but does he have deep roots?

  Perusing table by table, Shayla took mental notes of raffle items she considered bidding on. Several provoked her interest, each involved a fantastic travel package or an adrenaline filled getaway.

  Famed pop star, La Mea stood beside her, sporting a leopard spandex dress with a cut out on the stomach, allowing her baby bump to make its debut appearance. “Maybe we should bid on the Vegas wedding.”

  Her baby-daddy, renowned rapper Biggie Tug, soothed his hand in a circle over the protruding belly and nestled into her heavily jeweled neck. “Maybe we should.”

  Tug reached for a pen and a bidding card as La Mea leaned in, placing a kiss of affection to his neck.

  The tender moment pulled a heartfelt smile from Shayla and she dropped her view to the white cloth covering the table, not wanting to intrude.

  La Mea handed her a pen and tossed Shayla a sweet smile. “What are you and your man bidding on, hun?”

  “Me?” she answered in surprise. A deep notch of concentration settled in a groove between her brows. Standing motionless in front of a table with pen in hand, Shayla scanned over the gifts tapping the pen on the rim of her glass. “We haven’t decided. I have no idea what he would really enjoy.”

  “He’s a man, honey. It can’t be too difficult.” She gave a sultry wink, clutching to Biggie Tug’s arm as they sauntered down the aisle.

  M
at’s good character, easy temperament and polarizing charm made up for the few flaws and deep-rooted differences between them. He loved an office; she loved the great outdoors. His idea of a great vacation included national monuments; hers included national top ten beaches. After more than a year of dating, Shayla took a calculating look around the room, unable to write their names on a single raffle items they could enjoy together. What exactly do we have in common?

  Mat’s swaying voice hummed in the background. The repetitive dialogue made her stomach flip and anxious perspiration gathered at the nape of her neck. Shrugging off the tension gathering around her thoughts, she laid the pen on the table.

  Mat gently clasped the back of her elbow, exiting the room without even noticing she hadn’t bid on anything.

  By the end of the evening his lack in emotional intimacy made her wonder if their relationship would ever be enough. Enough to last a lifetime. Mat offered so many wonderful characteristics, but she questioned if they were truly compatible. Two months ago, after an argument, she wrote a list of Mat’s good and not so good traits, expecting the answer to be plain. Clearly, just like everything else in her life, nothing was black and white. They were cut from different cloth; she from a hand-me-down pair of jeans and Mat from the finest spun silk. In the beginning, their differences brought balance to their relationship, but now it felt more as if they lacked a deep connection.

  Shayla sat quietly, immersed in the darkness of the car ride home.

  He hadn’t given her a good job or a customary congratulations. He hadn’t even told her she looked beautiful. The entire evening revolved around gathering votes. Her agitation escalated as Mat’s trivial chatter permeated the stillness of her mind. It’d been so long since they’d made love. She intended for the evening to end in intimate celebration. The more he rattled on, however, the more she focused on his seeming incapability of acknowledging her.

  Nothing felt intimate.

  Arriving at his plush house in the hills, they followed routine.

  Mat tossed his keys on the bedside table, took off his jacket and poured a drink. Shayla traipsed into the bathroom to undress. Hanging her gown on the back of the door, she released a heavy sigh, staring at her overnight bag on the tile floor. Fumbling with zipper, she opened the bag and pulled out a sexy negligee she’d purchased. Nothing seems special or romantic tonight.

  Plucking her gloss from the bag, she gazed into the mirror, methodically dabbing it to her lips. She tried to pin her irritation and hostility to the one thing upsetting her, but it was a million little things. Maybe I’m just PMSing. She huffed, convincing herself she was being silly.

  Opening the door, she inhaled deeply, exhaling out a soft chuckle. Maybe I simply have pent up frustrations.

  She moseyed around the foot of the bed, the side of the bed where he sat still fully clothed. He swept an assessing gaze down her body, offering an approving smile of her sheer baby blue nighty. Reaching for her hand, Mat nodded. “Yes, Cecil promises his support.”

  Her vision turned fuzzy. Her chest fell heavy with insult as she realized he was on the phone. Shayla yanked her hand free. Crossing her arms over her chest, she paced back and forth at the end of the bed. Uncontrollable tears blurring her vision, she wiped the wetness from her cheeks.

  “He has several new ideas on polling strategies and promised to schedule some meetings in Washington.”

  Sinking in dejection, Shayla drowned out his endless pats on the back as the minutes ticked by. She didn’t even bother acknowledging him when he said, “I just need to make one more phone call.”

  Her eyes remained fixed on the floor as she grinded her toes into the design of the plush Berber carpet.

  Anger, confusion and rejection rippled down her spine, leaving her heart and self esteem in shambles. After what seemed like thirty minutes, she retreated into his closet. Shayla stripped off her nighty, casting it to the floor. Searching numbly through a drawer of her belongings, she yanked on a pair of jeans and sweatshirt.

  She marched barefoot into the room and snatched his car keys from the bedside table, her gown draped across her arm and heels dangling from her fingertips.

  Mat held the phone to his chest, muffling his conversation in his turtleneck sweater. He stood from the bed, surprise blanching over his face as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  “What?” He gaped at her incredulously before responding to the caller. “I’ll have to call you back in the morning.”

  “Don’t bother. I can’t do this. I’m leaving.”

  He closed the phone and reached for her arm. “Stop being silly. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  She angled her head, staring at his grasp. Her heartbeat turned unruly hearing Mat repeat the shrilling words her father used to say to her mother after a long night of drunken fighting. Memories came in waves, sending tsunami-warning bells crushing over her. This isn’t right, came a small protective voice.

  He released her arm, raising both hands in the air. “Shayla, come on, don’t be ridiculous. It’s simply—”

  “It’s business. I know.” His lack of emotional intimacy and incapability to acknowledge her feelings eddied, sending her hurt emotions slamming to the ocean floor. She made her way toward the door leading to the garage, hiding the slick of hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “You’re acting like—”

  She closed the door on him, locking out his words of rebuke. Treating her as a child was a huge flaw, like pouring whiskey on a fire. Shayla didn’t have a clear vision of where their relationship was going, but she headed home alone.

  Chapter Three

  Sounds of Sunday morning resonated through the window cracked open. Shayla lay half-awake, listening to the rumble of lawn mowers and traffic heading toward the beach.

  Ring.

  She rolled on her back, pulling the down pillow over her head.

  Ring.

  Shayla exhaled with a loud groan, slapping both arms flat against the mattress, not wanting to start the day. It was too early for Carrie Ann to call, which meant it’d be Mat and she wasn’t ready to talk to him yet.

  Ring.

  “Shit!” she snarled with an eye roll. Hiding under her pillow wouldn’t help or make him go away. “He barely acknowledges me for weeks and now he wants to fix it!”

  “Hello,” she answered curtly.

  “Good morning.” Her uncle’s deep voice on the other end of the line brought a smile of relief.

  Chucking the pillow aside, she sat up in bed cross-legged. “Good morning.”

  “Are you sure? That didn’t sound like a good morning.” Playful humor filtered in his tone. “You’re not hung over from last night, are you?”

  “No.” A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. She never drank enough to get hung over. “Believe it or not I’m still laying in bed.”

  “The weather’s so nice, I figured you might’ve snuck out of his place and hit your board early this morning.”

  “Oh, I…I stayed at my place last night.” She hesitated slightly. Though her uncle never said anything horrible about Mat, he wasn’t a big fan. “Are you in town?”

  Shayla didn’t expect to see her Uncle for another week. She was flying to Colorado then to spend Thanksgiving with him and his new girlfriend and her kids.

  “Not yet. We’ll be there this afternoon. Can you get the place ready for us? I know it’s not much notice. I’ve got that birthday party to go to.”

  “Do I have your schedule marked wrong? I didn’t think you were attending the party, so I sent a card along with a bottle of brandy and fifty of his favorite caramel apples.” Uncle Tommy was known for practical jokes and his long time friend and producer, Larry Hart, was turning fifty.

  “That explains why my phone’s been ringing off the hook with some colorful threats. Apparently, I will be disavowed if I don’t make an appearance,” he ribbed. “I’d love to introduce Tess to Larry too. We’l
l only be in town a few days, so I just need you to stock the fridge. Oh, and turn the pool heat on. She loves to swim.”

  “Of course.” She cleared her throat with a subtle chortle at his usage of we, us and she. Her uncle never used the word love when it came to a woman, let alone twice in one paragraph. “I’m sure Tess will love that.”

  Being a personal assistant to a famous Hollywood heartthrob, Shayla discovered early on to ignore harsh judgments made by the public who received their information from photographers who hunted and exploited celebrities. Women swooned over her uncle and went to great lengths to get their picture taken with him, not to mention items they sent in the mail. Little did they know, all of their undergarments went straight into the trash. His new girlfriend, Tess, seemed different from other women he dated for a host of reasons. She wasn’t an actress or famous, she was his age and had several grown children, and Tess also carried a genuine aura of warmth and kindness.

  “If I don’t get the chance to see you, be sure to email me your flight information for Thanksgiving.”

  “Will do. And have fun. For the record, I really like her.”

  He gave a husky laugh of appreciation. “Me too, Shay. Me too.”

  Tossing the phone aside, she climbed out of the comfort of her warm bed and stretched, raising her hands to the ceiling. Bending at the waist, she placed her palms on the floor with a groan.

  Ring.

  She flopped back onto the bed, searching through the piles of fluffy white down comforter. Grasping the phone on the fifth ring, she answered, “What’d you forget?”

  “That’s the answer I was hoping to hear.” Mat’s tone dripped with apology. “Good morning.”

  Her lips pursed tight. Dread welled in her throat. “Hey.”

  “I’m out front. Can I come in?”

  “Yeah.” She subconsciously raked her fingers through the leftover curls in her hair. Scooting off the bed, she tugged a tank top over her head. “Just come around back.”