by Taryn Quinn
Screw that. He could take her or leave her as she was. She wasn’t going to hide her true personality for anyone.
Except your parents. Remember them? They still don’t even know you’re pregnant, and it won’t be long before you split the seams on your so-not-a-maternity top.
The front door closed with a thud and Ang glanced up guiltily, taking in the empty kitchen. She’d drifted off into her thoughts while she listlessly spooned up Fruity Pebbles, but it hadn’t made much difference since they hadn’t been engaged in conversation.
She’d tried. Oh, she’d tried. He’d politely brushed her off, choosing to bury his head in the stock pages rather than deal with his brand-new lover.
One and done, baby. That’s you. They never stick around for repeats.
Her only saving grace was that she didn’t feel like crying. She felt like throwing something sharp and pointy at Mr. Fine Ass’s taut behind.
What the hell was his deal? Twice now he’d wigged out during sexual stuff. She’d been certain yesterday that they were on the same level, speaking the same physical language—finally—but obviously not. He must have some deep-seated shame about intercourse if some freaky talk shoved the crowbar up his butt even higher.
Maybe Brandy was right. He was too anal to bother with. No matter how good it had been between them, they should stick to being friends.
Heat washed into her eyes. Figures. She hadn’t been on the verge of tears before. But thinking about losing a friend when she didn’t have nearly enough of them threatened to drop-kick her over the edge into true moroseness.
To distract herself, she went to her room and grabbed her laptop, bringing it into the kitchen. She’d read the new issue of Tech Edge while she finished breakfast. Being proactive meant staying current in her field. Hopefully she’d hear back from the magazine this week, either for a second interview or, better yet, a job offer. She really needed to get moving on phase two of her life plan, because living with Sterling didn’t look like a viable option for much longer.
She opened up her browser, intending to ignore her e-mail entirely. If only she’d done that all along, she wouldn’t be in this pickle right now.
Her chest tightened. Maybe he’d figured out she and GothGeek shared a pair of genitals? Sex added another layer of knowledge about a person. Had he somehow intuited…?
No. She’d been on top yesterday, and she’d purposely thrown herself onto her back right after the fireworks, minimizing the chances of him seeing her tattoo. The mirror had made her a little nervous, but he’d had his eyes closed most of the time. She’d been tempted to kiss his eyelids and his super-long eyelashes, which was probably something else on his “sexual do not call” list.
They wouldn’t be doing it again, obviously, so the problem of her tattoo picture no longer existed. She’d just read her magazine, then calmly open up her e-mail and tell S-quared that GothGeek could no longer be his potentially dirty pen pal.
Lying about who she was still ranked as a crummy thing to do, and maybe one day, when this was all behind them, she’d summon the cojones to reveal all. Until then, she’d chalk up this entire experience with Sterling and his online persona to an odd planetary alignment or bad juju and move on.
But her little e-mail window was flashing, and she had zero self-control. As usual.
She didn’t search for his name. Instead, she read through each message carefully. Penis enlargement spam and alumni newsletters received the same attention. When she finally opened S-quared’s note, sent this morning, she couldn’t have been more unconcerned.
You have a gorgeous back. I’d like to see more.
For a moment, she gawked at the screen. Hold the phone. He’d boffed her yesterday, and now he was hardcore coming on to his online pal?
Who also happened be her, but still.
Her belly twisted. Unless he was on to her game and fucking with her. She didn’t think that was likely. He would’ve confronted her, not just frozen her out and walked away.
Wouldn’t he? She hated that she wasn’t entirely sure of anything anymore.
Regardless, he’d shown his hand as regards to his houseguest, and that hand said he didn’t want to get naked with the real Angelina again anytime soon. Despite the amazing orgasms—plural. He’d come just as hard as she had. Yet he’d had no trouble shutting down and going into robot mode.
Well, so could she. If the horny bastard wanted some free nudie pix, he could find a porn site. She was through.
Thank you for your kind response. However, I won’t be able to provide any more photos because I’ve decided this sort of online arrangement isn’t for me. It’s been nice getting to know you. I hope you meet that special woman you’re looking for.
She nearly choked as she typed that last bit and sent it. Feeling resolute—and maybe, possibly, a little sad—she resumed going through her e-mail. Just when she was about to close the window, it dinged again. S-quared’s name taunted her from her inbox.
I’m sorry to hear that. I think I have something that may change your mind though.
She clicked on the picture attachment and gasped at what awaited her. “Oh my God,” she whispered, tilting her head to take in all the angles.
He’d sent her a damn penis picture. Sterling, of all people.
Worse, it wasn’t even some random dude’s cock. It was his penis, all right, since she recognized his suit. And that cute little ring of freckles right near the tip she’d sucked so greedily yesterday…
“God.” She fisted a hand in her hair and rocked. While staring. There was no denying he had a hot dick, especially when it poked so erotically from his suit pants and boxers, with that silky length of lemon-yellow tie a few inches away.
She swallowed hard and typed a reply before sense prevailed. She had to have some somewhere, right?
No. Not right. As evidenced by the next e-mail she sent.
Nice. Prove to me that’s really you. Wrap that yellow tie around your cock. Then send me a picture.
She opened up his cock picture again and licked her lips. Damn, she needed to save that one. She’d already gone so wrong that she had no hope of coming back from it. Why not keep going?
It wasn’t as if he was cheating on Ang by e-mailing naughty stuff to his online buddy. They’d only hooked up once. Okay, once and a half. Did sexting count as cheating? Maybe. Even so, he’d had a longer-term flirtation with GothGeek and had cheated on her when he’d hooked up with Ang. Right? She wasn’t certain what the boundaries of cheating were when involving the same person on both sides of the equation. A question for the science journals, for sure.
Dang, her life had turned into a sinkhole of suck.
The next e-mail ding made her jump. This response had taken a little longer than the last. It contained no text, just a photo.
Of Sterling’s dick wrapped in his yellow tie.
He’d wound it around himself almost like a ribbon, so tightly that the head appeared purple—and a fat drop of precum hovered on the tip. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. The man anted up good.
If that wasn’t enough, he’d opened up his shirt too, revealing his washboard abs and the sexy as hell dark hair on his chest. He was no furry wildebeest, but had enough to let her know he’d been granted a few extra doses of testosterone.
Now what was she supposed to say? Thanks for the masturbation fodder? She already had enough of that from yesterday.
Besides, she’d made the mature decision to end their online association. Continuing their dalliance because she’d been swayed by a handsome penis wouldn’t be smart. He deserved for her to bow out and put a period on this whole disastrous situation.
He deserves to know exactly who he’s sexting.
Why? They’d had sex yesterday. He hadn’t minded her seeing—and licking and screwing—his junk then, so what did it matter if she kept things going a wee bit longer? Technically, he carried a lot of the blame for their bouts of miscommunication. So she’d lied about her identity. He hadn’t, but he
also refused to talk about his bad habit of fucking and ducking. And fingering without lingering.
God, she really needed to stop wading in the self-denial tide pool. One of these days she’d finally figure out she didn’t know how to swim.
She typed out a quick response.
Very nice. You seem adept at that whole tying business. Are you into BDSM?
There, that should effectively drive him away. Just because she had no willpower and couldn’t resist teasing him didn’t mean she thought it was a good idea for them to pursue a relationship this way. It had never been a good idea, but after last night, it was bad times ten. Surely if she kept pressing him, she’d finally hit one of his many squick buttons and he’d gracefully bow out, leaving her sniffling into her soggy Pebbles.
His next reply didn’t take long.
The list of what I’m into seems to be broadening by the day. I can’t say I’m familiar with BDSM as a practice, but I don’t mind the concept of bondage. I’m guessing you don’t either, considering you wanted to see me bound.
Hers took even less time.
Binding your cock isn’t the same as wanting to see you bound. Call it a dare.
A dare that I met. Now it’s time for me to dare you.
She huffed out a breath. Oh no, no, no. This wasn’t going according to plan. She didn’t have time for this. She had e-mails to read about the millions of dollars waiting for her in a Swiss bank account. And yet again, the bathroom was calling. Her nervous bladder in reaction to Sterling sexy times was mighty inconvenient.
She typed a hurried response.
Such as?
When she returned from the bathroom, an answer awaited her. Must be a slow day at the office. Or a fast day in his pants, because holy crap. The dude was on fire.
Show me your breasts. Pinch the nipples so they’re hard.
Ang rubbed her eyebrow ring, unable to ignore the jittery buzz of excitement threading through her veins. This man lured her like an addict to crack. She knew the crash hurt like hell, yet she kept rolling up her shirt or pushing down her pants and praying for nirvana.
What is this? Show and tell? You show me yours, I show you mine, then we go back to talking about college majors and how pretty the sunsets are in Bali?
No. This is we show each other, then we touch. You’re not scared, are you? Big brave GothGeek girl, you surprise me.
I’m not afraid. Ever. I’m just saying, it’s the beginning of the workday. You’re probably at your office. What’s the point of revealing things if we can’t do anything more than look?
I thought I just clarified that point. Touching comes next. You know how to touch, don’t you? Just slide your fingers together and go.
Laughter spilled out of her at his lame variation of the famous line from the old movie To Have and Have Not. If she hadn’t been a big old-time movie buff—which Sterling knew about Ang, if not GothGeek—she never would’ve caught the reference.
Getting inappropriately charged by it? Sheer coincidence.
Since the possibility of stopping before she witnessed his endgame had disappeared, she fired up the webcam on her laptop and shed the baseball jersey she slept in. Sitting topless and braless in Sterling’s homey kitchen unnerved her, but it wasn’t half as strange as trying to get a good titty shot with a grainy computer camera.
She’d crop out the stuff around her, but what if he recognized her boobs? They weren’t all that unusual. Still pretty firm at this stage of pregnancy. Nicely full. Hard nipples weren’t a problem, nor was the kinda sexy nipple flush provoked by the knowledge he would see the picture. She didn’t have any moles or distinguishable freckles, so if she kept her belly out of the frame, hopefully she would be fine.
If she wasn’t, she’d move out of his lovely home on its picturesque street in a charming neighborhood and go back to roughing it on Brandy’s couch. She’d handle it. Hell, if you play, you pay had become a mantra of sorts for her this year.
She took the photo, cropped it quickly and sent off the e-mail right before her cell buzzed. She slipped her jersey back on and grabbed her phone off the counter just as the doorbell rang.
Oh shit. Tech Edge was calling. D-Day had arrived faster than she expected.
In more ways than one.
“Just a second,” she called down the hall, hoping the visitor had heard.
Then, heart leaping into her throat, she answered the call. “Hello. This is Angelina McFee.”
Unexpectedly, she heard Sterling’s softly amused voice saying “Thumbelina” in her head and her eyes turned liquid. Yet again.
“Ms. McFee? This is Arnold Spotswood. How are you?”
Nauseated with nerves. Disgusted at myself. Wishing I knew how to make good choices. “I’m doing well, thank you. How are you today?”
“No complaints. Well, I won’t keep you in suspense.”
“Thank you. Please don’t.” She tacked on an awkward laugh and prayed her anxious bladder held out.
“We spoke to your references and everything checks out. We’d love to offer you an off-site, part-time position at Tech Edge. Congratulations.”
“Really?” Her squeal wouldn’t win her any professionalism awards, but she didn’t care. She’d badly needed this positive news. “Oh, thank you so much.”
“Your qualifications spoke for themselves. Your internship at Quality Communications really made the decision for us. And of course, your grades. Four-point-zero every semester is impressive.”
“Thanks. I truly appreciate the opportunity.” Her voice wobbled. Dear Lord, she was not going to cry over happy things now, was she?
“Hopefully this is the beginning of a long, successful partnership.” Arnold blathered on about paperwork while Ang peered down the hall at the shape looming through the glass front door.
Whomever it was, he wasn’t leaving.
The person was still there when she finished thanking Arnold profusely and finally got off the phone. She ran a hand through her hair and hurried toward the door, praying she didn’t look too bedraggled.
She locked her hand around the knob and pulled, cursing her forgetfulness in not asking who it was yet again when her gaze zeroed in on Pete’s face. His brows lowered over his muddy brown eyes. One of them bore a lovely purple-and-blue shiner.
“Ouch.” She tsked. “Looks painful. Too bad.”
“The suit got a lucky shot.”
“The suit cleaned your clock. I’d advise you to stop hanging around before he gives you a matching set.”
His mouth tightened as he looked her over for way too long. “I took a chance coming back. I didn’t know if you’d still be here.”
“My car’s in the drive,” she snapped. “The question is why are you here?”
He leaned an arm on the door and tapped a brown envelope against his lips. “I’d actually hoped you would be, but you’re usually incapable of staying in the same bed two nights running.”
She crossed her arms over her breasts. The way he was leering at them was really pissing her off. “You don’t know me half as well as you think. What do you want? Sterling’s not here.” She regretted the words as soon as they were out.
Great. Give him a platinum invitation to harass you, why don’t you?
“I just told you that I wanted you.”
“Well, you can’t have me.”
“Too late there, sugar.” He held out the envelope. “Read that.”
“Pete—”
“The quicker you read it, the quicker I’ll get gone.”
He had a point.
She slipped her finger under the flap and drew out a thick sheaf of paper. Two sheafs actually, held together with black binder clips. The top paper was a partially filled out order of protection. Her stomach tightened as she shot her gaze to his. “You can’t be serious. You’re filing against me?”
“Not you. Your little savior.” Pete’s smile flashed like a bolt of destructive lightning. “I’d imagine having an order of protection on file at the
courthouse wouldn’t look good for a guy with a brand-new bodyguard business. Especially in light of this.” He tapped his puffy eye. “Don’t worry. I got lots of pictures to document the incident.”
“You have no proof he did it. His reputation is spotless.”
“Was.” He smirked. “And honey, my family has as much money and influence as his. Believe me, I’ll be able to make my case. Have you forgotten my uncle is a judge?”
She hadn’t. She remembered way too much. Her lips trembled as she pressed them together. “You can’t do this to him. He was just being my friend. Do you begrudge me even having that?”
“He knows better than to fight with his fists. If that little bodyguard agency is making him think he’s some kind of brawler, better he gets the message now that he belongs behind a desk.” He rubbed his thumb over the face of his chunky gold watch. “Though there are ways to keep me from filing those papers.”
Relief surged through her, sweet and heady. He hadn’t filed them yet. She could still convince him not to harm Sterling. Somehow.
Then the rest of his statement sank in, dragging claws of worry through her already clenched stomach. “What do you want?” she whispered.
“The second stack of papers. Read them.”
She tucked the order of protection beneath the ones he’d told her to read. Her fingers shook as she smoothed them over the crisp top sheet. As if she could make the words disappear.
Dismissal of parental rights.
Chapter Eight
Ang’s throat closed around the denials she couldn’t seem to voice. No. God, no. He wanted to take her baby from her?
She clutched her hand protectively over her stomach as it roiled. No. She’d die first. Maybe she hadn’t been all the way on board with the whole concept of motherhood in the beginning, but the idea was growing on her. Just like her child was growing in her womb. She was behind on her doctor’s appointments due to her financial considerations—and her denial ones—but she’d finally called to schedule her dating ultrasound, and that was happening tomorrow. She was handling this.
Them against the world. It had been that way from day one. Her and her baby girl.
