Proving His Worth

by Cari Quinn

  He’s used to coming out on top…until desire brings him to his knees.

  Deuces Wild, Book 3

  Sterling Vance is focused on two things: building his bodyguard agency and finding a nice, commitment-minded woman to date. The first one is easy—winning in business comes naturally. The second? Tricky, especially in the online dating world.

  At least when it comes to his friend’s pregnant daughter, he’s sure of himself. She got into trouble, so it makes perfect sense to move her into his place. Until unexpected attraction shoots them straight from platonic to “pass the lube”.

  Proving she can take care of her baby on her own is Angelina McFee’s top priority. At least it was, until Sterling gives her what he thinks she needs—then retreats behind his in-control façade.

  Curious to discover if he ever lets loose, she sets up a fake online profile…and gets an eyeful that ties her up in orgasmic knots. Yet one thing still scares the hell out of her: falling for him. But as the secret she’s hiding pushes closer to the surface, and her determined ex closes in, it could already be too late…

  Warning: Watch out for dirty talk, dirtier pictures, and the occasional tie used as restraint. Handle with care—objects in the mirror are hotter than they look.

  Proving His Worth

  Cari Quinn

  Dedication

  To my mom, who always makes me laugh, and to Taryn Elliott, who helps give me back my sense of balance every time I start to fall.

  Chapter One

  For the first time in his thirty-one years, he was chasing a woman.

  Sterling Vance stopped just inside the doors to the parking lot where a petite brunette—well, she’d been brunette once, but now her hair was a coat of many colors—hurried away. From him. He’d called after her repeatedly, and she’d waved a hand over her shoulder and soldiered on. Small shoulders hunched, pale hand rubbing her belly.

  Ang might’ve had the stomach flu or food poisoning. Or she was pregnant. Since he’d never seen a woman’s breasts grow from either of the first two, he had to go with the latter. Unless she’d had breast augmentation. There, that was a reasonable explanation. She’d had breast augmentation and now she had food poisoning, probably from the cheese and chips they sold at the bingo hall. Surely that didn’t count as actual food. He’d probably start feeling sick anytime now.

  She walked fast, head down. Even with her face hidden by her tangle of wildly colored hair, he could sense her desperation. She didn’t want to talk to him. Running into her at Assumption Church’s parish center in the middle of Manhattan had been pure, blind luck. She was a Hamptonite born and bred, as he was. Their families had been friends for longer than either of them had been alive. Much longer than she had especially, since Ang couldn’t be more than twenty-two.

  Sterling’s fist tightened around the phone he’d gripped in his pocket. Twenty-two, possibly pregnant and alone. At least he assumed she was alone. He hadn’t seen a ring on her finger. And he’d looked, just because. When the likely reality of her situation had slammed into him, he’d wanted to make sure she was taken care of. Happy.

  Instead he’d glimpsed fingers bare of all adornment other than a flash of glitter on her nails that probably consisted of silver polish.

  Ang had always liked her sparkle.

  That sparkle had practically vanished now. The misty smile that had spread slowly over her face as she’d announced Chase and Summer’s impending engagement had disappeared at his acknowledgement of her presence. Something else had filtered into her gaze at the sight of him—and it sure wasn’t pleasure.

  They were friends. Or they had been once. He hadn’t visited home much recently, thanks to his new role in Deuces Wild, the bodyguard business he was building with Chase Dixon and Jax Wilder. Usually he made more time during the summer to attend the legendary parties his legendary family was so fond of having, but he hadn’t had the inclination this year. And it wouldn’t have affected his friendship with Ang in any case, since she’d spent the summer in Europe. Doing what, he wasn’t sure.

  Before he’d heard she’d left town, he’d hoped she might consider a temporary position at the bodyguard agency. He wanted to reconnect with her. In a town of faux everything, Ang was the real deal. Honest. Smart as hell. Funny.

  There were more adjectives he could use: beautiful, untouchable. Way too young.

  And now she was pregnant. Maybe. The time line of her promising future as an engineer would most likely change, at the very least. He had no doubt she’d reach her dreams. Still, this pregnancy had to represent a pretty big curveball for a woman who had stuck to a rigid path despite the picture she painted of a freewheeling, free-spirited young woman.

  The idea of leaving without speaking to her did more than rankle. It stung. He needed to know what was going on…why it was going on. Dammit, he’d missed her, and he didn’t say that often. He didn’t mind his own company. Other than Jax—and Chase, though their friendship was reluctant at best—he didn’t have many friends. He had business associates, and that suited him fine. As much as he longed to find someone special, he also wasn’t willing to settle. Being alone worked for him right now.

  But he very much minded not having Angelina McFee in his life. Letting her go without understanding why wasn’t an option.

  Swallowing hard, he pushed open the door and followed.

  She was going to puke.

  Pressing her back against the brick wall outside the bingo hall, Ang realized for the first time she wasn’t being melodramatic. Morning sickness had only threatened with whispers of nausea so far, but now it was shouting. Bellowing. The timing couldn’t be worse, though Maybe Baby—now For Sure Baby—had never shown much concern for choosing its moment. She sucked in breath after breath of the warm September air, and the additional oxygen did nothing except make her queasy stomach pitch harder.

  She clenched her arms around her stomach and counted backward from twenty. Maybe he’d give up and go away. She’d hidden herself well in the shadows—

  “Ang? Where are you?” Sterling stepped into the alley between the parish center and the elementary school, and the air seemed to faintly shimmer while he scanned the area with his piercing eyes.

  Eyes that finally landed on hers where she’d stationed herself next to the garbage cans. Which, in retrospect, probably hadn’t been the smartest move for someone sensitive to smells.

  “Ang?” he repeated, softer now, striding forward without hesitation. Nothing made Sterling Vance falter. Except, apparently, the sight of her clutching her heaving belly. He stopped a couple inches away. “Are you okay?”

  Oh no. Oh God. Here it comes.

  She made a startled sort of squeaking sound in warning. He didn’t get it. But he did get the splash on his expensive shoes a moment later when she ralphed up that morning’s wheat toast and OJ.

  “God, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, praying to die. Her stomach rolled again. Maybe Baby wasn’t quite through yet. “You might want to move back.”

  He didn’t move. And naturally, his shoes got another splash. Instead of acting disgusted as most normal people would, he looked stupefied.

  While she stood there bent over and breathing erratically, he pulled a handkerchief out of his lapel pocket. An actual handkerchief, as if they’d gone back in time to a gentler, more refined age. Not one where a twenty-two-year-old, pregnant, unmarried—uncoupled—woman upchucked that morning’s meal on the fancy shoes of the most upstanding man she knew.

  “You’re pregnant?” The faint question mark tacked on the end of what, to her, should have been a declarative statement might’ve made her laugh had she not worried about dislodging last night’s peanut butter cups.

  Even so, she didn’t want to admit it aloud to Sterli
ng of all people. Her upper-crust family sandwiched his own. If their social strata had been a bread, it would’ve been the fancy multigrain kind that was purported to be healthy but tasted like overcooked ass.

  Her stomach swam. Yeah, she’d avoid food thoughts for a bit yet.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked in lieu of answering his question. Any answers she gave to him would likely be told to her father by nightfall. They were thisclose, and she wasn’t ready to be outed yet.

  If she had to pick someone to father her out-of-wedlock baby, her parents would’ve handled it a lot better if Sterling were the father instead of Pete Lamont. Pete Lamont of the mohawk and pierced eyebrow and upper-crust background that wouldn’t mitigate his looks and inconsistent employment history in her parents’ eyes. Sure, he worked as a mechanic when it suited him, but that wouldn’t impress her folks. Nor would the fact that Pete wanted her to have an abortion so much that he’d been willing to send her on an all-expenses-paid trip to Europe for the summer to get the deed done.

  She’d taken the trip but she hadn’t taken the abortion. To her mind, he’d owed her that much since she was pretty sure he wouldn’t be a reliable source for child support.

  She hadn’t told her parents yet about the baby. It would have helped if she could drink heavily first. Alas, that wasn’t an option.

  “I’m playing bingo.”

  “I saw that.” Idly, she stroked her queasy stomach and tried to focus on the memory of him grumbling over his bingo winnings. “This doesn’t really seem to be your speed.”

  “Speeds change. Take this.”

  She shook herself out of her stupor long enough to grab the handkerchief he held out. Pressing the pristine navy silk to her mouth, she let her gaze meet his for the first time. The only reason she didn’t reel like she usually did upon locking eyes with him was because she had a solid wall at her back and enough reasons to be lightheaded already. “Thank you.”

  He rubbed his hand over the back of his closely shorn, dark hair. The contrast with his pale-blue, Siberian husky eyes had always struck her mute. “I’m assuming you don’t want to answer the pregnancy question.”

  She bit her lip and glanced down at her too-snug blue top, noting with relief that at least she hadn’t gotten anything on herself. She could still get lucky now and then.

  “You look different.”

  He was going to just keep talking, she knew. Sterling didn’t respond to social cues in the typical way. Most men—especially with his pedigree—wouldn’t tolerate a lack of response. They’d turn and walk away without another glance. Not Sterling. He appeared genuinely concerned for her welfare and would keep pestering her until she gave in and tossed him a verbal bone.

  “I’m guessing you mean the eyebrow ring. And the Monroe,” she murmured, touching the tiny stud piercing above her lip. Pete’s idea, but she’d grown to love it.

  The small tattoo on her shoulder blade was a different story. She’d always wanted a few, but that particular one had been a total impulse, as had been getting Pete’s name scripted alongside the lotus. She’d probably end up getting it changed to Peter instead. She’d tell people it was an ode to penis before she admitted she’d willingly tattooed that jerk’s name on her body.

  Her disease to please and tendency to fall in love too hard too fast had always been troublesome personality traits. Now they’d messed up the trajectory of the rest of her life. She didn’t want her Maybe Baby to think she or he wasn’t loved, but the timing seriously sucked.

  And the current self-loathing quotient? Off the charts.

  “Yes, the piercings,” Sterling said. “The hair color too.”

  She ran her fingers over her short, dark flip with streaks of blue, green and pink on the ends. “It’s just chalk.”

  Frowning, he dipped his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, as he often did while standing. The guy had enough energy for five men. She wondered how he managed to leash it long enough to stay behind a desk during the long hours he kept. Back when she’d seen sex as pleasure and not a portal to invite alien beings into her body, she’d also imagined he must be a freaking demon in the sack to offset his mostly sedentary job.

  Now she had a roadblock in her mind on Sex Boulevard. Anytime her thoughts tried to veer off in that direction, she directed them back to Not Sleeping Through The Night For At Least Three Years Lane and Your Days Without Stretch Marks Are Over Road.

  “I realize I’m not up on all the newest beauty innovations, but chalk? The stuff little kids use on sidewalks?”

  She smiled at his obvious confusion. He got the cutest little wrinkle between his brows when he was perplexed. “Not exactly the same. It’s a way to temporarily add color to hair without having to bleach it or anything. Washes right out.”

  “Then what’s the point?”

  She shrugged. “It’s fun to change your look, you know?”

  More eyebrow wrinkling. “You cut off all your hair too. Why?”

  “Because I was bored with it. I get tired of looking the same way all the time.”

  “I truly don’t understand women.”

  It felt good to laugh. “At least you admit it. Most of your brethren pretend superior knowledge.”

  “Most of my brethren have dating records that indicate such. Not I, I’m afraid.” He didn’t sound afraid; he sounded perplexed again. The rare show of vulnerability turned the tables between them, so that for one moment she didn’t feel like the scared, precariously balanced pregnant chick who’d just puked on his polished shoes.

  She appreciated that more than she could say, since moments when she even had a fighting chance of regaining her equilibrium were few and far between these days. To pay him back, she’d do something she should have done five minutes ago—get him away from the evidence.

  “Let’s walk over there.” She gestured to the small playground she’d passed on her flight down the alley.

  “Why?”

  Yep, oblivious to all cues. “Because I feel like swinging.” She so didn’t, but it was worth it to watch his eyebrow lift. That part of his face seemed to do most of his emoting.

  “If you insist.” He offered her his arm as if they were traversing an icy pathway rather than a perfectly flat, dry alley and parking lot. “You don’t look quite steady yet.”

  She didn’t doubt that. Gripping Sterling’s surprisingly solid arm wouldn’t help on that score either. “I’m good. Thank you.”

  “As you wish.”

  “I’m sorry about your shoes.” She couldn’t meet his gaze. “There’s a fire hydrant on the other side of the building if you want to wash them off.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Sure, but haven’t you ever heard of people opening up the fire plugs to cool off in the summer?”

  “No. I have not.”

  She sighed. He wouldn’t have. “Then we can go to the men’s room and I’ll…handle it for you.” Great, she was blushing. She’d never been a blusher before Maybe Baby had hijacked her hormones and her emotions.

  “You don’t need to handle anything of the sort. It’s no problem.” He waited until they were seated side by side on the swings before speaking again. “So, Europe, hmm? What made you decide to take a summer vacation? Something for school?”

  Because my douchebag ex decided if he got me out of the country, he’d be able to pay off the problem of me carrying his child.

  “Actually, I’m no longer in school.” She tried to make it sound like no big deal.

  “What?” He turned toward her so fast that for a moment she wasn’t sure the rickety chains holding up the swing would support his weight. “Why the hell not?”

  Unexpected tears pricked her eyes. Damn hormones. She’d blame them for every frigging thing if she could get away with it, including poor life choices. Too bad she’d made the bulk of those long before she’d been with child.

  “I don’t think I’m cut out to be an engineer,” she said finally, once she didn’t thin
k her voice would give way. More like she wasn’t on her parents’ payroll anymore—or she wouldn’t be soon—and what disposable money she did have would be going toward college funds for someone who wasn’t her.

  “That’s poppycock. You have the finest brain for mathematics I’ve ever come across, and that’s saying a lot.”

  Poppycock. She smiled again. There truly wasn’t another man on the planet quite like Sterling Vance. Old-fashioned sensibilities, a gorgeous face, insane smarts and a bit of social ineptitude made for the most fascinating combination. “I’ve missed you, Vance.”

  That seemed to take him aback, enough that the chains rattled again as he shifted his weight on the narrow seat. “I’ve missed you too. I’d actually hoped…”

  Her heart picked up speed. “You hoped what?”

  He cleared his throat. “You’ve heard of my new venture?”

  “Another one? Aren’t you ventured out yet?” she teased softly, pleased to see him cast his gaze away. He was so adorably…not shy exactly, because he was way too self-possessed for that. More like he tended to be uncertain about anything interpersonal that wasn’t work or money related. There, he was primo capitalist supreme.

  “You’d think. But, no. You’ve heard of Jax Wilder? The baseball player?”

  The way he was jumping tracks made her head hurt. Normally Sterling made a ruler look less than linear. “I’m sorry, no.”

  “Well, Chase, the one who just proposed to his girlfriend in there?” He gestured behind him impatiently. “Chase and Jax are both former ballplayers. Really successful ones too. They started a bodyguard agency when they walked away from the game. Jax recruited me.”

  “For what?”

  His mouth quirked. “Surely you’re not implying that I’m not bodyguard material?”

  He was a pencil pusher. A really hot one. How well that translated to shoving people around and intimidating folks with stares and giant muscles, she couldn’t say. “No. Of course not. It’s just—”

  “Come on, Ang. Say it. You don’t believe I could work as a bodyguard.” He didn’t sound pissed. In fact, he sounded amused. Laughing with her rather than at her.