“Whatever, Tony. We need to talk money. Medical bills will begin to mount.”
A harsh bark of laughter escapes me. “It always comes back to money with you, doesn’t it? Hard to act like an adult when you don’t have a job and live off a trust fund. What’s wrong, mommy and daddy won’t foot the bill?”
“They don’t know. I haven’t told them.”
“Yeah, you should hold off until you know who the father is.”
“I do know. It’s you.”
The rage forges into a cold hard length of steel, settled in my spine. “Not until I see a DNA test will I be convinced. I’ll call a lab and go for a blood sample. You’ll submit to whatever they need to prove that baby is mine or any future conversations we have will go through lawyers.” A puff of angry air sounds over the phone. “Do you think I got to where I am by not checking details?”
“No. I think you got to where you are by being a cold, heartless bastard.”
I fist one hand in impotent anger and bang it against my thigh. “You change your tune as it suits you. First you want me in your life, then you talk marriage, then you want money. Whatever your game is, Portia, I will not be as easily manipulated as your parents. They’ve coddled you your whole damn life—and look where you are now; you’re leveraging a baby for cash. You’re pathetic.”
“And when I’m done with you, you’ll wish you were described as pathetic. I’ll ruin your reputation, I’ll take half of your assets, and you know what else? I’ll be in your life for the next eighteen years—whether you like it or not. Suck on that, you smug jerk.”
The line disconnects and tension spills out of me. Maybe it’s time I called a lawyer. I have a feeling this will be getting much worse before it gets better.
After a half a dozen phone calls to lawyers, a private detective, and an appointment to have my blood drawn, I’m feeling much better. The lawyer did advise I try talking to her, to at least attempt to handle things in a civilized manner. Until she’s further along we’re going to be in a holding pattern for scientific proof. But I’ve done what I need to do to protect myself and make sure this hormone-filled woman doesn’t try and destroy my reputation in the process.
What if it is mine? Have I screwed any chance of a decent relationship with the child’s mother? Who am I kidding—Portia would turn around in a flash if enough money was on the table.
With any luck the investigator will pull up enough dirt on her that I’ll have my own leverage if she decides to go to the press. I’ve never really cared for the media attention when I showed up in the social pages, and I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what the general public thinks of me, but I don’t want my family and Heather harassed due to this woman’s personal vendetta.
Pushing the afternoon from my mind, I decide to work out. That should help erase the anger and bring my mind under control again. First a run and then lifting weights, followed by a quick shower and then prep for my surprise with Heather. No way in hell am I letting the taint of this situation demolish my chances of happiness with her. She’s too important to me.
As I tie my running shoes I refuse to think about what would happen if she found out what was going on. I can’t lose her before we even give what we’ve got a real try.
Chapter Seven
Heather
Anticipation tightens my skin as I shut down my computer for the weekend. Tammy left a little while ago and I could hardly contain the silly grin I wore all day. And who would blame me? Tony texted this morning with instructions a car was picking me up after work at five thirty, and taking me to Hoboken for something special. I have no time to run home and get clothes, so if I wind up staying the night I won’t have anything fresh to wear tomorrow.
Like worrying about two-day-old underwear is going to stop me. Hah!
I know he’s got something up his sleeve, and mulling on it all day has kept me in a steady state of arousal for hours. Did he snag the cock ring from my nightstand drawer? We never did use it, as just the thought and subsequent conversation left us so busy we never tried it.
A delightful shiver raises the hairs on my arms. God, he’s so delectable. And all mine. It really does feel like a dream.
A knock on my door pulls my attention. A tall, lean form rests against the doorframe. Jimmy. Freakin’ great.
His intense dark blue eyes pin me to my chair. “What’s got you looking like the cat that ate the canary?”
I plaster on a neutral smile, refusing to allow him to see my discomfort in his presence. “Just thinking of the weekend.”
“Hmm… any special plans?”
No way in hell am I engaging in anything personal with him. “Not really.” I glance pointedly at my watch. It’s five fifteen. “Anything I can help you with?”
He saunters into the room, like he has every right to be there. “I’m proud of you, Heather. You really have done well for yourself.”
Unsure of how to react to his praise, I nod. He always has an ulterior motive, but I have no idea what his is now. I can’t stop the little swelling of happiness in my gut. I will squash any reaction this man pulls from me, and I hate that he’s made me feel like I have his approval, when I don’t want or need it.
Surely he can’t think after catching him in the act, and me realizing what our nightmare of a relationship had become, that we’d ever get back together? But wait, how would he know how I felt if we weren’t together any longer? It’s not like we spoke after the night I caught him cheating. If Carla had been there when I was throwing his personal items out into the hall she probably would have held me back, preferring to burn everything instead. And it would have felt good.
His attention strays and lingers on the framed photos I took of Tony’s building in Hoboken. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I miss what we had.” He turns to me and flashes his one thousand watt smile. “There’s no one like you.”
Unbidden, Carla’s snarky voice fills my head. Oh yeah? Then why did he sleep with those other women and treat you like dirt? Why did he make you cry? Why did he distance you from all your friends and tell you what you could wear? Screw him! Don’t let the rat bastard back in your head!
“Well, that’s nice, Jimmy.” My voice sounds cold and unfeeling. Good. “But that’s the past. I’m not the same person anymore.” The doormat who used to take whatever crumbs you offered and patiently waited for more.
His face sobers and a sincere look enters his eyes. “Neither am I.”
“Great.” I glance away, unable to hold his penetrating stare any longer. “Good for you. Did you stop by for a reason? I need to get out of here.”
“Um… yeah, actually. I did.” He looks over his shoulder briefly. “Is your assistant Tammy seeing anyone?”
Shock surges to the surface as heat suffuses my face. Oh my God. And here I thought the slimy bastard was interested in me! “I have no idea.” Can I really let him make a play for her? I’d never wish him on my worst enemy.
She’s a grown woman, it’s not like you have any power over her.
“Great.” He repeats my earlier response, a sly smile on his face. “Have a good weekend.”
Pushing away the apprehension Jimmy’s visit left, I settle comfortably in the plush leather of the hired town car. I don’t mind the drive to Hoboken, especially when mass transit doesn’t come into the equation. It’s not that I dislike subways, but they do take longer and aren’t always the safest for a woman traveling alone past a certain hour. And buses? Don’t get me started. It’s like the dying, depressed energy of long-term commuters taints the very fabric covering the bus seats.
A hired car lends an air of luxury to the journey. Nice.
My cell buzzes in my purse, indicating a new text has come in. I fish it out to see Carla’s smiling face next to her latest missive.
Katrina, Gemma and I are going out for drinks. Want to join?
Thanks. I text back. Have plans. Raincheck?
Loser! ;-) We’ll miss you.
Hoping I’ll see
her later, I ask, Are you doing yoga this weekend?
Yes to yoga. C U then! You free for lunch on Monday?
I text back I’m good with lunch on Monday and enter the appointment in my calendar. Call me a nerd, but hey, I’m organized.
A part of me worries about Carla’s casual approach to life. Granted, there’s nothing wrong with a night out with friends—hell, we all need that every couple weeks, but she’s a year older than me. If she doesn’t snap out of the college love-‘em-and-leave-‘em lifestyle, she’s going to be single and in her thirties. Never a good position for a woman living in Manhattan. It’s like the women over thirty-four have this desperate look to them. Afraid of the dwindling child-bearing years left with no husbandly prospects on the horizon.
Geez… Who am I to judge? Maybe Carla is the smart one. I hope she shoots me if I ever feel like I’m desperate to have a guy in my life. Might be time for a future girlfriend pact. No allowing the other to choose a loser simply because we’d be past our prime baby-making years.
Oh, you mean a loser like Jimmy? You really dodged a bullet there. He’d have made sure you were barefoot and pregnant, servicing his “needs” whenever the urge hit him, and when bored, he’d be banging the neighbor. Oh, but hey, only after he made you feel like you were fat and ugly first.
I take a deep breath and push the nasty thoughts from my mind. I will not allow his memory to color my night or my weekend. I’ll deal with whatever comes my way regarding him next week.
Leaning back in the seat, I rest my head on the cushion and close my eyes, picturing a tender smile on Tony’s face and lingering arousal in his light brown gaze. Heat pools low in my middle as I remember skimming my hands over his washboard abs. I love touching him. His reactions make me feel so… powerful. And desired. What a heady combination.
The car rolls softly to a standstill, not unlike the many throughout the trip at various stoplights, but this time the car shifts into park. I straighten and look out the window to see Tony’s building.
“We’re here, miss,” the driver announces while lifting his gaze in the rearview mirror to meet mine.
‘Thank you.” I reach for my purse, unsure if I should tip him.
He sees my actions and says, “Don’t worry, miss. Everything is already covered, including the tip.” Then he turns and hands me a sealed envelope. “This is for you.”
I accept it, nod my thanks, and gather my belongings. The driver exits the car and quickly opens my door, a hand held out to assist. Feeling like a movie star, I leave the vehicle, noting a lightness to my heart that wasn’t there during the ride.
Tony does this to me. He thinks of what I want or need before I do. He anticipates my desires and fulfills them without request, like I’m a cherished person in his life. As the town car glides into Friday traffic, I open the letter. Inside is a key and a brief note.
This is the key to my place. The door code for the main entrance is 1031.
Come on up. I’ll be waiting.
~T
Excitement and something else blossoms in my chest… a yearning. That’s what he’s made me—eager. I fold the note and place it in my purse. Before turning to the building, a shiny blue convertible parked by the curb catches my eye. Sweet! I’m not much of a car person, but I recognize the brand symbol on the hood—BMW. I wonder if this is another one of Tony’s cars. He mentioned once that he has a few and the two I’ve seen are both this make.
That eagerness pulls at me again, drawing me away from the car to race up the steps of the apartment building. I punch in the door code and enter the foyer, glad I’m alone while waiting for the elevator. Within minutes I’m jiggling my new key into the lock, my every nerve on high alert over Tony giving me a key to his place.
This is so huge! Do I make a big deal out of it or let it slide, pretending to be more collected than I really am? I open the door to low playing rock music, and the faint scent of vanilla overlaying construction smells like drywall and paint. Tony’s been a busy man. The small foyer contains a table with flowers and another note with my name on it.
Oh my God! How can I possibly stay calm and cool when he’s being so freakin’ incredible? Who does this kind of stuff for a woman? It’s like he’s trying to make me fall in love with him. Whoa now. Don’t assume. We all know where that leads.
I grab the note, unable to contain my enthusiasm as I rip open the paper. The smile on my face is stretched so tight I’m sure I look like the grinning Joker—slightly crazed with a hint of humor.
Leave your work things and come find me.
HolyCowHolyCow…. What do I do? Does that mean take off my work clothes, too? Maybe he just means leave my stuff like my coat, bag, and purse? I nod my head, talking to myself in my desperation, “Yeah, that’s probably what he means.”
I toss my crap on the floor, uncaring where it lands, motivated to find him. I step away and halt. If I leave my stuff like that and he sees it later I will be so busted as a freaked out woman who couldn’t hold her shit together. Wanting to kick myself, I pick up my coat and place the other items casually against the wall.
A quick glance reveals a coat hook near the door. Gee, that’s pretty obvious. I hang the garment and waste no more time, venturing deeper into the apartment. The kitchen lighting is turned down low, and candles are lit throughout the open floor plan. Warm vanilla wraps around me, relaxing muscles I didn’t know were tense. The island is set with plates and cold appetizers under a glass cover.
But there’s no Tony. Immediately I turn to the bedroom, striding across the neat living room with quick steps. It would be so like him to be naked and waiting for me on the bed already. Perhaps he set up the food as an after-meal, and the main course is us getting busy.
I giggle in anticipation, heat and desire igniting all my senses. More candles are lit here, but the big bed is made and there’s no hot guy waiting for me. What the hell? I look out the large windows to Tony’s private roof garden, but see no one out there either. Okay, I’m stumped. The rest of the place is still unfinished, so where else could he be?
Curiosity battles with arousal as I journey down a side hall, looking for my hiding boyfriend. I throw open the first door and freeze in place, shock igniting every nerve ending I possess.
Somehow, someway, Tony created a photography studio—for me—in under a week. Pale blue walls glow softly in the filtered light. To my left there’s an entire station of computer equipment and several large printers. In the center of the room and to the right, sit various set supplies—light poles, a chaise, stools, fabric rolls, lighting umbrellas, props—and holyfuckinghell… there stands my heart’s desire—Tony.
Shirtless, his muscled chest glistening like it’s been oiled, ripped jeans slung low on his hips, and a devilish smile on his face. Dark messy hair, slightly longer than when we met almost a month ago, curls over his forehead and down his neck. His arms are stretched high, with a metal chain looped around his wrist and secured to a hook in the ceiling. Another shiny chain lies draped over his olive skin, lying across his shoulders to dangle over his chest.
There’s a defined ridge behind the fly of his faded jeans, leaving no doubt he’s definitely turned on by this scenario he’s staged.
“Come on in, darlin’. Grab the camera off the table and let’s have some fun.”
Chapter Eight
Tony
“Oh my God. You really did this. I’m not dreaming? You’re really standing here,” Heather’s eye sweep me from head to toe, lingering on my crotch, “half-naked and ready for me to take pictures of you.”
Her eyes meet mine and I smile slowly. “I’m not adverse to being completely nude, eventually. But maybe without the camera.”
Heather’s dressed in a dark grey skirt I haven’t seen before. It rests just above her knees. She’s wearing a bright red blouse and her long black hair spills over her shoulder in a tumble of curls.
She steps deeper into the room, grabbing the camera off a side table in passing. Her red sp
iked heels, the ones I gave her with the silver heel, rap against the bamboo flooring, their sound ratcheting up my heart rate with every step. Displaying myself like this has had me hard since the driver called to report their projected arrival time. Is she as turned on as I am or did I go too far?
I’ve never felt such a consuming desire to experiment sexually like I do with Heather. Something about how right we feel together has pushed me beyond my comfort zones. Makes me want to submit and let her lead, just as much as I want to dominate and stake my claim.
Her gaze lingers on my chest and abs, and I can’t help it, I flex, hoping to hold her attention longer.
Heather’s voice comes out low and sexy. “You look incredible.” She raises the camera and starts shooting. “The diffused light playing on your skin—makes you look warm… and utterly lickable.”
My hardened length twitches in my pants. The memory of her pink tongue teasing me when I cooked her dinner, and then her painted lips eventually surrounding my cock, leave me shaking, despite the warmth in the room.
“Tilt your head down, angle your chin toward the door.” I do as she requests. “That’s it. The shadows across your face lend a hint a mystery.”
She takes a few more shots, seemingly as spellbound as I am.
“Holy hell,” she mutters while aiming the camera. “This is so freakin’ hot.” The digital rendition of a camera snap fills the silence when she’s not speaking. “You do realize you could model for real, right?” She moves the camera from her face for an instant. “And I’m not saying that because I plan on sleeping with you later.”
I chuckle softly, stretching into the chains, loving how she makes me feel. Desirable beyond reason—it’s empowering. “Yeah, your opinion is completely unbiased.”
Vanilla Twist: A Walk on the Wild Side Novel (Heather and Tony, Book 2) Page 5
