Tame Quantum Boxed Set 2, Books 4-6 (Qauntum Series)

by Marie Force

  “It hasn’t happened yet, but it’s in the works, and I wanted to let you know that I’ll be taking next week off to, um, undergo some, ah, treatments.”

  His entire face turns bright red. Even the tips of his ears are scarlet.

  “I was hoping you might cover for me again. I’ll see about getting you an extra week off this year to make it up to you.”

  “That’s not necessary. I don’t mind covering for you.”

  “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it, and I’ll remember it at bonus time.”

  “Okay, then. I’d better get back to it.” I can’t imagine he could’ve moved any faster to leave the room if his ass had been on fire.

  I drop my head into my hands, mortified by what I just did to poor Dax. Treatments… Oh my God, I’m becoming such a bad person. But it’s not like I could tell him I’m going to have mad, crazy, possibly kinky monkey sex with Jasper Autry—or whatever his name is—to make my baby.

  Speaking of Jasper… I reach for my phone because I don’t dare do this on the company network. Calling up the browser, I type in the name Jasper Kingsley and UK, hesitating before pressing the Search button. What will I find out? What will it mean? How will it change things? He said it was a long story, too long to tell me in a few minutes.

  What if he’s wanted for some horrible crime in the UK? Or on the sex offender registry or—

  “Stop it, Ellie. He’s not wanted or on the registry. For God’s sake, stop making things up.” Now he’s got me talking to myself, too. Before I can make up any more fiction, I press the Search button and hold my breath, waiting for the results to pop up.

  At first I’m not sure what I’m seeing. There’s all this stuff about the Kingsley family, their vast financial holdings, their historically significant place in the British aristocracy. Wait. What? I click on a link to a story in the International Times about Henry Kingsley, the ninth Duke of Wethersby, thought to be the wealthiest man in England, and not only because of his inherited fortune.

  No, Henry has quadrupled the family’s already enormous wealth through a series of shrewd investments and financial acumen that’s often compared to that of American business magnate Warren Buffett. His is one of the few dukedoms in all of England to remain intact in modern times, thanks almost entirely to the brillance of Henry and his father before him. In addition to his business wizardry, Henry is known for his love of extreme adventure. He’s summited Mount Everest twice and holds several records for piloting experimental aircraft on long jaunts.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper as it occurs to me that Jasper is a freaking billionaire. I scroll through the story until it mentions that Henry’s son and heir, Jasper, is also known as the Marquess of Andover, one of his father’s lesser titles. His heir. A marquess. Like the guy Edith married on Downton Abbey, the one who outranked her father, the earl!

  How is it possible that the Hollywood press hasn’t picked up on this? Probably because Jasper doesn’t use his family name and apparently hasn’t told even his closest friends and partners about his aristocratic pedigree… Does Flynn know? I wish I could ask him without giving away what I’ve uncovered. I do a search for Jasper Autry and find the version of him that I know—an Academy Award-winning cinematographer, a principal in the highly successful Quantum Production Company founded by Academy Award-winning actor Flynn Godfrey and Academy Award-winning director Hayden Roth. The article also notes that Jasper is a notorious playboy known for a series of brief relationships with some of the most beautiful women in the world.

  There are photos of him with women—lots and lots of women, many of them actresses, supermodels and a few who are famous merely for being famous. He’s smiling in every photo, and why wouldn’t he be? He’s an Academy Award-winning billionaire. No wonder he’s more than happy to sign away his rights to our child. He’s got much better things to do than change nappies.

  I knew about the women. I’ve always known about the women, because he’s talked to me about them, often sharing in the drama, hilarity, outrageousness and sheer insanity he’s experienced with many of them. We’d laugh about it, and the next thing I’d know, the Hollywood press would report he’d parted ways with the flavor of the month. They’d follow him relentlessly until he appeared somewhere with his newest conquest, restarting the feeding frenzy all over again.

  That level of attention is unusual for someone who works behind the scenes in the film industry, but a man who looks like Jasper gets noticed in this town, especially when he hobnobs with the likes of Flynn, Hayden, Marlowe and Kristian, four of the heaviest hitters in Hollywood.

  I clear the search history on my phone and set it on my desk, unreasonably saddened by what I’ve learned. What did I think was going to happen? Did I honestly expect that someone like me, a no one compared to the women he usually dates, would be the one to bring Jasper up to scratch? Who would convince him to put his manwhoring ways behind him?

  I admit to myself—and only myself—that his eager willingness to father my child had me wondering if maybe he feels more for me than he’s let on. He basically told me that he’s had a thing for me for as long as he’s known me. But how can I possibly compete with the kind of women he normally dates?

  Ugh, and how much do I despise myself for even having that thought? Any man would be lucky to have me. In addition to my above-average looks, I wield a mean power screwdriver and drill. I can fix anything. I can install my own blinds, paint my own walls and finish my own floors. I don’t need Jasper—or any man—for anything other than his DNA.

  Resigned to keeping my heart out of the equation with him, I gather my belongings to leave the office. I need to hit the grocery store, take Randy for a run, do some laundry and go over my notes for tomorrow’s meetings. And, it’s time to return Serenity’s call about the dating service. I’ve got stuff to do and no time for the man who’s turning my usually productive brain to mush.

  Oh my God… Holy, holy, holy God… My entire body seizes as I come harder than I ever have in my entire life with Jasper’s fingers deep inside me and his mouth attached to my clit while I grasp the rails of my headboard, per his orders.

  Remember that to-do list I had for tonight? Yeah, well, things didn’t exactly go as planned after Jasper showed up and backed me into my bedroom, dropped me onto my back and delivered not one but two stupendous orgasms before I could remember that I’ve forbidden “extras” from our “relationship.” He’s just proven how utterly powerless I am to resist him when he goes all alpha on me.

  He withdraws from me, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and frees his cock from his pants. “Don’t let go of the rails, and keep your eyes on me. I want your eyes.” Watching me closely, he strokes himself, making his intentions clear. “No more condoms, right?”

  The magnitude of that statement finds its way through the muddled mess he’s made of my brain. We’re doing this. We’re actually going to make a baby, and I could get pregnant any time we have unprotected sex. I’ve never had unprotected sex, so this is a big moment in more ways than one.

  “Darling? Are you with me?”

  “Yes, sorry. I’m with you, and no more condoms.”

  Those words seem to spark something primal in him, and he drives into me, his body shuddering and his eyes blinking closed for a second before he opens them to lock his gaze with mine. “So hot. So tight.” Once again, he lifts my legs onto his shoulders, putting me into a position I’d never been in before him. It allows him to go deeper into me than anyone has ever been.

  And his eyes never leave mine as he presses the pad of his thumb to my clit and keeps up a relentless pace. I’m coming again before I’ve caught my breath from the last time, and he’s right there with me, coming with a groan that seems to be pulled from deep inside him.

  He pulls back enough to settle my legs back onto the mattress, but stays buried deep inside me as we pulse with aftershocks.

  “The last time I did that without a condom, I was fifteen and praying the pullou
t method would work.”

  Laughing, I say, “And did it?”

  “Thank Christ it did. The chances we take when we are young and dumb.”

  “And full of cum,” we say together, laughing as we quote one of Hayden’s favorite sayings.

  His lips brush softly against my neck, setting off a chain reaction of goose bumps and sensation that coalesces in the place where we’re still joined. “I can’t get enough of you, Ellie Godfrey. I don’t know what sort of spell you’ve cast upon me, but all I think about lately is being naked with you.”

  I swallow hard, trying to mask my emotional reaction to his confession. “Then why are we still wearing most of our clothes?”

  “Because I couldn’t wait another second to have you after you fired me up in that meeting today.”

  I want to believe he has it that bad for me, but I can’t stop thinking about all the things I read about him earlier. Will he ever tell me, for instance, that he’s the heir to a vast fortune? Will he ever tell me that he’s a marquess, a future duke or anything about the secrets he has kept from the rest of our group or what he plans to do about the vast empire he will one day inherit? What, for example, will it mean for his partnership in Quantum? I have so many questions, none of which I feel I have the right to ask.

  That’s not what we’re about. We’re about making a baby, not exchanging deep, dark secrets. Although, he’d probably argue that admitting his kinky tendencies would equate to a deep, dark secret.

  I’m having the best sex of my life with him, so why do I feel dissatisfied? Because I want more from him, and I can’t have it. That’s why. He’s made it very clear that he’s not a relationship kind of guy. He’s proven that by going from one bimbo to another for as long as I’ve known him, not to mention signing away all rights to a child we haven’t even conceived yet. Why would I ever expect to be “different” from the many women who came before me?

  “We need to get going,” he says, interrupting a long period of silence.

  “Going where?”

  “Black Vice. My friend Devon Black is expecting us at ten.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Is that a problem, darling?”

  When he calls me that, I tend to lose my train of thought, and this time is no different. Then I remember he probably calls all his many women that, and it loses some of its luster. “It’s… I have to work tomorrow, and it’s…” And I need more time to prepare myself for this…

  He’s watching me in that knowing way of his, as if he understands my heart better than anyone. It’s disconcerting, especially since I’m all too aware that he wants nothing to do with my heart.

  “It’s fine. We can go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  No, I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything when it comes to you, but I’m incredibly curious. I nod in agreement. “I need a shower after that workout.”

  A crooked smile works its way across his face. “Worked up a sweat, did you, love?”

  Suddenly I want to cry for what can never be. I want to wail and rant and scream at the injustice of it all. He’s perfect for me in every possible way. He’s gorgeous and sexy, and that accent… But he’s also funny and sweet and incredibly kind to his friends, who are like family to him. And none of that even takes into consideration his staggering talent as a filmmaker. He’s the whole package, and he’s slowly but surely ruining me for all other men.

  I can’t let that happen. I’m still determined that my child will have a father in his or her life. I’d never want him to grow up without the kind of father I had, and even if it means settling for someone who doesn’t exactly make my heart pound with joy, I want to find someone who will be there for my child. I know he’s out there somewhere, and as I drag myself into the shower, I’m more determined than ever to find him.

  While I wait for the water to heat up, I reach for my phone and send a text to Serenity, asking if she can get together tomorrow. I’ll find a way to tell Jasper that I’m going to move forward with my plans to meet new people, and as soon as we’ve conceived the child I want so badly, I’ll let him go to resume his real life already in progress.

  Chapter 12

  How will I stand to know that she and my child are tucked away in this charming little house, living and loving and growing together while I’m always somewhere other than with them? How will I satisfy myself with occasional visits? How will I ever again touch another woman after having known the exquisite pleasure to be found with her?

  Listening to the shower running in the next room, I lie in her bed, looking up at the ceiling fan as it spins round and round, a metaphor for the thoughts cycling through my mind.

  The supreme unfairness of it all is hard to fathom at times like this, when I’m unable to have what I want most in the world, all because of whom I was born to. Some might think, oh, poor little rich boy, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. What in the world does he have to bitch and moan about? But imagine your fate being decided for you before you’re even born. Then all the riches in the world might not look quite so appealing.

  I think about the last, bitter argument my father and I had before I left to attend film school at USC. I’d gone around him and applied behind his back, thrilled and elated to have gotten in but sick at heart to know a draining battle would take place before I left.

  I declined offers to attend business school at Oxford, Harvard, Yale, UPenn and Dartmouth. I did that before I told him I was going to USC so there would be no other options remaining by the time I broke the news to him. The blowup was every bit as cataclysmic as I expected it to be. He was so furious, his face turned purple, and for a brief, horrible moment, I wondered if he was having a heart attack.

  Wouldn’t that have been ironic? If he’d dropped dead right in front of me and because of me, he would’ve gotten what he wanted after all—me as his prisoner. But he didn’t drop dead. No, he recovered and managed to say and do some things that I still recall in vivid detail nearly twenty years later. He called me an ungrateful, disgraceful, arrogant waste of his DNA, among other choice words. All because I had a dream that differed from the plan he made for my life before I was born. And that was the least of what happened that day, but I can’t allow myself to go back there, to be sucked into that rabbit hole of despair that I’ve worked so hard to escape.

  I left for LA the next day and have rarely been home in the ensuing years. I see my mother and sisters at least once a year, but I haven’t seen my father in eight years, not since the funeral for my maternal grandfather. I don’t think we exchanged more than ten words during the two days I was home. I’m dead to him in every way except for one—he hasn’t gone so far as to actually disinherit me, much to my dismay. I used to pray every night that he would.

  My womanizing stemmed initially from my desire to disgust him to the point that he didn’t want me as his heir anymore. But nothing I’ve done, and I’ve tried a lot of things, has had the desired effect. And that’s my own fault. It was my idea to use my mother’s maiden name as my surname in my new life, lest I ever be somehow connected to him. So while I’m sure my father is suitably appalled at the way I live my life, the rest of the world has no earthly idea that Academy Award-winning cinematographer and world-class skirt chaser Jasper Autry is actually the heir to the Kingsley billions, in line to be the tenth Duke of Wethersby.

  Naturally, it’s never occurred to my father that my sister Gwendolyn, the Wall Street financier, would actually be much better at running the family empire than I ever could be, but God forbid his heir be a woman. That’s not the way of things in his world. If I hadn’t been born, finally, after four daughters, he would’ve left everything to his brother’s son before he turned his dynasty over to a mere girl.

  Gwen is a Harvard MBA with the same head for finance my father has and his father before him had, but she’s never worked a day for the family business. She’s a bigwig at an investment bank on Wall Street where she’s made a name for herself in the same financial
circles in which my father is a living legend.

  The hairdryer goes on in the bathroom, a signal to me that the shower is free. I run the palm of my right hand over the stubble on my jaw, unnerved by the trip down memory lane that takes me back to some of the most difficult days of my life. I have no regrets about making a stand for the life I wanted rather than having the life he intended to force upon me, but I’ve always known I’m living on borrowed time.

  That’s especially true lately as my father spends less time in the office and more time pursuing passions that regularly put his life at risk. Last May, when he climbed Everest for the second time, I don’t think I took a deep breath for an entire week while I waited to hear he had successfully descended from the summit.

  His latest thing, according to the media, is flying solo around the world in an experimental solar-powered plane, because that’s not dangerous or anything. Sometimes I swear he’s gotten into extreme challenges just to torment me. I have no doubt he takes a perverse pleasure in knowing I’m constantly on edge, waiting to hear he’s managed to kill himself.

  The whole world will be watching his latest exploit. If his greatest skill is making money, his second-greatest skill is courting publicity. I’d have to hide under a rock to avoid the coverage. Luckily, my baby-making week with Ellie coincides with my father’s latest circus, so I’ll stay offline and out of his loop, which is where I’m happiest anyway.

  “Jasper?” Ellie emerges from the bathroom. She’s wearing a robe, but her hair is dry and she’s put on some makeup. Not a lot, but just enough to emphasize her eyes and lips. She looks fantastic, as always. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course, darling. I dozed off for a few minutes after you wore me out.”

  Smiling, she rolls her eyes at me. “What do I wear to a sex club?”