Scoring with the Wrong Twin (WAGS)

by Naima Simone

“Water under a very old bridge now.” But then the earlier part of his statement slammed into her. He’d spoken with Giovanna a couple of days ago? Why would he contact her? Traitor, she silently muttered, condemning her twin to a month of their mother’s chicken and rice.

  “Your sister has a very colorful vocabulary—in both English and Spanish. She hung up on me two times before letting me explain my reason for calling. And she finally agreed to help me only after threatening to rip my balls off and shoving them up my ass if I hurt you.”

  Okay…so she might forgive Giovanna eventually.

  “It’s a little late for the hurting me part, isn’t it? Is that what all this is about?” She waved a hand over the two contracts. “Well, no worries, Zephirin. A bad breakup isn’t going to cause me to fall apart. Can we call it a breakup, though, since we weren’t actually together? And since both of us agreed that one of us could end it at any time?” She pursed her lips and tapped a fingertip against them. “Anywho, I’m made of stronger stuff than that, so this parting gift, if that’s what it is, really isn’t necessary. Are we done here?”

  “Let’s go ahead and get the business out of the way,” he growled, leaning forward and folding his arms on the table.

  His gold and green gaze narrowed, his nostrils flaring the slightest bit. Fascinating, witnessing that control and impassivity crack. Like watching a formerly calm lion snarl and swipe at the bars restraining him. A warning that if he was freed, he would pounce.

  Arousal hummed through her at the sight. She resented it even as she fought not to squirm in her seat.

  “Giovanna told me you’d decided to freelance, start your own company. I’d already decided to contract you for the app development of the project you came up with. In my opinion, no one else was better for the job or would do it better. Even if you still worked for FamFit, I intended to ask you to freelance outside of it. So that isn’t charity. It’s business. Smart business. As is the investor’s agreement.” He tapped the table in front of the second sheath of papers. “Once I found out you intended to found your own business, I wanted to be a part of it. Even if you couldn’t stand the sight of me, I believe in you, in your passion, your brilliance. That, too, is smart business. I’m not an idiot, and I know a great investment when I see it. You are great. And I’m not the only one who believes it. If you’ll look at the list of proposed investors, your parents, sister, neighbors, hell, even a couple of my friends are there. I may have contacted them about you venturing off on your own, but I didn’t have to browbeat anyone into putting their money where their hearts were with you.”

  She blinked, rocking back into her chair. Her lips might’ve parted, but her throat had closed up somewhere between In my opinion, no one else was better for the job or would do it better and I believe in you, in your passion, your brilliance. So instead, she did as he’d suggested and flipped through the pages of the agreement. Three pages in, she came to the list. God. She blinked some more, fighting the sting of tears.

  Joseph and Alicia Cruz. Giovanna Cruz. Her parents and sister. Daniel and Natalia Acosta. Her aunt and uncle. Paola Martin. Her first cousin. Yadiel Bonilla, their long-time neighbor and partner in her father’s garage. Toward the bottom, Dominic Anderson and Ronin Palamo. And the last name on the list, Zephirin Black.

  $500,000.

  Ay Dios mio.

  “You…can’t,” she rasped. “That’s too…” She shook her head, shock rendering her nearly speechless. “You can’t.”

  “It’s my money,” he said, apparently deciphering what she referred to. “And I would’ve given more.” He paused, the intensity in his gaze sharpening, the skin over his cheekbones tautening. “I would give you everything.”

  “No,” she breathed. “You don’t get to say that to me.” Panic lurched inside her, and she shot to her feet, the leather chair rolling back and hitting the wall. She staggered for the conference room door on unsteady legs. Not caring how desperate or manic she appeared, she grasped the handle, needing out. Away from him and those bright eyes that held the whisper of promises she would’ve done anything for a week ago. Now…now they just shredded what was left of her heart.

  She twisted the handle, but before she could yank it open, a large hand closed over hers. A hard chest pressed to her back. Firm but full lips brushed over the tip of her ear. For an instant, she froze; the shock of his body against her when she’d accepted she would never feel it again momentarily robbed her of the ability to move. But that wild, injured animal inside her chest snapped and clawed, remembering the searing pain his rejection had inflicted. With a small cry, she snatched her hand from under his, jerking away from him and placing much-needed space between them.

  “You don’t get to touch me either,” she said, shoring up the fissures and cracks in her composure that his nearness smashed into like a battering ram.

  He didn’t follow her but also didn’t release her from the power of his gaze. And she couldn’t glance away. The traitorous part that missed everything about him didn’t want to.

  “The last time we saw each other, you could barely stand to look at me, much less touch me. Now, you’re offering me my dream on a silver platter and acting like you were never disgusted by me. What changed?” she demanded.

  “I was never disgusted by you, Sophia. Never,” he said, the fierceness of his tone startling her. “And what changed in me? You. You held up a mirror that I had no choice but to stare into, and I didn’t like what I saw.” He dropped his head for a moment, but when he lifted it, none of the intensity in his eyes had faded. No, it’d increased, deepened. Made his gaze sharper, brighter. Next to his thighs, his fingers curled and relaxed. Curled and relaxed.

  “You were right; you never stood a chance with me. Not because you weren’t beautiful, giving, selfless, or deserved it. It was all on me—my issues, my hang-ups, my refusal to let go of the past. I had become so accustomed to someone taking from me. Then there was you, asking for nothing—wanting nothing—but me. And even then, I had to convince you to have more. No one has desired me just for me. I didn’t trust it, and though I wanted to, didn’t trust you. Like you accused me of, a part of me was waiting for you to fuck up, for what we had to fall through. I turned you away out of my own fear, and I’m sorry for it. Where I couldn’t offer forgiveness, now I’m asking for yours.”

  Mouth dry, she stilled, her heart beating a rapid tattoo against her rib cage. When she’d left her apartment this morning, the last thing she’d expected was to have this proud, strong man humble himself. For her. She searched his face, taking in the tension straining the carnal lines of his mouth, the clenching of his jaw. “You always had it,” she whispered.

  Truth. Even though he’d hurt her like no other, she’d understood why. Comprehended that his pain went beyond the lie she’d spun. Even anger couldn’t dispel the stubborn love that, though bruised and battered, refused to dissipate.

  “Sophia, take me. Have me.” He shifted closer, turning his hands up in the age-old gesture of surrender. “You once said you didn’t have my heart, but you still cherished it, would fight for it. I’m telling you, it’s yours. You don’t have to fight because I’m offering it to you. Begging you to take it. Because if not, I don’t have any use for it.”

  Jesus. She pressed a palm to her chest directly over her heart as if she could contain the swelling of it, ease the hammering of it against her skin. “You hurt me. I don’t know if…” she confessed, the words raking over her throat. “I lied to you, broke your cardinal rule. How can you trust me again? How can I trust you not to throw it up in my face again…?” She shook her head once more. Because she’d managed to get up this time, but if he led her to believe they had a chance—that she could give him her heart—and he rejected it again? The next time might lay her out for good.

  “I want to renegotiate,” he said, taking another step closer. She couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d uttered those words, and how she’d eventually capitulated to them.

 
“What are you proposing now?” she whispered.

  Another step. “One chance for your heart wasn’t enough. I didn’t get an opportunity to discover everything about you. Didn’t get to find out what it feels like to protect it, claim it for my own. So here are the terms.” And another step until only inches separated them. “You let me love you until I get my fill. Which, I’m warning you, probably will be never. You don’t want strings, a relationship? Not fine. I won’t accept anything less than all of you. You want to walk away whenever you’re done? Again, not fine. I’ll chase you down. But until I can convince you that I’m not going anywhere, just let me have even a little bit of you. And you can have me—all of me—in return.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut as he recited the words that started their original arrangement…only substituting the words that had her soul singing in hesitant joy. Had her trembling in deferred hope.

  “What are the rules?” she breathed.

  “You need them?” he asked, tilting his head.

  “Yes.”

  With a deep, low sigh, he cupped her face in his big, rough palms. And there in his eyes were all the answers that continued to niggle at her.

  “I just have one.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Love me again.”

  She covered his hands. And there fell the last of her resistance. Her pain. Turning her face into his palm, she pressed her lips to it. “I never stopped,” she confessed.

  His lashes lowered, but she didn’t need to see his eyes. Not when his body shuddered against hers. Not when his mouth swooped down and seized hers in a kiss that not just claimed her, but mirrored all the love and need swelling inside her. Joy like she’d never known stung her eyes, and the tears she’d managed to hold back all this time, trickled over.

  Murmuring, he swept his lips over the signs of her happiness, and when his mouth fused with hers once more, she tasted the slight saltiness and didn’t mind. Not when these tears were of love, hope, and the bliss she could barely contain.

  “I’ve missed you,” he rasped into the kiss. He dropped his head and hands, buried his face into the nook between her neck and shoulder. “God, I’ve missed you,” he repeated in a harsh whisper that vibrated through her. His fingers flexed against her waist, seeking, greedy.

  And answering need flared between her legs. She’d been so empty, had doubted she would ever be filled again. Dipping her head, she recaptured his mouth, thrust her tongue between his lips, conveying without words how much she wanted him. Now. Conference room and attorneys be damned. Just as long as he satisfied the aching hunger deep inside her. Which seemed only fair since he’d been the only man to ever stir it.

  Hard fingers fumbled at the buttons of her jacket, almost ripping them off before the lapels opened, and he palmed her breasts through her shirt. Unerringly, he found her piercings and tugged, shooting pain-tinged pleasure down her torso straight to her sex. She arched against him, a cry slipping free. Sliding her fingers beneath his jacket, she clutched his shoulders, her nails digging into his firm, shirt-covered flesh.

  Snatching a page out of his book, she released the buttons on his vest and dragged his shirt free of his waistband. More than her next breath, she needed to touch his skin, reacquaint herself. Seven days had been a lifetime.

  His growl of pleasure rumbled against her palms, and she imitated his caress, tweaking his small, masculine nipples.

  “Damn, I need to be inside you,” he half snarled, half groaned. Abandoning her breasts, he gripped the bottom of her fitted pencil skirt and worked it up her thighs. “I thought I’d never be here again. Say yes, baby.” If she hadn’t already decided to do just that, the desperate, almost frantic edge to the plea shaped as a command would’ve convinced her. That same damn near violent need to have him inside her, to seal the love that capsized her, washed away all sanity.

  “Yes. Now,” she breathed, helping him to raise the clothing over her hips. The same hunger for him raged through her, but this time was different. Because before she’d been insecure, not believing she could ever claim this beautiful, powerful man as hers. Didn’t believe he would do the same.

  Zephirin hiked her up, pinning her between the wall and his body. “Wallet. Jacket. Inside pocket,” he rapped the words out, grabbing the band of his pants and zipper. But she didn’t need further instructions. Seconds later, his wallet dropped to the floor, and she ripped open the condom she’d recovered from it.

  Leaning backward only to slide on the protection, he hooked the panel of her panties to the side and notched his cock at her opening. She shivered, craving him so bad she probably resembled an addict in need of her next hit. But only of him. He was, and always would be, her only drug of choice.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips to his. The slow penetration of her tongue matched the measured, deliberate penetration of her flesh. They filled one another, giving, taking. Asking, demanding. Loving. Promising.

  With a low, almost painful groan, he seated himself fully within her. Stretching her with that delicious, wicked burn that meant he was branding himself inside her. But not just her body this time. Her heart. Her soul.

  “I love you, Sophia,” he whispered. “So damn much.”

  Every thrust, every stroke, every drive deep into her body emphasized his vow. When she flew over the edge into the fiery furnace of orgasm, she didn’t fear letting go, knowing with every cell of her being that he would catch her. And when his body stiffened against her, his hips smacking hers, plunging his cock deep until he couldn’t bury any further, she returned the gift. Holding him, bearing him up.

  “I have one last term,” he said, brushing a kiss over her jaw, cheekbones, the piercing in her eyebrow before withdrawing from her and carefully lowering her to the floor. Gently, he took care of her and straightened their clothes.

  “What’s that?” she asked, circling his waist and tipping her head back. He accepted the unspoken invitation and dropped a lingering kiss to her mouth.

  “You have to come to New Orleans to meet my grandmother.” A wry but full smile curved his lips, and her heart leaped at the beauty of it. “I don’t think she’s going to let me back in the house if you’re not with me. As a matter of fact, she called me this morning to specifically tell me that.”

  Laughter bubbled up out of her like the sweetest, most potent champagne. This was sheer joy. Squeezing him, she laid her ear over his heart.

  This she could get used to.

  “Deal.”

  Epilogue

  “Wow,” Sophia murmured, leaning her elbows back against the bar at Doyle’s. It’d been a couple of days since she’d left the law offices with Zephirin. But so much had happened—a brand new company, investors, capital, her first client, and of course, the man she loved in her life again. For the past two mornings that she’d woken up, curled against Zephirin’s big body, she’d prayed it all hadn’t been a dream. And each time, when he’d rolled over and pinned her underneath him, his mouth and hands moving over her, she’d grinned, squeezing him tight, knowing this beautiful giant was hers, and this was now her life.

  Her unpredictable, walking-out-on-a-limb, calling-her-own-shots-with-a-wonderful-man-beside-her life.

  She was like a kick-ass mash-up of Cinderella and Olivia Pope.

  “Wow, what?” Zephirin shifted beside her, his chest brushing her shoulder as he angled his body toward her. “And why are you showing all thirty-two teeth?”

  Her smile didn’t dim. “Twenty-eight, smart-ass. My wisdom teeth were removed.”

  “See? I learn more and more about you every day,” he said, accepting her margarita from the bartender and passing it to her. He took a sip from his beer. “So what has you grinning so hard?”

  “I still can’t believe your friends are so nice and welcoming to me.” She dipped her head, indicating the small group of men and women across the bar. “I know you assured me they weren’t upset with me, but I can’t say I’d blame them if they did have a problem.”


  Zephirin stroked his free hand down her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Ronin and Dom invested in your company. They wouldn’t have done that if they didn’t like you, no matter how talented and brilliant you are. And you make me happy. That’s all they care about.”

  She tilted her head back and brushed a kiss along his jaw. “You make me happy, too.”

  Sighing, she turned her attention back to his friends…and now hers. Ronin, Dom, Tennyson, and Renee gathered around a low table, laughing and talking. The last member of their circle, Jason, spoke with a couple of people nearby. Zephirin had informed her of how rare it was to have Renee and Jason in the same space together since their friends-with-benefits relationship had resulted in hurt feelings on both sides and a strain on their tight group. Speaking of friends with benefits…

  She narrowed her gaze. “Are you sure Dom doesn’t know Tennyson is in love with him?” When he erupted into a coughing spasm, she arched an eyebrow. “What? Don’t tell me you didn’t guess either?”

  Zephirin shook his head, frowning as he waved his beer in the direction of the couple under discussion. “You mentioned that when we first met. Sophia, they’re best friends. Have been since they were kids. There’s nothing else going on between them.”

  “Men,” she muttered. “Maybe you guys are too close to them to notice, but see how she stares at him? It’s how I look at you.”

  A smile softened his expression, and when he lowered his head, she met him halfway. His lips closed over hers, and she opened for him, deepening the kiss that spoke of her love and need for him. And his for her.

  “Are you through meeting them?” he growled into her ear.

  She grinned, and taking his beer, she set both of their drinks on the bar behind them.

  “C’mon,” she said, sliding her hand into his and leading him toward the bar exit. “You still haven’t given me the full explanation of roughing the tight end.”

  He snorted. “That’s roughing the passer, baby.”