DOUBLE DARE: The Chronicles of Katrina (Book Two)

by Tabke, Karin

  Author's Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  About the Author

  Also By Karin Tabke

  Copyright

  hank you again to my amazing village: Tina, Virna, Martha, Victoria and Catherine. Couldn’t have done it without you!

  Hubby, thank you for honing my texting skills.

  And thank you to my readers who have fallen as hard for Simon as I have. Simon says, he sends his love and gratitude.

  id you think I’d let you get away?

  Stunned, Katy stared at the words on her iPhone. Anxiety fluttered through her. Fear prickled along her spine. Anger swelled in her chest. But overriding those three very profound emotions was pure, unmitigated joy. Breathless, she pressed her hand to her thumping heart.

  Simon hadn’t forgotten about her.

  Her hand shook as she read and reread the text. His handcuff icon stirred her womb. Her breasts grew heavier, her nipples so tight they ached. Katy squirmed in her seat, and groaned at the friction.

  Yet even as her desire flared, so did her anger. Had she thought he’d let her get away?

  Damn straight.

  He’d been with another woman when she’d left! Even if he hadn’t been, he was out of her league.

  They, even if they had ever been a they, were over. They’d had a one-night-one-morning stand—the most amazing sex of her life, but also the most embarrassing episode of her life.

  She still wasn’t sure why she, Dr. Katrina Winslow, a renowned geneticist, had taken her ex-boyfriend’s dare to pick up a man in a bar, bring him up to their room, and proceed to have a threesome. Who did that?

  Apparently she did, and the more she thought about it, the angrier and more ashamed she became. Because a threesome had only been the tip of the iceberg.

  After the crazy threesome, and her first-ever orgasms, Evan, the man she’d thought she was falling in love with, dropped the I’m married bomb on her. Oh, and Katrina the Pathetic would not have been Katrina the Pathetic if she hadn’t drowned her shame and sorrows in a bottle of tequila and then, once she was thoroughly tanked, allowed hot cop Simon to have his way with her again.

  It was the last thing she wanted, but her body did a happy dance as she remembered Simon handcuffing her to his showerhead and … oh, good God, giving her even better sex than the sex they’d had with Evan. Hell, she thought, biting back a gasp, they’d actually busted the showerhead. “Epic,” she breathed.

  Do not attempt to contact me again! she hurriedly texted back, afraid that if she waited, the idea of having sex with him just one more time would chip away at her resolve.

  She jumped in her seat when her cell phone pinged.

  Are you serious?

  Yes.

  Is this the douche bag?

  No, it’s me, Katy.

  Did I misinterpret your level of enjoyment, Kat?

  My enjoyment or lack thereof has nothing to do with anything.

  Then why are you still texting me?

  She stared at his words. Why indeed? Because, despite her emotional fallout over taking that walk on the wild side with him, he was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. Because his words on a screen were enough to get her hot and bothered. Like a cat in heat, she wanted to claw and scratch and rub her aching body parts all over him.

  Her entire body twitched. She wanted Simon in a very bad, very immediate way, but she’d been smart enough to end things between them that morning. She wasn’t going down a dead-end road with him. Not even for mind-blowing sex. Because Katrina Elizabeth Winslow knew if given the chance, she would fall head over heels in love with Simon, the green-eyed hot cop, and when he walked out of her life, she would never recover.

  Self-preservation, baby.

  Katy shut off her cell phone and padded into her lonely bedroom. The day had started with her attending the San Diego Symposium, moved on to amazing sex, then blown up in her face when she saw Simon with his girlfriend. Then, after her lousy flight home, Simon had obviously felt compelled to text her and tease her with the idea that their two episodes of debauchery were going to turn into something more.

  As in more of her for him.

  Yeah right.

  She glanced at the suitcase she’d tossed on the bed and decided she’d unpack in the morning. She was too tired and, frankly, too down in the dumps to do it now.

  Sometime during the night she woke up, turned her cell phone on, and texted her reply: Because you’re my kryptonite. Please, leave me alone.

  When she woke, the first thing on her mind was her cell phone. She slid her glasses on quickly and frowned as she picked up the phone from her nightstand when she saw that it was already on. Her frown deepened when there was no flashing green light signaling she had a text, or a voice mail. Monumental disappointment settled heavily in her chest.

  “I guess he really wasn’t that into you after all,” she muttered to herself.

  Who are you kidding? Of course he wasn’t!

  Glutton for punishment that she was, she tapped the stream of texts between them last night to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, and gasped when she read what she had texted at— she squinted—oh dear lord, 3:23 A.M. Had she texted in her sleep?

  Humiliation crashed through her. Please, she prayed, never let our paths cross again. Ever. Thank you, universe, for a non-responding text. She cringed. Maybe he hadn’t seen it yet?

  “Ugh,” she groaned and slapped her hand across her forehead; it was 8:32. Of course he’d seen it. Simon wasn’t the kind of guy that lounged lazily in bed. He had no doubt already kissed his “bed-warmer for the night” good-bye, and told her to lock up on her way out.

  She tossed the phone onto her nightstand and hurried to get ready for work.

  An hour later, Katy strode into her lab office. It wasn’t until she spotted Evan’s gift, a little black box of Recchiuti chocolates he’d given her after she returned from her New York trip last week, that she realized she hadn’t given him or his cheating ways a single thought since she and Simon had their little one-on-one tryst in his shower. So when he suddenly appeared, lightly tapping on her glass door, she was relieved to feel nothing for him beyond indifference and more than a little self-loathing.

  “Dr. Scott,” she said, motioning him in.

  When he closed the door behind him, she leaned back in her chair and said, “Unless you’re here to tell me you’ve discovered the cure for cancer, there is nothing you have to say that I want to hear.”

  “Katy—” he began.

  “No,” she stopped him by putting her hand up. “I mean it. I’m not mad. I’m—nothing except relieved. Please just go and forget we were ever more than colleagues.”

  When he just stood there staring at her, she snapped her fingers. “Earth to Dr. Scott, do you read me?”

  “Just like that, Katy? After everything we’ve—”

  She stood, irritated by his gall. She snapped her fingers again, this time just beneath his nose. “Yes, you cheating bastard,” she seethed. She snapped her fingers again. “Just.” Snap. “Like.” Snap. “That!” Snap. “Now get out of my office.”

  “I saw you come out of his hotel room yesterday, Katy.”

&nbs
p; He meant Simon’s room, of course. And he actually had the colossal nerve to sound accusatory. “I would have thought your wife,” she shot back, “would have been keeping you too busy for you to be snooping around.”

  Leaning toward her, Evan shook his head. “Guys like that run through girls like you,” he said as if she were to be pitied for her naïveté.

  That stung, but only because it was probably true. To hide her hurt, she smirked and turned the knife on him. “Guys like that give girls like me orgasms. Something a guy like you never could. I’d say I got the better part of that deal.” She walked past him to her heavy glass door and jerked it open. “Go home to your wife, Dr. Scott. Don’t bother me again or”—she cocked a brow—“I’ll call my cop.”

  She wished she could. But that was living on Fantasy Island.

  “If you tell anyone about us, Katy, I’ll make sure you never work in a legitimate laboratory again,” Evan threatened.

  Katy’s hands shook. “How dare you threaten me? How dare you threaten me when it was you who relentlessly pursued me!” she hissed, causing heads to turn. Lowering her voice she continued, “Had I known you were married I would not have given you the time of day in that regard.”

  “Tread lightly, Dr. Winslow. Tread lightly.”

  After Evan walked out of her office, she stood there for a moment, shocked by his audacity. How dare he threaten her? How dare he? He was a piece of work, that one. Though she would take his advice and tread lightly. Any time she saw him or any man coming, she was turning and walking the other way. Because he had nailed Simon. Guys like Simon did run through girls like her, and she felt all the more foolish for falling at his feet like a giddy schoolgirl crushing on the quarterback. Her humiliation galvanized her resolve.

  Men in general were bad news. Simon the green-eyed cop was deadly. If she lived up to her IQ, she’d forget the last forty-eight hours of her life and move on.

  She put Evan’s threats aside, knowing she had nothing to fear because she had no intention of outing him, even as infuriated with his threats as she was now.

  The morning dragged by painfully. Not because she was dwelling on Evan’s threats. But because despite her resolve to not think about men—okay, one specific man—she obsessively checked her cell phone. Fixated, she waited for it to ping with a text or vibrate with a call. But no matter how many times she checked to make sure it was on and her battery was charged, there was nothing.

  Not even spam.

  This was ridiculous. She had work to do. Granted, having just come off a major lab bender, she was at the beginning of the mindless administrative aftermath that came with the patenting of her coding process, but it was work that needed to be done nonetheless. She shrugged her lab coat on, turned her cell phone off, and got to it.

  An hour later, she was in front of one of the lab computers googling the conference hotel. Then she called the hotel’s event coordinator, asking about the law enforcement meeting that had taken place there. He said he couldn’t give her information about anyone who had attended. It wasn’t like she was going to stalk anyone; she just wanted to know more about the cop she couldn’t stop thinking about.

  She hung up and chewed her bottom lip. Then duh—why not do a reverse on Simon’s cell phone number? Her heart beat a little faster as she stared at the area code and it clicked that it was a South Bay area code.

  He was closer than she imagined he would be, but he could still be anywhere from Gilroy to Santa Clara, and Santa Clara was a straight shot down 101 from the city. Maybe an hour in light traffic?

  Once again, she tried six ways to sundown to find a last name and address for him online, but the information repeatedly came up private. Hmm, maybe Rosie’s husband, Elliot, could run it for her? He had access to that kind of information.

  And why, Katy, are you doing this? If you want to get in touch with him, just text him.

  I don’t want to talk to him, I just want to know who he is.

  Right.

  Instead of going home after work, she made a detour to her club. It was small and exclusive, offering exceptional services and unequaled privacy. Her locker was stocked with clean workout clothes and tennis shoes along with all her favorite amenities. She quickly changed and proceeded to work her muscles into the consistency of Jell-O. It didn’t take the edge off her frustration or her libido, which buzzed every time she thought of Simon. If anything, with her pheromones elevated, she was more aroused than before she’d pushed through the heavy glass doors.

  Maybe she needed a massage?

  No, if anyone touched her right now, she might launch.

  How embarrassing would that be? And launch she would, because ever since her multiple orgasms with that green-eyed stud, something inside her had been switched on with no intention of turning off.

  Instead of taking a cab to her place, Katy walked the eight blocks to Pac Heights. She ran up the four flights of stairs to the penthouse and nearly collided with Rosie as she burst through the stairway door to the hallway.

  “Katy!” Rosie cried, steadying them both. “What’s wrong? Are you—” Rosie’s dark eyes narrowed as she took in Katy’s disheveled, breathless, sweaty self. “I knew it! Who is he?”

  Katy shook her head and pulled out of Rosie’s grip, which was easy since she was as sweaty as a fat man in a sauna. “There is no he. I’m just retaking my life.” Both statements resonated inside of Katy. There was no man, and even if there was, she was reclaiming herself from any such men. She wasn’t going to settle ever again. She would be first pick for the man she chose. No one’s sloppy seconds and she would not allow herself to be convinced that she didn’t deserve a man who would respect her equally as a woman and as a scientist.

  She smiled and grabbed Rosie into a big sweaty hug. “I’m good, Rosie. Better than ever.” She gave her a quick peck on the cheek and skipped past her into her apartment. Once the door closed behind her, she slid down to the cool marble floor, pulled her knees to her chest, rested her chin on her knees, and told herself she was going to stick to her guns. Because having no man was better than having the wrong man.

  Before Katy jumped into the shower, she unpacked her suitcase. As she came to the bottom of it, her brow wrinkled. Only one of her Louboutins. She searched the outer zipper pouch and went through the rumpled clump of clothes she had hurriedly stuffed into the case, but still came up with only one shoe. Where could it be?

  Where was the last—

  “Oh no,” she groaned. The last place she remembered having both heels on was in Simon’s hotel suite. Had she left one behind? No, she distinctly remembered wrapping them up in her damp clothes from the shower, which—she sniffed them—smelled like mildew. She tossed the skirt and blouse into the trash can. No shoe. Damn it, the lone Louboutin was still in that hotel room.

  Quickly she called the hotel and insisted the hotel manager personally go to the suite and look for the shoe. He called her from his cell phone as he looked under the bed, in the closet, in every drawer, and the bathroom.

  “Dr. Winslow, I’m very sorry, but there is no shoe here.”

  “What about the maid? Can you ask her if she found one?” It would make no sense for the maid to keep one shoe.

  “I’ll check with her when she arrives in the morning.”

  “Can you please check lost and found and see if it’s there and if it isn’t, would you please call her at home, tonight? It would really mean a lot to me. If they were my shoes I could wait, but I borrowed them, and oh, my gosh, I can’t afford to replace this pair.” It was a small lie, but she needed to know now if the shoe was there. If it was not in lost and found and the maid hadn’t seen it … She pinched the bridge of her nose and slowly exhaled.

  That meant Simon had it.

  Son of a bitch.

  “I will call you back in a half hour, Dr. Winslow.” />
  Twenty-two minutes later she got the news. Concha, the maid, had not seen a shoe when she cleaned the room after the señor had checked out that morning.

  Katy plopped down on the edge of her bed. So—Simon had her black stiletto. The question she asked herself was: Did she text him and demand that he mail it to her, or did she let it go?

  If she contacted him, that would open a door. A door her body begged her to open, but one her heart just as vehemently begged her not to. Because once opened, it would be impossible for her to close. Keep it closed, Katrina.

  She sighed heavily and stood up. The shoe was not worth the emotional commotion getting it back would create. She could afford a dozen pairs of Christian Louboutins. She tossed the orphaned stiletto into the trash can on top of the soiled clothing.

  Hasta la vista, baby. Only she would not be back.

  Steady as she goes, Katy. No more Simon.

  Not if you want to remain sane …

  She jumped into the shower, turning the water on as cold as she could stand it.

  The water temperature didn’t matter. Every nerve ending in her body pulsed beneath her skin. Her breasts grew heavy, her nipples hardened, her “pussy” as Evan had so commonly called it, clutched wantonly for the penis it so desperately ached for but would never have again—and it wasn’t Evan’s.

  Her want was so deep, it hurt.

  Biting her bottom lip, she slid her soapy hand down her taut belly to the slight rise of her mons. “Simon,” she breathed, leaning back against the cold marble tile. “I would give anything if you were here,” she moaned.

  Anything.

  or a woman who was as disciplined as a Tibetan monk when it came to her mind, body, and career, Katrina Winslow felt like she was unraveling. Never had she felt so nervous and jumpy. Never so sensually hypersensitive. Never so restless. She was lit up and worked up.

  Toweling her wet hair, she mopped as much water from it as she could, and proceeded with the arduous task of blow-drying it. The mindless chore only gave her brain free rein to wander to Simon and wonder what he was doing and who he was doing it with. The image of him and that blonde tearing up the sheets made her sick to her stomach.