Table of Contents
Epilogue - Tristan
Epilogue - Stephanie
Stephanie
Tristan
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Also By Penelope Bloom
The Dom’s Bride
Penelope Bloom
Contents
1. Stephanie
2. Tristan
3. Stephanie
4. Tristan
5. Stephanie
6. Tristan
7. Stephanie
8. Tristan
9. Stephanie
10. Tristan
11. Stephanie
12. Tristan
13. Stephanie
14. Tristan
15. Stephanie
16. Tristan
17. Stephanie
18. Epilogue - Tristan
19. Epilogue - Stephanie
20. Join my Mailing List
Also By Penelope Bloom
1
Stephanie
I sit hunched over in the small office break room, staring at my untouched salad. The only other person in the room is Jamie, who I have the misfortune of calling a best friend. She’s staring at her sandwich like most women would stare at a guy with perfect hair and a six-pack.
Her eyes flick up to me as she carefully lifts the sandwich. “What?” she asks. You’d never guess it from looking at her thin, athletic frame, but Jamie has a love of food that no man can ever hope to top. I’ve felt the need to cover the eyes of innocent children from the oddly sexual way she can look at a slice of pizza, or the totally inappropriate way she licks the icing off cupcakes.
I laugh. “I’m just waiting to see if you’re planning on making out with the sandwich or eating it.”
She makes a show of mock sympathy, even going as far as reaching to pat my hand across the table. “I’m sorry you have lunch-packer’s regret, but that doesn’t mean you need to sabotage my experience with your sarcasm.”
I roll my eyes, but still crack a grin. “I don’t have ‘lunch-packer’s regret.’ I’m just not hungry. You also probably should avoid calling eating lunch an experience. You’re going to freak somebody out.”
“You’re not hungry because you packed turtle food for your meal. Not my fault.” She punctuates her sentence with an aggressive but somehow uncomfortably sensual bite of her sandwich.
My phone buzzes from my purse, making both of us jump. “It’s them,” I say in a half-whisper. I don’t even need to tell her who them is. She knows I was expecting a call from the adoption agency any day now. The call that would tell me if I was going to finally be a parent. I hold my thumb over the phone, hands shaking as I try to force myself to answer the call.
“Answer it!” Jamie says.
I flick my thumb across the phone and press it to my ear. It’s not the first time I’ve been through this. I started applying to adopt a child two years ago, and I’ve already been through the entire process and rejected twice before. Third time’s the charm… right?
Jamie flashes me a double thumbs up and an encouraging smile. I know she’s rooting for me, but not even something this big can stop Jamie from her sandwich, which she eyes lovingly before digging in.
“Hello?” I say into the phone, my voice full of false cheer and confidence.
“Miss Holland?” It’s a deep, authoritative voice on the other end that makes my throat tighten.
Wouldn’t they want someone nice and bubbly to deliver the good news?
“This is her…”
“This is Max from American Adoptions. I’m calling to inform you that your request to adopt Braden Smith was unfortunately denied. I’m sorry, Miss Holland. I know this is never easy, but we encourage you to apply again.”
Every syllable slams into me like a hammer, knocking the air out of my lungs and making it feel like the room is on a swivel around me. “I see,” I whisper.
There’s a long pause, as if the man on the other end is waiting for me to protest or ask questions. “A married couple who lives in a very good suburb outside the city was trying to adopt Braden as well,” he says, as if no further explanation is needed.
“Of course,” I say again. Yes, of course. I hang up the phone without waiting for more.
Jamie takes a huge bite of her sandwich and watches me with narrowed eyes. “Everything good?” she asks around a mouthful of bread and meat.
“I’m too single and too poor to be a good home for him,” I say.
She washes her bite down with a swig of soda and sets her sandwich down.
I raise an eyebrow. I must really look bad if she’s putting her food down.
“They said that?” she asks.
“They might as well have. Shit,” I say suddenly as I pinch my temples with my fingers. “Am I crazy for wanting this so badly?”
“A little,” admits Jamie. “I’ve always thought kids were overrated. They are cute and all, but so are animals. Cats won’t crash your car and then roll their eyes at you. Honestly, the only real perk seemed like the whole making them part, but you’re even skipping that. So...”
I sigh. “It sounds crazy when I try to explain it. I just know that’s part of what I’m here to do. I’ve always known since…” Since my little brother died. That’s what I was going to say, but I can’t say that out loud. Even if Jamie suspects my real motivations for wanting to adopt, she’s a good enough friend to let me think I still have that secret to myself. My parents split when I was three, and my little brother Brian and I ended up with my dad. The years leading up to Brian’s death are like a black stain on my memory, a poisoned place I don’t mentally touch anymore because it hurts too much. In some twisted way, adopting has always felt like it would give me a part of Brian back, that it would help me heal somehow…
“Because it is crazy,” says Jamie. “But if you weren’t a little crazy, I probably wouldn’t like you. So…”
“I just want to be there for a kid who needs it. You know?”
Jamie motions to the office around us, where at least a dozen of our co-workers are either on the phone or escorting young troubled teens through the building to smaller conference rooms. “Seriously, Steph? You’re a social worker.” She waves her hands around like there’s some mysterious magic to the title. “We’re saving sarcastic teenagers by the boatload every day. I think you can let yourself off the hook if you don’t bring one into your house, too.”
There’s an empty pit in my stomach that never really goes away. Whether Jamie has me figured out or not, my messed up past isn’t something I’m going to burden her with. The emptiness chews at me day after day, begging to be filled with something. I dig my fingers into my thighs and squeeze to stop my thoughts from wandering down that dark path. I don’t need to dredge up the past. Especially not right now.
So I do what I always do. I put on a smile and act like I’m already over it. “You’re probably right,” I say suddenly. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
“See?” Jamie says, picking her sandwich back up and begins mauling it like it owes her money.
I watch her with a grin that isn’t forced at all. She and I have been friends since high school. For all her oddities, Jamie is a good friend. She may give me shit whenever she gets the chance, and she may be borderline crazy, but at the end of the day she has my back.
“So,” she says, swallowing a big mouthful and then pointing a fallen piece of lettuce at me aggressively. “Am I going to have to drug you and drag you to the auction this year? Or are you going to be a good girl and come willingly.”
“Ugh,” I say, letting my head fall into my hands. “That’s tonight, isn’t it? I totally forgot.”
“I know you did. You didn’t seem
miserable enough.”
“Honestly, I’d rather just go home and drown my sorrows in a deep bag of chips. Maybe wash it down with some wine and ice cream.”
“First of all, Yes,” she says, closing her eyes and clearly imagining the junk food feast. “But no. You are coming because it won’t be fun without you. Besides, Heather would definitely knock you down at least three pegs on the good-favor chart if you miss it. The auction is her baby.”
I know she’s right about Heather, which makes me grind my teeth. Heather is technically one of our supervisors, even though I doubt she’d know me or Jamie by name if her life depended on it. Still, she expects every one of her subordinates to be as fervently devoted to their job as she is.
“Is this one of those things you’re never going to shut up about if I try to resist?” I ask.
“Pretty much.” Jamie pulls an apple out of her bottomless lunch bag and takes a big bite.
I shake my head. “I’ll think about going. Okay? That’s the best you’re going to get right now.”
“Good,” says Jamie. “I’ll pick you up tonight, then.”
I tug at the strap of my dress in annoyance as we wait in line to be let into the auction.
“Stop messing with your clothes, people are going to think you have herpes or something.”
I give her a look of disbelief. “Do you even know what herpes is?”
She shrugs. “All I know is people are going to think you have it.”
“Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re being serious or just messing with me.”
“That’s part of my charm.” She flashes me a cheesy smile as we are let through the front doors into the convention center where the auction is going to take place.
“Oh my, oh my,” Jamie says. Her eyes are locked on the bar at the other end of the large room, which is already crowded with well-dressed men and women. “Did Heather actually spring for an open bar this year?”
I raise an eyebrow. “It’s not like her to be loose with money.”
“Like I care.” Jamie tries to tug my arm and lead me toward the bar, but I pull back.
“I’m not really into the idea of getting sad drunk tonight.”
Jamie looks me up and down. “You want me to be your sober buddy tonight?”
I can tell she’s sincere, but the last thing I need is to drag her down with me. It’s part of the reason I wanted to stay home and wallow in my own sorrows. “No.” I give her my most convincing smile and squeeze her hand. “Go enjoy the booze. I’ll be fine.”
She works her lips to the side, hesitating. “No. It’s okay, I don’t need—
”
“Jamie,” I say firmly. “Go. I will be fine. I promise.”
She sighs. “There are a lot of eligible bachelors here, you know? If the adoption thing has you bummed out you could always try the good ole traditional way.” She holds up her thumb and forefinger in the shape of a circle and inserts a finger in and out, making a gross noise with her mouth.
“Wow, no,” I say, unable to hold back a laugh of disgust. “Just no.”
She throws her hands up in defeat and walks off toward the bar, leaving me alone for the first time.
I take a deep breath as I look for a place to sit. I decide to find a seat as far away from the stage as possible because I’m in a kind of ‘screw the world for making me come to this thing’ mood. I probably should enjoy it. After all, the guys really are usually attractive and it should be fun even if I’m only here to watch them parade across the stage while crazed women bid for a date. But long-term relationships and me don’t exactly get along. I’ve never even been open with Jamie about my reluctance to get into a real relationship. I especially haven’t admitted to her that I’m a virgin—
I’d never hear the end of it from her if she knew that.
I’ve tried to make it work with guys, but something inside me is too broken to fit with a man. When it comes to the point where guys want to take things to the next level and get sexually intimate… well, I can never take that leap. Like everything else in my life, I can probably blame how messed up my past is for that. The thought of sleeping with a guy always makes me think about the distant possibility of being a mother, and that makes me think of my little brother. And thinking of him? It usually brings up images of my dad’s face contorted in rage, of him raising his hand to hit Brian, or of the twisted things he said to us.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to force the memories back down. Any time I date, I can’t help imagining what kind of father he would be. No matter how hard I try not to, I always see shreds of my own father in every guy, shadows of what could be and how those shadows could grow and twist into the empty blackness that consumed my father. I wasn’t able to protect Brian from him. Not really, at least. How could I trust myself to protect my own child from that?
I rub my hands over my face and let out a long breath as I sink into a chair at the edge of the seating area. I feel like I’m losing it. I know it’s only because I just found out about losing my chance at adopting Braden, though. I carry around my fair share of mental baggage, but on the average day it doesn’t occupy my thoughts so much.
A stab of annoyance runs through me when someone sits directly beside me, even though the vast majority of the people attending the event are still mingling in the larger lobby area and there are countless open seats. My annoyance turns to a warm rush of embarrassment and confusion when I look at who it is.
He’s reaching inside his jacket for something, but even at the first glance of his tattooed hands, I can see enough of him to know he’s breathtaking. He has longer hair than I usually like, it’s cut close on the sides and still looks clean, even though some long, curly black locks dangle on one side of his face. He’s tan with dark, exotic eyes. When he turns to face me, I can see how big he is. Even sitting, he’s more than a head taller than me with a broad, powerful body that fits perfectly into his suit.
“Hi?” I say in question more than way of greeting.
He ignores my greeting and hands me a check.
“I think you have me confused for—” I start.
“No,” he says firmly. His voice is deep and gravely. The sound alone makes goosebumps ripple across my skin. My eyes can’t stop wandering him, exploring every last perfect detail. He’s exactly the kind of guy I should stay away from, not that a guy like him would ever be interested in me. “I’m not confused,” he says.
“What is—”
“It’s a blank check,” he says. “I’m one of the bachelors up for auction tonight. I want you to bid whatever it takes to win the date with me. Do you understand?”
“W-what? Why me?” I ask. It feels like my normally alert brain is scrambled just from looking at him. Red sirens are blaring inside the machinery of my mind and hoses are broken loose, spraying hot steam everywhere. I can’t seem to do anything but stammer and stutter.
“Because somebody here is going to try to bid for the date with me, and I need to make sure she doesn’t win.” He stands and straightens his tie as he rises.
“What if I don’t want to win a date with you?” I ask. It feels like the world’s dumbest question, but the way he seems to just assume I’m going to do what he wants gets under my skin.
“I hope you do,” he says. “Because I was planning on showing you a good time for your trouble.”
“What, like go-karts?” My own question replays in my head a thousand times a second until I’m convinced it might be the single dumbest thing ever said in the history of humanity. Go-karts? I could curl into a ball right now and disintegrate if it meant I didn’t have to look at the stunned and amused look on his face anymore.
“Not exactly what I had in mind,” he says after he lets his enjoyment of the moment settle in. “I was thinking something more private.”
Don’t say a word, Stephanie. With a monumental mental effort, I keep myself from saying something else dumb and just nod my head with a plastered-on smile that I pray doesn’t look weir
d.
He half-grins, sitting back down beside me and turning to face me until his leg is resting against mine. “You know, I don’t bite.”
“Oh,” I say in a weak voice. My throat feels tight and my head feels thick like I overdosed on cold medicine.
“You sound disappointed,” he notes. “I could bite, if that’s what you’re into.”
“Is there a reset button somewhere?” I ask. “I promise, I’m not normally this…”
“Reset?” he asks. “I hope not. I’m enjoying this.”
“You probably love videos of people falling down or getting hit in the balls, then,” I say sourly.
“No,” he says, standing again and giving me the strangest look. “But there’s something about you I like. So please,” he says, nodding toward the check in my hand. “Make sure you win the bid for tonight, because I’m not done enjoying you.”
I raise my eyebrows at his phrasing. He gives me a knowing look, like he meant exactly what it sounded like he meant. I reel back in shock as he walks away, leaving me holding a blank check with his signature.
“What if I just leave with this?” I ask, having to raise my voice to catch his attention as he walks away.
He turns his head just enough to speak over his shoulder. “Then I’ll have to hope I can track you down, because I’m not done with you.”
I sit back in my chair and cross my arms in disbelief and annoyance. Where is Jamie when I need her? I don’t know if she’d believe any of this just happened. I’m not even sure I would if I wasn’t still holding the blank check with his signature. I scan the check for his name. Tristan Rivers.
I discreetly look over my shoulder to be sure he’s not still watching me before pulling out my phone. I’m not ready to admit to myself I’m even remotely considering his offer, but I’ll at least admit to being curious. I’ve got time to kill before the auction starts, anyway, and a little internet stalking sounds like just the way to pass the time
The Dom's Bride: A BDSM Romance Page 1