Playing For Love

by J. C. Grant

  “I don't want to eat now,” I said defiantly.

  “Eat, Austin.” He looked at me for a moment, then huffed out a laugh. “Fine. You wanna fight?”

  “What?” I realized what he was saying—I was starting a fight for no reason. And I was getting on to him for the exact same thing this morning. “No.” I tried to hide the sulkiness in my voice and failed.

  I sat staring across the table at nothing as I sipped my coffee, wondering where this paranoia was coming from.

  My phone. Nude pics of a couple of ex's, of me, graphic text messages.

  I was really regretting not being one of those people that regularly deleted texts. Every time I bought a new phone, I just transferred everything over and went on. Truthfully, I didn't even know what all was in there.

  “Sweet girl, eat.” His deep voice was patient, so soothing to something inside me that I couldn't begin to describe. “It's fine. You can bitch at me all day if you want, just eat something. We gotta leave in fifteen minutes.”

  I wasn't hungry, but before my fifteen minutes were up, I managed to eat part of the breakfast burrito, drink my coffee and convince myself that if David hadn't found those pics and texts yet, he wouldn't.

  “Got everything you need?” David's voice rumbled as he stood and slid a black ball cap on over his still-damp hair, pulling it down low, shading his eyes from view.

  Two things caught my attention. First, I had never seen him wear a hat and I hadn't seen him carrying one, so where did he get it? And second, I didn't think it was possible, but that hat made him sexier, accentuating his jawline, making his lips more prominent, eyes more intense. That hat was a terrible disguise, but seemed to be working for me as foreplay.

  “Uh...” I started as I stood from the table, staring at his strong jaw. “I need my—”

  Byron holding out my purse stopped me short.

  “Thank you,” I muttered, taking it from him, a little dumbfounded at his attention to detail.

  “Of course, Mrs. Taylor. I don't want you to be late.” Byron's voice was kind and refined.

  “Call me Austin, please.”

  “As you wish,” Byron said, glancing at David.

  I should have known. David probably asked for me to be called Mrs. Taylor.

  David's jaw flexed before he turned briskly, heading for the door. He looked back at me over his shoulder and rumbled, “Come on. We gotta go.”

  Following behind him, I was still surprised by how good a simple hat made him look. Apparently it was noticeable.

  “What?” he asked when I got close.

  “Nothing. Just never seen you in a hat.” I tried to play it off.

  “Ohhh, yeah, because you don't like baseball,” he teased, leaning closer. “Do you approve?”

  I looked him over again, my eyes finally landing on his shadowed eyes, darting to his mouth, then that jaw.

  A jaw perfect for sitting on. Lips perfect for...

  My breathing turned shallow and my core clenched hard.

  “Oh, yeah.” His eyes slowly roamed down to my chest and back up to my eyes. He growled, “You approve.”

  His intense gaze combined with that voice had my clit throbbing as I followed him out to the car.

  Dear God, that man knew how to eye-fuck.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  David helped me out of the limo, when we arrived at Cartier, keeping his possessive hand on the top curve of my ass as we walked up to the door. If someone else had been so proprietary with me, I would have been offended. It would have felt inappropriate. Crass. But with David, it was sweet and comforting.

  We were greeted by an armed security guard and a petite man in a three-piece suit. As we entered, I was struck by the emptiness of the store. That's when it sank in—he'd called ahead to have a private showing.

  “Mr. Taylor.” The man in the suit nodded to David, then looked to me. “Miss James, I'm André.”

  “Thank you for doing this on such short notice,” David said in greeting as his possessive hand slid lower, palming my ass. Pressing his lips to my forehead, he muttered, “Find whatever ring you want me to wear. I'll go look around.”

  This was important to him— if he was letting me look on my own. I understood that. It meant everything to me that he had chosen my ring on his own.

  Slowly pulling away from David, I followed André to the back of the store. I was noticing that whenever David was willing to let me go, I was reluctant to.

  They were prepared—having what looked like all the men's rings out on top of the case.

  Something immediately caught my eye.

  It wasn't a traditional wedding ring.

  It was two rings together, the bigger one was hammered titanium framing a smooth, polished, flat, platinum band with three black diamonds set inside the metal like bolts.

  It was perfect.

  It was David.

  He was the strong, hammered band covering me, protecting me.

  And he's the bolts holding us together.

  I knew there would be times he had to hold me together, especially with what we would soon be facing once we returned home.

  “This one,” I said as I inspected it more closely.

  “Excellent choice, very unique. This is the only one we have.”

  He voice was kind, but I couldn't help thinking,

  That's the same crap you tell everyone.

  Truth was, I didn't want his opinion. I certainly didn't need it, and it had no relevance on my decision.

  “Thank you,” I responded politely. I knew part of my bitchiness was due to my PMS.

  Maybe I need Midol…

  “Miss James, do you know what ring size you'll need?”

  “No. That's why he came.” I motioned behind me without looking.

  “Would you like to pay for this now?”

  “Yes.” I dug through my purse, searching for my wallet. I knew I had enough to cover it, but I was definitely going to have to call the bank to transfer money from my savings to cover my bills.

  “Sweetheart, here.” I heard David's voice from somewhere behind me.

  I turned, finding him on the other side of the store, making his way toward me. “No. You are not paying for your own wedding ring.” My voice was harsher than I had intended.

  He stopped midstride, looking at me. It reminded me of the first time I saw him, except his trademark expression and intensity were shifting. Amusement showed as he failed miserably at suppressing his growing grin. He ducked his head, hiding behind his hat, turning as a huge smile broke across his face, revealing his white teeth.

  “Here.” I turned back to André, forcing a pleasant smile as I handed him my card. David cleared his throat, attempting to cover what was definitely laughter. My eyes closed and my jaw clenched in annoyance.

  I wasn't sure what was so amusing about what I said, or maybe it was my tone. Whatever. Either way, it wasn't that funny.

  “David,” I reprimanded.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said through suppressed laughter.

  He wasn't sorry at all.

  “Charles, get Mr. Taylor's ring size, please,” André said to another man, halting my next words to David.

  I took a deep breath, reminding myself this reaction was hormones—probably. I opened my eyes to see André studying my ring. My view shifted, seeing it how others would, and I felt a sense of pride I hadn't expected. David loved me—irrationally, obsessively loved me, and my ring was the embodiment of that—over-the-top, breathtaking, insane. Just like him, like us. And it gave me a kind of peace I had never known, even though David was riding my last nerve at the moment.

  “That is an exquisite diamond, Miss James.”

  “Thank you,” I responded absently, my attention stolen by the large diamond sitting on my finger. My card and the small bag being placed in front of me finally pulled my attention back to the moment. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize, Miss James. And no resizing is necessary.”

  “Real
ly?” I couldn't hide my surprise as I put my card away.

  “It could be a quarter size bigger, but Mr. Taylor insists it's unnecessary.”

  Of course he does. “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome, Miss James”

  I smiled, grabbing the bag and turning to find David standing no more than three feet behind me. “I'm ready.”

  He didn't say a word as he wrapped an arm around me, quickly maneuvering me out of the store and into the waiting limo.

  “Everything okay?” he asked as soon as he settled next to me. The material of his worn jeans against my bare leg did nothing to stop his body heat from seeping into my skin.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, if you're mad at me, be mad at me. Don't try to hide it,” he coaxed, reaching over to play with my engagement ring. He waited a moment then started again. “You just got me any old thing, huh? That's fine—”

  “What?”

  “We spent less than thirty minutes in there. You spent even less time looking.”

  His insinuation instantly pissed me off.

  “You are an asshole! You know that? A fucking asshole!”

  He started laughing—a deep throaty sound.

  “What about me is so fucking funny today?” I fumed.

  “Shhh.” He reached for me, pulling me into his lap as I uselessly struggled to get free of him. “Sweet girl, calm down. I'm not laughing at you...Not really.”

  He easily manhandled me into position until I was straddling his thighs. Not that I bothered to continue struggling, it was pointless. And if I was being honest, I liked it. I liked that he was strong enough to handle me physically, mentally, and emotionally. I'd never known a man who could handle the latter two.

  “I'm just happy you're not hiding from me. I don't care if you're being a bitch or sweet as hell... I just wanna see you.” His grip on my hips tightened as he pulled them fractionally closer. “No walls. None of your controlled responses. You snapping at me in there like that made me so fucking happy. I want you, all of you. Nasty. Mean. Sweet. Everything you have inside you. I want it all.”

  “You like me snapping at you? You are crazy,” I sighed, the anger and frustration leaving me.

  My gaze fell to my fingers as I absently traced the contours of his chest through his tee. I was stunned at how he still managed to prove how much he wanted me—bitchiness and all. And I was more amazed that I felt safer with him with each day that passed. At this rate, I would never be able to give him up if things didn't work out. I would always be searching for this again—with him—if we lost it.

  “So.” He ducked his head down to look into my eyes. “Can I see my ring?”

  “No,” I pouted, still insulted that he thought I would get him any old thing, that I wouldn't put thought into it.

  “Hey, I'll get a tattoo ring if you want. I don't care.”

  “I did put thought into it,” I said, barely above a whisper.

  “Did you?” His voice was soft and hopeful. “Can I please see it?”

  My gaze darted to the bag just before I reached for it. I hesitantly handed it to him, my eyes never meeting his. It dawned on me that he didn't wear jewelry and what I chose might not be something he would like.

  I watched his hands as he took the small box out of the bag and opened it. When he didn't say anything, disappointment crept in and then hurt.

  He doesn't like it.

  After what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

  “Sweetheart... is this how you see me?” His voice was soft and something else I couldn't place.

  “Yeah... Well, it's how I see us, I guess.” I was suddenly very nervous. “It's fine if you don't like—”

  “Austin, no.” He cut me off. After a moment, he asked, “So this is me and you bolted together with black diamonds?”

  “Mmm. I kinda think of you as the bolts too. Holding us together. Holding me together sometimes.” My voice was quiet, betraying the shyness I felt, almost embarrassed by my newly developed mushiness.

  “Hey, look at me.” He gripped my chin gently, tilting my head up until our faces were inches apart, the brim of his hat all that separated us. “I will always hold us together if that's what it takes. I'll hold you together as long as you want or need me to. Always.”

  I looked into his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and whispered, “Is it bad that I'm depending on it?”

  “Fuck, no. I want you to depend on it. I want you to depend on me,” he said vehemently, pulling me into a tight hug, his thick biceps pinning me to him, his large hands tucking my head into his neck. He pressed his lips to my temple and breathed, “I want you to depend on me completely. And I know that's crazy...and selfish...but that's what I want.”

  *****

  “The florists are a little early,” David muttered, looking at his watch.

  First the hat. Now a watch?

  I took in the black face with diamond markers and the crown emblem of Rolex.

  “You don't like it?” he asked at my gaze.

  “I like it,” I answered flippantly.

  He laughed softly.

  “You want it? Is that what this little attitude's about?”

  I shrugged, unwilling to verbally confirm and completely unaware I was giving attitude.

  He pulled me into a hug and whispered, “I love you on your period. Horny as fuck. Bitchy. Bratty. Vulnerable. I fucking love this.”

  I grumbled into his chest.

  He let me go but kept an arm around my back, squeezing me tight to his side as we walked up to the house. “You want my help with the flower stuff or do you want to do it by yourself?”

  “You're actually going to let me do something without you being involved?” I teased him.

  “This one time.” He winked. “Consider it your bachelorette party, one final decision without me.”

  I couldn't tell if he was serious, but I would bet he was more serious than not.

  “Whatever. You're in for a rude awaking, Mr. Taylor.”

  “You might be in for a rude awaking, Mrs. Taylor.”

  “I want to keep my name,” I mentioned offhandedly.

  As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt the change in him. His muscles tensed, his arm tightening around my side. He stopped us abruptly. When I looked up, he wore a severe expression, prompting me to quickly add, “For work.”

  “Austin.” The warning in his tone had my pulse quickening and my core clenched hard. He growled, “We are—”

  Byron opened the front door then, ending the impending argument I may have unintentionally started.

  “Mr. Taylor, the florists are waiting for you on the patio.”

  “Thank you, Byron.” David's voice had a hard edge as he walked me into the house, keeping his possessive hand firmly on my lower back.

  David

  I was instantly pissed. Was it sexist that I wanted her to take my name?

  Maybe.

  Did I give a shit at the moment?

  Fuck no.

  What was the point of being married if she was still hiding that shit by not taking my name? What I really wanted to do was drag her ass back to the bedroom and fuck her into agreeing. It seemed the most effective way to get what I wanted out of her, but these flower people had to be early, fucking up my shit.

  Guiding her through the house, I barely restrained my need to demand she take my name. For everything. Once we reached the patio, I was surprised to see a man sitting there along with a woman. After really looking him over, I relaxed. He was far too thin and clean-cut to get Austin's attention.

  “Mr. Taylor, it's nice to meet you,” the guy said, then looked to Austin. “Miss James.”

  “Thank you for coming to us, appreciate it,” I said, my voice giving away my irritation. It never crossed my mind that they would send a guy. I couldn't bring myself to participate in the standard pleasantries.

  “Of course—”

  “I'm gonna let you guys figure this out,” I said to him just
before pressing my lips to Austin's forehead.

  I wasn't lying about this being her last chance to make decisions on her own. From now on, she wasn't making any decisions without including me.

  Well... this was the last time I was knowingly going to let her make decisions without me.

  I went to the kitchen and sat at the breakfast bar—it was far enough away that we couldn't hear each other but close enough that I could watch her. I pulled her phone out and checked it, three missed texts. One from Elaine, one from her mother, and one from Mathew.

  Mathew. What's it going to take to get rid of this little fucker?

  I checked the one from her mother. It said she should be landing in an hour. I texted her back.

  Austin: Car will pick you up. She

  still doesn't know.

  12:05 PM

  Then I checked the text from Mathew.

  Mathew: See you at noon. Please

  don't bring David. I really

  need to talk to you alone.

  11:50 AM

  I bet he fucking does.

  Reading that just pissed me off more.

  So I re-read it.

  That little fucker actually thought he was gonna take my girl.

  I held my thumb over the delete, then decided letting her see it was better in the ‘getting rid of Mathew’ plan. I had to play it carefully, so I didn't end up looking like a bully or a dick—Austin would take pity on him.

  I opened the one from Elaine.

  Elaine PR: They are holding it until

  6AM PST.

  11:39 AM

  So that's ten A.M. here...Thank fuck!

  I looked over, watching Austin through the open doors. She was beyond a doubt the most gorgeous girl I had ever seen, and the way she carried herself when I wasn't with her... so confident. I knew it was intended to keep people at bay, but it had the opposite effect. It emphasized her curves, elongated her neck, and the slight tilt to her chin—it drew attention. Everyone's attention.

  But she's mine.

  Austin: What does she have to