by Cari Quinn
“Sure thing, honey bunch. I’ll round up the tape for you along with a couple of prezzies.”
“Prezzies like what?”
“You’ll see,” Brandy said in a singsong voice, which meant it was probably an edible thong, a polyurethane teddy or something even worse. She didn’t quite understand the whole concept of Ang not being at her peak body shape and, oh yeah, single and lacking a man to dress provocatively for in the first place.
Though, seriously, why did she have to wear sweats and old T-shirts just because she didn’t have a man in her life? She could dress sexy. Her boobs were kind of rocking at the moment.
She hooked a finger in her V-neck top to verify that her demi-cup bra was doing its job, and yep, her tits still had maximum velocity. All good. She should treat herself to at least one piece of ass-crack lace to celebrate her new figure. So what that she lived with Sterling? He didn’t hang out in her bedroom.
Dammit.
“Remember the belly. It’s getting bigger hourly.” She rarely suffered from morning sickness now, which had helped push up the needle on the scale even faster. Now that she could eat with fewer repercussions, she was taking full advantage. With her petite stature, she would be obviously pregnant any day now. If she wasn’t already.
Thank God for oversize clothing. Oversize lingerie, however, wouldn’t work as well.
“What I have in mind will look perfect. You’ll be so turned on at the sight of yourself in it, you’ll probably go to town right in the dressing room.”
Ang had to laugh. Talking to Brandy was good for the soul. She made it practically impossible to be depressed in her presence. “Thanks. I appreciate your help.”
“Help? You trying to nail some sexy guy I don’t know about?” When Ang’s silence extended, Brandy let out a cackle. “You go for it, sweet cheeks. Get back in that saddle and find someone to bone you brainless. I have just the thing. Ta ta.” The dial tone rang in her ear.
“Oh Lord.” Ang sighed and brought up her e-mail program.
Now she’d done it. Brandy had caught the scent, and she wouldn’t let Ang off the hook until that six foot, two inch length of man meat had been bagged, tagged and the video uploaded to YouTube.
She couldn’t help but smile as she shot back a flirty note of her own to Sterling.
Getting you up for anything is my evil plan.
Chapter Six
The time of reckoning loomed close at hand.
Before he checked his private e-mail, he had a long day of work to get through. He scheduled a meeting with a potential new bodyguard client, then took a conference call with his father and the head of a smaller investment firm Vance LTD intended to acquire. An hour of playing hardball later, he switched gears and did a bit more checking into Pete Lamont’s financials. The man had some serious credit issues. It would be a shame if he ran into even more difficulty—and he would if he continued to call Ang. She’d offhandedly mentioned Pete’s overattention, but it hadn’t been offhand to Sterling.
He’d begun investigating him the day he’d encountered Ang at the bingo hall. Soon he would know everything there was to know about the guy. He was already having him followed. He’d taken on the task himself, until he’d made eye contact with Pete two days in a row at different locations, including once at Pete’s latest place of business, J and E’s Auto Body, and realized it might be better to be circumspect. Not that he gave a tinker’s damn if Pete knew he was tailing him, but he didn’t want to overplay his hand too soon. There was something to be said for discretion.
And patience. He grabbed his personal tape recorder, flipped open his study guide on private investigation and pretended not to notice the siren’s call of his laptop.
He’d been getting messages from GothGeek all afternoon, and it had required sheer force of will to ignore them long enough to get his work done. Now that Jax had left for the day, he had the perfect opportunity to open his e-mail and…peruse.
He still wasn’t sure what had gotten into him when he’d requested that she share a picture. Something niggled the back of his neck during their conversations, a flash of intuition perhaps, and he’d asked her for more to allay those concerns. He’d grown enamored of talking to her over the past two weeks, so much so that he found himself imagining what she was doing at different times of the day.
Especially while he sat at his kitchen counter, ostensibly reading the stock pages and trying to make small talk with Ang. She remained steadfastly pleasant, though she avoided conversations about anything personal. She rarely mentioned her pregnancy, despite the fact that he could make out her little baby bump more with each passing day, even in her baggy tops. He hardly needed to discuss all the ins and outs of her maternity issues, but her reticence on the topic seemed strange.
Ang was never reticent. Or she hadn’t been in the old days. Now she refused to discuss her parents or her housing search or her hunt for a better job than the one she held at the bingo hall. Which was basically anything.
Hell, yesterday her father had called, and Sterling had flat-out lied about not having had a chance to see Ang since they’d talked. She’d continued reading some heavy-metal music magazine and ignored the entire conversation. Either she’d taken her Pollyanna personality to extremes and veered into the land of denial, or else she was hiding a hell of a lot from her new housemate. Perhaps both. The distance between them bothered him immensely, but damn if he knew how to close the gap.
Part and parcel of inappropriately fingering a woman, then touching himself with her shampoo while she watched, he supposed. There were all kinds of prices to be paid, and his was losing a true friend.
If he let it happen.
He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He never quit, and besides, she mattered too much. She and her unborn child. She might not be spending much time reflecting outwardly on the impending birth, but he sure was. To the point that he’d begun to halfheartedly imagine turning one of the guest bedrooms into a nursery, if she stayed. The bedrooms were just sitting empty. Why not put one to good use?
Why not move the mother into your bedroom and complete the circle entirely?
Exhaling, he moved his fingers over his laptop and roused it from sleep. He needed to stop focusing on Ang. Until he poured out his feelings to her—it would help if he knew exactly what they were—things weren’t going to change. Clearly she didn’t have much to say to him, and maybe that was for the best right now.
After all, he was getting to know his new online friend. And if occasionally he wondered a bit too much about GothGeek, if some random comment she made struck him as slightly off, he’d just chalk it up to overactive PI senses. She hadn’t balked at sending him a possibly explicit picture, which he’d requested for the sole reason—mostly—of putting his concerns about her identity to rest. Surely that meant she wasn’t lying.
Unless she planned to grab some random one from the Internet and pass that off…
No. He wouldn’t borrow more trouble. And he also chose not to think about having to take an equally explicit picture of himself. He’d enjoy hers first.
Another thing he would not do is feel guilty about engaging in an Internet friendship with a woman who wasn’t Ang. If he and Ang were an actual item, that would be different. But she’d made it clear he wasn’t her type. Hadn’t she?
Besides, he wouldn’t allow himself to be her type. They had too many reasons to steer clear of each other in that manner. Long-standing family friendships and her vulnerable position due to her pregnancy at the top of the list.
Her most likely faking her orgasm during their solitary encounter didn’t weigh in at all. That was ancient history and far from relevant.
He clicked on GothGeek’s latest message, smiling at her plaintive question.
Well?
Well, indeed. He sifted through her previously sent messages, mostly along the lines of nervous meanderings about cellulite and the lack of flattering lighting. All the while he crept closer to her picture. It might be something
innocuous. A wrist, a hint of cheek. A tease of curves.
Or…not.
She stood at a slight angle so he couldn’t make out the writing curving up one side of the tattoo, but he discerned the ample curve of her breast. Nipple and all. Pale pink and tight. The small cluster of green vines radiating from a central flower—a lotus, perhaps—on her shoulder blade almost couldn’t compete.
Christ.
She hadn’t even included her face in the picture and he still couldn’t catch his breath, just from the suggestion of her curvaceous figure. Well, more than suggestion. She’d revealed her hip and a bit of her bottom. A good bit.
So much for his desire to put his concerns about her identity to rest. He’d stirred up a whole new hornet’s nest. He could almost hear Jax’s voice now. Buddy, you need to get laid. Stat.
For once, Sterling agreed.
His stomach tightened and he clicked off on the picture. As attractive as Ms. Geek was, there was one irrefutable fact he couldn’t deny.
While he was looking at her, he couldn’t stop thinking about Ang and the tattoo she had mentioned having. If it was as beautiful as this one, if her skin would be as petal soft as Geek’s looked, if her breast would be as firm and full. His guess on all counts was yes, which increased the fisting in his gut.
Thinking that he had every right to engage in this sort of pictorial conversation with Ms. Geek because he and Ang weren’t together was all well and good. It was also self-serving and wrong. In truth, he probably never should’ve opened this line of inquiry with GothGeek, no matter how uncertain things were between him and Ang.
Flipping back to his e-mail program, he started to write a quick response to GothGeek. Perhaps he needed to divert this conversation back to safer shores. He didn’t feel right about this on any level.
Clearly he wasn’t pseudo player material.
His cell buzzed and he picked it up, frowning at the caller. It was Bob Collins, the PI he’d hired to keep an eye on Pete. Bob calling out of the blue probably meant one thing.
The bastard had contacted Ang. In person.
“Vance,” he said.
“Collins here. Lamont just pulled up to your house. The young lady appears to be inside, alone.”
Sterling rose. He didn’t need to hear anything else. “I’m on my way. ETA five minutes.” Four if he made all the lights. “Take off when I get there. If she lets him inside—” he had no right to be angry if she did, he reminded himself, since as his guest, she had full run of the house, “—see if you can get close enough to monitor things until I arrive.”
“You got it, boss.” Collins hung up.
Sterling locked up the office and went out to his car, ignoring the relentless churning in his gut. There wasn’t anything to be concerned about. Ang could take care of herself. If it hadn’t been for that restraining order served by Pete’s former girlfriend, he probably wouldn’t have been strung as tight. But the restraining order remained in effect and Ang rarely met his gaze when he inquired about Pete, which most likely meant he continued to attempt to communicate with her.
And the bastard was at his house. The knowledge goaded every protective urge he had, along with some violent tendencies he hadn’t realized he possessed.
He slid into his car and drove home, beating his record by a good minute. When he pulled up, Bob’s deep-green sedan slid discreetly away.
Sterling parked at the curb and glared at the sleek red sports car behind Ang’s in his driveway. My house. My driveway. My wo—
A sharp pang hit his chest. She wasn’t his. Would never be his. But he intended to make sure she was safe. He climbed out and slammed his door shut.
Whatever it took.
Ang opened the door and blinked at the person waiting on the stoop. Sterling had told her to expect a package so she’d just assumed—
Wrong. Way frigging wrong. Dammit, why wasn’t this Hilda’s day to work? At least Sterling’s capable housekeeper was smart enough not to open the door to strangers.
“Pete,” she said flatly.
His dark eyes narrowed as he stepped back to look at the number beside the door. “What are you doing here?”
“You weren’t looking for me?”
“No. I have business with Vance.” Pete scraped a hand through his mohawk. “What are you doing here?”
Relief surged through her. Thank God he hadn’t tracked her to Sterling’s, though he’d have a bead on her location going forward. This was just a horrible coincidence. But that begged the question: What kind of business did he have with Sterling? She didn’t think for a minute that Sterling would have anything to do with him after hearing about her situation.
So that meant Sterling must still be poking around in Pete’s life. He was probably just doing what bodyguards/PIs did. But the fact that she and Sterling had gotten friendlier than client and employer—and that she was living in his home—put a whole new light on things.
As did the fact that now Pete would know without a doubt that she and Sterling were cohabiting. And if he knew, he’d likely tell her parents just to make her life more difficult.
Time for some damage control.
“Sterling needed someone to, um, sign for a package for him.”
“Guess you respond to his calls better than you reply to mine.” Pete cocked a brow at her outfit. “So that’s what you wear to answer his door?”
She didn’t have to look at her slouchy, off-the-shoulder T-shirt and strategically ripped yoga pants to know that she didn’t look like someone Sterling would recruit for much of anything. Or, you know, have sex with. Not that she was the least bit bitter.
He also hadn’t seen fit to respond to her—fine, GothGeek’s—nudie pic. You’d think flashing some skin would get a response from the man, but apparently not. After all, he did think tattoos were trashy. Add in the piercings and she probably tipped his boat into Titanic territory.
Still, she’d spent a lot of time getting that photo right. She’d struggled with the angle of her tat in the mirror, along with the inclusion of precisely enough side boob. Hell, she’d even temporarily borrowed Brandy’s phone so that Sterling wouldn’t recognize hers in the picture. Expecting a little appreciation for her efforts wasn’t asking for too much.
“Yes, in this. He doesn’t dictate my wardrobe choices.”
“Really. So he’s cool with you wandering around here half-naked and barefoot and pregnant, answering his door?” Pete crossed his arms. “You playing house, Ang?”
So much for Pete believing she’d had an abortion overseas. She’d gained a little weight, but she didn’t think her condition was that evident yet.
More denial, obviously.
“Of course not.” She made a show of scratching the top of her nose, as casual as could be. “I told you why I was here. Your turn.”
“I came here for answers. Looks like I got them.” Slowly, Pete shook his head. “You don’t really think you can land a fish like him, do you? I mean, we’re talking impossible under normal circumstances, but when you’re knocked up and barely employed and sleeping on friends’ couches to avoid going home?” He chuckled. “Sorry, not happening.”
She gripped the doorjamb. A million retorts sprang to her tongue, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of engaging her in an argument. “Get out.”
“I’m just trying to help.” He stroked his lip piercing, his gaze drifting to her bump. She wanted to cup it to prevent him from seeing even the most minute detail about her baby, even its damn size in her womb. Irrational, yes, but there it was. “We were friendly once. You remember, don’t you, sweetheart?”
The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs behind him made Pete shoot a surprised glance over his shoulder. Ang’s eyes met Sterling’s and something tightened in her belly, way down deep.
“She’s doing her best to forget all about you. Now I suggest you get the hell off my property before I give you my own version of a restraining order—with my fists.”
Her b
reath clogged in her throat. That couldn’t be her Sterling, threatening Pete. He rarely got angry, and his knuckles had probably never been split. But there he was, her tall, muscled warrior in Hugo Boss, with sparks flying from his normally placid blue eyes.
Her panties drenched in an instant.
Shame followed swiftly after. She shouldn’t let him fight her battles. But oh God, she couldn’t stop the momentary pleasure that he wanted to. That he would.
“I’d like to see you try.” He cast a look over his shoulder. “You or your goons.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Pete smirked, all cocky insolence. “I wouldn’t want to see you damage your pristine suit—”
The flying fist seemed to come out of nowhere, landing with precision against Pete’s nose. He howled as blood spurted. Sterling merely sidestepped the spray and shook out his hand, his face still contorted with rage.
Rage. From Sterling.
“Leave. Now. Or I promise you, I won’t pull my next punch.”
Ang lunged forward, intending to insert herself between the two men if need be. Pete would resume his usual trash-talking and posturing anytime now, and things would only get uglier. Instead he spat at Sterling’s feet and stalked off, cupping his mangled face and cursing under his breath.
She stared after him, stunned to see him reverse out of the driveway. Pete never backed off from a fight.
Her focus swung to Sterling. And the man in front of her never started one.
God, if just the sight of Sterling striding onto the porch to save her had turned her on, spotting the craving for blood in his eye had to be the bonus round.
“Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have hit him.”
Sterling’s voice was low and hot, and it didn’t make her think of violence. It made her think of his body ranging over hers as he slid inside her with one deep, mind-bending thrust.
She cleared her throat and tried to shake the image from her mind. Her body was already reacting as if they were in bed together. Her nipples pebbled and her pussy grew even wetter than it had been a moment before. Hell, Lake Winnetonka at the park up the street currently had nothing on her nether regions.