by Odette Stone
In black marker, a message was scrawled: “IT’S IN YOUR BEST INTEREST TO CONVINCE YOUR FATHER TO STICK WITH WHAT HE KNOWS. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.”
What. The. Fuck.
I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn’t even process what was happening.
Porter appraised me, so much concern on his face. “Do you know who sent this to you?”
“Just another fan letter from one of my fans.”
I will not cry. I will not freaking cry.
The look he gave me—those grey eyes filled with such intense worry—tipped me over the edge. Tears spill onto my cheeks. “I need a minute.”
Numb, I walked blindly into my bedroom and laid spread-eagle on my bed. Then, the tears came. Big, sobbing tears. Stupid, but I tend to cry under pressure.
And intense fear.
I didn’t know how long I laid there—long enough to lament how much my life sucked. This fucking gala. Yates. My stalled career. That letter. I tried to push it out of my mind. I couldn’t deal with it. Not right now. I was too emotional to start coping with it. It could wait. I should get up. I should start acting like an adult, but it was easier to just stare at the ceiling.
There was a tap on the open door. Too despondent to lift my head, I said, “Come in.”
“I’m breaking a rule here, but I thought it might help.”
I lifted my head. Porter stood there with a glass of wine and a pizza box.
I swallowed and sat up. “You brought frat food.”
He lifted up the box. “I personally think your ass can handle at least one pizza, but say the word, and I’ll remove this from your place.”
I held out my arms and wiggled my fingers. “Want.”
He walked across the room and handed me the wine. I scooted over and patted the bed beside me.
He evaluated me. “Do you want to eat here?”
“That depends.” I picked up the remote. “Will you let me watch whatever tear-jerking chick show I want to watch?”
“Obviously.”
“Then, yes. I want us to eat pizza in bed.”
He placed the box on the nightstand. “I’ll be right back.”
He reappeared with plates, napkins and a beer. He settled on the bed beside me and handed me a plated piece of pizza at the exact moment I lifted up the remote. My hand hit the plate, and my pizza slid towards the bed.
He juggled the plate and saved my pizza but lost hold of his beer in the process. It dumped all over his shirt.
“Sorry,” I cried.
“No worries,” he stood up, set the foaming beer on the nightstand and peered down at his wet shirt.
He crossed his arms and pulled his t-shirt over his head. My mouth went dry as I took in his muscular core and broad pecs.
As he inspected his shirt, he seemed completely indifferent to the fact that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from all those rippling muscles.
Work out much?
“I’m going to grab a dry shirt.”
“Sure,” I felt flushed as my entire body reacted to that manly vision that belonged on the cover of a men’s health magazine.
Calm down, Beth. Just calm the fuck down.
But some things can’t be unseen, and Porter’s body was one of those things.
Chapter 14
Without complaint, Porter watched three episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix. By the third episode, I could tell that he was actually getting into it.
“Who’s that chick?”
“Addison. She used to be married to McDreamy, but their marriage broke up when she had an affair with McSteamy.”
“Which one is steamy?”
“The big blond. He used to be friends with McDreamy, but the cheating pissed McDreamy off.”
“And who’s McDreamy with?”
“Well, he’s supposed to be with Meredith, but they aren’t together. Because she’s pissed about him not telling her about Addison.”
“He should have tried morse code.”
I laughed. “It’s a fail-safe in all relationships.”
“Want more wine?”
“Hell, yeah.”
He reached down to the floor and produced the bottle. I held my glass while he poured.
“You need a beer fridge in here.”
“I might never get out of bed.”
“It happens.” I watched him crack another beer, and side-by-side, we sipped our drinks.
“Tough week?”
“Maybe. But maybe not as tough as yours?”
He shrugged and took another sip. “I’ve had better.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“Nope.”
Oh. Well, that was interesting.
“Are you going to?”
“Not sure.”
I wanted to ask him what he did all day and night if he wasn’t with Felicia, but perhaps I didn’t want to know. Maybe he was whoring it up. This moment was nice. I didn’t want to muddy this time by confirming he was having sex with someone else.
He cut into my thoughts. “Want to talk?”
“About?”
“That note.”
“Not really.”
He examined his beer can. “Okay. How about the gala?”
It shocked me how much I wanted to ask him to come with me, but knowing what the guy was going through, it didn’t seem fair. “I hate those events. But I’ll do my part. If I had something as important as that happening in my life, I’d want my parents there no matter how much we’re at odds.”
“Why do you parents want you back with Yates so much?”
“He has good pedigree. Ivy League schools. The right parents. All the connections. In their eyes, he’s of elevated status.”
“What about what you want?”
“They don’t believe I know what I want. They think he’ll make me happy.”
Grey eyes peered at me. “You’re all right, you know that?”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
He set his beer can aside and leaned back on the pillow with his head behind his hand. “Can I make a request?”
“Always.”
“You won’t hold it against me?”
“I doubt it.”
“You have to promise not to tell anyone.”
“I’m the vault. People actually tell me that they call me the vault behind my back.”
He caught his lower lip in his teeth, debating. “Can we watch another episode of Grey’s?”
“Oh, my God.” I burst out laughing. “You’re joking.”
“Hey.”
I rose to my knees, lifting my wine glass in victory. “Yes, folks. Another closet fan is born.”
He grabbed my hand, but he had a massive smile on his face. “You’re blowing this out of proportion. I’m not a fan. But they left us with a cliffhanger.”
I pushed his hand back, so it was pinned by his head. “Admit it. You took your first hit, and now you’re begging for more.”
He laughed. “You said you wouldn’t hold it against me.”
I was making him laugh. Why did that feel so damn good?
I drained my glass and reached over him to set it on the nightstand. “Think of what this would do to their ratings if they knew a decorated Navy SEAL was their latest fan.”
One minute, I was leaning over him, and the next minute, he had me flipped over on my back until he was kneeling over me, his hands pinning my hands above my head.
“You promised me you wouldn’t tell anyone,” he growled, playfully.
My stomach tingled, but my brain told my stomach that he was only playing the role of a big brother. “Some secrets are too big to keep.”
“You know, I’m skilled in various torture techniques.”
My inner flirt raised her head. “If you’re trying to turn me on, it’s working.”
Those grey eyes, so dark they were almost charcoal, dropped to my mouth. We were both breathing hard. Too much booze and temptation. I could see him internally debating.
It w
ould be a total mistake, but didn’t we deserve this? Hadn’t we both been burned? Shouldn’t we snatch our moments of happiness where we could?
He started towards me.
Thank fuck.
Eyes wide open, I watched as he lowered his face to mine. Our eyes locked, neither of us breaking eye contact. His lips were mere centimeters away from mine.
I’d never wanted to kiss anyone more in my life.
“This is probably a really bad idea.” His breath whispered across my lips.
I breathed it in. “The worst.”
“You want to stop?”
“Not particularly.”
“Good answer.”
A tinny version of Ozzy Osbourne’s Crazy Train interrupted us. We both froze, eyes locked. He pushed himself up but didn’t look at his phone.
It was her.
I knew it was.
“Do you have to get that?”
He shook his head.
“Do you need to go?”
“No.”
He was still kneeling over me. Staring down at me. I knew he was thinking of her now, but he was sitting on me. He looked trapped. He was actually debating continuing messing around with me, even though his head was no longer in the game. Probably because he was so damn polite.
Sometimes, the kindest thing we can do for people is to save them from themselves.
So, I swatted his hard stomach, careful to keep my movements light. “Well, if you’re not going to kiss me, can you do something useful and get me some more wine?”
He didn’t move.
I gave him a playful shove. “Come on. If this is my cheat day, I want to drink myself into oblivion.”
He stood up. Taking a deep breath, he ran his hands through his hair. I pretended not to notice, but who could miss the spectacularly impressive hard bulge in his jeans?
Jesus. I was walking on a fine line here. One that wasn’t going to end well for either of us.
Chapter 15
I felt safe and warm. As my brain slowly woke, my entire body froze.
I was draped over Porter like a lap dog. My legs were tangle between his, the left one bent and pressed between his legs, snuggled warmly against his package. My face rested on his hard chest, my arm slung around his muscular waist, and his arm wrapped around my back, holding me tightly against him.
I tried to keep my breath even while I thought. I was not a cuddly person. I’d been in my fair share of relationships to know that I liked my side of the bed, and I didn’t like to touch my partner while I slept, no matter how much I loved them. So, why was I stuck on him like white on rice?
“Someone’s in your apartment,” he whispered, his morning voice raspy.
“What?” I lifted my head in shock.
“Whoever it is has a key.”
The only person who had a key was Mom. And my landlord. Why would either of them be in my apartment?
“How long have they been here?” I kept my voice low.
“About five seconds.”
A blood-curdling scream pierced the air. I froze, watching as Porter rolled off the bed and moved to the door with impressive speed. I scrambled after him, following him into my living room.
I almost ran into his back when he stopped short. I stepped around him. Mom was standing in the living room, her face a mask of disgust. Dead beetles laid scattered on the floor. She clutched the note in her hand.
“Mom? What are you doing here?”
She swallowed hard. “I’m here to drop off a clutch for you. For the gala.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“Why would I call when I have a key?”
She never seemed to understand that the key was for emergencies only. That was a conversation for a later date. Right now, I was too busy looking at the dead beetles.
Shifting my gaze, I asked the obvious. “Were you reading my mail?”
She lifted her chin a fraction. “The envelope was lying on the counter. Want to tell me what that’s all about?”
I glanced at Porter. Sometime in the middle of the night, he had taken off his t-shirt. Now, he stood there, wearing only a pair of jeans that hung low on his muscular hips.
I enjoyed my second viewing of his massive shoulders and muscular chest. Don’t even get me started on his abs. He had a six-pack that showed off every single muscle, including the V that lead down to—.
I sensed his attention and forced myself to meet his eyes. Those piercing grey irises inspected me with a mixture of frustration and bewilderment.
I know. Mom can be a little much at times.
I debated how to approach this. “I got that letter last night.”
“What did you do to make someone send you this?”
Patience. I took a deep breath. Be patient.
“I don’t know.” The dead beetles were as gross as I remembered. I shuddered. “I’m going to take it to the police and file a report.”
“No. You will not be going to the police over this…this hoax.”
Porter shifted beside me. I refrained from looking at him again because I knew a mere glance at his naked torso wouldn’t suffice. A body like that needed to be lingered over.
I forced myself to keep my eyes trained on my mom. “Mom.” I kept my voice calm because the last thing I needed right now was another fight with her. “I think the police need to know about this. At the very least, they need to have something on file.”
Porter crouched down and shoved the dead bugs back into the envelope lying on the floor. I got a tiny bit distracted as I took in his broad back. Strong muscles flexed as he stretched to pick them up. What would it feel like to trace my fingers down that back while he moved on top of—
Mom’s voice yanked me out of my inappropriate meanderings. “Your father doesn’t need any type of police investigation going on during his campaign. That would be grossly unfair of you to do that to him. He doesn’t need any bad publicity.”
“I wouldn’t be doing it to him,” I protested. “Besides, no one’s going to find out. I only want to file a report.”
“No. I forbid it.”
Porter stood, his body moving with panther-like grace, and held his hand out to Mom. She stared at it for several awkward moments, then with extreme reluctance, handed him the note.
“Beth needs to take this to the police.” His voice was gravelly from sleep, but there was no mistaking his don’t-fuck-around tone.
“Don’t be silly. There’s no need to involve the police.”
“This note is not only hostile, but it’s also threatening. Beth could be in danger.”
“Well, you assured me you’re doing your best care for Beth. Are you telling me your best isn’t good enough?”
“Mom,” I hissed, mortified.
“I’ll do everything in my power to ensure her safety, but I’m not with Beth 24 hours a day.”
“Well, it’s not like the police are going to be following her around either. All they’d do is file a report. A report that would do nothing to ensure her safety but could do reprehensible damage to my husband’s campaign.”
“There should be a record of this harassment.”
“Harassment?” She scoffed. “I hardly qualify that note as harassment. It’s merely someone playing a prank on Beth. A bad one, but it’s only a prank.”
“You’re willing to bet Beth’s safety on that?”
Mom stiffened. “Are you suggesting I’m not concerned about Beth’s safety?”
“Yes.” If looks could harm, Porter would be a smoking pile of ash at this point.
Without another word, Mom picked up her purse, seared me with an accusing glare, and swung her jacket over her shoulder. “You won’t help your father in his campaign because you’re so busy in your life.” Her eyes flickered over Porter. “At the very least, try and refrain from outright sabotaging your father’s career.”
“Mom,” I tried. “Come on. Don’t go.”
“I’m going home. You can call me when you come to your s
enses.” With another glare at Porter, she turned and walked out.
I stared at the door, waiting for her to come back but knowing she wouldn’t. I hated fighting with Mom. Why couldn’t we get along? It seemed like no matter what I did or didn’t do, she was always disappointed in me. Perhaps she was right. Maybe the letter was a sick joke. Maybe Yates was trying to fuck with me.
Porter ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. “What are you going to do?”
I took in his unbelievable body. Felicia was out of her mind to give him up.
“I’m going to talk to Yates. I need to ask him about the letter.”
Porter didn’t look impressed. “Will you take the letter to the police?”
“I’ll think about it.”
He studied me for a moment. “Do. I respect your mom, but she’s way off on this one.”
I couldn’t face the idea that someone was actually trying to hurt me. “I will.” I waited until Porter was in the shower before I dialed Yates’ number.
“Hey, Beth.”
“Yates.” I tried to keep the coldness out of my voice. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“Let’s go for coffee.”
Had he always been so high-handed?
“This can be handled on the phone.”
“Meet me at our old place at 11?”
“No—“
The dial tone cut me off.
“Damn it!”
The last thing I wanted to do was see Yates.
Chapter 16
I sat in the coffee shop, awaiting Yates’ arrival. Yates thought the world should wait for him. He ran late for every meeting and appointment, whereas I was always early. It was one of many ways we were incompatible.
Finally, his blond head appeared at the door. He waved before making his way to the table. Bending over me for a kiss, he deliberately missed my cheek and stole a kiss from my lips. His expensive cologne lingered in the air.
I eyed the door, cursing myself for not choosing a closer table.
He sat down and stared at me. “I missed that.”
I ignored his suggestive tone. “So, I hear you’re my father’s new campaign manager.”
He smiled. “I am, and because of that fact, he’s going to win.”