by Taryn Quinn
He’d remembered. “I’m sort of off the vegetarian thing for the time being.”
“It’s a hard lifestyle to maintain.”
“Especially when your baby is craving sausage hardcore.” She only grasped what she’d said when his smile grew. Open mouth, insert lower half of torso. “I don’t need any sausage now. I’m just saying.” Yeah, that helped. Not.
“I’m all out of sausage, I’m afraid.”
No, sir, you are not. She’d seen that firsthand last night. “I’m good with the juice.”
He took another bite of his banana, chewing slowly and swallowing before he responded. “At least have cereal. I have cornflakes and shredded wheat.” At her wrinkled nose, he sighed. “Let me guess. Not to your liking?”
“Got any Count Chocula?”
“No. That I don’t have.”
“Booberry?”
His lips lifted again. “Unfortunately, no.”
“No prob. I’m not hungry anyway. Besides, mornings are iffy for me. Better if I wait to make sure the Maybe Baby isn’t intending to make me hurl.”
“Maybe Baby? I thought you were pregnant for certain.”
She flushed. “That’s what I named the baby in my head when I missed my first period. The name stuck. I’m thinking of calling it Maybe Baby McFee. Like?”
“So you’re not giving the baby his name. Good.”
“Hell no, I’m not. This is my kid. He was strictly the donor.” She climbed onto the stool across from Sterling and took a bracing breath. As fun as it was to dance around the crux of the matter, her feet were already getting tired. “Look, about last night—”
“Pete Lamont already has a child,” he said quietly, effectively cutting her off. “He’s six months old. The mother has a restraining order against him.”
Dull shock wound through her system, and as usual, she reached for a joke to make the unpleasant feelings go away. “That must be some kid if he’s already causing that much trouble. If his mother has a restraining order against him,” she went on, biting her lip at his tense expression.
“This is serious, Ang. I’d always thought Pete was trouble, but now we have proof.”
She ran her fingertip around the edge of her glass. “Yeah, that mohawk was just the tip of the iceberg, huh?”
“I apologized for saying that.”
“You did. That doesn’t change that you thought it.” Her throat tightened. “I’m a mohawk kind of girl, Sterling. Guys like Pete make sense for me. Guys like y—”
“No matter what you think, Pete Lamont does not ‘make sense’ for you. He fathered another child months before impregnating you. He’s hassled both mothers of his children. Do you really think so little of yourself to believe he even has the right to look at you, never mind be part of your life?”
Tears formed in her eyes before she could blink them away. “Say what you want about Pete, he never did to me what you did last night.”
A muscle visibly ticked in his jaw as he reached for his coffee. “Want to talk about what you did as well, or am I alone on the chopping block?”
Renewed heat flashed into her face, and she shoved her hands through her hair before he could see it. Did he realize she’d faked her orgasm or did he mean something else? “I don’t want us to become…this. We’ve always been friends. I don’t want that to change.”
She waited for him to say “too late” or something equally dismissive. His eyes had gone to icy slits, more appropriate for an arctic day than the sunshine radiating through the trio of kitchen windows. “It won’t.”
“Good.”
“I also agree that we’re better off as friends.” He fiddled with the handle of his coffee mug. “So I presume you won’t be offering me hot sex via text anymore.”
It took her a second to see that his jaw had eased and a hint of playfulness had returned to his expression. “I didn’t exactly offer it. I think we just miscommunicated.”
“Is that what it was?” He shook off his own soft question and took another sip of coffee. The scent of the rich, strong brew was making her positively lustful, so she turned sideways on her stool and crossed her legs in the hopes of avoiding the wafting aroma.
It wasn’t until the silence stretched that she glanced up and discovered his gaze had drifted to her bare legs. She was barefoot, and her silver-painted toes had been bopping to some silent beat. Now they stilled, even as her heart quaked. Change the subject. Distract him. And yourself. “How did you find all that out about Pete?”
“I have my ways.” He sounded distant, though they were only separated by a few feet of counter space. “Did you know about his other child?”
“No. But then again, we didn’t spend a lot of time talking.”
He made some dismissive noise that caused her chin to rise. “I know, I know, types like you never have one-night stands. You’re too perfect.”
His eyes met hers over his mug as he sipped. “That’s what he was to you? A one-night stand?”
“No. We screwed like bunnies for three weeks until I got bored.” That wasn’t entirely true. She’d sensed Pete had a wandering eye, and she hadn’t been invested enough to deal with the drama. “Unfortunately, I didn’t realize he was a fertile Myrtle.”
“You had unprotected sex?”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “Do you think I’m that stupid?”
He didn’t say anything, just looked at her while he calmly drank his coffee. His expression articulated his thoughts without words.
“I have a 4.0 GPA.”
“You did,” he agreed. “So why aren’t you still in school? Why don’t you have a job in your field instead of calling out bingo numbers in a smoky parish center?”
“Oh yeah, because preggo chicks are in high demand.” She didn’t tell him about the interviews she had lined up, because she still wasn’t certain she’d be able to follow through.
Lately her confidence had taken a nosedive, and she’d chosen to hide out and play it safe rather than behave like the ballsy go-getter she’d always been. Her whole life had changed, and she was seriously struggling to adapt. Add in her angry ex and she had a lot of crap going on upstairs that didn’t lend itself to tackling a challenging new job.
“If someone won’t hire you due to your condition, you’ll sue.”
“And I’ll know that’s why they’ll be turning me down, right?” She blew out a breath. “The engineering field is hugely competitive. Telling a prospective employer that I’ll be going out on maternity leave in under six months won’t up my attractiveness to them. Bottom line.”
“Work for your father. Surely he could get you a job at the bank.”
“No. I’m not going there.” She fisted her hands and focused on the sleek silver clock on the wall, softly ticking off the minutes. No fun rooster clocks for the cool, smooth Sterling Vance. “I need to do this for myself. I’m not a child anymore, and it’s time I take responsibility without falling back on my parents’ paying for everything or hooking me up with jobs. I need…”
“What?” he asked gently.
“I need my kid to respect me. To not see me as some trust-fund misfit who screwed around and looked for someone to take care of me.”
“Asking for help isn’t a weakness, Ang. Especially from those who love you and want to see you succeed.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Damn straight. Every time I talk to you, I hear you selling yourself short. First with your choice of lovers—” he said the word as if it tasted bad, “—and then with your willingness to drop your education. I know all about the financial constraints you have, but if you’d just tell your parents, they’d help you.”
“You don’t know them like I do.”
“Balderdash.”
She stared at the pinched lines around his mouth for a long moment before an unexpected laugh worked its way out of her chest. She was impossibly turned on by a man who said balderdash and poppycock. “Maybe we should agree to disagree on this
too.”
Sterling glanced away. “I’m meeting your father later this morning. Do you expect me to lie for you?”
“No. I expect you not to say anything, as my friend.” She gripped her glass in tense fingers. “If you can’t do that, I understand. But tell me now, so I have time to pack and get out of your hair.” She hadn’t unpacked, but she was making a point.
“I want you to stay here for my own peace of mind, and you’re willing to use that against me. Sounds like blackmail.” He folded his banana peel and pushed it aside.
She shrugged. “I see it as negotiating.”
“You truly are your father’s daughter.”
“I am, and that means that I’m stubborn as two fucks when I’ve made up my mind. Like right now.” She crossed her arms on the counter and leaned forward, deciding to try a more personal approach. “I’m going to tell them, I promise. I just need a little more time to get my ducks in a row.”
“Like your own place.”
“Like my own place,” she agreed, relieved he was seeing things from her point of view. Finally.
“So you’ll stay here while you find something suitable.”
She shifted, unconsciously jiggling her foot again. That same glazed expression came into his eyes as he checked out her legs, and she got real conscious, real quick. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”
“Why not? I have plenty of room.”
“It’s not a space issue.”
He lifted his mug again. “Then?”
“You put your fingers inside me last night. I spied on you pulling your rod in the shower.” She couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. “Do you really think we can go back to being casual friends?”
To his credit, he didn’t react. Other than his jaw clenching around the words he had to force out. “Yes. I do. We’re both adults.”
“So you’re not scared I’ll descend on you in the middle of the night and demand unprotected sex? Maybe flash my illicit nipple rings in your face to weaken your guard?”
Sadly, she wasn’t entirely joking. If he hadn’t used her shampoo while in the shower, she might’ve believed her attraction was one-sided. Even that wood he’d sported in his car could’ve been explained away. Maybe he got really excited listening to Rush Limbaugh on the radio or something. How could she know for sure?
“You don’t have nipple rings yet, and you said you don’t have unprotected sex.”
“What about the jumping?”
He jerked a shoulder. “I can handle you.”
“Oh really? You seem better at handling yourself.”
The flare of heat in his eyes didn’t scare her. Oh no, indeed. Instead it shot her pulse from a steady thrum to a rapid beat. “Your choice to watch,” he said silkily.
“It was. Entirely. But then you’re used to women being magnetized by your stunning physical form. Like your ex. What was her name again? Thelma? Tessie?” She remembered her name quite well, though she’d never tell him that. Not when she was trying to make a point.
“Tricia.”
“Yes, Tricia. Am I to assume that she should be arriving here anytime now to try to pry your mojo forcibly from your body? Perhaps she’ll attempt to mount you in the front hall?”
His mouth thinned. “I realize you’re angry for a number of reasons, and I do apologize that we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot since your arrival. That doesn’t mean you have cause to question my very real…problem.”
“I’ll say,” she said under her breath. Then the rest of what he’d said sank in. As annoyed as she was that he’d possibly lied about Tricia, last night’s events were steadily pulling ahead of all comers. “Wrong foot? You didn’t trip and end up with your fingers in my vagina.” She exhaled and searched for her calm. Surely it had to be in there somewhere. “You also didn’t accidentally walk out without giving me proper satisfaction—”
“Finally she admits it.”
If she didn’t stop breathing so fast, she’d need a paper bag soon. “I admit nothing.”
“Me either.” He rose smoothly and carried his coffee mug to the sink, then rinsed it and set it in the dishwasher. “I have work.” The words were chillier than the ice she fished out of her glass and popped into her mouth. “You’re welcome to use the house as you see fit.”
She crunched her ice. “So you’re cool with that lunchtime rager I had in mind?” She didn’t know why she couldn’t stop goading him. Maybe because she liked seeing his control splinter. The idea of him going completely berserk with lust made her positively twitchy.
“Do what you must. I trust you’ll be here when I return this evening?”
“You trust an awful lot for someone so people-phobic.”
Though he hadn’t seemed as phobic about churning up his online pal the night before. Not that it affected Ang in any way. So what if he preferred an electronic connection over a physical one? She didn’t care in the slightest.
“Angelina.”
Her full name worked wonders, the same way it did when her mother took her to task. She took a long swallow of juice, but it didn’t alleviate the grittiness of her throat. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go. And you refuse to listen to reason.”
“Then it’s settled.” He turned to leave, and for the first time, she took in his attire. Even on a Sunday, he wore trim, dark slacks and a black jacket over his golf shirt, impeccable as always. When he moved, the subtle hint of his cologne stunned her into taking a stuttered breath. That stuff was poison gas, able to immobilize her where she sat.
As if he sensed her predicament, he looked over his shoulder once he reached the doorway. “Oh, and Ang?”
She nodded, struck mute. Whether it was the way he glided across the floor, his pheromones-in-a-bottle scent or just the fact that his ass looked hella good in those pants, she couldn’t speak.
“Next time take a picture. It’ll last longer than all that imagining you’re doing.” He was gone before she had any freaking idea what he was talking about.
By the time she figured out he’d probably guessed she had his shower interlude on constant mental replay, his car was pulling out of the drive. And like the dope she was, she rose to watch him go.
She waited until his taillights disappeared around the corner before she hauled ass upstairs to his room. If he hadn’t taken his laptop with him, she was about to make last night’s inappropriate viewing seem like a minor transgression.
Flexing her fingers, she darted into the master bedroom. She wasn’t going to look into his financials or his private e-mails. Nope, she just wanted one itty-bitty thing.
To double check the spelling of his screen name on Sole Mate.
Chapter Five
Sterling slipped inside his vehicle and thunked his head on the wheel. Jesus, he’d turned into a reprobate.
Last night he’d lied to his good friend’s daughter about a sex-hungry ex he didn’t have, then fingered said good friend’s daughter so ineptly that she’d faked coming to make him leave. Then he’d put on a tawdry show for her in the bathroom after stealing her girly fruit shampoo.
Today he’d lied to that good friend and pretended he hadn’t seen Ang in a while. He’d drunk cognac with him at the club and smoked a cigar while discussing upcoming deals and family and a million other everyday subjects. Then they’d teed off like they had a million times before. All the while, Sterling had been imagining his fingers pumping away inside Marcus’s damn-near-jailbait daughter.
People-phobic? Absolutely not. Actually, he’d probably be doing mankind a service if he limited his contact with the public for the foreseeable future.
He grabbed his personal tape recorder, intending to listen to the notes he’d recorded aloud on a private investigation case, then ditched it for his phone and sucked in a steadying breath. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t simply slip into studying mode without addressing the pressing issues that had developed in his life.
Somehow the world had tipped off its axis, and he
needed to right it again by any means necessary. Which was why he was about to do something he’d sworn he never would.
Ask Jax for advice.
Drastic times, drastic measures and all that. Besides, things had spiraled downward since last night, and he hadn’t guessed that was possible.
The lying and the fingering were only half the story. His old buddy Marcus McFee had sprung a request on him that he hadn’t managed to deflect. Would Sterling mind paying a visit to Ang at her off-campus apartment to see if she was okay? Marcus had called his daughter there numerous times and her roommate always said she was out. He feared she was avoiding his calls. Maybe Sterling could help, possibly intercede on his behalf?
If Marcus wanted the situation to get even worse, Sterling could certainly wade into the fray. Otherwise, not so much.
He’d been friends with Marcus for over a decade, since he’d worked as his caddy at the club. Sterling had taken the summer job for extra money—not that he’d needed it—while in college, and they’d struck up a friendship. Soon the years between them had melted away.
Now the number of years seemed especially prominent, except in this case, the ones that stuck in his craw were those between him and Marcus’s daughter. Their age difference wasn’t huge but he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.
Good grief, he still wanted her. Actually, no, that was wrong. He wanted her more after their exchange in his kitchen that morning, and he could lay the blame squarely at the feet of her damn ripped denim cutoffs.
He’d never known her legs were so long and smooth. So curvy in all the right places. Now all he could think about was kissing her slim ankles, her supple thighs, even behind her sexy kneecaps. Who had sexy kneecaps? It wasn’t right.
Clearly, he needed help. Immediately. And who better to assist than the former player extraordinaire, Jax Wilder? He’d tell him to get his head out of his ass and go find another babe to bang. In probably those exact words.
For once, that advice didn’t sound half bad.
“Yo,” Jax said by way of greeting after Sterling placed the call. “If this is about work, go read the phrase day of rest in the Bible and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”