by Malcom, Anne
My back stiffened. “I was getting frozen custard because it is fucking awesome. Be very fucking careful about what you say next in regard to your opinion on my diet. Because when you’re throwing up four times a day every time you try and eat something green or nutritious, you talk to me. For now, go fuck yourself.”
I hung up and Aaron was no longer even trying to pretend he hadn’t been listening to my call.
“You talk to your boss like that?” he asked. “And don’t get fired?”
I grinned. “He finds it charming.”
He blinked a couple of times and I knew that it was the moment he was deciding whether my crass language was endearing or off-putting to someone with his no doubt stellar breeding and upbringing. I had met him through work, he was an investment banker with a lot of money and who wanted to spend it on art. But unlike other blue bloods, he didn’t want to throw money at a painting just so he could show everyone how rich he was.
No, he was actually interested in art, he wasn’t looking for the most expensive piece to show off to other people, he had been looking for something that ‘suited him.’ Which was one of the reasons I said yes when he asked me out to dinner as a ‘thank you.’ This is despite my hefty commission serving as a thank you in itself.
That was part of the reason.
The Instagram photo was a pretty big portion of the reason I’d called him last minute and taken him up on his offer while searching through my closet for something to hide my baby bump.
Yeah, I was probably going to hell for going on a date with a guy who not only wasn’t the father of my baby but who didn’t even know I was pregnant.
I reasoned I was already going there anyway, and, well, I was horny.
I hadn’t gotten laid since the ill-fated night with Wyatt. But whether it was the distance from the night itself, the hormones coursing through my body, or just the yawning emptiness of my bed in the middle of the night, I was ready for some empty sex.
Aaron was perfect. He was polite. Well dressed. Polished. He wore suits to work and was currently wearing a thin cashmere sweater and expensive slacks. His dark hair was carefully styled, but not too much that told me he’d spend more time on his hair than I did.
Not that I’d be around to see how long he did his hair. I didn’t quite know how I was going to avoid him finding out I was pregnant while we were having sex, but I’d think of something.
Mostly what attracted me to him was that he was the complete opposite of Wyatt. Okay, mostly what attracted me to him was petty revenge after seeing the photo, but whatever.
Anyway, my attraction to men wasn’t getting very specific, I almost jumped on the eighteen-year-old bike messenger this morning, and that was before the Wyatt photo.
“He’s not the only one who finds it charming,” Aaron said, grinning, obviously deciding that my filthy mouth wasn’t a deal breaker.
In my business, I was surrounded by men I wasn’t familiar with. Men with a lot of money and a lot of ideas about how women should speak, act, and dress. And I gave them and those ideas the proverbial—sometimes literal—middle finger. Though that wasn’t my boss, my boss wouldn’t blink if I dropped as many F-bombs in a phone call. He wouldn’t appreciate me telling him to go and fuck himself, but he let a lot of things slide on account of the fact I made him a shit load of money in commissions.
I grinned. “Well, let me charm you some more,” I said, trying my best to ignore the fact that Wyatt’s angry voice on the phone got me hotter than Aaron’s smile and attractive presence.
* * *
“You’re on a fucking date?” an angry voice hissed toward the end of our entrée.
I looked up from my dry, bland chicken to be faced with a not at all bland stare.
A furious stare.
Worn by a not at all bland man.
No one would ever describe the messy blond haired, tattooed, leather-clad, rock star as bland.
Half of the restaurant was staring at him, not because he was a world-famous rock star—this crowd wasn’t really Rolling Stone’s ideal readership—but because he was so out of place in this polished and sanitized place.
Two more things Wyatt wasn’t.
Polished or sanitized.
“You’re stalking me?” I hissed.
He folded his arms. “Get your shit. You’re leavin’.”
My eyes likely bulged out of my head. “You need to leave and check yourself right into the nearest psychiatric facility if you think that statement, your presence, in general, is appropriate.”
“Oh, I don’t give a fuck what’s appropriate, Em,” he said, voice dangerously soft. “I’ll drag you outta here if I have to.”
Aaron chose this moment to place his napkin beside his plate and stand. “I think you should listen to Emma,” he said calmly. “And leave. Before you make more of a scene.”
Wyatt grinned. “You think this is a scene, brother, you haven’t seen shit.” Threat was threaded into his lazy—and sexy—grin.
I chose this moment to stand too, I resisted the urge to snatch my knife and embed itself into Wyatt’s leg. “Wyatt,” I snapped. “Enough.”
“You know she’s carryin’ my baby?” he asked Aaron conversationally, ignoring me.
Aaron stilled and looked to me. And then to my belly, which was obscured by my black dress that did a good job of hiding my small bump. “Is that true?”
Fuck.
I snatched my purse. “What’s true is this is Wyatt, and he’s mentally disturbed. He doesn’t know the difference between fantasy and reality.”
“Oh, I’m pretty fuckin’ well versed on my reality right now, unfortunately,” Wyatt said, voice tight.
I looked to Aaron, trying to make my expression even. “I’m so sorry I’m going to have to take him back home. Or to a padded room.” I snatched Wyatt’s hand. “Probably the latter.” I glanced to the table, the expensive, boring food and the pretentious wine. “Please bill that to the gallery,” I said.
And then before Wyatt could actually cause a scene, or more of one, I dragged him out. Now people were staring blatantly, whispering to each other, recognition dawning in their faces.
Luckily no one had gotten their phones out. But they would. No matter how fancy these people pretended to be, they couldn’t help but be enamored, hypnotized by the myth of celebrity.
Especially when they were behaving badly.
I went to grab my coat from the maître d’, but Wyatt was quicker, and he grabbed it, holding it open for me to shrug into.
“Now you’re the gentleman?” I snapped, getting into it as quick as I could. I tried to yank myself away, but he kept hold of me, pulling my back into his front so his mouth was at my neck.
“No, Emma, I’m never gonna be gentle. You don’t need a gentleman,” he rasped, pure sex in his tone.
My entire body responded. Almost violently. My knees turned watery and my panties were soaked the second his breath hit my neck.
But the Instagram image hit my mind. I yanked myself from his grip. “Don’t you dare try and tell me what I need,” I hissed. “I need you to get the fuck out of my face before I hit you.”
He smirked, sex still saturating his gaze. “You’ll only hurt your hand.”
“Well, it’s worth the pain at this point,” I snapped. I looked to the door. “Are there a thousand photographers out there?”
His grin disappeared. “Nope, no one followed me, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Thank Satan for small favors,” I muttered, then I started to stride out the door.
Wyatt had to put his hand on the small of my back as I did so, I hated that simple gesture had such complex ramifications. As if the fact I was carrying his baby wasn’t complicated enough.
A black Bugatti pulled up the second we hit the curb.
Wyatt’s car.
Aaron had picked me up.
Fuck.
I tried to reach into my purse for my phone, intending on getting an Uber as quick as humanly p
ossible.
Wyatt’s hand circled my wrist, stopping me. “Just get in the fucking car, Em,” he hissed, obviously knowing that I was planning on ordering another ride.
“When hell freezes over,” I snapped.
“Hey! It’s Wyatt from Unquiet Mind!” someone shouted from across the street.
“Fuck,” Wyatt cursed. His playful expression was gone as he opened the passenger door, shielding me with his body from the inescapable camera flash.
I didn’t hesitate to get in, because if it was a choice between having to handle fifteen minutes in the car with Wyatt or the fifteen minutes of fame for being his latest floozie, I was always choosing the former.
He rushed around the hood as the crowd began to form, people stopping and scrambling for their phones.
The car screamed from the curb, narrowly missing people who had been literally jumping into traffic to get a blurry photo of one of the most famous rock stars in the world.
That was the reality of his life. I couldn’t argue with him on the street without people swarming. He could barely walk down the street without cameras documenting his every move. My blood went cold at the thought of my pregnancy going public, and having that.
I almost vomited with the thought that my child would have to deal with it. Because this wasn’t a secret that was going to stay that way for long. I had a very strong urge to go home, pack a bag, purchase a one-way ticket to Australia and live in the Outback.
I totally would’ve done it if they didn’t have so many spiders and other weird insects that could kill you.
I thought of what happened to Lexie. What happened to Sam.
Maybe the insects in Australia were preferable to the human beings in L.A.
My mind was so consumed with the nightmare my child would have to live, trying to figure out solutions, escape routes, that I didn’t realize where we were until Wyatt was pulling into the parking garage of my building.
He hadn’t tried to speak to me the entire drive.
His tattooed knuckles were white with the grip he had on the steering wheel.
Miraculously, there was a spot open next to my Beetle. He slid into it easily.
“Well, thanks for ruining my fucking night,” I said, opening the door. “I hope the rest of yours is sufficiently shitty.”
He got out of the car at the same time as me, rounding it quicker than me and boxing me in.
“No fucking way are you walkin’ away without an explanation, Emma,” he growled, eyes stormy. “I thought we’d finally gotten our shit together. And you decide to go on a date with another man without fuckin’ sayin’ a thing?” His words were hurled with barely restrained fury.
I jutted up my chin. “I thought it was just the same as you making out with another woman outside your recording studio today.” I threw at him, voice acid.
He froze.
“What?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t remember kissing some girl when it only happened hours ago? Even for you, Wyatt, that’s bullshit. So how about you stop acting like you’ve got a right to be mad about me having dinner with another man, accept our shit is never gonna be sorted and let me go up to my apartment?” My voice was firm, strong, bitchy. I was proud.
“You saw a photo?” he asked instead of acknowledging what I said, still keeping me pressed against the car.
I nodded once.
“You saw a photo, decided to believe the worst, planned a date with another man instead of fuckin’ calling me,” he bit out.
Fury flushed through my body. “I didn’t need to believe the worst when the worst was communicated to me in a fucking photo, asshole,” I yelled. “I’m not calling you to let you give some bullshit explanation.”
“You didn’t call me because you know me. You know I’d never kiss some other bitch with what I have with you. You knew my explanation wouldn’t be bullshit, therefore, you wouldn’t have a chance to escape,” he said.
“You don’t have anything with me,” I hissed.
His eyes moved down my body then back up. “I have fucking everything.” He let the words hit me. “She’s someone I used to fuck. Turned up at the studio at the same time I was leavin’, all but jumped on me right in time for that picture.” His expression darkened. “Fuck, she probably staged the whole fuckin’ thing.”
I believed him immediately, of course. Because he was right, I knew Wyatt. Though he’d fucked many girls in his time, he didn’t fuck anyone over. He wouldn’t lie to me. No matter how much I wanted him to. Because he was right, I did snatch the first escape route offered.
“Well, how about you go and yell at her?” I demanded.
“I like yellin’ at you better,” he replied, voice soft.
My stomach did a little flip and my panties dampened.
“Step away, Wyatt,” I commanded, my voice breathy.
For a few delicious and torturous moments, I didn’t think he was going to. But then he did. I exhaled, hoping it sounded like an impatient exhaling of breath rather than the sigh of disappointment that it was.
I didn’t hesitate to start walking toward the elevator.
Not that it was going to be that easy.
Wyatt fell into step with me.
I stopped.
So did he.
I turned to glare at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m walkin’ you up,” he said.
I folded my arms. “I don’t need you to walk me up. And I definitely don’t want you to.”
“Don’t give a shit,” he replied. “I didn’t need or want to find out that you were on a date tonight. So I’m walkin’ you up.”
“What? To pay me back? That’s childish, even for you, Wyatt,” I shot. “And maybe you’re forgetting the woman attached to your mouth earlier this afternoon?”
His eyes darkened. “No, the payback hasn’t even begun. And what I have in mind is far from fuckin’ childish. It’s decidedly adult.”
I blinked. Then I began walking in the direction of the elevators, because the only other option was launching myself into Wyatt’s arms and climbing him like a fucking tree. That was so not an option.
The elevator ride was silent. But the tension between us—sexual and otherwise—took up so much air it was all I could do to breathe evenly.
He didn’t speak as we reached my door, as I unlocked it, or as he barged in.
“Oh, please, come right in,” I snapped to his back.
The second he closed the door, he stalked toward me so my back was pressed to it. “What the fuck was that, Emma?”
“You coming into my apartment uninvited,” I hissed.
“No, you goin’ on a date with some uppity asshole. Even if you’re mad at me, trying to pay me back for something you know was bullshit. You’re pregnant. With my child.” He slammed every word into the air. Into my body.
“The kid in my uterus being half yours does not mean any other part of me belongs to you,” I snapped.
His eyes narrowed. “You sure about that?” he murmured.
I held my breath as he stalked closer, rested his palms flat on the door so he boxed me in.
“Why the fuck were you on a date with some beige asshole who doesn’t deserve you?” he asked.
“Because the beige asshole was polite, attractive and I’m a single woman, therefore I’m allowed to date. And because I’m fucking horny,” I snapped, not realizing I’d said the last part until his entire face changed.
Until my stomach jerked with the sheer hunger on his face.
“Well, you’re horny, you don’t go to some fucker who wouldn’t have the first clue on how to please a woman like you,” he rasped, breath hot on my face. “You come to me. You come to me when you see photos that mean nothin’, and then I’ll tell you what means everything. I’ll show you whose mouth I want to claim.”
“Wyatt, we’re not doing this,” I whispered.
“Yeah, Emma, we are,” he said.
And then I couldn’t argue.
Because his mouth slammed down on mine.
Not gentle.
Not tender.
I kissed him back immediately.
He made a low growl in the back of his throat and his hands were on my hips, lifting me. My legs wrapped around his legs on instinct, out of need to press myself against him.
I bit his lip as I ground my hips against his, getting some of the friction I needed, but not enough. He let out a growl in his throat as he walked us through my apartment, me grinding on him like a wild animal.
The kiss was wild, desperate, full of our anger, frustration.
My bed was soft under me and then I was assaulted with empty air against my mouth as Wyatt pulled back. “You need to stop fuckin’ kissin’ me like that,” he growled, eyes dark. “I can’t fuck you gentle if you’re kissin’ me like that.”
I snatched at his tee, yanking him down. “I don’t want you to fuck me gentle,” I whispered. I pressed my mouth to his, kissing him like I had before, sinking my teeth into his lips, drawing blood.
I relished the coppery taste in my mouth, of Wyatt.
Then his mouth wasn’t on mine, it was traveling down my neck, pulling me up so he could pull down the front of my dress. He let out a low hiss as he took in my bra, my boobs all but spilling out of the unsupportive lace.
“Yeah, you’re getting fuckin’ payback for going out with another man wearing this,” he growled, palming my breast roughly, to the point of pain.
I let out a satisfied cry at his brutal grip and had to bite my lip to suppress my scream when he leaned forward and fastened his mouth over the lace onto my nipple.
Then it was gone, just as I was sure that I was going to explode from purely that. Purely Wyatt’s mouth on my fucking nipple.
His gaze was hooded, electric as it took me in. He brushed my lips with his thumb. “You don’t bite your lips to stop yourself from screaming,” he commanded. “I wanna hear you scream for me.” His hand moved lower, brushing over my stomach, moving to hike up the skirt of my dress and press into my soaking panties.
I cried out as he found my clit atop the thin fabric instantly.
I thrust my hips up, anxious for the climax that was seconds away.
Wyatt’s hand left me.