“Yes, you are. That picture online is absolutely disgusting. Didn’t I teach you to cover up all that flab?”
“I meant that I’m not your daughter. Not anymore.” I hung up, tossed the phone on the dresser and went into the bathroom. It took five minutes to stop crying and another ten of cold water on my face to reduce the swelling my tears had caused. After that, I changed into clothes that would have made my mother proud—long sleeves, pants and a belt.
Stepping onto the terrace, I found Blake sitting at a table, a bottle of plum wine aerating next to him. Seeing the outfit I had changed into, a knowing smile crept along one side of his face.
“You didn't pack all pants, did you?”
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him, more annoyed at myself for being so obvious than mad at him.
Lifting a wine glass, Blake gestured at the surrounding buildings and open sky. “Great view, isn't it? So many things to look at—”
“Yeah, I get your point.” I took the glass and filled it to the brim. I nodded at the table loaded with enough food for four but only the single loveseat for us to sit on. “I get the point of all this.”
“Then come and sit next to me, PJ.” He patted the cushion. The earlier smile crept up the other side of his face until he was grinning at me, his gray gaze sparkling with the city's lights as night fell around us.
I swallowed down half the glass of wine and then perched on the edge of the loveseat. That was my first mistake—or maybe my second. Grabbing the wine bottle, he refilled my glass, his free hand sliding around my back to grip my opposite hip.
Trying my best to ignore having Blake’s hand on me, I scooped up one of the sushi rolls.
“It's from Masa's.”
I popped the roll in my mouth and let it unravel along my tongue. Groaning, I took a sip of the wine. “God, I love Masa's.”
“I know.” Blake laughed, the sound cut short as his lips brushed against my neck.
Right, he'd taken me there once. My agency had just finished our first campaign for Cross. He'd been more than pleased with the results and wanted to discuss ideas. The memory, almost a year old, was bittersweet.
“If you're so good at remembering things, where's the sake?” Growling at him, I popped another roll in my mouth and leaned back, my eyes closing in epicurean ecstasy.
“I want you relaxed, PJ. Not drunk.”
Shit. I had forgotten about his father. Dead, Philip Cross had been a drunk while he was alive. A very charming one, if the tales were true, but beaten down by the stigma of having grown up a bastard during a time people still paid attention to things like that. Beaten and crushed when Blake’s mom had divorced him and left them both.
“Don’t worry about it, love.” The hand on my hip tugged me closer while the other slid along the curve of my stomach.
Feeling his lips at my throat once more, my body's response was instant. Another groan gurgled up my throat.
“That good, huh?” He nibbled at my ear, a shiver shooting down my body to curl my toes.
“Hmmm?” I tried to open my eyes but the sushi and plum wine were already mixing in my stomach.
“The sushi—it's that good?” The hand at my stomach dipped to trace a line down my thigh before zipping back up to cup my breast.
I wrapped my fingers around his wrist. “I'm not putting on some sex show for the Post, Blake. They’ll accuse you of animal husbandry if we do.”
His gaze darkened and, for the first—and hopefully last—time I saw Blake furious.
“Where did you read that bullshit?”
“I didn’t.” I stuttered the answer out, my tongue tripping over itself from a combination of the wine and embarrassment. “I’ve been avoiding the news.”
“Good, continue avoiding it.” His fist clenched before he forced it open and smoothed it along my thigh. “Those people are utterly irrelevant.”
“Which is why you paid me a quarter million last year to shape what they say about your company,” I reminded him.
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, a smile curving his mouth once more. “I paid you a quarter mil so I could hold meetings with you, PJ. And watch you get all excited about a campaign and pretend it was me making your skin flush instead.”
“Now who’s talking bullshit?” I rolled my eyes at him. “And I’m still not putting on some sex show.”
“No, love. We'll save that for private.” Leaning against me, Blake kissed the side of my mouth.
I turned into the kiss, unable to stop myself. Cross had to know a hundred ways of kissing a woman. He hadn't kissed me the same way twice. This one started with a slow tug at my bottom lip with his teeth. He cupped the side of my head, his thumb stroking my cheekbone as the other hand rested lightly against my throat.
His mouth slid to the side, the tip of his tongue teasing the corner of my lips until my lower jaw went slack and I moaned.
“Such a sweet mouth, Pippa.” His tongue curled along my upper palate as he slowly sucked my top lip. “I would kiss it all day if you'd let me.”
I'd gladly let him, but he wasn't mine to kiss. Even if I had forgotten for a few seconds, I didn't want a borrowed lover. Not when it came to Cross. I ran my fingers along the side of his face, coaxing him to look at me. “Abigail says you're in love.”
“Yeah, PJ, I am.” Unbelievable after dropping that bomb, he tried to kiss me again.
I pressed my fingers lightly against his lips to stop him. “With whom?”
I was too tired to cry anymore and the wine already tugged at my senses. I just wanted to know who it was, this woman who had managed to make Blake Cross fall in love with her. I wanted to put a name and a face to her. I wanted to confirm all the differences, lean body, exquisite face, high-society upbringing or some drop dead gorgeous Jenny on the Block whose beauty had transcended her humble beginnings to lift her to the dizzying heights of being Blake Cross’s woman.
Only then would I be able to fully put aside the ridiculous notion that he could fall for someone like me.
His brows knitted together, his head tilting as he chewed at his bottom lip. “You don't know already?”
I shook my head. Earlier, I'd worried it was Burke, but that didn't fit. The few times I'd seen them together, she had tried to monopolize his attention. Like Abigail, Burke had probably realized Blake was in love. The lawsuit was her revenge.
“No. But you are in love—Burke realized and that’s why she quit and is suing you, isn’t it?”
“One day and you’ve put almost all of it together, PJ.” The pad of his thumb grazed my bottom lip. “I’m impressed.”
“So fill me the rest of the way in—who is she?”
“If you don't know, maybe I shouldn't tell you.” He wasn't teasing. His voice sounded like he had zero intention of giving me the woman’s name.
“You should.” I patted his shoulder, deciding that I was definitely tipsy from just the one glass. Small surprise—other than the two sushi rolls, I'd had a cup of coffee, an apple and some water—far, far below my normal daily intake. There hadn't been room on the day's agenda for food.
Aiming for Blake's chest, I missed and poked him in the throat with my index finger. “Why aren't you marrying her, instead?”
“You mean why am I paying you to marry me?” He closed his eyes, a sad smile twisting at the corners of his mouth. “The woman I love is obnoxiously clueless about how I feel.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around, it seems.” Hearing the pain in his voice, I almost felt sorry for him. Maybe I did, a little. But I felt sorrier for myself. The man I had a serious crush on was in love with someone else and I had to marry him and pretend to pretend I loved him. That was all kinds of fucked up.
Leaning back against the cushion, I closed my eyes. “You should tell her.”
“I will, when she's ready to hear it and not walk out of my life forever.” His hand brushed my face, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear before sliding behind me. H
is thumb played along the small of my back, making me melt deeper into the cushion. “Right now she’s got her walls up.”
I nodded. As different as I might be from this mystery woman in the flesh, I’d built a few walls myself. First with my parents, then with men after a few lovers had used me as their safety rebound—the fat chick they thought they could walk all over.
My head started to slide toward his chest. I tried to lift it but my eyes were closing, my brain shutting down. Feeling an arm along the back of my knees, I clutched Blake’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“As much as I’d rather do something else with you, PJ, I’m putting you to bed.” He lifted me, rolling my body against his broad chest. “You're exhausted.”
I couldn't argue with that. I was asleep before we reached the bedroom.
Piranha in Prada
There was no rose when I woke the next morning. No Blake, either. Once again, I'd slept too late. I took a quick shower and let my hair air dry while I painted on a little bit of pretty. I was searching for my bag in the living room when Abigail popped around a corner and told me she was making me an omelet.
“I really have to run—”
“Mr. Cross said to let you sleep until you woke naturally and make sure you ate something before you left. I have it all mixed—it won't take more than five minutes to cook and another five to eat.”
I suppressed a frown as I tapped the clock app on my phone and set an alarm for the week. It was Blake, not Abigail, being bossy and I didn't want her to think I was upset with her. Still, I needed to go. I opened my mouth, ready to argue, when my stomach gurgled.
“Fine.” Sighing, I followed her into the kitchen. “But I can't make a habit of going in late.”
“No life of leisure for you after the wedding, eh?” She poured the blended eggs onto a flat skillet where they sizzled and popped.
“Not a chance.” I peeled a banana while I watched her cook.
“Mr. Cross said you are independent, that you have a hard time letting people take care of you.”
Blake certainly had me pegged on that point. Depending on someone else was the surest path to disappointment. I'd learned that young and Gorman's betrayal had only reinforced my opinion. I didn't want to talk about it, though, so I steered the conversation in a new direction. “You're very fond of Blake, aren't you?”
“He's practically a fourth son.” Abigail folded the omelet onto a plate and slid it along the counter to me. “I definitely feel a mother's joy knowing he found you.”
She cleared her throat and I realized she was getting a little misty-eyed.
“You know, I caught him in the hall this morning as he was leaving the bedroom. He just had to stop and stare at you.” Her hands moved up and out, a little higher than her hips as if she were standing in a doorway and leaning in. “I wish I had a camera, it was so sweet.”
I dipped my head, feeling my own eyes begin to moisten. I had to give Blake credit—he was thorough. While he probably didn't think Abigail would expose the relationship as a sham if she found out, he had to know she'd be incredibly believable if she thought it was real. She might casually mention it to her husband or son or hairdresser. The story would leak out from there. I'd fashioned more than one information campaign that way. It worked. Make part of your target audience believe it and they would convince everyone else.
“Yes, that would have made a great picture.” I gulped down the rest of the omelet and stood up. Plate in hand, I looked around for the sink but Abigail took the dish away.
“You go ahead. I texted the driver that you would be along in a few minutes.”
“You're a jewel, Abigail.” Leaning across the counter, I gave her a quick peck on the cheek before I realized what I was doing. Blushing, I mumbled my good-bye and hurried from the penthouse, silently cursing Blake and hoping the truth, when it finally came out, wouldn't hurt Abigail too badly.
I spent a few hours at work before heading to a meeting with another attorney from the law firm Blake used. This time to deal with the IRS agent who was intent on making my life a living hell. I had to hand it to Blake's attorneys—the agent left the office meek as a lamb. I was so ecstatic I had to keep myself from doing fist pumps as I returned to work.
Running into Anna Burke in the lobby of my office building shattered my elation. She had a two-day old copy of the Post folded to page six in her hand. Seeing that I had noticed her, she offered me a chilly smile.
“Hello, Pippa. Remember me?”
I tried to smile back but couldn't bring myself to do it. Even before she left Blake's company, I'd always felt like I had cockroaches crawling over me when Anna was present. “Sure, you used to work at Cross. You looking for a job or something?”
Her posture stiffened and the hand clutching the paper started to ball into a fist. “No, I came here to warn you about Blake Cross. He doesn't love you.”
Surprise flashed across my face. I tilted my head and stared at her throat. “That's funny, I don't see an Adam's apple but you must have one helluva set of balls on—”
“Don't try to be clever, Pippa. It doesn't suit you.” She unfolded the Post and drew out several sheets of copy paper. “I'm suing Blake.”
I reached for the papers but she jerked them back.
“He's seducing you to get at me and divert the public's attention from the case.” She smiled again, trying so damn hard to soften its predatory curve that her lips quivered. “Don't be a fat little fool about this. I'm trying to be your friend.”
Looking into her pale blue gaze, I realized for the first time she wore tinted contacts. I returned her smile, wondering if anything about Anna was real. “Is that what he did, seduce you so he could get something out of you?”
The papers she held snapped half an inch from my face. Seeing it coming, I didn't flinch.
Folding her arms across her chest, she glared at me. “Unlike you, I can get any man I want. Do I look like the kind of dumb bimbo that would fall for something like that?”
She really shouldn't have asked. She was exactly that kind of dumb bimbo. I smiled, my head slowly bobbing in answer. I started to turn toward the bank of elevators. “I have a business to run, Anna. Don't bother me with this again.”
Burke clutched at my sleeve. “You're just a pawn in this, he'll drop you the second the suit is over or his little ploy doesn't work.”
Grabbing her wrist, I squeezed at its pressure points until she had to let go of the fabric. “Come near me again and Blake will get a restraining order against you. And, for the record, I'm no one's pawn.”
Her gaze went as flat as any killer’s. Her whole face narrowed as her nostrils flared. “Then you're his paid whore. I hope, for your sake, the money's good. I know the sex is.”
Hearing the elevator door chime, I spun on my heels and stepped inside, my gaze meeting hers one last time in the mirrored panels before the doors shut. Alone, I leaned against the side wall, my hands trembling with anger.
She was right. I was Blake's paid whore. Not just figuratively. I'd already spread my legs once for him, that first night at the penthouse when he'd suckled my clit until the last of what I was dissolved into nothing. I had spread them a second time in the limo and would again after the wedding, letting him thrust into me so the pre-nup would be valid.
The elevator doors opened and I pressed the close button before jabbing the button for the lobby floor. Stepping outside, I scanned quickly to see if Anna was still in the area and then I called the driver for him to double back and take me to Blake's office.
We needed to talk. He needed to know she was suspicious and I needed to know if he...if they...
I shook my head, flinging tears.
I didn't need to know whether they’d fucked. What I needed was out of the deal. I needed to wake up in the morning in my own bed and be able to look myself in the mirror and not flinch.
None of that mattered, of course.
More than anything, I needed the money.
&
nbsp; Love Going Down
"Tell me again from the beginning.” Blake had me backed up against his office wall, his hands on my shoulders to stop my pacing. “Don't leave anything out.”
I glared at him. I'd already been through it twice with him. Three more times in my head on the ride over. My stomach was twisted in knots and I didn't want to think, let alone speak, about Burke ever again.
“Please, PJ, just one last time. You were holding back, I can see it on your face.”
I closed my eyes. Most everything had come spilling out the second I had shut his office door, my guts all but strewn across the fancy Oriental rug adorning his floor. I recounted how she had said he didn't love me, that this was all because she was suing him, that she'd thrust some legal papers at me but yanked them away before I had a chance to read them, how she had intimated they had sex—which he denied—and, last, how she'd called me a pawn.
I shook my head. “I only left out that she said I was your paid whore and she hopes the money is good after I told her I wasn't anyone's pawn.”
Still holding back, I didn’t mention she’d called me a fat little fool. It was bad enough repeating that she had called me a whore.
He cocked a brow, his gaze intense as he studied me. I was sure he knew that I was still holding back, but, in the end, he seemed convinced. “Did you make that face when she said it?”
Scowling, I tried to push him away from me. “I'm not making any face.”
“Yes, you are. You look like you believe every last nasty thing that cu—” He cut himself short with a growl.
His fingers brushed against my cheek, but I looked away. “Like I care what Anna Burke thinks. And I didn't make any face that she could see. I turned around and stalked into the elevator.”
I left out the fact that our eyes had locked one last time before the elevator doors shut.
“PJ, your face communicates a lot more than you think.” Gripping my chin with his thumb and index finger, he forced me to look at him. “It was one of the things I first noticed about you.”
Cupping my face with both hands, he stroked his thumbs along my cheekbones. “You're like a fine porcelain doll with a built in emoticon button.”
Crazy About Curves: 10 Luscious Reads Page 14