CHAPTER ONE
Living in Los Angeles was like living in a different world—at least that had been my experience. It could be a dream come true or your worst nightmare, and sometimes it managed to be both. But I was one of the lucky ones. My experience had been more good than bad—especially since I met the sex god beside me.
My sex god.
David Taylor.
The man had completely changed my life. It started the first time I laid eyes on him; something inside me responded to him—no—answered to him. Shifting. Altering. Waking up. And he was a walking wet dream. He was my dream. My other half.
As we sat in the back of the town car, I watched LA live up to what I'd imagined it to be before I actually lived here—busy, exciting, filled with a refreshing, wild energy.
It was contagious.
It made me feel alive.
Hopeful.
Like anything was possible.
But I didn't need LA to remind me of that anymore; the six foot three and a half inches of sinfully honed muscle pressed against me was a constant reminder.
David and I were proof anything was possible in La La Land, because we never should've crossed paths. We didn't run in the same crowds; we didn't frequent the same places. When we met, I was a struggling actress doing temp work, and he was a recently retired athlete.
What was more impossible... we were both deeply damaged, but our issues somehow managed to work together. He wanted me and accepted me as-is. On the rare occasions I let myself really think about everything...
It was fucking amazing.
The way he loved me... I didn't know that kind of love existed. I didn't know anyone was capable of loving another person like that, much less me.
The growing wetness between my thighs was proof of how much he loved me. Not just because he'd fucked me like a savage at a crowded Halloween party—no, because despite his irrational, possessive jealousy, he took me to said party anyway, solely to make me happy.
Snuggling deeper into his side, I pressed my lips to his pec, my fingers exploring his abs as I watched Beverly Hills pass by outside the window. Without warning, David picked me up, maneuvering me onto his lap. The soft fur of his costume brushed under my bare thighs and ass as he positioned my legs over his.
“Big Bad Wolf's not done playing with you, Little Red,” he murmured, shifting my cape around, using it to cover us like a blanket, hiding us from the driver's view. Wrapping a muscled forearm around me, he pulled until my bare back was pressed firmly to his warm chest.
My head fell back against the swell of his shoulder as I watched the energy, life, and chaos outside the window. After a long moment, his large, powerful hand slid down, between my thighs, effortlessly spreading them apart, moving up until his fingertips slipped under my short skirt, trailing over the exposed, tender flesh of my sex.
“Oh no, that goes back inside,” he growled when his fingers met the escaping slickness.
As he gathered our mixed fluids, a guttural noise rattled through his chest, making me shiver, then relax as those fingers forced their way back inside, plunging deep.
It was filthy. Obscene. And I loved it. I loved everything about my obsessive, possessive man.
His thumb joined in, gently massaging my clit, sending white-hot heat licking up my spine. Shamelessly, my legs fell open, asking for more, too lust-drunk to care about our audience of one.
“There’s my girl,” he growled in approval.
My clit throbbed at his words, instantly feeling submissive and needy.
I was his girl. Always. Completely and utterly his. But I’d gotten the impression, I had done something to make him question that.
Suddenly, consumed by a need to reassure him, I blurted, “I didn't mean what I said earlier.”
His fingers stilled as his chest stiffened against my back, but he said nothing.
“When I said sometimes I want to kick your ass?” I tried to clarify. “That's not exactly true. I get frustrated at times, but... your question kind of threw me.”
“Good to know,” he purred, using his sex voice—velvet over gravel.
“I just wanted really rough sex, and I hoped this tiny outfit would do it...” My voice trailed off as I realized I was babbling.
His fingers picked up their languid pace, and he relaxed, allowing our bodies to mold together again as a low “hmmm” vibrated through him and against my back. “Yeah, I got that.”
Of course he did.
He was always too perceptive, noticing every little nuance. He probably knew what I was up to before we even left the house.
He took a deep breath, blowing it out harshly. Then he rasped behind my ear, “How 'bout... if something is bothering you, tell me.”
“I'll try.” After a long, silent moment, I admitted, “Being vulnerable sucks.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I get that. But try, okay?”
I didn’t reply, as I tried to give myself over to the intimacy. His warm breath, lips, and stubble brushed the sensitive skin behind my ear as his talented fingers worked inside me.
But even with his skillful touch, my confession, all the partygoers on Sunset Boulevard in every state of dress, and bumper-to-bumper traffic, I couldn't stop my mind from racing with the information David had just dropped on me minutes before.
He was going to play three more seasons of baseball.
All I wanted was a couple of hours a day alone to do girlie shit: pluck random hairs, go to the bathroom without someone hovering, inspect my face with a magnified mirror—all the stuff girls didn't want an audience for. I certainly didn't want days or weeks, or who-the-fuck knew how long away from him.
I was really on a roll with this whole careful what you wish for thing. I'd just gotten a handle on my emotions. What the hell was I gonna do with this?
His fingers carefully slipping free broke me from my thoughts. My eyes darted to his face, worried he’d sensed my inner turmoil, but that concern evaporated when he casually slid those digits into his mouth. It seemed like an absentminded gesture as he looked out the window, and that's when I noticed we were home; parked at the top of our drive.
From his position underneath me, David gripped my waist, helping me out of the car. “Go inside.”
His gruff tone surprised me, but I complied, making my way through the open garage and entering the house without a word. Chance, our black brindle pit bull/mastiff mix—my wedding present—greeted me with a full body wag, rubbing against my legs before racing toward the bedroom. When I reached our room, Chance was snuggled down in his bed, like a small child that waits up for their parents only to fall asleep the second they get home.
It was adorable.
Unzipping the micro-dress, I let it fall to the floor and stepped out of it. As I struggled with my boots, deft hands removed the cape, allowing me better movement. Then those hands pushed me back onto the bed, taking over the foot-freeing effort. The way he handled the task was effortless and graceful.
In my defense, getting them on was always much easier than getting them off.
“Go wash your face, then get that sweet ass in bed,” David directed once I was sans boots, his voice stern, demanding.
I paused, looking at him. “What's gotten into you all of a sudden, bossy?”
“Just found out my wife isn't really bothered with my overbearing behavior; she's bothered by my lack of aggression.” He slapped me on the ass, then gave it a firm squeeze.
I lifted my chin and narrowed my eyes before turning to make a show of heading for the bathroom.
“Don't bother showering. I'm just gonna get you dirty again,” he called behind me, clearly amused.
My attempt at being disgruntled might have been more effective if I hadn't been completely naked.
After washing my face, I headed back to bed, stopping short in the bathroom doorway, finding David lying on our bed, struggling to get out of his costume.
“Please, woman, never again,” he called as he pushed at the bottom half of the fur suit.
“No promises,” I laughed.
“If you wanna get into some kinky shit, fine,” he grunted, finally getting the costume down his muscled thighs, “but don't make me wear something like this out again.”
Still laughing, I went to the closet to grab something to sleep in.
David called behind me, “Hey, nuh-uh. Naked, sweetheart. I deserve naked after wearing this thing.”
Turning, I leaned in the closet doorway, watching him tug the fur suit off, then stand. He was in front of me in four long strides. His head cocked to the side, his eyebrows lifted in a teasing challenge.
“Fine,” I murmured, dragging my fingers across his chest, adding a little more sway to my hips as I moved past him, crawling onto the bed, making a show of it, arching my hips back, giving him an explicit view.
I heard a groaned “Oh fuck,” then “the fucking death of me” as he turned, going to take a quick shower.
Smirking, I slid under the covers, far too pleased by his reaction. Seemed unhealthy how much I thrived on it, depended on it—the effect I had on him.
What the hell would I do if he ever stopped reacting to me like that?
I quickly forced the thought away, it was too unsettling to think about.
I don't know how long I laid there staring at the open bathroom door, trying to imagine him being gone at away games. Then I tried to think of things I could say to discourage his desire to go. All those manipulative thoughts made me feel disgusting. I could never be that kind of person. I never wanted to be that girl.
“Babe,” I called loudly, staring at the ceiling.
“Yeah.” His deep, rumbling voice echoed in the marble bathroom.
“How long will you be gone for games?”
“Depends. But I'll have the schedule in advance, so we can plan ahead of time—we have to with Chance.”
Oh shit.
He expected me to go. Of course he did.
Part of me wanted to lose myself in him—it was the easier choice—but I had been independent too long. I had too many things I wanted to do. And I knew I would hate myself and eventually him if I did.
I'm super fucked.
****
Monday morning came far too soon. I'd managed to force myself to forget about baseball and its looming threat. But today, I had to deal with our current situation: his trip to Italy and the fact that I wasn't going. I knew he would be pissed, and I couldn't bring myself to blame him. David had asked several times yesterday about what needed to be packed and what our plans for the week were. I had easily redirected him by fucking Sunday away.
Literally.
Was I ashamed of manipulating him with sex? Hell no. He did it to me. Frequently and effectively in fact.
And that was more or less my plan for dealing with my impending confession. I was going to get him so fuck-drunk, he wouldn’t care what I’d done. It had worked with every other man I’d known.
As I padded down the hallway, I let my oversized, deep V-neck tee slide off one shoulder, making sure it was distractingly low, then gave my hair one last tousle before stepping out into the living room.
“Hey, babe?” I called out innocently while putting a little extra sway in each step as I made my way toward the kitchen.
I couldn't help but appreciate the Halloween décor. The sterling silver skulls, the mercury glass pumpkins, the large Gothic candle holders were sexy and sophisticated. I loved them. I wanted to leave them up all year.
“What're you doing up so early? Did we wake you?” His thick rasp wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Comforting. Soothing. Making me feel a twinge of guilt for what I was doing.
“Not at all,” I answered, watching his chiseled torso as he move around the kitchen. Then I noticed he already had the pan heating on the stove.
As soon as the bedroom door had shut behind him, I hopped out of bed and quickly freshened up, so I knew he hadn’t had time to get much done—beside feed Chance.
Leaning against the kitchen island, I did my best ‘sweet and sexy’ and offered, “Need help?”
He gave me a speculative look as he turned to the fridge. That look turned into a teasing glare as he returned with an assortment of veggies, eggs, and cheese. “Can you cook?”
Pursing my lips, I pretended to give it real consideration. “Kinda.”
He huffed a laugh. “No, sweetheart. Sit down or go watch TV—or, better yet, get back in bed. I like our routine.”
“I like our routine, too. But you can't do everything all the time.”
He paused, really looking me over. “Why? Why can't I make our breakfast all the sudden?”
“You can.” Then I tried for playful. “What about that whole ‘thinking about you doing wifey-stuff gets me hard’?”
He looked at me with a growing smirk.
“I love how you can still be so naïve.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, feeling insulted.
“Okay, don't be mad,” he started to explain, struggling to smother his smile as he began slicing veggies. “I'd just gotten you to stay at my house, and I was already dropping you off at home—that wasn't part of my plan. I thought once I got you here for a while, you'd wanna stay. I would've said anything,” he admitted with a mischievous grin. “Done anything. I didn't want you to leave—and in my defense, I was picturing you naked in my kitchen, baking cookies, wearing a tiny apron when I said that. And if you ever want to do that, let me know.”
“It was all a plan?” I asked, genuinely curious and feeling slightly manipulated.
“Once you told me about Mr. Impressive—yes,” he answered as he continued making our breakfast. “I knew I had to get you away from other men for a while, get you focused on me, get you to agree to marry me.” Taking in my expression, he added, “Austin, men like me are a dime a dozen in this town.”
“That's not true,” I argued fiercely, equally dumbfounded and offended he would ever think that.
“Yes, it is.” His tone was suddenly sober. “Both of my neighbors are worth almost twice what I am. Both are single guys, and they're your age.”
I could see it in his expression... This was where his need to overprovide for me came from. The competition from the men in this town triggered some of his childhood issues, mainly his fear of abandonment and rejection, making him feel like he wasn’t good enough.
He continued, “You are the rarity here. You know who you are, and you own it. Hollywood hasn't transformed you. All these girls here—fake tits, fake ass, painting their faces to look like someone else, scary skinny, and no personality—don't have a clue who they are.”
The way he saw me was flattering and stupefying. It was one hell of an ego boost.
“David...” I didn't know what to address and what to leave alone, so I opted for the simplest truth. “Nobody is like you. No one could replace you.”
Then, trying to get the morning back on track, I shifted my arms, pressing my breasts together and leaned forward a bit, and asked in a honeyed whisper, “Can't I take care of you sometimes? Maybe help you cook?”
He turned to me, his expression hardened. “Not unless I'm damn near dying. You are not my mother. I take care of you. Understand?”
Feeling dejected, but not wanting him to know, I teased, “Don't you think it's kinda weird that I can't, like... clean the house?”
“I've told you before, I don't want you cooking or cleaning or any of the shit my mother did for my father. You take care of me by being with me. By letting me take care of you.”
He had told me, but I didn't think he was that serious.
I realized then, there was no chance of me helping him cook breakfast. While brushing my body against his. Teasing him. Until he was buried inside me. Pounding away.
So much for my plan.
Sitting down at the kitchen island, I watched him. The muscles in his back were tense swells narrowing down to the waistband of those tiny black boxer briefs. His muscles ticked and jumped with his movements as he plated our food and fixed our coffees.
When he turned, setting the coffee in front of me, his pecs were taut and harsh looking, his abs tensed. The knowing look on his face made me pause. That look clearly communicated two things—he knew my attempt to help him with breakfast was more than just trying to take care of him, and he wasn't happy about it.
He set our plates down and came around the island, watching me all the while. It felt as if those eyes could peel layers of me away until I was completely exposed, right down to that confused, scared little girl deep down inside me. Nowhere to hide.
He settled in the chair, his penetrating gaze still on me, making me incredibly uncomfortable.
“So what's going on?” he probed, his voice was quiet, but solemn.
“Nothing’s going on. You're leaving tomorrow,” I answered, not looking away from my plate.
“We are leaving tomorrow.”
I hesitated for a moment, then decided, fuck it.
“No,” I said slowly. “You are.” I finally looked over at him. “I have a cover shoot scheduled for Wednesday.”
His jaw clenched. “Since when?”
He watched me for a moment, and when I started to respond, he grabbed his phone and stood, bracing a hand on the edge of the island, his back to me.
“What the fuck is she talking about, Elaine? She has a cover shoot?” he questioned our publicist.
David fell silent for a moment, his breathing harsh in the quiet room. I watched his back rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Then he turned to me, his intense gaze piercing through me. A dozen emotions moved across his face, the most prominent being hurt and betrayal, before he walked away from me, heading toward our bedroom.
I was torn between following him and at least listening to his side of the conversation and sitting there, working out how to plead my case. He was going to think this was planned. He was going to think this was something deeper than it was. He was going to be hurt.
He’s already hurt.
Placing my elbows on the kitchen island, I let my head fall into my hands as I tried to think.
A sinking sensation crawled through me as I realized Elaine and I had planned it. We had intentionally kept it from him until the last minute.
It was a shitty thing to do.
Of course he’s hurt.
I didn’t have the first clue how to balance being with David and pursuing a career.
It’s only a problem because our schedules conflicted this time, I lied to myself.
My immediate concern was David thinking I didn’t want to go with him—that couldn’t have been further from the truth. I wanted to go to Italy with David, much more than I wanted to do a local magazine cover. But it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up—correction—an opportunity I was in no position to pass up, if I wanted to do my short film and get my career going again.
I should have told him the truth from the start.
I swore to be honest. I wanted us both to be honest and say how we felt. Communicate better. But I didn't have the first idea how to start doing that. It wasn't in my nature to share, or talk about anything at all, really.
David
“Did she ask for this?” I demanded, pacing the length of our bedroom.
“Shit,” Elaine muttered under her breath.
“She asked for this?” I repeated, my voice growing louder.
If Austin asked for this...
“No, David, she didn't ask for this,” she answered patiently, almost as if talking to a child, like she was trying to handle me, which just pissed me off more.
“What did you do?”
Elaine sighed heavily. “They had someone else scheduled to do the cover. She canceled. Then, the replacement canceled. So I talked them into taking Austin.” Elaine’s tone shifted from suppressed annoyance to coaxing. “It's only a local magazine, but it's a huge opportunity for her. Don't freak out on her.”
“When did you tell her about this?”
Elaine didn’t answer immediately, but when she did her voice was even. “A week ago.”
“Why the fuck were both of you keeping this from me?” I thundered, fearing the worst.
“Because we knew you wouldn't agree.”
I had to hand it to Elaine; she was staying calm for someone who just admitted she’d been hiding shit from me, lying to me.
Fuck.
They’d both been lying to me for a week.
Slumping down on the end of the bed, my elbows on my knees, I let my head hang, staring at the dark hardwood floor beneath my bare feet.
Was I pissed Austin lied to me? Fuck yes. But I was more pissed that she had treated me like one of her exes. Because that shit when she came in the kitchen was choreographed, like she’d done it a hundred times.
Maybe it was my fault. I’d let her evade my questions, let her use sex to avoid answering me. Over and over again. Now, I was scared of what it all meant.
“Did she not want to go with me?” I pressed, avoiding asking my real question, Is she trying to get away from me?
“No, she wanted to go with you.”
The way she said it... Austin wanted to go with me, but Elaine had changed her mind. My fears eased as that sank in.
She continued, “I'm going to tell you the same thing I told her. You're going to be there for twenty-four hours, and you're going to be working the entire time. So why drag her with you?”
I didn’t respond, I was too pissed. And the answer was obvious; I wanted Austin with me because she was my wife, because she was mine. I always wanted her with me. And Elaine fucking knew it.
“And you have to do the campaign for your cologne line when you get home. You cannot extend your stay in Italy. And I know you. You're going to want her with you for that all-day shoot. So just back off on this,” she tried to convince me.
“Back off on this or what?” I gritted, furious she was so nonchalant about separating us, completely oblivious to our needs. There was a reason Austin and I spent so much time together. We needed the constant connection, the reassurance—at least I did.
“David,” she sighed. “Let her do this. You go to Italy—it's only for three days—and I think you guys need a little bit of space. I think it would be really good for you.” Her voice turned soft and hesitant. “I hope you realize she's not going with you to all your games.”
My pulse ground to a halt.
“What do you mean she's not going with me to all my games?” I asked cautiously. “Did she say something to you?”
“No. It’s just not realistic. And you've been worried about smothering her,” Elaine reminded me. “Just connecting the dots.”
She wasn't wrong. I had been worried about smothering Austin and controlling her too much. But I thought we’d resolved that problem.
Obviously, I’d been fooling myself. Because my wife lying to me, wanting space and treating me like any average asshole were serious problems as far as I was concerned.
What I didn’t understand was why Austin hadn’t told me. I would have given anything to make her happy, done anything she wanted.
Maybe she doesn't know what the fuck she wants.
Which was perfect for me. It gave me the opportunity to show her what she wanted. But now I had to get Fergus to watch her 24/7 for the next three days. I wasn't looking forward to that—Austin spending time with him instead of me.
And there was no way around it.
Dawn—my last arrangement—her thirty-day hold was up tomorrow. Apparently, she was being released into a drug rehab facility, which was damn near a resort. Well... it was nowhere near as secure as the facility she was currently at with its prison-like lockdown. And if she did well in inpatient treatment, she would be released to outpatient, which meant she would be free to run around town. We still had a restraining order, but that was worthless when it came to actual protection. So Fergus would be attached to Austin’s ass for the foreseeable future.
“Okay, fine,” I relented. “But I want you there with her. And I wanna see what she looks like before she steps in front of the camera.”
“You're completely ridiculous, but I guess she knows that."
“Are you gonna do it or not?” I barked, not amused at all.
She had no idea what she was doing to us—to me, anyway—separating us for the first time. I knew most people wouldn’t understand our relationship. Most wouldn’t think three days apart was a big deal.
We weren’t most people.
“Yes, David. I'll do it,” she relented softly.
Ending the call, I took a deep breath, trying to calm down before I went back to face Austin.
I loved married life.
I loved being a husband.
I loved being Austin’s husband.
It was fucking perfect as far as I was concerned.
But if she’d gone to this length to get space from me...
That thought gutted me. I wanted her to want to be with me. I wanted her to want me, like I wanted her. Obsessively. Desperately. Irrationally.
Running my hands through my hair, I blew out a harsh breath.
Doesn’t matter.
She could run all she wanted, I’d chase her. I’d always chase her. Till the day she died. I’d never let her go. I seriously wasn’t above chaining her ass in the bedroom and waiting for Stockholm syndrome to kick in.
I even knew where I’d anchor the chain.
Austin
David’s deep voice carried down the hall, filling the silent room. It was hushed fury as he interrogated Elaine.
He. Was. Pissed.
My heart rate kicked up when I heard his feet slapping against the floor as he made his way back, his barely restrained anger obvious in each step.
“You ask for this?” he demanded when he neared me.
“No. At first, I said no,” I quickly explained as he leaned against the kitchen island, looming over me, staring me down. “But we’re not going to have time to do anything in Italy, anyway.”
“I want you with me.” His voice was hard. “I don't wanna go without you. I don't wanna fucking go anywhere without you.”
Stunned, I sat there silently. I could see it in his eyes, he wasn’t just angry, he was disappointed in me.
Abruptly, he pushed off the island, coming around, sitting heavily in his chair. He stared at his food for a long time before he asked me, “Not plannin’ on going to my games?”
“I don't think I can go to all of them.” My voice was small and quiet. “And I don't think it's realistic for me to go to all of your away games. And I wanted to do a short film—”
His dark eyes cut to me, his expression stopping me short.
Trying to explain in a way he might understand, I admitted, “I'm afraid if I lose myself in you, I'll hate myself and you.”
He turned back to his food, placing his elbows on the counter, leaning forward, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. His eyes closed, and he took long, slow, deep breaths as I waited anxiously for his response. His posture and demeanor made me feel like he was trying to block me out, but I hoped he was just seriously considering my words.
After what felt like an eternity, he asked, “You want this?” His tone was a mixture of defeated and weary with an underlying bite of challenge. “This the distance you want?”
There was an ache in my chest, knowing I hurt him. Again. Then that pain was quickly overshadowed by frustration. At him and me. Because I wanted him to be able to read my mind.
Was that too fucking much to ask?
“I don't want distance. I want space!” I shouted, frustrated at having to explain myself.
Which was completely irrational.
David turned in his chair, facing me, his jaw clenched. “If I give you space, you're gonna create distance!" David shot back, not missing a beat.
Realization slammed into me hard.
He was right.
A couple of days away from him and I would start shutting down. I'd miss him. It would hurt. And I'd push him way to protect myself.
“I didn't want three days. I wanted three hours!” I yelled, getting more frustrated the more I had to explain.
Why can't he just read my mind?
His expression softened. “What?”
Our eyes stayed locked, but I didn't respond. He heard me, he just wasn't expecting my response.
“You just want three hours a day?” he checked.
“Yeah, David,” I answered, still annoyed. Half a second later, I softened. “And you're right. Days apart won’t be good for me—us,” I corrected.
He studied me, his eyes searching for the truth. He let out a heavy sigh, visibly deflating as his gaze slid to the counter.
He was silent for a long moment.
“You didn't ask for this,” he muttered, as if he’d just put that together on his own, as if I hadn't told him exactly that minutes before.
My eyes rolled in annoyance.
He picked his phone up off the counter and texted someone.
“Okay." He looked over at me. “We'll get the short film done before the season starts. You can do your thing, I can do my thing, and we won't have to be apart.”
“Okay.” I perked up, more than happy with his solution. “Elaine's going to talk to some investors about it this weekend. So I'll do...” I didn't actually know what the hell I was going to do, so I just agreed. “I'll do it all before the season starts.”
“Good. Eat. We gotta go up to the stadium and sign the contract, then go to the gym. And then I need to fuck you as much as possible before I leave tomorrow.”
“Okay.” My voice was small as I spoke through a growing grin.
It was a lot easier than I thought, telling him how I felt. And it felt better than I’d imagined.
I just hoped it would continue to be that easy.
CHAPTER TWO
As soon as we stepped into the lobby, we were greeted by a stunning brunette, who wasted no time leading us through the sleek modern halls of the executive offices. David had assured me repeatedly before we left the house this was not a formal meeting. He'd texted his manager and agent to let them know he wanted this to be as quick as possible. No photos. Nothing ceremonial. He was signing quickly and we were leaving.
When we reached the office, there were six men sitting around a long oval table.
Immediately, I felt uncomfortable in my yoga pants and David's baggy hoodie with only my sports bra on underneath. It was clear from their attire it had been intended to be formal meeting if not a photo op.
“Is it good??” David asked.
Two men at the far end, one in an elegant black suit, the other in a white button-up shirt and jeans, spoke up. “Yes, everything you asked for. Plus some.”
“Cool,” David muttered as he walked over to the stack of papers on the table. “Guys, this is Austin. Austin, this is my agent, Martin.” David nodded toward the one in the suit, then the one in the button-up shirt. “And my manager, Scott.”
I had a moment of embarrassment as I remembered David walking out on his manager because of me.
“Hi,” I muttered meekly as I shifted, until I was half-hidden behind David.
A soft rumbling laugh shook David's chest, a cocky satisfied sound. He disentangled our fingers and placed my hand on his lower back.
Instinctively, my fingers tucked in his waistband, as if hanging on.
And just like that, I felt like a child, insecure and scared, clinging to David for direction and protection in a room full of strange men. I tucked in closer to his side. His arm reached across me, his broad palm rubbing up and down my outer thigh, soothing me.
His manager handed him a pen, and he leaned down, exposing me to the room as he glanced over several papers, signing them. It seemed like an eternity to me. I felt like I was under scrutiny in that room, underdressed and the only woman.
But within seconds, David stood up and said, “Thanks, see ya later.” He gripped my hand and led me out into the desolate hallway.
“I should have dressed nicer," I whispered when we reached the elevator.
“Why? You look hot.” He looked me over. His eyebrows pulled together, and he reached out, tugging my zipper down an inch. “You don't have a shirt on?”
“I have a sports bra on.”
“You're putting on a shirt when we get to the gym,” he said with finality as he zipped my hoodie back up.
All the way up.
Automatically, I started to lower the zipper, but David's warning look stopped me.
“It's uncomfortable,” I explained.
“It's baggy,” he argued.
“It's yours,” I said sweetly, trying a different tactic.
He looked it over closely, and I saw something flash in his eyes before he relented, “Fine.”
Hesitantly, I lowered the zipper three inches as he watched me carefully. His expression was stoic, but his eyes... the look was almost challenging.
Like I would even.
Then, half a second later, I remembered the last time he dared me to wear something too revealing and how that turned out.
Before David, I was always careful about how much skin I revealed, never modest but always conscious. Never would've considered being overly showy with my body—outside a controlled environment, i.e. work. But with David I felt safe. I felt like I could run down the street naked and nothing bad would happen to me. For the first time since I was a little girl, I felt carefree.
I realized then, David had done the impossible: he'd set me free.
“What're you thinking?” he asked, his inquisitive gaze piercing through me.
“Why?” I replied coyly, my mouth curving up on one side.
His eyes narrowed as he studied me, a boyish grin forming on his too handsome face. “You look... happy.”
I didn't respond.
Mostly because the stadium didn't seem like the right place to get into that kind of conversation, but also because I still wasn't exactly comfortable talking about my feelings with David, much less in public. So, I ignored my profound moment of enlightenment and continued with my devilish plans.
Smirking, I slowly lowered the zipper until it was sitting below my bra.
His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed. Seamlessly, turning right back into my dominant alpha male.
“Sweet girl,” he growled the warning, staring down at me. His body heat seeped through his thin tee, warming the air between us, intoxicating me with his cotton candy, ocean smell.
Trapped by his predatory gaze, I waited for something that never came. No reprimand, just dark eyes that glittered with the promise of filthy, delicious things.
The elevator finally arrived. When the doors slid open, David grabbed my hand, pulling me in behind him without a word. As we rode the elevator down to the parking level, the sexual tension between us built to uncomfortable degrees.
But he did nothing.
The entire ride to the gym, he did nothing, no sexual advances, no teasing. His lack of aggression was unnerving, making me second-guess my choice. It also made me realize while I was completely down with teasing and taunting him, I wasn't in the mood to be the aggressor.
Scratch that.
I wanted to be manhandled, groped, pushed around a little.
Where was all that anger and aggression from this morning?
After we arrived at the gym, he stayed true to his word and made me put on a T-shirt.
A baggy T-shirt.
Once he was finished looking me over, satisfied I was completely covered, he led me out of the office and across the gym to a bench press.
While he added weights, I noticed he seemed to be gloating a little, clearly pleased that I hadn't put up a fight about the oversized top. Between his arrogance and lack of response to my flirting, something inside me was shifting, my need for his attention turning to vindictiveness. When he lay down on the bench, I stood at the head, as if I could spot him, and waited.
Waited until he was halfway through with his set before I leaned in slightly and lifted the too big tee out, making a show of it. I watched his face as he looked up under my shirt at me, our gazes locked. Then I tied a knot just under my breasts. That pleased smirk fell, and his stoic trademark expression replaced it.
But his eyes... They burned with a fierce desire to dominate me. Control me.
A triumphant thrill ran through me at the thought.
It wasn’t the darkness I craved, but it was close.
As we went through our routine, I felt his gaze on me, following me. Predatory and calculating. The anticipation built to dizzying heights as he continued on silently.
When we arrived at our final destination—the dumbbell racks—David pulled off his tank, tucking it into the waist of his shorts, pushing them obscenely low.
Fuck me.
I watched him. Hypnotized by his muscles, flexing and straining, and the sexy grunting sounds he made. By the time he finished his last set, I was flush with arousal and dripping wet.
Watching him workout was like foreplay to me.
I struggled not to squirm as he turned to me, stepping into my space, towering above me. His labored breaths warmed my hair as his lips brushed across my forehead.
“Let’s go take care of my girl,” he rasped, softly.
His fingers entwined with mine, and he led me across the gym and into his office. The gesture was gentle and sweet. Innocent.
Until he shut the door behind us.
Without a word, he shoved me back against it, his hands landing on either side of me, pinning me in.
“You enjoy that, little girl?” His words sounded ominous as he loomed over me; his features hardened as he stared me down. “Havin’ all those men eye-fuck you?”
My heart raced and my breathing turned shallow. His aggression, his dominance, it was what I needed, what I’d been craving. My pussy throbbed in agreement, beating out its demand.
His eyes narrowed, taking in my response, then he nodded toward my top, giving me an almost cruel grin. “Show me your tits.” His voice was condescending and goading.
My face heated with a strange mix of feelings: embarrassment, shyness, and arousal. His crude words made me feel like I was being manipulated, tricked, and bullied into sex.
And I loved it.
I would’ve been offended if anyone else treated me that way. But with David... letting him control me, control my body... I’d never felt more safe.
Loved.
Wanted.
And horny.
Unbelievably horny.
My clit pulsed painfully as I obeyed, pulling the shirt off, then unclasping my bra, letting it slide down my arms.
His dark gaze raked over me, hungry and possessive. My nipples furled tight. My skin was flushed and damp, my breasts heavy and tender.
Our workout had me primed. But the way he had me caged in, his strong arms on either side of me, his face only inches from mine...
My eyes darted from his well defined lips down to his pecs, swollen and strained, covered in a sheen of sweat. I wanted to lick along every contour of those thickly sculpted muscles. No. I wanted him to make me lick him, taste his sweat.
Dear God, I want to be forced.
Just the thought of it...
Without warning, he yanked my pants down and off, taking my shoes and socks with them, making me lose my balance.
I gasped as my bare back hit the door, the wood cold against my overheated skin. He was being rougher than he ever had before and it was exactly what I needed.
Standing back, he tossed my clothes to the side and took in my nude form. An appreciative sound rattled through his chest. His expression darkened and heated as his gaze finally settled between my legs. I could guess what he was staring at, I could feel it. I was dripping wet.
God, why wouldn’t he just touch me and put me out of my misery?
His eyes darted to my breasts then. “Hold ‘em out for me—offer ‘em to me.” His voice was cold.
Hesitantly, I obeyed, cupping my breasts.
“Thumb your nipples. Use your nails.”
I complied. It felt degrading, humiliating. He looked at me as if I was nothing more than a toy, as if my only purpose was to please him. I had never seen this side of him before.
It was sexy as sin.
My thighs clenched as a vicious hunger pounded through me, my arousal turning violent. My core coiled painfully tight as my clit pulsed out a frantic beat.
Whoa... I was near orgasm with a few demeaning commands.
“Now.” He stepped in front of me, his forearms coming down on either side of me. His voice was low and rough, his eyes narrowed and sinister as he drew his words out slowly. “Tell me. Whose attention were you tryin’ to get?”
My breath caught.
Prey. This must be what being prey feels like.
Something dark and needy bloomed inside me. I felt weak and vulnerable, like I was about to be used. Violated. And I wanted it. “Yours.”
He leaned in, his nose slowly trailing along my jaw, up the side of my face. “Like you were with that choreographed bullshit this morning?” His tone was almost mean. Mocking.
I realized then, this wasn’t some new dimension to his possessive jealousy, he was truly pissed off. All that anger I'd been wondering about, it hadn’t gone anywhere, he’d been hiding it.
He wasn’t hiding it anymore.
His nose brushed back and forth along my cheek bone, as his hand wrapped around the back of my neck, thumb pushing under my jaw, not painful, just holding me in place.
“Hmm?” he prompted, softly, pulling back, finally meeting my gaze. His eyes were both challenging and coaxing.
When I didn’t respond, his jaw tightened, and a frustrated noise rattled out of his chest. He ducked down, pressing his forehead into the crook of my neck, as if he couldn’t bare to look at me. Then a hand was pushing between my thighs, shoving my legs wide. I could feel the anger in his touch as he manhandled me. Suddenly, three thick fingers were plunging into me, rough and mean, spearing deep.
It was a punishment.
But it didn’t feel like one. It felt like sweet relief. My hands moved then, one hooking around his neck, holding him to me, as the other gripped the muscled forearm in front of me.
“What got you so fucking wet?” His voice was a threat.
“You,” I gasped when his stiff digits thrust in hard. “Your body... your muscles.” My fingers fisted in his hair, holding him, or holding on, I couldn’t tell.
He did it again. My hips bucked and my pussy throbbed as a primitive need raged through me.
“What were you trying to do this morning? Distract me?” His slick digits fucked me fast and rough.
“I just—uh.” My hips shifted, trying to ride his fingers, work them deeper. He still held my throat, thumb under my jaw, keeping my head up, preventing me from looking at him. “Just thought if we had—enough sex—that you wouldn’t be mad—oh—about me staying,” I panted.
Once I’d said it out loud, it sounded ridiculous.
“How?” His fingers stilled inside me as he stood to his full height. “Were you gonna fuck me to death?” he deadpanned, looking down at me.
“I just thought—” I tried, still straining to get friction on my clit.
“Any man that let you get away with that shit,” he cut me off, his voice matter-of-fact. “Didn’t care about you at all. They only cared about getting their dick wet.”
His blunt words stung. I knew my exes didn’t really love me—they didn’t even know me—and I’d never cared, but hearing my past relationships so crudely simplified hurt a bit.
When his thumb finally made contact with my clit, my body shuddered, muscles tensing as pleasure wracked my frame. Before I could recover, David pulled me away from the door, maneuvering me around by the hand at my neck. He walked me backward, until I bumped into the couch. His fingers pumped in and out of me at a savage pace for a minute, before slipping free.
I nearly cried out in protest.
With a cruel smirk, he pushed me down on the couch, climbing on top of me, his body was strung tight as his full weight settled over me, holding me down. His face was hard as he grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head in one large fist. Some women liked being spanked or getting their hair pulled. Whatever the fuck it said about me, I liked it when David held me down.
“I fucking love you,” he swore fiercely, giving my wrists a squeeze. “Don’t try that shit on me again.”
I realized then, I was an idiot.
I had treated David like I would any other guy, but he wasn’t like any other guy. All I’d successfully done was piss him off, making an already bad situation worse.
Unwilling to admit my fuck up, I defended, “You use sex to manipulate me all the time.”
He shook his head slowly, a wry grin forming on his face. “No, I use sex to get your guard down.” One slick finger gently tapped between my breasts once, twice, before resting his palm over my heart. “To get inside where your fairy tales and happy endings live. Everything you agree to... you want—you just don’t want to admit you want it.”
Fuck. He was right. And how the hell did he know that I believed in true love and happily ever afters? That shit was buried so far down, sometimes I couldn't even find it.
“So why didn’t you tell me about the cover when you found out?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” He looked concerned.
“That you’d be mad.” It came out sounding like a question.
He sighed heavily as he shifted, settling between my thighs, knocking mine wide. “I only got mad because you lied. If you would've told me when you found out, I could have moved stuff around. Moved the Italy trip back a couple days, moved the shoot for the cologne line to next week.”
“Really? You wouldn’t have been pissed?” I checked, skeptically, as my knees lifted, tucking up against his ribs, as if our bodies were having a different conversation.
“I’m pissed that we’re gonna be separated.” The bite in his voice told me he was still mad at me. “That you could’ve prevented it from happening, by just being honest with me.”
I didn’t know what to say. That possibility had never even occurred to me. To say I felt stupid would be an understatement.
He must have sensed my regret, because he let go of my wrist and moved down my body.
“I think this sweet little cunt needs more attention,” he rasped as those three fingers pushed back into me. Four slow strokes before they picked back up their brutal pace.
His heated gaze held mine, as his lips closed around my clit, tonguing and sucking in a slow sensual rhythm. His other hand shoved under my ass, hooking around my hip, holding me in place.
My fingers threaded through his hair as my legs fell open, unabashedly giving him full access.
“Feel good?” he purred condescending.
“Yes,” I panted, the pleasure building was intoxicating, making me not care about our fight or the consequences. I only cared about the tension coiling tight inside me.
I watched him watch me. Then I saw the flash of tongue lap at my clit and pleasure streaked through me, more from the visual then the act itself. He looked sexy as fuck between my legs, licking my tender flesh. He did it again. Then a dozen more. My hips jerked helplessly against his face as a devastating orgasm pounded through me.
“David, fuck me,” I begged, desperate for more.
His guttural groan had goose bumps racing over my skin as he pulled away.
“Anything my girl wants,” he growled, part promise, part threat.
His eyes narrowed as he sat up, kneeling between my legs, his skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his thick muscles shifting with the sharp rise and fall of his chest. His big hands moved to his waist band, crudely shoving his gym shorts under his balls. His cock was angry and swollen, jumping with his pulse. He gripped his length, giving it one slow stroke, as he growled, “Pull your knees up to your shoulders, I want to see it all.”
I obeyed without hesitation, bringing my knees up, letting them fall open. Being limber had its advantages. A lot of advantages.
His predatory gaze fixated on my exposed sex. His expression was an erotic mix of possessiveness, hunger, and awe. “Such a good girl,” he purred.
Good girl.
Those two words coming from him had an alarmingly profound effect on me, making me feel submissive and needy, eager to do anything, take anything he offered.
He fell forward, catching himself on one hand, the other pushed his cock down, teasing along my cleft, before slowly sinking into me.
His sweet musk invaded my senses as he leaned down, lips brushing my ear, as he rasped, “Be my good girl and watch me fuck you.”
David
What the fuck is this shit?
I stared at Austin’s back as if she would answer.
Last night she’d fallen asleep on my chest with that sweet little fuck-drunk grin, but when I woke she was far over on her side of the bed, curled up, facing the window, sleeping soundly. I don’t know why that bothered me so much. Just one more thing to add to the long list.
I’d made damn sure she was happy yesterday. And I pretended like I was too, not wanting her to know the truth, not wanting her to be uncomfortable, or worried. Or worse—not care at all.
A cold nose nudged my back, breaking me from my thoughts.
“Hey, bud,” I murmured, as I rolled over. Climbing out of bed, I padded across the room and into the closet, quickly pulling on a pair of sweats and a hoodie before following Chance out of the bedroom and down the hall.
I opened the patio door and watched as he made his way down the stairs. It was dark and cold and utterly still; LA’s winter had finally arrived. Taking a deep breath of the frigid predawn air, I tried to clear my head.
I hated everything about the current situation.
Me leaving.
Austin staying.
With Fergus.
For two fucking nights.
Despite Austin’s reassurances, I couldn’t let it go. I kept coming back to one question. Why hadn’t she told me about the cover? Did she really not know I had enough pull to get a couple of photo shoots moved around? Or was that exactly why she hadn’t told me, because she wanted me away? That last question was slowly driving me insane, because Austin seemed totally fucking fine with being apart for three days.
Once Chance came back in, I made his breakfast, then started on ours. Soon as I poured our omelets in the pan, Chance darted out of the kitchen and into the foyer. Several silent minutes passed before I heard the front door quietly open and shut, as if a teenager was trying to sneak in.
Only one person, besides Austin and me, had a key to the house, and I didn’t have a clue why he’d be here at six a.m.
When he rounded the corner with Chance, I nodded. “What’s up?”
“Hey.” Aaron’s voice was quiet as he approached, seeming concerned he’d wake my wife. “Elaine had this sent over late last night—for Austin.” He lifted a pink bag, setting it on the kitchen island. “It’s not a big name, but it’s an up and coming local designer—the stuff’s really nice,” he rambled on as if I'd care.
I didn’t.
For one, I could buy Austin anything she wanted. And two, all she had done was marry me and go to a Halloween party; she shouldn’t have been receiving swag yet. Suddenly, the events of the past few days painted a perfect picture. The cover. Our Halloween pictures being in every tabloid in town. Now, swag. Elaine had been working overtime; giving Austin a hard publicity push behind my back. To say I was mad would be a gross understatement.
“All the A-Lister's are wearing them.”
Aaron was still defending the designer, which meant my anger was showing. I realized then, I’d crossed my arms and was staring him down.
“It’s cool,” I assured him, turning around and focusing on our breakfast.
“Oh, well... you need anything?” he checked.
“Nah, man, I’m just tired.” I glanced at him over my shoulder.
“Well... I’m going to go.” Aaron pointed over his shoulder, backing out.
He knew me well enough to know when to leave me alone. And no, I didn’t bother thanking him for bringing the shit over, because he didn’t bring it for me. He brought it over for Elaine, who didn’t bother to tell me. She probably assumed he’d wait until after I was gone.
Elaine was still trying to keep me out of the loop.
After plating our breakfasts, I turned back to the stove, slamming the pan down.
Fuck!
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. I had to get myself together and play it cool for a few more hours. No matter how mad I was at Austin, I was going to make sure she was happy and taken care of before I left. Even if it fucking killed me.
Austin
“Sweet girl, wake up.”
Warmth spread through me as David's deep rumble flooded my senses, waking me.
I loved how easily he had let go of his anger. I’d been afraid he’d be pissed for days—and who would blame him. Whether it was real or he was just playing nice before our impending separation, I didn’t know. And at the moment, I didn’t care.
Arching my back, stretching, I cracked my eyes open. He was standing over me with the breakfast tray balanced in one hand, wearing a gray cashmere hoodie that framed that deep indent between his pecs in the sexiest way and low-slung black lounge pants that displayed his prominent V. When my eyes finally landed on his face, his expression was expectant, a grin slowly forming as we watched each other.
“What?” My unused voice was a soft rasp.
“Just wondering how long you're gonna put on this little show for me.” His eyes darted down to my chest, reminding me I slept in the nude.
I was far too comfortable with him. Physically. Emotionally.
Pulling the sheet up, I sat up and scooted back against the headboard.
“Oh no. You don't get to cover up now.” He placed the tray over my lap and tugged the sheet down.
“No, I need it.”
“You need it?” His voice was full of disbelief, despite his sexy smirk.
“Yes.” Then I countered, “You're wearing a hoodie.”
He gave me a teasing side-eyed look as he rounded the bed, and grumbled, "Fine."
That's when I noticed the large pink canvas bag in his other hand.
Pulling the sheet back up, I tucked it underneath my arms, waiting expectantly. “What's that?”
He placed the bag at my feet and snuggled in next to me, leaning his heavy frame against the plush gray headboard.
“Looks like Elaine is already hooking you up with stuff,” he muttered as he snagged his fork off the tray and started eating while simultaneously turning on the TV, flipping through channels—never pausing.
“Like a present?”
“No, you just got your first swag.”
Like what he was always receiving. Two of the guest bedrooms’ closets were full of swag from several companies. But I was nowhere near the position he was. I was famous adjacent.
“Seriously?” I asked a little too excitedly.
Where he had positioned the bag, and with the tray over my lap, I couldn't reach it, which I guessed was the point.
He grumbled, reluctantly grabbing the bag, yanking it up toward us. I didn't hesitate, pulling the items out. Holding the black material up, I realized it was shorts. Sweatshorts.
“There's no fucking way you're wearing those in public,” David stated.
He was overreacting; they weren't that short.
Okay, fine. They'd cover less than my boy shorts. There was no way I would set foot out of the house wearing them.
Unless I was on a beach.
Not bothering to respond, I looked though the rest of the items. There were several V-neck sweatshirts: pink, black, gray, and turquoise. The fabric of each was utterly divine.
“Why am I getting free swag?”
He blew out a harsh breath. “Apparently, people got some really good shots of our costumes at the party. And those pics have been making the rounds.” Then he grumbled pointedly, “Understandable why they sent those tiny-ass shorts.”
Ignoring his dig at my Halloween costume, I murmured, “I love these.”
And I did. Not because they were exceptionally nice, which they were. Nope. I loved them for what they represented. Getting free swag delivered to your front door was a whole new level for me—even if I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant yet.
“Not fucking around about the shorts,” he warned between bites, never taking his eyes off the TV.
I was so tempted to taunt him with, While the cats away...
Instead, I shoved everything back in the bag, and started in on my omelet.
After a few minutes of silence, he asked, "You gonna be okay at your shoot without me?"
Oh crap.
I had a photo shoot the next day. I hadn't actually allowed myself to believe it. And the sincerity in his voice... He was really concerned.
“Yeah, Elaine and Fergus will be there with me—they're no substitute for you, but I'll be okay.”
I didn't know what I’d said, but the way he turned and looked at me made me pause.
He gripped the back of my neck, gently tugging me toward him as he pressed a firm kiss to my forehead. When he pulled away, he returned to eating without a word, leaving me slightly stunned.
Once my brain kicked back in again, I leaned over, grabbing my phone off the nightstand.
“What're you doing?” he asked, watching me scroll through my contacts list.
“I didn't really think you were gonna let me stay home without you,” I admitted sheepishly.
A small laugh escaped him as he leaned over, pressing another kiss to my temple. He held there a moment, his lips and breath warming my skin. Heat bloomed in my chest, accompanied by an unfamiliar emotion. My jaw clenched tight as it threatened to overwhelm me.
Clearing my throat, I asked, “What time are you leaving?”
“Don't worry about it, sweetheart. Just make sure you get your appointments in today. I want you to feel good—confident. Do what you need to do.”
There were no words for how good that made me feel, knowing he supported me, even when it wasn’t what he wanted. My eyes stung, threatening to over flow. “There's no way I'm leaving this house before you do,” I swore fiercely, blinking away my tears.
He looked over at me then, studying me. A pleased sound escaped his throat before he answered, “Ten. You've got me for two and a half more hours.”
CHAPTER THREE
Three hours later, I was getting ready for the day. And after the workout David gave me, I was reconsidering going to the gym. Once we'd finished eating, he set the breakfast tray on the floor, and in the next second, he was on top of me. He fucked me like he had something to prove. And, dear God, could that man fuck. I was going to be feeling him inside me for days.
I felt bruised.
Inside and out.
There was definitely one part of me that was grateful to have a break from David and his magic cock.
Yeah, right. If he hadn’t left, you'd still be begging for all nine plus inches of that sweet pain.
Deciding to stick with my planned schedule, I dressed for the gym then grabbed my purse off the closet island before heading out, without Chance. With my jammed schedule, I couldn't take him along. As I headed toward the garage, I turned to him. His expectant face broke my heart.
“I'll be back soon, Chance. Be good.” I forced myself to turn and walk out to the garage without looking back.
That was one change in the routine that made me feel awful, though the rest of the changes felt great. I mean, I wouldn't change a thing about David, but I liked change. And I had always loved my freedom—to go and do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Climbing into my car, I felt that freedom I had missed.
By the time I was heading to my last appointment for the day, I noticed I hadn't heard from David, but I was confident I would before I made it home. Though, I had to admit to myself, I was enjoying my space. Running errands, getting waxed and a body buff without questions, texts, or calls... it was nice.
Until it wasn’t.
Any happiness about my day of freedom evaporated when I walked in the house, finding Chance waiting for me—in the dark—in the same spot I left him. Instantly, I was guilt-ridden.
“Oh, Chance,” I cooed, showering him with affection. Hugs, kisses, and ear rubs. Over and over, until he grew bored. Once he walked away, I dug my phone out of my bag, checking it for the eighth time in the past two hours.
It was almost six p.m., and still no calls or texts from David? Staring at my screensaver—David and Chance asleep on the couch together—I felt a dull ache in my chest.
Leaving my phone and bag on the counter, I headed for the bathroom. I quickly stripped down and showered, all the while trying to muzzle that little insecure voice telling me, He doesn't miss you. Hasn't thought about you once, or he would've called.
When I stepped out of the shower, that ache was still there. Refusing to acknowledge it, I headed to the closet. After finding one of my favorite bras, I grabbed the black sweat shorts and an oversized V-neck sweatshirt from the pink swag bag and quickly dressed. But the sensation grew stronger the more I tried to ignore it.
What the fuck is that? Nausea?
Still in denial, I rubbed my sternum, as if that would make it go away. Chance's appearance in the doorway broke me from my thoughts.
“Hey, buddy. You hungry?” I asked, before heading for the kitchen, Chance trailing close behind me as I went through the first floor turning on TVs and nearly every light, eliminating the dark corners and utter silence, along the way.
After feeding Chance, I turned to the kitchen island, intending to look for takeout menus, but my gaze landed on my phone sitting there, mocking me. Taunting me.
Don’t do it... Nothing good will come from it.
Unable to control myself, I grabbed the phone and Googled David Taylor Vogue.
A heavy knot formed in my stomach as I stared at the screen. David was shirtless with two gorgeous women wrapped around him, their hands on his abs, his deep V. Image after image of him with two topless models.
Instantly, I knew what that ache was. I felt forgotten. Abandoned. I felt like nothing.
Was he going to do something similar this time? I should've gone with him, been there to stake my claim. He was mine. I didn’t want anyone touching him.
How the hell was I going to make sure those Italian models kept their perfectly manicured paws off my husband? Could I even do that? Could I tell him not to do that?
After a moment, I realized, It’s his job. And I didn’t feel like I had any say.
I hated that.
It was his job to be sexy.
And he was too fucking good at it.
As I stared at the images, memorizing every detail, the doorbell rang, interrupting my self-inflicted torture.
When I reached the foyer, I found Fergus on the porch, wearing his signature black suit and white button-up shirt, looking at me expectantly.
Soon as I opened the door, he stated briskly, “We're having a sleepover.”
“Really?” I asked, doubtfully. “Does David know?”
“Who do you think sent me?” His thick Scottish accent filled the open space as he brushed past me.
The way Fergus rudely entered the house made me feel better. It gave me a slight reprieve from my inner turmoil. Shutting and locking the front door, I followed behind him, noticing the large bag he was carrying.
“How long are you planning on staying?” I asked cautiously.
“Until David gets back,” he answered, not bothering to look at me. “I'm guessing he forgot to tell you about this."
“Yeah, I guess so.” He also forgot to tell me he’d be with naked girls. Then it occurred to me. “When did he tell you?”
“Today,” he answered efficiently.
I desperately wanted to know if he'd spoken to David since he'd been on the plane, but I didn't want to seem needy and insecure, so I said nothing.
As I made my way back to the kitchen, Fergus went upstairs, apparently claiming one of the guestrooms.
Part of me was grateful to have a distraction from David’s absence, and all that that entailed, but a bigger part of me was more concerned with what it meant. Because it didn’t seem like something David would be cool with—Fergus spending the night with me. And why wouldn’t David tell me Fergus was coming over?
Determined to ignore my racing thoughts, I gathered up the ingredients for the pasta, shrimp, tomato thingy David frequently made and set them on the kitchen island. I wasn’t hungry—the knot in my stomach saw to that—but I needed an activity to focus on while trying to compose myself.
Just as I was setting the water on to boil, Fergus entered the kitchen. He was wearing gray sweats and a black tank. Nothing else. He stood next to me, hovering. Then he was nudging me out of the way.
“Go on.” He nodded toward the kitchen island.
“What, why?”
Fergus' eyebrow lifted. “I’m here to take care of you—and I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it if I let you cook for me.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that. But I relented, sitting down at the kitchen island. My bare thighs and cheeks against the seat reminded me I should go change, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. I was still reeling from those photos and Fergus’ arrival.
Something was wrong.
Fergus’ presence.
David’s silence.
I stared at Fergus’ back as he cooked, taking in every efficient movement. I didn’t know a lot about Fergus, but I knew was he was ex MI6, had probably done things I couldn’t even imagine, and most importantly, he had the answers I was both terrified of and desperate for. Now the question was, could I swallow my pride and ask.
“What’s wrong?” His voice startled me. He was looking at me over his shoulder, genuine concern in his eyes.
“Nothing,” I lied. “Did you—” I stopped myself before the paranoid inquisition tumbled from my mouth. “Just tired.”
Turning back to his task, he stated, “You miss him.”
“I do not,” I argued, sounding slightly petulant.
Shaking his head, he went to the fridge, grabbing a bottled water, setting it in front of me. “Just call him.”
“I don’t want to call him,” I snapped.
Fergus tilted his head, a resigned expression crossing his face as he turned back to the stove.
I didn't want to call David.
I wanted David to call me.
The possible outcomes of me calling him... Well, I wasn't about to risk it. If I called and he answered, that was proof that he hadn't thought to call me—that I hadn't crossed his mind. And if I called and he didn't answer, all my insecurities and all the what ifs would multiply.
No, he needed to call me. He was the one that needed to explain. Explain why he hadn’t called, why he hadn’t warned me about his shoot, and why Fergus was babysitting me.
I spent the next four hours, silently torturing myself over those questions. And Fergus let me; he never once tried to engage with me for the rest of the night. It wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it was almost like he knew understood exactly what I was feeling.
Jealousy, anger, and betrayal. All born from fear. Fear David wasn’t alone. Maybe he had a sexy flight attendant, or a model or two on that private jet with him. All over him.
I’d been self-contained my whole life, in absolute control over my emotions. But now...
This was what I’d been afraid of. Needing David. Being dependent on him for my own emotional stability. Without his constant presence, without his reassurance, I was pure chemical chaos inside. Dozens of conflicting emotions bouncing around inside me and nowhere to direct them, and no way to control them.
Standing up from my spot on the couch, I announced, “I'm going to bed.”
I needed to be alone. I preferred my internal meltdowns to be in private.
“I'm here if you need anything.” Fergus’ voice was soft, understanding. Which only made me feel ten times worse.
I nodded once and headed to my room, Chance hot on my heels. Shutting the door behind me, I pressed back against it, watching as Chance hopped on the bed, sprawling out in the middle.
At least one of us was fine with David’s absence.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to cry.
What I really wanted was David blowing up my phone, quizzing me about my every little move. Amazing how quickly I changed my tune from I love my freedom to where are my chains. Crawling between the sheets, I turned on the TV, trying to stop my thoughts from running away from me.
It was only ten fifteen and I was in bed.
I couldn't help but wonder if this was David's plan: keeping me at home and far away from any activities that might not meet his approval, while he was doing who-the-fuck knew what on a private jet.
****
I don’t know how long I laid there, cuddled up with Chance, taking comfort in him while trying to shut my mind off.
The mind was a tricky thing. It could wander off in a dozen different directions in a matter of seconds without your permission. Add in the roller coaster of emotions raging through me... I would’ve had better luck herding cats.
I was ping-ponging between wanting David to call so badly it hurt, and wanting to smash my phone, ensuring I ignored him until he came home.
A knock on the bedroom door pulled me from my internal debate. Half a second later, it opened, revealing Fergus, holding my phone up.
“You left this in the kitchen.”
Yeah, it wasn’t an accident.
I figured I’d have a better chance of getting myself under control if I wasn’t looking at the damn thing every thirty seconds.
Fergus came over to my side of the bed, placing my phone on the nightstand. His gaze darted over my face, as if looking for a sign. I could guess what. Tears. His sympathetic expression confirmed what I already knew, my emotionless mask was long gone.
“Just call him.” His tone was soft, but there was something underlying it... Regret?
Before I could fully process Fergus’ unusual behavior, he disappeared into the hall, shutting the door behind him.
Moments later, my phone rang.
Sitting up, I snatched it off the nightstand. It was David. My anger rose up like molten lava, heating my insides.
“Where have you been?” I demanded, my tone harsher than intended.
I had practiced all evening what I was going to say when he called; something cool and calm, as if I hadn’t even noticed he was gone.
So much for that plan.
“Hey, sweet girl.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
Undeterred by his sexy rasp, I muted the TV and strained to hear anyone in the background before I continued, “I haven't heard from you all day. What the hell?”
He made a throaty sound of approval, and my suspicions started to melt away. Whatever he was up to, he was clearly pleased with himself.
“David?” I demanded, staring unseeingly at the TV.
“Just wanted to be sure,” he answered vaguely.
He seemed amused, but I wasn’t. “Be sure about what?”
“That you only want three hours a day.”
“What?” My voice was sharp and disbelieving, horrified that he had intentionally tortured me for hours.
“You said you wanted three hours a day, and lately you've been acting like you want space, so I gave it to you. Looks like you don't really want that much space.” His tone had a hint of arrogance in it. He was happy with my reaction. Proud.
It. Was. A. Fucking. Test.
Fergus’ behavior suddenly made sense. He had to have known what David was up to.
“Don't do that shit again. You won't like what happens.”
At my threat, he made a humming sound, a mix of smug satisfaction and arousal. “Fuck, that’s hot. I love it when you’re all riled up and pissed off.” He groaned. “Shit, you’re making me hard.”
Obviously, he’d gotten the response he was looking for.
Same as I did the other night.
That thought calmed me some. I pushed his buttons all the time, to get a reaction, and he never got mad at me—not really. He probably assumed I’d respond the same way.
I didn’t.
“You wouldn't be so proud of yourself if you knew what I've been thinking for the past five hours.”
“Austin, stop it. I had to take a fucking sleeping pill to keep from calling,” he defended fiercely. “I just woke up.”
I could picture it clearly: David asleep in his reclined seat, his distressed white tee and worn thin jeans showcasing the contours of the muscle underneath. Despite being mad about his stunt, I was desperate for it to be true—that he was just testing me, that he was alone.
When I didn't respond, he added, “Just need you to be sure you don’t want more than three hours a day... And the only way to know for sure was to give you a day of freedom. A day free of me.” He paused. “And apparently, you didn't like it.”
His smugness was infuriating.
“I liked it fine,” I said defiantly, unwilling to admit how miserable I’d been, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.
“Until?” He drew the word out, either gloating or mocking, I couldn’t tell.
I was kicking myself for not playing it cool when I answered the phone. “After I got home,” I lied. I had grown concerned four hours after he left, and it had slowly escalated from there.
“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, clearly not buying my act.
I knew then, Fergus bringing my phone when he did, was no accident. They had talked. About me.
“Whatever,” I breathed, giving up the charade. Scooting back, I leaned against the headboard, pulling the covers up around me.
He huffed a laugh. “What're you up to?”
“I'm lying in bed watching TV,” I grumbled reluctantly, playing with the edge of the sheet.
“You're lying in bed?” His tone was disbelieving.
“Like you’re surprised? Wasn’t this your plan?” I accused. “Keeping me at home with Fergus? Having him cook me dinner?”
He didn't respond immediately, but when he did, his voice was eerily calm. “He cooked you dinner?”
I stilled, realizing that hadn’t been his plan at all. My voice was quiet when I answered, “Yeah.”
“Huh.” He paused. “Couldn't get takeout?” he challenged, his possessiveness creeping in.
Instinctively, I tried to explain. “I was going to make that shrimp thingy that you cook for me. He took over and cooked it.”
“Wow, I'm impressed. You actually pay attention when I cook?” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“When I'm not staring at your ass, back, or pecs, yep.” My tone was matter-of-fact.
He laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that warmed my insides.
“I miss you.” It took a second for my brain to catch up as the whispered words spilled from my mouth. A twinge of panic raced through me at the openness, the vulnerability.
“Holy fuck, I miss you.” At his ardent response, I relaxed. “What else did you do today?” he inquired none too stealthily.
Unable to resist, I responded impassively, “I hooked up with an old fuck buddy, to burn off some steam.”
“Austin,” he warned.
I laughed, relieved to have him grilling me on my whereabouts for the day. “I went to my appointments, and then I came home and fed Chance. Then... I was interrupted by Fergus.” My pride wouldn’t allow me to admit I was insecure enough to Google his Vogue photos.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” He didn’t sound sorry. Not one bit. “I just wanted him to catch you off guard.”
“What? Why?” As the words left my mouth, I realized I already knew the answer. If David couldn’t stalk me himself, he’d do it through Fergus. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of that sooner. David had Fergus watch me at the very beginning, back when I was working at the temp job. Why wouldn’t he do it now?
“Why do you think? Because I’m a jealous asshole, who didn’t want you staying home, doing who-the-fuck-knows-what,” he growled.
It was fucked up how much I loved hearing that. How comforting it was, knowing he couldn’t bear to give me even one evening of freedom.
I bit my lip, as a happy noise bubbled up out of me.
“Fuck, I miss you,” he breathed. Then his tone shifted, the domineering behavior I’d missed all day coming through in his quiet demand, “What're your plans tonight?”
It was cute, reassuring. I loved it.
“Sit in bed, watch TV like a loser,” I deadpanned.
“Staying home and doing nothing when I'm not there does not make you a loser. Makes you fucking amazing,” he swore fiercely.
I understood what he meant. Living in Hollywood, we had access to every flavor of depravity you could imagine. And I had access to men most girls only dreamed about. If our roles were reversed, I’d be freaking out.
“I was teasing.”
“Good. Relax, get some sleep. I gotta take a quick shower and make some calls, but I'll definitely call you before your shoot.”
I felt a sharp twinge of rejection at his dismissal. I knew it was irrational, an extreme overreaction— brought on by his mere absence and the fact I was not his sole focus.
Jesus, I’m as needy as him.
“Yeah, okay.” I tried to hide my disappointment; I wasn’t ready to get off the phone.
“I love the fuck outta you,” he swore fiercely.
“Love you too,” I murmured.
“See you soon.”
When David disconnected the call, I immediately felt empty. Lonely. That was a new emotion for me.
And I didn’t like it one bit.
*****
When I woke, that uneasy sensation was still there inside me. I had never actively worried about infidelity, never gave cheating a second thought. But with David... It was becoming some kind of phobia. Was that a thing? Fear of being cheated on.
As I laid in bed, looking out at the cloudy LA skyline, I tried to focus on the deep rumbling snores vibrating against my back. It was like a mini massage. It was almost pathetic how comforting it was—Chance and I sleeping back to back. But it wasn’t enough to make me forget about last night.
Not long after David ended our call that dull ache had returned, along with all the uncertainty. The what ifs. Because he’d never said he was alone, and had clearly intended to hurt me.
Don’t think about it.
Getting out of bed, I ditched the too short shorts for oversized sweatpants, and pulled my hair up into a messing bun before making my way to the kitchen, Chance right beside me.
There was a Green Tea Dream and take-out containers on the kitchen island. Just as I was about to snoop through the containers, the garage door opened, revealing a sharply dressed Fergus. He already had on his black suit and crisp white shirt.
“Good, you're up. I was coming to wake you. I noticed you like to drink these,” Fergus explained, gesturing toward the kitchen island. “And I couldn't figure out how to use the coffee maker.”
I couldn't help but smile at that, feeling much better that I wasn't the only one who couldn't work that beast of a machine.
“Thank you.”
“Aaron picked up an omelet for you. David said that's what you prefer for breakfast on shoot days.”
“Uh... yeah. Thank you,” I repeated, impressed and a little surprised.
“Don't thank me. David's the one who texted me your wake time, breakfast requirements, and schedule.”
Fergus’ tone confirmed my suspicions, he knew exactly what David was up to yesterday, and was trying to help smooth it over.
I couldn’t deny it felt good knowing David was taking care of me even when he was over six thousand miles away. I also couldn’t deny his easy dismissal, ending our call, still stung. But I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about what it meant. Because it had to mean something, right?
“That one's yours.” Fergus’ voice broke me from my thoughts, pulling my gaze to his. Nodding toward the container closest to me. “Let me know when you're done. I'll take you to the gym. Go eat. You have a schedule to keep,” he directed, as grabbed Chance’s food, feeding him.
Grabbing the container and Green Tea Dream, I headed for the couch. As I sat there watching Fergus, I noticed he had taken over David’s role almost seamlessly. My husband had sent a spy—literally—to babysit me. I should have been mad about that, David thinking I needed someone to take care of me, keep me focused and on schedule.
But as embarrassing as it was, it was exactly what I needed. I didn’t want to think, I didn’t want to feel, I just wanted to get through the day. In all honesty, I'd gotten my fill of freedom the day before. I was completely confident all I needed or wanted was a couple of hours a day to myself.
David’s plan was an asshole move.
But it worked, even though I was pretty sure he did it to reassure himself, not me.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was cloudy and gray and smelled like rain when I parked my RS 7 in an underground parking garage downtown—three hours earlier than planned.
Elaine had called just as we were about to leave for the gym. Apparently, there had been a mix-up with the schedule. It wasn't clear to me if it was her mix-up or the studio's, but her call came at the perfect time.
As I turned off the car, I noticed a thin waif-like woman waiting by the lobby doors.
When I made no move to climb out, Fergus spoke up, “Have you not met Elaine?”
“No... that's her?”
“Yeah,” he answered as he opened the passenger door, seeming relieved to be getting out of the car.
While he refrained from being a backseat driver, he made no attempt to hide his displeasure at being a passenger.
As I stepped out of the car, Elaine approached. I was still in disbelief that this was Elaine. I had envisioned her as a woman in her forties, possibly fifties. The woman in front of me couldn't have been older than thirty-two and no more than a size two, with jet-black hair, almost shaved on one side, long and flowing on the other. She wore cropped slacks with suspenders, a sleeveless, button-up, crisp white shirt, and heeled booties that I was envious of.
“Elaine?” I checked.
“Hi.” She responded with a little wave. “We finally meet,” she said as she reached me.
That's when I realized why I’d thought she was so much older than she was. Her voice. It was refined, elegant.
Instantly, I felt like a schlub in my flip-flops, black skinny sweats, and—in an incredibly pathetic attempt to feel closer to him—David's gray Helmut Lang cashmere hoodie. He'd worn it Monday and Tuesday morning, and it still held his sweet exotic musk, but it was incredibly big on me, not flattering at all. At least I had my Balenciaga bag to class me up a bit.
“You ready for this?” she asked kindly, seeming to detect my discomfort.
“I think so.” Not at all.
“You're going to be great.”
I hoped she was right.
She grabbed my hand, leading me toward the entrance where Fergus was waiting, holding the door open.
“I'm going to report this PDA to David,” Fergus stated dryly, as we entered the building.
“Very funny,” I muttered. But I was genuinely shocked at his attempt at humor. At least I hoped he was joking.
“How can you live with David?” Elaine asked rhetorically as she led us to the elevator. “I could never date anyone like him.”
“I loved my freedom yesterday—for a little while. I was way over it by five,” I babbled nervously.
The elevator arrived, and all three of us entered.
“Geez, you're both crazy. I would've gone buck wild as soon as the door shut behind him,” Elaine stated as she pressed the button for the fourteenth floor.
It was glaringly obvious Elaine didn’t understand our relationship, but most people wouldn’t. And for whatever reason, I felt compelled to defend David.
“Honestly, it’s comforting, knowing he is keeping tabs on me, that he cares that much... knowing I’m his focus,” I confessed.
Elaine said nothing, just gave me an accessing look.
That look picked at my insecurities, reminding me, I hadn’t been David’s focus the past two days. Because while he had made sure I was taken care of this morning, he hadn’t called me. That fact niggled at the back of my mind, adding to the weight of those other unanswered questions.
We arrived at the fourteenth floor, and all three of us exited the car, Elaine first, with Fergus following closely behind me.
Elaine didn't pause, leading us down a long corridor. Her quick steps echoed on the black marble floor, matching my quickening heartbeat.
Suddenly, I was nervous as hell.
I felt ridiculous.
What reason did I have to be on a cover?
“This is going to be a play on David.” Elaine’s soft voice gave me a small reprieve from my growing anxiety. “They decided to go with a sexy baseball player theme. This needs to be risqué to get attention.”
“Okay,” I agreed, trying to keep my voice level and relaxed. I’d never admit it, but I was scared to do a cover shoot without David present. And I wasn’t even sure why.
“I have a plan worked out for you. Just work with me, and we will try to make sure that we don't do anything to ruffle David's feathers.” She winked at me. “Not too much, anyway.”
“Whatever we need to do, I trust you with this.”
And I did. My press was bad; I was well aware of that. Everyone loved David and hated me because of it, or any number of other reasons they came up with.
“It's not going to hit the stands for months, so we have time to diffuse him, if need be,” Elaine assured me as she led us through the hallways of the seemingly abandoned building.
She finally turned down a hallway with signs of life, ushering me past several open doorways before reaching the dressing room. The room was sparse, with only a small vanity and stool, old sofa, and a rolling rack.
“Are you going to be okay wearing this?” Elaine asked, pointing to the rolling rack.
I felt my eyes widen as I stared at a pair of blue, old-school, knee-high tube socks with white stripes, tiny white bikini bottoms, and a Dodgers jersey that had been cut and cropped into the tiniest top. It was basically a low-cut tank that was skintight and only two inches long. It'd barely covered my nipples. And the bottoms... they were microscopic.
Everything was going to be on display.
At my expression, Elaine explained, “Don't take offense, but after your outing at the furniture store—your frumpy outfit.” She looked over my current frumpy outfit. “We really need to do something that kinda shocks people and shows you... all of you.”
Those fucking pics.
I knew they were going to come back and bite me in the ass.
“Okay, fine,” I relented. This was her area of expertise, and I was going to let her do her job. I just hoped David didn't fire her.
I stripped down and dressed in the nonexistent outfit, grateful that my waxer managed to fit me in for my Brazilian the day before. Grabbing one of the robes off the back of the door, I slipped it on, wrapping it around me, cinching the belt tight, making sure I was completely covered before exiting the dressing room.
I stopped short, finding Fergus waiting for us.
He was almost as bad as David, and I couldn't help but wonder if David paid him to be that way or if he was that way on his own. Elaine led us to the makeup room and made sure I had everything I needed—my purse, bottled water, fuzzy slippers—then left. I was hugging my bag in my lap, feeling incredibly insecure about what was hidden underneath the thick terrycloth, when I felt my phone vibrating in my purse.
When I saw David flash across my screen, relief washed over me.
“You still miss me?” His deep rich rumble greeted as soon as the call connected.
My chest bloomed with warmth, comforted by just his voice and the fact he was thinking of me.
I was fucking pathetic.
“Hey, babe,” I whispered. “Of course. How's it going?”
“That's what I was calling to ask you.” He kept his voice low, matching mine.
“Nervous. Never done a cover before.”
“Is that why we're whispering?” he teased.
My cheeks heated with embarrassment, and I whispered, “No, I don't know why... Fergus is standing in the room, though.”
“No nudity,” he said suddenly, his tone hard. “That's our deal. Remember?”
Just as I was about to confide in him, confess my fears and insecurities, I heard “David” in the background.
My stomach dropped. It was female voice with a heavy Italian accent. She sounded young and sexy and far too close in proximity to him.
His Vogue cover from last year flashed through my mind, disturbingly vivid and erotic. All my submissive, neediness evaporate as anger burned through me like acid. And those questions I’d been ignoring, came flooding in.
Was she the reason he hadn’t called all morning?
Had she been keeping him busy?
Was she naked?
Was she the only one?
I wanted to interrogate him. I wanted to bitch and yell and rip him a new one. I wanted to tell him he was mine, and he wasn’t allowed to look at anyone else.
But my pride wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t bear the thought of looking like the jealous, possessive, insecure wife I was.
My jaw clenched as I took deep, even breaths, forcing myself to play dumb, pretend like I hadn’t heard anything. “Between Elaine and Fergus, one of them would tell you.” I manged to keep my voice level as I spoke around the growing lump in my throat.
“I want to hear you tell me you won't,” he demanded harshly.
Why was he acting like I was the one with models waiting rub all over me?
I was about to tell him I could do whatever the fuck I wanted—just like him—but I caught myself. “I won’t.”
“Okay.” Then he added, “I'm gonna call and check in with Elaine, okay?”
“’Kay.” My voice was felt hollow, dead.
“You okay?” he checked, his words drawn out.
Something about his tone had me near tears.
I ducked my head down, letting my hair fall around my face like a curtain. “I gotta go.” I ended the call and muted my phone, shoving it to the bottom of my purse.
I struggled to take a deep breath. It felt like I’d just had the wind knocked out of me. Remembering my surroundings, I schooled my expression and took inventory of my posture.
Now is not the time to have a breakdown.
When I finally looked up, I noticed Fergus watching me in the mirror. But before I could say anything, two people walked in, distractedly introducing themselves as they started in on my hair. I wouldn't say they were rude, just very efficient. They worked on my hair and makeup, ignoring me. And I was thankful for it. It gave me time to sort out my emotions, compartmentalize, focus on the anger, shove away the pain.
Less than forty-five minutes later, I was standing in front of the photographer, feeling more defiant than ever.
“Lose the robe,” the photographer stated simply.
Without hesitation, I abandoned my cocoon of comfort, handing it to Fergus, who was only feet away.
The photographer wasted no time directing me and shooting. Steeled by anger, I didn’t even flinch when I was sprayed down with cold water. Nor did I hesitate when he asked me to shed my top. Though I should have, because as soon as the wet fabric met the floor with a plop, the photographer called for a lighting adjustment; leaving me standing there in nothing but microscopic shorts and socks.
I should have cared, should’ve tried to cover up, but all I could think was, I hope this turns out sexier than David’s shoot.
It was a childish, vindictive instinct, wanting to get even.
Before any logical thoughts could break through my irrational need for revenge, the assistant approached—the same one that had sprayed me down with cold water.
“He wants oil for this one.” His voice was still as hesitant as before.
“Sure, go for it,” I chirped, my voice sounding too upbeat to my own ears. Holding my arms out to my sides, I tried for nonchalance as he kneeled before me.
Briefly, I wondered if it was intentional, having a man rub oil on my legs, stomach, arms and breasts. Couldn’t they have found a female? An image of David flashed through my mind... It was the first time I’d gone to one of his shoots. His entire body was oiled, muscles flexed. The lighting and body oil showcasing definition I hadn’t even known he possessed. Then I remembered the oil girl eagerly waiting nearby.
It was like I was recreating my own version of that day. Odds were, David was too.
I had been crazy jealous that day.
Jealousy wasn’t what I was feeling now. No, what I was feeling was much darker.
“I’ll touch up any areas as needed.” The oil boys’ voice brought me back to the present.
Feeling several eyes on me, I mustered up the sweetest smile I could. “Thanks.”
Elaine was in front of me in the next second, one of her eyebrows raised. “Now, I get it,” she muttered, leaning in close.“You and David. I totally get it now.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, thoroughly confused.
“The way you just did that.” Between her tone, expression and the way she motioned toward my breasts, I couldn’t help but wonder if the oil boy had been a test. “No embarrassment. You're just as brazen as him. No shame. You two make perfect sense.” She paused then added, “But he's going to have an aneurysm when he hears about what you just did.”
Fergus.
When I glanced in his direction, he was staring steadfastly at the floor. I'd completely forgotten about him for a moment. Forgotten that every little detail of the shoot would be relayed to David.
Good.
A triumphant smirk formed on my face.
Hopefully, the oil boy would drive the point home, show David what it felt like.
But what if it didn’t.
Or worse, what if David didn’t care.
Because the truth was, being topless in a studio with eight onlookers was significantly less intimate than Fergus staying in our home. Alone. Just the two of us. All night. David seemed fine with that. I realized that was my biggest fear—David not caring. Because it was normal for him—being nude around strangers, having oil rubbed on him, naked models pressed up against him. It was expected.
Maybe this was just something I’d have to get use to.
Was this is our new normal?
A cold knot formed in my stomach. I knew I couldn’t handle that. I was far too fucked up to be in a so called ‘healthy relationship’. I needed his possessive jealousy like I needed air.
Maybe I can’t handle being married to a man like David after all.
“Austin.” The photographers voice broke me from my morbid thoughts.
What felt like hours later, the photographer informed the room, “We have what we need.”
Standing up from the floor, my knees and elbows throbbing from holding impossible poses, I headed over to Fergus. As he held the robe out to me, I noticed his eyes darted to my chest and away again. I couldn't help but smile at that. I made him nervous.
Correction.
My boobs made him nervous.
I slipped into the robe and tied it tight.
“Austin, come over here?” Elaine called as she stood by the photographer.
When I did, I was stunned. They were looking at the photos. They were far too erotic for a local magazine. The images were more appropriate for Maxim. Possibly Playboy.
It was sobering.
“These are going to work perfectly in changing the way people perceive you. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they use the sexiest ones,” Elaine assure me, misreading me completely.
In most of the shots my nipples were covered by my arms or hands, but... I wasn’t sure I wanted the public to see them.
What the hell did I know? This was her job and I said I’d trust her, so I said nothing. Excusing myself, I headed to the dressing room to shower and change.
Just as I was slipping on my flip-flops, the dressing room door opened.
“He's about to board the plane now,” Elaine said from behind me. “She's fine. Hang on, let me put you on speaker.”
“What, why?” I turned, looking at her. David wasn’t scheduled to leave Italy for another twenty hours. Yes, I was counting. And I was planning on using that time to decide how to confront him about the models, or if I should at all.
“I wanna be with you.” David’s voice filled the small dressing room. He sounded annoyed, as if the answer was obvious.
“You'll be exhausted,” I countered, sitting down on the small stool. I wasn’t ready to see David, much less talk to him.
“I need to be with you a helluva lot more than I need sleep.” His voice was gruff with anger, as if he thought I was rebuffing him, telling him not to come home.
Was I?
Maybe...
“I’ve been calling you. While I was packing. On my way to the airport. You never answered,” he accused quietly.
“She was doing the shoot, David,” Elaine answered for me.
“Wait, what?”
“There was a mix-up with scheduling,” Elaine calmly explained.
“I wanted to see, Elaine. We agreed.”
“I forgot. We were bumped up by three hours. It was hectic.” Listening as Elaine easily lied to David, I realized there had never been any mix-up at all; she'd lied to David from the start. “Just remember, this is to get attention. It's meant to be shocking, so don't freak out.”
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded harshly.
David wasn't stupid. He knew there was a reason Elaine hadn't wanted to speak to him before the shoot.
She had not only declined David’s call earlier, she had convinced Fergus to turn his phone off—if he wanted to stay and watch me and do the job he was getting paid for. I’d heard her tell him something about “temperamental artists and their neuroses” as the reason.
I’d thought she was avoiding David because of the skimpy wardrobe, but I’d started to suspect she had planned the topless photos well ahead of time.
“It means that it's sexy and showy. Think... sexy baseball player meets... wet T-shirt contest.” She winked at me.
“What the fuck? No! Austin—Did they use models? Men?” David didn’t even try to hide his jealousy.
Elaine spoke up. “They have a couple here, but we didn't need them. They decided to go with the sexy baseball player look. The models were scheduled already for the person who was originally doing the shoot.”
That was news to me. I hadn't seen any male models.
“They shouldn’t be there in the first place. Why didn’t you cancel them?” he demanded.
While his possessive jealousy was a cool balm to my damaged soul, my annoyance flared at his hypocrisy. Sure, I wanted his possessive dominance, but I wouldn’t put up with a double standard.
“I don’t know why you’d get a say in mine, when I didn’t in yours,” I snapped. “I assume yours was similar to last years?”
His silence was deafening.
“I heard her, David,” I admitted. His lack of response, pissed me off and spurred me on. “I don’t know why you’d want to come home. Just stay and hang out with your Italian models, I’m sure I can find someone to keep me entertained.”
The look Elaine gave me stopped me from continuing. I must’ve looked as crazed as I felt.
“Austin.” His voice was gentle, apologetic, making my stomach turn. “That was the photographer. We canceled the models a month ago—ask Elaine.”
At my questioning gaze, she nodded.
Everything inside me uncoiled, my resentment melting into relief. Then guilt.
Why hadn't he told me that when I spoke to him earlier? It would’ve changed what I’d done during mine.
Well... maybe.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, despite loving the fact he had.
“Yeah, I did. I don't want to pose like that with other women, and I don't want you posing like that with men—so yeah, I had to.”
My insides warmed at his harsh words. I loved that he felt like that. I loved it far too much to be healthy and didn’t seem realistic in the least. But...
Most of his ads are solo...
Then I heard him sigh dejectedly. “I'll see you soon.”
“’Kay.” I managed one small syllable, matching how I felt.
When the call disconnected, I was struck with the reality of our situation. I had just shot the cover for a local lifestyle magazine, which was only published in major cities. While David had been flown halfway across the world in a private jet to shoot the cover for Men's Italian Vogue.
That was the perfect example of us.
David was Men's Vogue. I was a local magazine.
“There were male models here?” I asked Elaine, distracting myself from my depressing thoughts.
“No, I told him that so when the pictures come out, it will be in the back of his mind: she could've had men with her. Trust me, it will soften the blow.”
Admittedly, I was a little shocked at her open admission. But she was right, David would rather have me on a cover half naked and alone, then fully dressed with other men.
And David was right. Even with how jaded I was, I was still naïve. I believed Elaine, right up until I heard her lying to him. At the same time, I’d assumed the worst about David—that he wouldn’t give the irrational, emotional mess that was me, a second thought.
I felt a twinge of regret.
Thousands of people were going to see far too sexual photos of me because I wanted to get back a David for something he didn’t even do?
I needed to learn how to be vulnerable with him.
I needed to stop assuming he’d hurt me.
I needed to fucking talk to him.
And most importantly, I needed to get control over my insecurities before my destructive coping mechanism really kicked in, and I did something much worse.
David
What the fuck had I done?
“Idiot,” I breathed, grabbing my bag and climbing out of the car.
Quickly boarding the private jet, I claimed a window seat, tossing my bag in the chair across from me, and stared out the window trying to figure out how I’d fucked up so badly in only twenty-four hours.
It was my job to take care of her. And I failed. I was too caught up in my own shit to pay attention to what she was feeling.
I was a selfish asshole.
When I popped that Xanax, I’d only been focused on one thing, getting a reaction. I never even considered what it would do to her. But I got the answer I wanted. And I loved her reaction far too much to apologize. That sexy, possessive, jealous, demanding, Where have you been?
It was so goddamn hot.
It made me so fucking hard.
Like I said, selfish asshole, but I needed the reassurance, and actions speak louder than words.
And that’s why you’re in this fucking mess, idiot.
Because my actions spoke volumes. Giving her space, not calling...
“Mr. Taylor, I'm Alessandra,” the flight attendant interrupted my thoughts, leaning forward, making sure I could see down her shirt. “Can I get you anything?”
Her tone made it clear she was on the menu.
That was the type of behavior I’d been dealing with since I left—unabashedly aggressive women. The attention had always bothered me, knowing it was motivated by my fame. Now, it felt like an insult, the assumption that I would cheat on my wife.
I never wanted Austin to second guess my commitment, but I knew she heard the photographer, I knew what she thought, I could hear it in her voice, and I hadn’t done anything to reassure her. Why? Because being able to control Austin’s emotions was a rush, and I’d just gotten my first real taste of it. Her jealousy, her anger, turned me on. I fucking loved it. And I wanted more.
I wanted her to be possessive. Claim me. Tell me I was hers, that she owned me. Because she fucking did.
Instead, she went cold on me, just shut off. Detached. If I’d heard a man with her... No way would I have kept my mouth shut. I wanted her to argue, fight, be pissed. Because I fucking was. I wanted her to be as miserable as I was that we were apart. But when she answered, she sounded fine, happy even, and that infuriated me more.
Meeting the flight attendants eyes, I conveyed my disinterest. “Bottled flat water.”
I hadn't eaten all day, but I wasn't hungry. I'd felt sick since I left. Giving Austin what she wanted, instead of what she needed—what we needed—was pure torture. And I was a fucking idiot for doing it.
That had been confirmed when I tried calling Elaine and Fergus only to find their phones were off. I knew she’d convinced Austin to do something she shouldn’t, something more than what they told me.
She probably didn’t have to convince her at all.
Sexy baseball player meets wet T-shirt contest…
Fuck me.
Just the thought of other people seeing her like that... I wanted to lock her up and hide her far away from any pervy eyes that weren't mine.
It was unrealistic. I knew that. It wasn't possible to let her have a career and keep her to myself.
But she was mine, and I didn't want to share.
Not with anyone.
Not even her own mother.
My phone chimed, alerting me to a text. Fergus was finally checking in. That was another good thing that came out of this mess, Austin hadn’t pressed me on why Fergus was watching her; preventing us from having a Dawn conversation that would probably fuck up my marriage for days.
Reclining my seat, I got comfortable, readying myself to find out what really happened throughout Austin’s day.
Fergus: Austin was topless for the shoot.
Everything was professional. There was
no flirting.
11:25 PM
Disbelieving, I read it again. And again. And again.
A cold knot formed in my stomach. Then heat flashed through me.
That Scottish fucker saw her tits.
It gutted me leaving her with Fergus, letting him take care of her, letting him take my place. Now, this?
A dozen scenarios played out in my mind: Austin taking off her top in front of him, at the studio, at home, while Fergus cooked for her, eating dinner together, watching TV...
Stop it. Austin wouldn’t. Unless she was really hurt... Fuck.
I knew I should’ve forced Austin come to Italy with me. All this shit would’ve been avoided if I had.
David: Where is she now?
11:30 PM
Fergus: Gym.
11:31 PM
David: Take her home after. Pick up takeout.
Don’t let her leave the house again.
11:33 PM
Fergus: Okay.
11:34 PM
My jaw clenched as it all came together.
Elaine had been eager to push Austin's career from the start. And all the shit she was doing for Austin behind my back...
There was no mix-up. Elaine had lied to me about the time. She had convinced Austin to stay for the shoot, convinced me to let her. She didn’t take my needs into account, only what would benefit Austin’s career.
Without a second thought, I dialed her number.
“Hi, Austin already left with Fergus,” she greeted.
“You fuckin’ separate us again and you’re fired,” I stated evenly, just as the attendant returned with my water.
Allessandra gave me a flirtatious look that earned her a hard glare. I was not in the mood to deal with anyone who wasn’t Austin.
“David—” Elaine tried.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at,” I growled, struggling to control my rage. “But you go through me from now on.”
“David, it’s her career, I won’t do that,” she calmly argued.
“It is her career, so why was she topless?” I questioned, my voice growing louder with each word, gaining Allessandra’s attention again.
“I had to know she could handle—”
“You were fucking testing her?” I thundered.
“David, I’m trying to help her.”
“She’s mine. Period. You come between us again, and you’re out,” I gritted.
“You’re not willing to let her do what she needs to do.” Elaine’s calm, rational voice was infuriating. “She’ll resent you.”
“I’ll do anything she needs,” I swore fiercely. “Anything. I’d fucking die for her. I just need her with me.”
Elaine didn’t respond immediately, but when she finally did her voice was soft and understanding.
“Okay, David. I’ll make sure your schedules don’t conflict.”
At her words, I felt some of the tension drain from my body. She seemed to finally grasp how serious I was about this particular subject.
“I’m not fuckin’ around Elaine.” My voice was a tired rasp. I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. “Something like this happens again and you’re out.”
“I understand.”
“Good,” I muttered, hitting end call before she could respond.
What I still didn't know was whether Austin knew about Elaine’s scheme and helped hide it from me. Helped plan.
But I’ll find out…
I knew how to get the truth out of Austin.
Austin