Authors: J.C. Grant
“The tee. Change it.”
“You packed it,” I countered.
“I didn't know it would be that low.”
“Too bad. It's one of my favorites. I wore it plenty before you. I'm going to keep wearing it after you.” His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. Realizing how he took my statement, I deflated, rolling my eyes. “You know what I mean.” His expression relaxed, but he didn't say anything.
“I'm leaving now.” I walked over to Chance to say bye and grab my purse.
“Fergus is meeting you there,” David reminded me.
I nodded in acknowledgement, then walked out.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
There was a man standing in front of the entrance when I arrived at the studio. It took me a minute to recognize him. He had on a snug black tee and black jeans.
“Hey,” I greeted him as I got out of the car, still feeling sick from this morning’s events.
“Mrs. Taylor.” Fergus nodded.
I gave him a half-assed smile as I walked past him. He reached around me, opening the door to the studio before I could. I was shocked at his gentlemanly behavior after our previous encounter.
“How was your morning?” I was still unaccustomed to his Scottish accent.
“Could've been worse, I guess.” I knew he was referring to our visitor at the gym.
“Yes. It could've.” The way he said it made me pause. He sounded like he knew something I didn't. Something bad.
An assistant greeted us, interrupting my train of thought. She escorted us back to makeup. Sitting in one of the oversized stylist chairs, I grabbed my phone, and texted David.
Austin: I'm here.
10:51 AM
David: I love you, sweet girl. Wish
I was with you.
10:52 AM
I was still hurt that he'd had an arrangement and didn't tell me before we got married that she was still trying to be with him.
And
the fact that she was assumed to be a girlfriend not an arrangement—something I wasn't sure I wanted to dig into. All of it made me feel sick. I didn't know if these were natural responses or my own issues running rampant again. We went from having an amazing night at the Chateau to living a Jerry Springer show within a couple hours. This was not the life I was planning on with him.
“Hi.”
I looked up at the mirror. A guy was standing next to Fergus, who was hovering.
“Hi.” My voice was flat as I tried to suppress my building nausea.
“I'm Stephen. Nice to meet you. Austin, right?” He reminded me of my lack of manners, but I couldn't care less. I felt like my entire world had been turned upside down. And everything about this guy screamed womanizer, though I didn't think he had a sexual preference.
I just smiled, still trying to squash the sick feeling crawling through me.
“So.” He moved between me and the mirror, forcing me to focus on him. He placed his forearms on the armrests, leaning in, getting far too close to my face. So close I was self-conscious of my breath. “What do you want to do today? How about over-the-top glam. Really make you shine.”
He was so fake; it took everything in me not to react.
“Maybe something a little less done. Maybe a natural, I-just-had-really-hot-sex look.”
“Yes.” I heard Fergus say behind me. “Yes.”
“That your bodyguard?” Stephen joked.
“Yeah.”
More like babysitter.
“Mr. Taylor would like to speak with you.” I automatically reached for the phone. “Not you, Mrs. Taylor.”
Stephen pulled away, standing upright, and took the offered phone.
“Hello?”
I watched as Stephen's flirty, cocky demeanor melted away, turning to one of apprehension.
“Of course.” He paused. “I wasn't—” he tried again.
I could only imagine what David was saying. Part of me didn't think he was allowed an opinion, considering he had a whore—a whore the entire world thought was his girlfriend.
Stephen held the phone out to me, his overall behavior reminded me of a petulant child.
“Yes?” I answered, already tired from the events of the day.
“You want a natural, I-just-had-really-hot-sex look?” His voice was a dangerous growl that my body responded to without my permission. “Come back and I'll give it to you. But I'm the
only
one who’s gonna give it to you.”
He was being ridiculous, but it was hot.
I'm seriously twisted.
“David—”
“I know you're hurting about what happened this morning. I feel fucking sick over it. But stop
fucking flirting
.” His jealousy satisfied that needy, insecure part of me. Soothing me.
“I wasn't,” I said through a growing grin, the tension in my body easing.
“I
fucking
love you.” It was so heartfelt. And just a little threatening.
“Good.”
“Good?” he questioned.
“Yeah, good.” I knew he could hear the smile in my voice. I ended the call and handed the phone back to Fergus.
“Mrs. Taylor—?”
“He's
fine,
Fergus. And I wasn't flirting. If you call him every time I talk to someone, we're going to have a serious problem.”
I looked at Fergus in the mirror. He was already texting—David, no doubt.
“You're married,” Stephen stated. “I think he's a little obsessive.”
“He is,” I agreed. I knew David was too much, but I needed it, especially after this morning. And it wasn't this guy’s place to say anything about it. “Just keep it on the natural side.”
He hesitated, seeming surprised by my dismissal of David's behavior. “Okay.”
My eyes closed and I took a deep slow breath. I couldn't tolerate looking at him, not after his dig at David, and not after all the drama I had endured today already. I still had those grotesque images floating around in the corners of my mind, begging me to acknowledge them.
“Mr. Taylor wants to see you before you go out there,” Fergus commented.
“Tell him I said
no
.”
“Mrs. Taylor—”
“Can you give me one second?” I asked as I picked up my phone.
Austin: No. Do your work. Leave
me alone.
11:19 AM
David: Never gonna happen.
11:20 AM
That made me smile.
“Sorry,” I muttered to Stephen, closing my eyes to block him out and let him get back to work.
“So, how long have you been married?” he asked after a long moment, distracting me from torturing myself over the how's and why's of David being with that scraggly looking girl.
“Two weeks’ yesterday,” I murmured.
“How long have you known each other?” I could feel his breath on my face as he spoke.
“A little over three weeks.” I tried to be patient. I knew where this was going.
“And he's that obsessed with you? I see a divorce in the near future.”
“When he
stops
being obsessed with me, that's when I see the divorce,” I corrected him.
He didn't respond.
Ours was not a conventional relationship, and most people didn't understand us or care to. So I knew this was coming—unsolicited opinions and advice. That didn't mean I was going to be nice or passive about it.
We didn't speak again.
I didn't know how long I sat there with him putting stuff on my face. Something soft. Something wet. Something cold. Something painful.
“How's it going in here?” The photographer came in to check on our progress, saving me from another something painful. “Almost ready?” he asked, his thick Italian accent making it difficult for me to understand.
Once I was finished the photographer offered me his hand to stand and escorted me outside to a set of rusty stairs.
David was right, he was fast, and I was done within thirty minutes.
I casually mentioned to Fergus I was going shopping before I went back to the gym. He didn't seem surprised and didn't ask where. I figured if he was ex MI6, he could figure it out on his own.
I pulled into the parking structure at Westfield Century City—it was closer to the gym than Beverly Hills. Before I got to the escalator, I saw Fergus walking toward me.
When he stepped onto the escalator behind me I asked, “So, do I pretend like I don't know you?”
“Whichever you prefer, Mrs. Taylor.”
“Is this like, you report every little thing I do to David? If I went and got a cinnamon pretzel, is he going to find out?”
“Why would you want to keep that from him?” he asked neutrally.
“It's a question. A hypothetical. I don't
want
a pretzel.”
“It would depend on what David asked,” he answered honestly.
My phone chimed, alerting me to a text.
Elaine: David said you're out
shopping.
12:42 PM
Austin: Century City.
12:44 PM
Elaine: Rock Salt at one. Grab
lunch or just walk in and out.
12:46 PM
Austin: Okay
12:48 PM
At least I was dressed for it this time.
I told Fergus what Elaine had set up. His expression was unreadable as he indicated I lead the way. We went to Rock Salt, did a walk in and out—I was still full from breakfast and I wanted to eat with David. With the events of the morning I needed the stability of our routine of eating every meal together. We made our way to Bloomingdale's, knowing I could find everything I wanted there, including some hot boots. Standing in line to make my final purchase—charcoal towels and Egyptian cotton sheets in the palest gray I could find—my phone chimed, alerting me to a text. I immediately opened it.
David: Pics of you with “unidentified
man” are online. Not fucking
liking it. Bout done? Missin you.
2:32 PM
God, he's sweet.
Then I realized,
Elaine works fast.
Austin: Yes. Leaving soon.
2:34 PM
David: Find everything you wanted?
2:36 PM
Austin: Yes.
2:37 PM
David: You sure? You don't have
that just fucked look.
2:38 PM
At least now I know I'm not crazy.
I thought I felt him earlier. That electric-like hum intensified, my body's response to his proximity. He was close. And he'd been watching me. A second later, I felt a large presence behind me. When his chest pressed into my shoulders, my body hummed with recognition and I felt that strong pull, that need to touch him, be against him skin on skin.
“Hey.” His deep, rich voice rumbled in my ear. “Come with me.” His large hand grabbed mine.
“David—” I half protested as he pulled me through the store behind his towering body. He was wearing worn jeans and black boots. I could see every outline of muscle in his broad back and shoulders through the thin, black, V-neck tee. He was my dream man, before I even realized I had one. But seeing him, the events of the morning came rushing in full force.
How I responded to him... it was purely visceral. I was torn again between my emotions and my body's response.
He led me toward a corner, then down a hall into a dressing room or what used to be a dressing room. It looked like it was in the process of a remodel.
“David, what—?”
“I know you don't like to talk, but we're
going
to talk. You're going to tell me how you
feel
,” he ordered harshly, pushing my back against a mirror and dropping to his knees, yanking my leggings down to my ankles in one swift move. His hands glided up my legs as he spoke. “I know this morning changed something.”
When I didn't respond, he pushed two thick fingers into me, slow and steady, separating my tender tissues in one explicit movement
My sex tightened around the intruding digits, eagerly welcoming them as my head fell back and my body warmed, relaxing into the wall.
“I recommend you start talking,” he warned, forcing his fingers deeper.
His aggressive touch and demanding words sent a searing arousal coursing through me and a low groan escaped me.
Abruptly, he stood and spun me around.
“Bend over,” he commanded, pushing on my lower back as I slowly complied. I heard the rasp of his zipper and the rustle of fabric as he pushed his jeans down, freeing his cock. “Put your hands on the wall.”
I obeyed.
He wasn't being mean, it was a needy, desperate kind of aggression that something inside me responded to immediately and I felt every ragged raw emotion I had been avoiding all day.
I felt his hot length brush against my sex. Once, twice. “Tell me how you feel about us,
me
.”