“Now Marcus, don't say my name with such disdain.” She steps to me and her hand moves to her back. The sound of a zipper opening makes every muscle I have tense.
“Don't,” I warn her, the fight in my voice not nearly as hard as it should be.
“Come on, you know you want me.” Her half-lidded gaze slides down to my groin and damn my dick for having its own mind and responding to the thought of her naked.
She slowly lowers the zipper. With each notch, I repeat the mantra in my head that I should be unlocking that door and bolting.
Her expensive dress puddles at the floor and she's standing there in a black lace bra and underwear set that only highlights each and every one of her assets. And there are a lot of assets.
I close my eyes for a second to regain my strength and determination.
No. You're going to have your own child. Hell, you could have a daughter and some prick like you could try taking advantage of her like you’re doing now and then what would you do? I'd beat the asshole to a pulp.
“Stop, Caterina.” My voice has finally found the authority it should have.
Her eyes flare for a second before her face softens into the flirtatious distraction I've become familiar with.
“I want you,” she says in a way that leaves no doubt she’s telling the truth.
“I get that.”
“Then why fight it?” She steps even closer, her hands disappearing again behind her back.
“You're just a teenager.” I take a step back.
The bra slips off her body, landing on the floor. “Do I look like just a teenager to you?”
Jesus. Not even a little.
“I've waited for a long time to find someone special.” She stalks forward and I move away from her until my back presses into the wall.
“Special? I'm not special,” I scoff. “You don’t even know me.”
She giggles, and flips her long blonde strands off her shoulder. “You are and I want you to be my first.”
My lungs constrict and my throat tightens. “Your first?” My voice comes out strained.
She bites her bottom lip. Her plump and pouty pink lip and nods. “I want you to take my virginity.”
She closes the gap between us and the whiff of her perfume makes my treacherous dick throb in my pants.
Gretchen. Pregnant. Possible daughter. All these thoughts ring to mind and ease some of the need between my legs, thank God.
“No.” I place my hands on her arms to stop her from removing any more clothes.
“You want to play hard to get?” she asks coyly, like this is some fucking game. “I don't mind doing the chasing.”
Evidently.
“This isn't going to happen.”
She drops down to her knees, her mouth inches from my zipper and she reaches forward. I side-step out of her way and she falls forward, catching herself with her hands.
“I don’t know how many ways I can say it, but I'm not interested.” My voice is hard. About as hard as my cock right now as I look down at her on her knees in front of me.
I need to get out of here before I do something we’ll both regret.
I open the door and step out, but I don’t really know where I'm going.
“Marcus!” Caterina yells after me and when I turn she's following me, with her clothes in her arms, pressed against her naked chest.
The clanking of pots and pans and voices makes the decision to follow the noise easy. Noise means people and people mean no Cat.
“Marcus!” she screams again, but I'm in the kitchen now, weaving between people who seem more annoyed than I am. “Stop,” she says, her voice now bearing a sad twinge.
The pots stop clinking, the voices go silent and you'd never guess I'm standing in the middle of a banquet hall kitchen with hundreds of hungry people outside the doors.
I stop walking and slowly turn to find her standing there being gawked at by all the kitchen workers. I want to shrug off my jacket, place it over her and march her back into that room. None of these assholes should see her like this.
Instead I do what I must to solidify myself as an asshole not worthy of stealing her virginity, which probably isn’t far from the truth.
“You're nothing but a little girl looking to live out some fantasy. I'm not who you think I am. Go home, Caterina, and play with your dolls. I’m not interested in what you have to offer.”
The flirtatious gleam in her eyes falters and it doesn’t take me long to see that I’ve opened a wound that will be hard to heal.
Her eyes narrow into slits and her chest heaves up and down. “Fuck you, Marcus Kent! You’ll regret this some day.” She spins on her heel and stomps from the room while every dickhead in there stares at her ass. Myself included.
It may not have been pretty but mission accomplished.
Now I need to figure out how I’m going to deal with the other woman in my life who I didn’t want there. The only difference is I can’t tell Gretchen to leave. Like it or not, we’re tied together forever.
What happens when Marcus and Caterina
run into one another six years later?
Scroll forward…
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2017 by Piper Rayne
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover design: MadHat Covers
Model: Marcus J.
Photographer: Wander Aguilar
Line Editor: Love N Books
Proof Reader: Shawna Gavas, Behind The Writer
About Real Deal
Red Flags…
Too loud.
Too clingy.
Too much make-up.
I could go on and on. The other guys in the Single Dad’s Club would say I’m obsessed with finding them. But none of their kid’s mothers is the epic fail that my daughter’s is, so their opinions mean shit.
Caterina Santora has her own list of red flags…
She’s too young.
She’s my client’s daughter.
She’s my five-year old’s camp counselor.
The fact that she doesn’t remember me from six years before grates on me until I don’t have it in me to leave her alone any longer. I have to have her. But our lives are opposites in every way. In no way compatible.
When we’re together all the complications fade away and I have to keep reminding myself, even if I can have her— I can’t keep her.
Dedication
To all the women that bring control freaks to their knees.
One
Marcus
“Daddy!” Lily screams from the top of the stairs. “I can’t find my bracelet!”
I lay the knife down next to the butter, walk into the foyer and look up to the top of the stairs where my five-year-old daughter stands, practically in tears.