“Do you get lonely, Rebecca?”
I’m smart enough to play dumb. Because to oppose this guy outright would be suicide. He’s twice my size and exuding so much testosterone I can practically smell it. Musky and earthy, the aroma makes me think of fallen leaves left too long in the gutter. Sweat beads on his brow, the slight sheen a result of either the day’s heat or excitement, most likely both. And if I looked down, I’d bet Hollis’s thumb drive that I’d see a hard on straining against his pants.
Of course, I could just throw caution to the wind and make a mad dash for my front door, hoping I can get to it and through it before he gets to me. Though, given our close proximity, something tells me I wouldn’t stand a chance.
I can smell the beer on his breath.
“Lonely? Well, maybe sometimes, I guess.” Softening my stance, I shrug. “But it’s, you know, part of the job and everything.”
My hand is still in my pocket, gripping my phone, the only weapon that I have.
Randall chuckles, like I said something funny. “A woman like you should never have to feel alone. Rebecca.”
I’ve never hated the sound of my own name more than I do right now.
“I’m fine with it. Really.” Casually, I take a step back and up, onto the first of the three steps leading to our porch.
Randall’s answering smile is more like a leer, showing off square teeth that want to bite. “Something tells me that’s a lie.”
Before I can respond, he pulls out his own phone, swipes a thick finger against the screen, and holds it up for me to see.
The initial image is grainy, blurry. But then it clears, and something that looks an awful lot like my backyard bleeds into focus. Squinting, I take in the large deck, noting the familiar space: the new patio furniture delivered back in June, the built-in grill flanked by a woodburning stove, the large stone firepit big enough to roast an entire pig.
At first I’m confused, wondering why this jerk is showing me a video of my own…
Oh.
My mouth drops.
It’s me and Ford. The night I covered myself in an itsy-bitsy, teeny weenie, whipped cream bikini and dared him to lick it off me.
Randall Beaumont thumbs up the volume, and tell-tale sounds of my infidelity spill out from the speaker. Our voices are faint, and you can’t make out our exact words, but if there’s any doubt as to what we’re doing, our moans give us away.
Not that there could be any doubt, considering the way our bodies are writhing against each other, polished by moonlight.
Then, I hear it, one decipherable word cutting through the static: “…Ford.”
My stomach tightens.
“Now, I could be mistaken. But I thought your adoring husband’s name was Nicholas.”
The time for playing dumb is over. Apparently, Randall is choosing brains over brawn.
Folding my arms over my chest, I huff. “My husband is hardly adoring.”
Before me, the scene continues to play out. Looks like Randall the Pervert filmed the entire thing.
“How much do you want?”
Randall sighs. “Rebecca. You’ve got me all wrong.”
I roll my eyes and peer at the screen again. Like a train wreck, it’s hard to look away. Given the distance and waning light, our faces aren’t entirely discernable. But what if, during this amateur porn, the moon’s glow happens to land just right, unveiling our identities? All it would take is a split second, one move that would have me facing the camera the right way at the right time…
I’m so very fucked.
“Then what do you want?” My voice is clipped, all business. But inside, I’m shaking, trembling, filled with so many emotions I can barely see straight.
I’m not ready for my marriage to end. Not yet.
Randall pockets the phone and leans against the house, crossing one foot over the other. “I just want a taste of what you’re giving away, that’s all.”
My head jerks as if I’ve been slapped. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs, like we’re discussing something as simple as the weather. “Oh, come on. Don’t act all surprised. You knew what you were doing, all those times out there on your back deck, spreading your legs...for me.” He pushes off the house and edges closer. The cocky humor is gone from his eyes, replaced by a wicked glint. “And baby, I’m tired of watching.”
I wasn’t expecting this. But how could I not have expected this?
Play with fire, and you get burned.
I’m frantic. Beyond frantic. I want to cry and scream and claw Randall Beaumont’s eyes right out of his fucking head…
“Of course, if you’d rather, I could just send this little video to your husband. See what he has to say about it. Though,” he chuckles, “I promise you, the alternative would be far more to your liking.”
“How do I know you won’t just send it to Nicholas anyway?”
Randall’s expression ripples, and a smile so genuine that it could win over Mother Theresa herself flits across his features. His entire demeanor has changed on a dime; he looks completely different. There’s sincerity in his gaze, a trustworthiness that goes so deep as to affect the color of his eyes, turning them from a sickly green to a warm emerald.
Two-faced bastard.
“Now why on earth would I do that?” When I give him a you’re full of shit look, all pretenses fade. “Look, you give me what I want when I want it, and this little fuckfest between you and this Ford” – I grimace – “will stay locked in my vault. Permanently. You have my word.”
Now I laugh. “Really? Your word? And what’s that worth?”
Randall joins me on the step, looming taller now that we’re on the same level. Pressing his body to mine, he dips a finger into the waistband of my shorts. His touch feels like a searing poker, and despite the strength I’m determined to show, I flinch. Pushing back my hair with his other hand, he dips his head so that his mouth brushes my ear. “My word, Rebecca, means everything.”
I suck in a breath, swallow back a scream. “What are you, a used car salesmen?”
Randall’s hand glides up from my waist, slides along my stomach, and teases the silk of my bra. “Close. I’m an attorney. And a highly respected one, at that.” He gives my breast a light squeeze. “So don’t think about trying anything funny. My word against some slut who’s cheating on her husband won’t hold up in court, sweetheart. I promise you that.”
His hands are on me now, all over me now, exploring and pinching and tweaking, and I feel like I’m going to be sick, so sick, maybe puke all over his shiny shoes. I swallow down bile, and in a voice that I don’t even recognize, I whisper, “Fine.”
Randall’s breath catches, and his hands freeze. Which tells me that, despite his display of confidence, he wasn’t entirely sure I’d go for his deal.
“Say it.”
My heart is hammering, thudding against my chest, and the ocean in my head is roaring at an all-time high. “S-say what?”
He grabs my waist, pulls me so tightly against him that I can feel his erection against my hip. “Say you want me to fuck you.”
“I…” I squeeze my eyes shut, whimper softly. “I want you to…fuck…me.”