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A törvényszéki könyvelő Annie Griffin mindig is sejtette, hogy egy kissé el van átkozva, így amikor 35 évesen önmagára talál, szingli, átmenetileg hajléktalan, és technikailag egy gigolótól terhes, a félelmei megerősítést nyernek.
Az adrenalin függő, és profi kaszkadőrnek Max Bowennek szüksége van egy "házőrzőre" aki gondját viseli a házi kedvenceinek, míg ő a városon kívül van. Annie-nak pedig szüksége van egy helyre, ahol lakhat. Szokványos csere. Nem nagy ügy. El tudja őket látni, legyenek is bármilyen pokolfajzatok azok, melyeket tart. Mígnem Max, a megye legkapósabb agglegénye, idő előtt visszatér, és ő hirtelen egy 27 éves szex isten lakótársa lesz, akiről kiderül, hogy sokkal több annál, mint amire számított.
Max figyelme egy kolibri szárnyapásának idejéig tartott ki, ha nőkről volt szó, de ez Annie előtt volt. A hóbortossága és édes ellentmondásai hamar elbűvölik őt, nem azért, hogy megdöntse, hanem, hogy vele töltse a napjait. Tudja, hogy a hírneve megelőzi őt, és minden ez tekintetben fokozottan ellene szól, de mindent elkövet, hogy bebizonyítsa, ő az, akire neki szüksége van, a pokolba a beképzelt előkelő nagymamákkal, a világvége átkokkal, a grupiekkal, és a bűnbánó biológiai apákkal.
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“You know, if the
idea behind a midnight wedding was to discourage people from attending, I think
we can fairly say it hasn’t worked,” Annie Griffin heard from behind her.
Shit, busted.
She whirled
around so fast, she not only got a dizzy spell but almost fell from the hammock
she was sitting on. Thank God someone with a very strong grip reached out and
steadied her.
“Wow, careful
there.”
As she regained
her balance, Annie lifted her gaze to find Max Bowen, the groom’s younger
brother, smirking at her. She brought her hand to her thumping heart. “Jeez,
you scared me, Max.”
“Sorry,” he said,
his light eyes sparkling with amusement. “What are you doing here?”
They were in the
unlit part of the backyard, as far away from the wedding reception as possible
without actually leaving the Bowens’ property.
“I’m in hiding.
Go away.” She shooed him, peeking around to make sure no one had followed him.
“You always have a string of girls attached to your hip. Soon they’re all going
to be gathered here giggling, drawing attention, and I don’t want to be found.”
Her duties as
bridesmaid were done. Tate and James were already on their way to their
honeymoon; she could disappear in good conscience.
“Hey,” he
complained, sounding offended. “I may need to go into hiding for a while too.”
She gave him a
disbelieving look. “You? Why?”
Max loosened his
tie and, unfastening the first button of his shirt, sat beside her on the
hammock. “Why? Because my ass has been pinched so many times tonight, I swear I
can barely feel it anymore.”
Annie stifled a
giggle. “Your ass is sore?”
“Like you
wouldn’t believe,” he said, breathing out slowly and running his hand through
his shoulder-length hair.
She locked eyes
with him, realizing too late he was smiling less than three inches away from
her face. The sight of him all but knocked the wind out of her. Max in faded
old jeans and a tee was breathtaking. In a tuxedo? A total heart-stopper.
She wasn’t too
fond of blond men, but Max was in a league all his own. With model-perfect
masculine features, wicked blue-green eyes, and his usual weeklong golden
stubble, Max was sexy as hell. Add to his Hollywood looks his laid-back
disposition, kick-ass body, and roguish smile, and, well, it was almost
impossible not to drool in his presence. A fact the charming devil knew very
well and played to his full advantage.
Annie wasn’t sure
how, but she managed to break eye contact. “I think the senior contingent from
Eternal Sun Resort might be the ones primarily responsible for your ass
condition.” She got it that both Mr. Bowen and Tate’s mom lived down there—were
neighbors, in fact—but they should never have told the other residents about
the wedding. The Bowen brothers were popular enough in the greater Boston area.
No need to bring reinforcements from the South.
“Probably.” Max
pondered for a second and then grinned at her. “I should just count my lucky
stars those ladies are on the short side and can’t reach my nipples, huh?”
Annie burst into
laughter. God, Max was such a clown. Although on that one he might be right. “I
hear they chartered a bus and made regular stops along the way from Florida to
Boston to pick up their granddaughters and nieces.”
And who could
blame them? It was not every day that one of the Bowen brothers tied the knot.
The standard guest plus one had transformed into guest plus ten. Not to mention
the groom’s wedding party, which alone was a sight to behold. All those hunks
in tailored tuxedos, standing tall and proud and yummy. Talk about eye candy.
She must have gotten a couple of extra cavities tonight just from staring.
Max smiled. “That
would explain it. This is the first wedding I’ve attended where there are more
people crashing the damn event than actual guests. James should’ve hired his
own security company to guard the place.”
He should have,
but judging by the way he’d looked, he’d been so over the moon lately that he
probably hadn’t thought about anything besides putting his ring on Tate’s
finger.
Max seemed to be
able to read her mind. “Yeah, I know my brother is in married-man bliss, but
there is Cole and me to think about. Well, okay, just me now that Cole is
engaged,” he conceded with a rueful grin. “But seriously, with how fiercely protective
Cole is of Christy, and the mean right hook she’s developed, I’d say some
guests would have thanked him for the extra protection too.”
“Please. Christy
is a pussycat.” Nevertheless, Annie sure relished the yellowish remnants of the
black eye Rose was still sporting, which, by the way, she’d totally deserved. A
real pity no one had gotten that on video. “And you, mister, don’t need
protection from women.”
If anything, it
was the other way around. He was the ultimate ladies’ man. He’d never hurt for female
attention before, but now with James married and Cole engaged, Max was getting
so much action he was gorging on it.
His cheeky grin
lit his face. “True, under normal circumstances, but that back there is a bit
overwhelming, even for me.”
Annie was about
to answer, when suddenly Max moved, making the hammock rock like crazy. “What
are you doing?” she squeaked, gripping the net hard.
“Lying down. I
need to give my poor, abused ass a respite. Come on,” he said, patting the spot
near him. “Lie down with me. I don’t bite.”
Oh, she wouldn’t
bet on that.
She warily eyed
the net. Forget the spiky high heels she was wearing and the skintight
bridesmaid’s dress, which was the shit but didn’t allow for much movement.
She’d spent three hours in the beauty salon getting her unruly mop of hair
pinned up and adorned with dozens of tiny white flowers. “If my hairdo gets
tangled in that, I won’t be able to yank it free without looking like the
modern version of Medusa.”
“Here.” He
stretched out his arm and offered it as a pillow.
Annie doubted
this was a good idea, but she was so tired. “I’m not that great with hammocks.
I may roll us both over.”
“I’m a
professional stuntman. I think I can handle a hammock.”
Well, he had a
point there. She’d seen him on the big screen doing the craziest things. Not to
mention his fondness for extreme sports.
“I’ll keep us
steady,” he insisted. “Come on. You’re messing with the center of gravity by
sitting there.”
She hesitated for
just a second, then shrugged. “Fine. But I’m not too coordinated. Don’t come
crying to me when we find ourselves on the grass, Mr. Hotshot Stuntman.” She
slowly moved to lie beside him.
It was a
two-person hammock, but he was so big and his shoulders were so damn broad, he
took more than his fair share of space. She rested her head on his arm and
tried to keep her body at a distance from his, but he was much heavier and her
whole left side ended up glued to his right.
“Comfy?” he
asked.
Actually, yes,
but that was beside the point.
“Hmm…”
She tried
separating herself from him, but gravity and his massive body worked against
her. The more she moved away, the more the net bounced her right back against
Max.
“Not that I’m
complaining, but you’re rubbing against me. Anything you want to tell me, Miss
Griffin?” he asked, his words laced with laughter.
This was the
closest she’d ever been to Max. She could feel every flex of his muscles, his
warm breath tickling her face. In spite of herself, his low, deep rumble and
hard body had all her girlie parts tingling, which was so inappropriate on so
many levels, she refused to even think about it.
She cleared her
throat, trying to sound outraged. “Of course not. Besides, you’re way too young
for me.” Eight years younger. Not to mention that at thirty-five, Annie was a
good decade older than the women Max usually dated.
“Sure, you’re
ancient. Now stop squirming, Ace. You’ll break your femur, and at your age any
fracture could be fatal.”
She saw the smirk
on his face and went to elbow him, but there was not enough space between them
to get a good jab in.
“Watch it. You
could easily dislocate a shoulder. I hear all you have to do is sneeze, and
there goes the hip.”
“Oh please. Just
shut up,” she said, unable to contain her laughter.
Annie hadn’t had
much contact with Max before. But since Tate and Holly had started to hang out
together, and Christy and Cole had become an item, the Bowen brothers and their
crew had ceased to be a bunch of gorgeous guys she admired from afar and had
become permanent fixtures in her life. It was hard to get used to such an
overabundance of panty creamers, but she was coping. With the occasional panic
attack, but she was coping.
Chuckling
himself, he pinned her by his side and turned his gaze to the sky. “Settle down
and look up, Ace.”
Bossy guy, she
thought, but she found herself obliging him. “Wow,” she whispered as she took
in the view.
“Everything looks
better from a hammock, doesn’t it?”
It sure did. “I’m
going to take one to the Friday-night outdoor movie instead of sitting on those
wooden chairs. The Arnie marathon they’re running won’t be better, but at least
the hammock will improve my viewing experience.”
“I hear they’re
preparing a Mel Gibson marathon for next year.”
“That’s
marginally better.”
His low voice
rumbled in the night. “How do you figure that?”
“More rom-coms,
less commando crap. Plus, I could stand to see his milky-white ass again in Braveheart.”
She felt him turn
to her and shake his head.
Max lowered a
foot to the ground and kicked, gently rocking the hammock. They lay there in
silence for a long while, enjoying the view. She should have been more freaked
about being there with Max Bowen, but the truth of the matter was she didn’t
have the energy to get herself worked up.
It had been a
very hectic day. The wedding had been beautiful, and everything had gone
according to plan—more or less—but it had been taxing. For a while she’d felt
dizzy and out of breath from the excitement and the place being packed. And
then there had been the cake. Annie loved cake, even risqué ones, but she must
have eaten the poisoned piece intended for Tate—or Christy—because, boy, the
little sucker had repeated on her. Now though, away from the crowd, her gaze on
the black sky, gently rocking, she felt totally relaxed and at ease.
“The wedding was
beautiful,” she said.
“Aunt Maggie and
Tate’s mom really thought of everything.”
“Except for the
electrified fence around the yard.”
Max chuckled.
“Yes, except for that. I could have done without the impromptu conga line
during the reception too.”
“Come on, Max,
you rocked the conga line.”
It had been one
of the highlights of the night, second only to seeing Tate all but run down the
aisle and kiss the living daylights out of James before the priest had gotten a
word in, that amazing green dragon tattoo swirling on the small of her totally
exposed back. Ah, and the dance of the best man and the maid of honor. There
had been so much tension rolling off Jack and Elle, it was palpable.
“Did you see
Elle’s face when the bouquet hit her on the head?” Annie asked.
Max nodded.
“Epic. I hope the photographer got it. That picture is so going to the wall of
fame in Rosita’s.”
Elle hadn’t
looked happy the bouquet had defied physics, changed trajectory in midair, and
landed on her head while she’d been standing beside her date—Kai, a gorgeous
Japanese American full of tattoos. Jack hadn’t looked much happier either. It
wasn’t clear if his displeasure had to do with Kai or the bouquet. Both,
probably. Not that Jack himself could talk, considering the exuberant blonde
he’d had perched on his arm.
“So, why are you
in hiding?” Max asked, turning his captivating gaze on her and disrupting all
her thoughts. God, the guy was stunning. And this close, there was all the
olfactory and tactile data to deal with. Even in his relaxed position, Max
oozed masculinity and testosterone. His smell, a mixture of aftershave, clean
sweat, and a hint of tobacco from the cigar James had given him, was so male it
gave her goose bumps. She couldn’t explain it, but to her, Max smelled like
summer and sunshine. Even now, in the middle of the night.
She sighed and
turned her face up to the sky. “I’ve been in the dating arena long enough to
know that when your date starts talking about himself in the third person, it’s
time to hide.”
The hammock shook
with his muffled laughter. His hard body too.
“Not to mention
the more he drinks, the more arms he grows. And the more his eyes bulge every
time he sees a pair of boobs. It’s bad enough that he’s spent the last two
hours talking to my nipples, but ogling other women’s goodies on top of that?
Gross.”
Steven was a
coworker from her office. She’d gone out with him once this past month. The
first date hadn’t turned out too horribly, so she’d given it a second try. Bad,
bad idea.
He tsked. “Moron.
Doesn’t he know your goodies are the best?”
She felt her face
flame. Then she realized what he was probably referring to. “You’re talking
about the candy basket from the fund-raiser, right?” A couple of weeks ago, for
the annual town fund-raising dinner, her candy shop had donated a basket of
gourmet candy, which Max had bid on and won.
“Those goodies
too.”
God, he was such
a shameless flirt. Gorgeous, charming, easygoing. Pity when it came to women,
he had the attention span of a hummingbird on crack. Which was irrelevant,
really. Not only was he totally out of her league, but there was the age
difference to contend with. Eight years might not seem like much, but in
mind-sets, they were light years apart. Annie was ready to settle and marry,
and Max was… Well, Max was most definitely not. He wasn’t playing the field; he
owned the damned field.
“Behave,” she
admonished him.
“I am, Ace. I
am,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve been meaning to tell you those chocolate
things were fantastic.”
“You liked them?”
He nodded. “Don’t
misunderstand me; traditional candy is great, but this new shit you’re
bringing…mouthwatering.”
Annie smiled,
pleased as all hell. She’d inherited the little candy shop in Alden five years
ago, when her mom remarried and moved to Ohio. Annie already had an office job
in Boston, but she hadn’t wanted to close the place down. So she’d hired a girl
to run it during the week, and Annie took care of Saturdays and the odd
afternoons when the girl couldn’t.
The shop had
barely been turning a profit. With the extra salary to foot, Annie had decided
to upgrade the whole concept. Along with jelly beans and candy canes, she went
for a more sophisticated line, sporting gourmet chocolates and truffles from
Brussels, strawberries with champagne and white-chocolate frosting, and all
sorts of products for special occasions.
“Remember to come
ready to tweet.”
He winked at her.
“Don’t worry. Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, the whole shebang.”
“You have all of
those?”
“Actually, no,
but I’ll sign up. How did you think of the whole concept?”
“Honestly? I
didn’t. Christy did.”
One day,
brainstorming while chatting with Christy about how to reach more customers,
her friend had come up with the idea of using Twitter. The shop Sweets had
become Sweets and Tweets, and clients got a discount if they tweeted on the
spot about the goodies they were buying. Word got out about the new products,
and in no time they had people coming from Boston to get their sugar fixes or
to buy treats for special dates. This past Valentine’s Day had been crazy. The
line had gone all the way to the street and around the corner.
Max smiled. “My
future sister-in-law is a charming geek.”
“That she is.”
Annie and Christy
had met in college and had kept in contact ever since. A bit over six months ago,
Christy had taken a sabbatical from her job as a software engineer and moved
temporarily from LA to Alden to get away from her ex-fiancé. Now she was
engaged to Cole Bowen and ran Alden’s library. Funny how things changed.
They swung in
comfortable silence for a while longer.
“So, I have to
ask,” he said after a long pause. “How often do you end up in hiding during
your dates?”
She snorted. “You
wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I’d be hiding in the bathroom right now if I
could be sure that the Women Only sign would stop that self-absorbed pompous
ass from entering.”
Annie was an
active dater—an optimist. Yeah, the world was full of frogs, but there were
princes out there. She just had to persevere until she found hers; it was a
matter of probabilities, pure and simple. Easier said than done. A romantic at
heart, she’d always kept faith that everyone got a happily ever after, but with
the luck she’d had lately and all the frogs she’d had to deal with, she’d begun
to suspect “everyone” just didn’t include her.
Max barked out a
laugh. “Self-absorbed pompous ass?”
Annie nodded.
“Aka Steven.”
“You’re dating
the wrong guys.”
Didn’t she know
it.
Not that Max
would understand her predicament. The guy went through women like most men went
through potato chips, a handful at a time. He charmed girls out of their
panties as if it were an Olympic sport. Nevertheless, Annie hadn’t heard a
single complaint from the female population. Far from it.
“What about the
stud gala? Did you end up in hiding there too?”
Annie stilled.
“How did you know about the gala?”
“You kidding me?
I heard Cole grumbling about you guys buying the gala invitation for Christy.
Then I had to listen Tate complain about not getting one. And then James
growling and threatening Elle with bodily harm if she dared to buy one for
Tate.”
She cleared her
throat. “That wasn’t a date. But, no, I didn’t end up in hiding then.”
No, sir, not at all.
“Guys, what are
you doing there?” a woman asked.
Annie turned her
head to see Christy and Cole approaching.
“His ass was
hurting and he needed to lie down,” Annie blurted, tensing. Under somebody
else’s scrutiny, lying there with Max felt suddenly awkward.
Christy looked
confused. “What?”
“Never mind,”
Annie mumbled, clumsily hauling herself up and out of the hammock. Max followed
her much more gracefully, holding her when her wobbly legs and the rocking made
falling on her face a very distinct possibility.
“How’s it going?”
Max asked his brother. “Is the party winding down already?”
Cole looked
toward the reception and grimaced. “Nope,” he muttered. Then he turned to
Christy. “We’re eloping.”
She smiled
widely. “Sure, let’s elope to Vegas.”
Cole’s expression
tightened. “I’m not getting hitched by Elvis,” he warned, wrapping his arm
around her shoulders and bringing her front to his side.
“Who said
anything about Elvis? I was thinking more along the lines of Captain Kirk.”
“So not
happening.”
Christy, bless
her heart, ignored him and smiled even wider. “Or Spock. We could book the Star Trek package, marry with a Vulcan
and a Klingon as witnesses. And wire the chapel so that our friends could
follow the wedding through the Internet. Wouldn’t that be a blast?”
He kissed her
hard, then whispered against her lips, “I love you, baby, but no fucking way.”
If his expression was anything to go by, it was a good thing Cole loved Christy
to pieces, because he sure as hell wasn’t a man to be led by his dick, much
less into a Star Trek wedding.
“Elope all you
want, but I’m organizing your bachelor party. Imagine all I could do with Vegas
as the backdrop,” Max said, to which Cole grimaced even more strongly.
“Here you are,”
Annie heard someone say.
Shit. Steven, aka
Pompous Ass. Her stomach roiled and realization dawned. Oh God, the spell of
sickness she’d experienced during the reception? Apparently it had nothing to
do with the crowded yard or the cake. She’d reached a milestone—her dates were
physically making her sick. Way to go.
Max came closer
and whispered, “Is this the guy?”
She nodded and
turned to Steven, who was obnoxiously grinning.
“Ready to dance
with the king of the night, darling?”
He was now close
enough that his sugary smell reached her. Nausea rose in her belly. Trying not
to cringe, she took a step forward, frantic for an excuse.
Suddenly, someone
tugged her hand from behind. “Sorry, man,” Max apologized. “The prettiest girl
in this wedding owes me a couple of dances, and I’m ready to collect.”
Max twirled her
and wound her in, winking. “Let’s give him a show,” he whispered. Before she
could react, Max wrapped one hand around her neck, the other around her waist.
Exaggeratedly bending her backward, he placed his lips over hers.
She hadn’t
regained her breath or her bearings when he pulled her up for another spin.
Oh God, too much movement.
“I’m not feeling
good,” she managed to get out. Then she leaned over and threw up all over Max’s
shoes.
* * * *
“Okay, spit it
out, Annie,” Holly prompted, tapping at the table. “I’m the dispatcher for the
sheriff’s department. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ve heard worse. Although, if
memory serves, Ben switching teams on you was a DEFCON3 emergency. I truly have
no clue what possible planetary disaster DEFCON1 could refer to.”
Annie glanced
around, making sure they were alone in the terrace. Then, trying not to
hyperventilate, Annie uttered those two tiny words, the ones that had her
freaked out of her ever-loving mind.
Holly, Christy,
and Sophie gaped at her, totally shocked. Thank God they’d been sitting;
otherwise her friends’ behinds would have had very close encounters with the
floor.
“Definitely
DEFCON1,” Christy mumbled and Sophie assented.
“Pregnant? What
do you mean pregnant?” Holly asked, sounding stupefied.
“Pregnant,” Annie
choked out. “As in knocked up.”
“How? When? Who?”
Then, before Annie could answer, not that she was too eager to answer anyway,
Holly continued, “Please don’t tell me it’s Steven’s.”
At least there
was that: a positive side of this whole mess she hadn’t thought of. “Eww. You
nuts? I didn’t have sex with Steven.”
Her friends let
out a collective sigh of relief. “Thank God,” Holly muttered.
Annie had been
about to chide them for even thinking she’d had sex with Steven after just two
dates, but she saw the irony in her predicament and decided to bite her tongue.
“If it isn’t his,
then…?” Christy asked, motioning with her hand for Annie to go on.
Annie cleared her
throat. “Remember the StudsRus.com gala a while back?” she said with a grimace.
“The nice Italian escort I met there? Luigi?”
Complete silence.
Annie had
attended the yearly gala in Christy’s place. The most prestigious escort agency
in Boston had hosted it a month ago at the Ritz Carlton downtown. The girls had
managed to buy an invitation for Christy’s birthday, after her vow to get
professionally laid, but once Cole had heard about it, he’d put a damper to the
whole plan. So they had drawn straws, and surprise, surprise, Annie had won.
“You’re shitting
us,” Sophie said.
Annie shook her
head. No, she wasn’t shitting them. She wished she were, but she wasn’t.
It had been a
great night. Magical, with all the candlelight, the unending flow of expensive
champagne, and the great company. That it was a masquerade ball had also added
an extra layer of magic and privacy that had been exhilarating.
Apparently
StudsRus.com’s escorts were highly sought after. They traveled all over the
country accompanying clients, some of them very powerful people, to
high-profile events. They were not only gorgeous; they were extremely well
educated and charming. One of the escorts she’d met that night was a
dark-haired, handsome man by the name of Luigi. One thing led to another, and
she most definitely had not ended up hiding in the bathroom.
Holly cursed.
“What about the whole stash of condoms I put in your purse? Didn’t you think of
using them?”
“I used condoms;
I swear I did.”
“How exactly did
you use them, sweetheart?”
“What do you
mean, how did I use them? How does anyone use condoms? Are there so many
different ways of using them?” Annie asked, out of breath, her tone of voice
rising. She was freaking out. Big-time. But all in all, she thought she was
entitled to. “I certainly didn’t put them on my head as new-age hats.”
“Did it break?”
She shook her
head. If it had, she would have gotten the morning-after pill, and she wouldn’t
currently be about to pass out.
“Are you sure
it’s not a false alarm?” Sophie asked, trying to calm her down.
“No false alarm.
Five peed-on sticks and two blood tests confirm it. I’m pregnant up to my
eyeballs,” Annie said as she, very ineffectively, fanned herself with a napkin.
Damn hot flashes. Before she found out about the pregnancy, she’d been having
so many of them, she’d even considered going to the doctor to make sure she
hadn’t entered some sort of freaky early menopause. Wouldn’t that have been a
laugh.
“How did this
happen?” Holly asked.
Sophie waved at
her. “The usual way?”
“Not helping,
sweetie.” Holly chastised Sophie with a look and then turned to Annie. “If you
used condoms, how did you get pregnant?”
And here was
where it got embarrassing. “It seems there’s an infinitesimal chance of getting
knocked up if you start rolling the condom on, realize it’s inside out, and
then turn it the right way. Drops of precum get onto the outside of the condom,
and voilà, if the semen is of quality and has great mobility, you’re in deep
shit.” Annie looked at them, fidgeting. “I was a bit nervous, and there wasn’t
too much light…”
She should have
left the logistical details to the pro.
All the head
shaking she’d done when women in her office got pregnant out of carelessness,
and look at her: knocked up on a technicality.
Sophie whistled.
“Wow, some super-duper power sperm those studs have, huh?”
“Tell me about
it,” Annie muttered.
“Could it be
someone else’s?” Christy asked.
“It’s either
Luigi’s or an immaculate conception.”
The good thing
about getting laid so seldom was that she could pinpoint the conception date
with 100 percent accuracy, which meant that if her baby was as anal as she was,
he or she should be born in the early hours of March thirty-first.
Holly looked at
her, worried. “I hate to say this, honey, and I know these guys are the best of
the best, but did you get checked for diseases?”
“Yeah, no STDs.”
That was what she’d done first once she’d found out about her pregnancy. And
hadn’t that been fun, explaining to Alden’s only doctor, the same one who had
treated her all her life, why she needed testing for STDs right after he told
her she was pregnant. “All I got from the superstud is a baby.”
“At least you had
a valid excuse for throwing up on Max the other night,” Christy said.
Annie cringed at
the memory. Talk about making an ass out of herself. The most sought-after
bachelor in the whole state was being sweet and offering her a way out so she
wouldn’t have to dance with Steven, and what had she done in exchange? She’d
puked her brains out all over his shoes, messing his pants too. Well, on the
flip side, the second she’d started throwing up, her oh-so-attentive date had
all but run in the opposite direction.
Max, on the other
hand, had been very nice and understanding. He’d even joked that if he’d been
saddled with a date like Steven, he would’ve been puking too.
“Does Luigi know
about any of this?”
“Nope. And I
never got a last name, so I don’t know how to contact him.” Or even if she
wanted to.
Annie had been
dazzled by Luigi, who had been so not what she’d expected. He wasn’t a young,
buff stud with more muscles than brains. No, he was in his mid-to-late
thirties, sophisticated, elegant, and a great conversationalist. She wasn’t a
knockout, but she was pretty enough. And so far her body was holding its own
against gravity and time, if one could ignore the expansionist tendencies of
her ass. Still, Luigi favoring her company had kind of blown her mind. Between
that, the alcohol, and the privacy the masks offered, she’d just let go. In the
morning, though, she’d panicked and, much to her shame, run out on the guy
before he even woke up. How the hell was she supposed to face the proverbial
morning after when she had slept with a professional escort in his spare time?
At least she thought it had been in his spare time. She didn’t even dare
consider he’d been working and she’d stiffed him of his fee. That was just too
much.
“It seems Italian
escorts are in fashion. StudsRus.com has eight Luigis on staff. I’m going to
have to ask them for pictures.”
If the
conversation at the doctor’s had been fun, she shuddered to think about the one
with the stud-agency receptionist.
She might never
find Luigi again, and she couldn’t say she felt particularly sorry about it.
After all, she didn’t know the guy. But a man had the right to know he was a
father. And although she didn’t need a husband, the thought of raising a kid
all by herself sucker punched her. Money was not an issue; she had a good job,
the shop was doing well, and she still had the untouched trust fund her
paternal grandparents had created for her. They hadn’t trusted her flighty
father, and thank God for that, because the man was already on his fifth bimbo
wife, who was bleeding him dry like three of her predecessors.
So financially
she was more than covered, but there were other things to consider. Some
mornings it took her forever to decide whether she wanted to have cornflakes or
honey puffs—how the hell was she going to choose a school for the kid? He or
she would be old enough for junior high by the time Annie had made up her mind.
“You know, I
somehow envisioned embracing motherhood differently. Not at thirty-five,
without a partner, and knocked up by a gigolo who might or might not be named
Luigi.”
After all, maybe
Luigi was just his stage name.
“It beats the
hell out of a sperm bank, which is what I can see in my future,” Holly
muttered.
They were silent
for a while. Then Annie sighed. “I’m so screwed, guys. I’m a forensic
accountant. What do I know about kids?”
“You own a candy
store. I’d say you’re already ahead,” Christy offered.
Well, there was
that.
“I should have
never gotten up on that flower pot after you,” Annie said to Christy. “You got
the good stuff. I got…backlash.” Annie covered her face with her hands. “This
is so unfair. You and Cole are the ones humping like rabbits all the time. Me?
It was just once. One little screw. Why me? The universe hates me.”
She should have
suspected there was some mega cosmic catch to it when she’d won that gala
invitation. She never won anything. Ever. On the contrary. She was that jinxed.
Holly interrupted
her mental rant. “Wait a second. What do you mean, only once? Wasn’t he, you
know, up for a rematch?”
“It was good,
don’t misunderstand me, but let’s just put it this way: when an overpriced
European escort isn’t working, he starts snoring after the deed.”
“Are you sure he
was a member of StudsRus.com and not some nutcase impersonating a stud, like in
True Lies?” Sophie asked.
Oh crap, she
hadn’t thought of that possibility. Annie panicked for a second, then shook her
head. “No, can’t be. He knew everyone there.”
“True Lies?” Holly repeated.
“You know, the
waiter in that Arnie movie, the one who got chicks by impersonating a spy,”
Sophie explained.
Christy frowned.
“A waiter? Wasn’t he a car salesman? I—”
“People, people.
Concentrate,” Holly interrupted, out of patience. “I told you to quit with the
outdoor movies.” She turned to Annie. “Are you going to keep it?”
Annie looked at
her friends. “Forget the fact I’m thirty-five and my clock is ticking. What are
the chances of getting pregnant like this? One in a frigging billion. This baby
hasn’t been born yet, and it’s already a damn superhero. Of course I’m keeping
it.”
Bowen Series Reading Order
More than Meets the Ink (Bowen, #1)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1BHLGvQ
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1AddDA2
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1DjeSLD
iTunes: http://bit.ly/1BLgSg5
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1yVS0xC
Heavy Issues (Bowen #2)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1ymbIUo
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1yZFYrN
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1vn91q6
iTunes: http://bit.ly/1tN4oEo
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1DjiFbW
Inked Ever After (Bowen, #2.5)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1yVIYkq
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1AddNYq
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1DshXJJ
iTunes: http://bit.ly/1HB27mj
Kobo: http://bit.ly/16duB52
To The Max (Bowen, #3)
Releasing 2/10/2015
Az írónőről
Miután számtalan színesebbnél- színesebb munkát végzett szerte Európában, a fordítótól a csokikészítőig, az utazó ügynöktől a sushi séfig, és a repülés irányítóig, Elle Aycart egy dologban biztos, és ez az egyetlen dolog: mégpedig a romantikus regények írása, neki már ab-szo-lút fogalma sincs mit akar csinálni, ha felnő. Nem mintha ez meggátolná abban, hogy mindenféle őrültséget kipróbáljon.
Miközben, lehet hogy épp most talál ki egy új szakmát, a fejében megállás nélkül új romantikus történetek kavarognak. Jelenleg Barcelonában, Spanyolországban él férjével, és két lányával, bár ki tudja, talán hamarosan Finnországba költözhet az Északi-Sarkkörre, hogy rénszarvasokat tenyésszen.
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