To The Max is NOW
LIVE!
Forensic accountant Annie
Griffin has always suspected she's a bit jinxed, so when she finds herself 35,
single, temporarily homeless, and pregnant on a technicality by a gigolo, her
fears are confirmed.
Adrenaline junkie and
professional stuntman Max Bowen needs a house-sitter to watch after his pets
while he's out of town. Annie needs a place to stay. Standard quid pro quo. No
biggie. She can handle that, whatever hellhounds he owns. Until Max, the most
sought-after bachelor in the county, comes back ahead of schedule and suddenly
she's roommates with a 27-year old sex God who turns out to be so much more
than what she expected.
Max might have had the
attention span of a humming bird on crack when it comes to women, but that was
before Annie. Her quirkiness and sweet contradictions soon captivate him, not
that she's inclined to give him the time of the day. With his reputation
preceding him, he knows the odds are badly stacked against him, but he will do
his best to prove her that he's what she needs, stuck-up socialite
grandmothers, doomsday preppers, groupies, pregnancy hormones, and repentant
biological dads be damned.
“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)
Heavy Issues (Bowen #2)
Inked Ever After (Bowen,
#2.5)
To The Max (Bowen, #3)
Releasing 2/10/2015
After a colorful array of
jobs all over Europe ranging from translator to chocolatier to travel agent to
sushi chef to flight dispatcher, Elle
Aycart is certain of one thing and one thing only: aside from writing romances,
she has abso-frigging-lutely no clue what she wants to do when she grows up. Not that it stops her from
trying all sorts of crazy stuff.
While she is probably now
thinking of a new profession, her head never stops churning new plots for her
romances. She lives currently in Barcelona, Spain, with her husband and two
daughters, although who knows, in no time she could be living at the Arctic
Circle in Finland, breeding reindeer.
I sure liked the excerpt and I think I'd enjoy reading this book. Wrote down the name...new author for me.
ReplyDelete