Happy Release to Elle Aycart!
To The Max is NOW LIVE!
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Blurb
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.
Excerpt
Chapter One
“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
About the Author
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.
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