TROUBLE 2 Page 2

  “You don’t feel guilty sleeping with me while your fiancée plans your wedding?”

  “Selena is not up for discussion. You play your part, and I’ll worry about Selena,” he says darkly, his voice a soft threat. “You keep what we have to yourself when she calls or comes in, and we won’t have any problems.”

  Well, that puts me in my place.

  “You’ll leave Amber and her bakery alone?”

  He nods.

  “And if the test is negative you’ll let me go.”

  It’s not a question. Maybe I’m hoping a statement will swing some power back my way. I should know by now that any semblance of power is not mine to take.

  His smile mocks me, and I feel unaccountably thrilled when he pushes closer and cups my face in his hands, bringing my eyes to his.

  “You’re mine until I say otherwise.”

  Chapter Three

  “Stop fidgeting.”

  It’s Monday morning, and we’re in the car on the way to Gregory’s doctor. Okay, well, not his doctor, my new doctor. I’m so nervous it’s taking all of my powers of control not to throw myself from the moving car and run screaming into traffic.

  Here’s the low down on what happened after Mr Neanderthal informed me I belong to him — until he’s tired of me, of course, I snort, feeling irritated beyond belief that I’m a little okay with it. A little. Don’t judge me.

  We’d finished dinner and I’d ‘relaxed’ back on the sofa, waiting for him to make his move. Gregory’s not exactly the shy type, so the minute he’d returned from putting the dishes in the kitchen he’d been on me.

  Apparently sex can still feel great even when you don’t like someone and you’re having trouble liking yourself, because I'd come each and every time he’d taken me.

  And that had been four times.

  I’d insisted on going home later, not caring that he had to drag his ass out of bed and drive me there at three in the morning. I have Nana to think about, and if he thinks I’m letting my responsibilities suffer just to please him…that’s not happening.

  Saturday he’d insisted on taking both Nana and me to lunch, and then we’d gone back to his place and watched Nana walk in the gardens. He’d been so nice and just…

  How the heck am I supposed to hate the man when my nana is totally smitten?

  “Jesus. You’re not doing the goddamned death march, Hannah! Would having my baby be such a bad thing?” he demands suddenly, and I cringe away from the anger I see there.

  Is he delusional? In what universe is it okay if I’m pregnant? He’s marrying another woman! How can he be okay with this?

  “Of course it is! Have you forgotten the fact that you’re engaged? And she’s so nice! How do you think—”

  “I told you not to bring Selena into this.”

  His tone shuts me up immediately and I look away, not wanting an argument but knowing that I will start one if he keeps yelling at me. Especially now, with how fragile I’m feeling. God, I could be pregnant right now.

  “Here we are.”

  I wait where I am and allow him to come around and open my door, not because I give a rat’s ass about what he wants but because I’m so shaky I need the support of his arm around me.

  “Oh God.”

  “Steady, darlin’, don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got you covered,” he murmurs, throwing an arm over my shoulder to keep me walking.

  That’s the problem, Gregory, I think, as we’re greeted by the receptionist and led straight into a consultation room.

  Doctor Fox is a middle-aged man who reminds me of Santa in his leaner days, and I feel somewhat at ease as he examines me, takes blood, and accepts my urine sample with a smile.

  Twenty minutes later I’m walking out with a scowling Gregory, and I have to say, I feel weirdly elated and disappointed at the same time. You guessed it, I am fetus-free and most definitely not pregnant, though I am now in possession of a prescription for birth control.

  “Well, that wasn’t too bad,” I breathe, grabbing the seatbelt with renewed vigor.

  Gregory just grunts and starts the car, shooting out of the parking lot with enough speed that I’m glad my seatbelt’s on. What the heck crawled up his ass?

  “At least I don’t have to worry about this anymore.”

  “Yeah.”

  He’s being more dick-ish than usual, and to be honest, now that I’m used to him being so accommodating, it’s kind of disconcerting.

  “Sooo…where exactly are we going? Because the office is that way,” I say, pointing behind us.

  “I have a last minute meeting with Yates and I need you to go help Lena.”

  What!

  “Whoa…uh, no! Help her with what? Are you nuts? I just got out of a doctor’s appointment to confirm I’m not pregnant with your illegitimate love child! I am not spending the day with your fiancée!” I rage, getting more anxious by the minute.

  Is he nuts, crazy, totally without feeling?

  “Han, I need you to just help me out, okay? She’s at the dress place, and she wants an opinion or something, and I can’t be there.” He asks softly, throwing me a pleading look.

  “Are you seriously asking me to go help your fiancée choose her wedding dress?” I ask in a small voice, feeling something inside my chest tighten.

  It hurts, as strange as it sounds, to have the guy I’m sleeping with, and right now I’m woman enough to admit I’m enjoying it, ask me to help his fiancée choose the dress he’s marrying her in.

  Can I be any more pathetic?

  “Gregory, please, don’t do this to me.”

  “Hannah.”

  “Please. I…can’t do this.”

  That’s when I realize: I don’t hate Gregory Lucas. I never hated him. I hate the situation we’re in and that he’s forcing me to become a woman I don’t like very much, but what I feel for him is something akin to hope. A hope I can’t afford to have with a man like him.

  “Hannah, just do what I tell you to and stop nagging, all right! I need you to choose the goddamned bridesmaid dresses and tell Lena which dress to go with. It’s not fucking rocket science!”

  I am spared from the screeching answer hovering on my lips when he pulls over and puts the car in neutral, staring straight out the windshield. I look over and spot Selena waiting in front of a very trendy-looking boutique, and I realize I’m trapped.

  If I refuse she’s going to want to know why, and I am so not telling her the truth.

  “You are the biggest asshole I have ever met. There is a very special place in hell for men like you, and I hope you know how appalled I am right now.”

  “I’ll swing by in an hour and a half to get you. Do not leave before I get here,” he says stonily, dismissing me as if what I’ve said means nothing.

  “Son of a fucking bitch,” I growl, opening the door and closing it with a satisfying thwap.

  “Hannah! Hi! I’m so glad you made it. Greg said I could count on you. Come on, let’s go choose a wedding dress.”

  Shoot me, somebody just shoot me now, I think silently as she links our arms and tows me inside. I shoot a fulminating glare at the street, only to see that he’s gone without so much as a hello for his fiancée.

  “Good morning, welcome to Blushing Brides. How may I serve you today?”

  I look up to see a greedy-eyed saleswoman coming our way, and I thank God when her approach allows me to step back, breaking the arm link.

  “Hi! We’re here for a dress. Oh, and bridesmaids dresses. Hannah is in charge of the color scheme, so she’s choosing most of it.”

  What?

  “Er, no, I, um, this is your wedding. Wouldn’t it be best if you choose your own color schemes? And…I really don’t think—”

  Jesus, this is so goddamned awkward. I can’t believe he’s done this.

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Hannah. Your input is vital!”

  By the time I’ve selected an off-the-shoulder, lavender, cocktail-style dress for the bridesmaids, I’m r
eady to pull a runner.

  “Now the wedding dress. Oh, Lord, I am so excited. Can you just see Greg’s face when this dress comes walking toward him?” she asks, holding up something my nana wouldn’t wear to her own funeral.

  “Hmmm.”

  Be tactful, Han. Remember that not everyone has taste.

  “No?” she asks, giving the dress a more thorough inspection.

  “It’s a little…” I pause and grimace. “Too traditional?”

  More like ugly, with enough lace to cover a Victorian lady’s bed, and the off-white — oh sorry, champagne — is not the color I’d go for either. It reminds me of something the YaYa Sisterhood would wear.

  “No?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Well, then what? Why is this so hard?” she cries, flopping down on the sofa by the dressing room, her shoulders drooping dejectedly. “Greg will be so disappointed if I can’t do this.”

  When she says that scumsucker’s name, something inside me snaps, and I start ripping dresses from the rack to hurl them at her.

  “We have the same build, and I can tell you now, burying yourself beneath a boatload of lace won’t work. My nana made me a dress for my sweet sixteen that will haunt me forever, so I’m telling you, lace is totally out. Here, try the off-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline. Yo, lady,” I yell, whistling the saleswoman over.

  “Ma’am?” she asks fearfully, and I almost grin at her trepidation.

  “Get this woman a glass of champagne, will ya? And I want everything without lace in a size six,” I order, pulling Selena to her feet. “Try that one on and let me see.”

  It takes less than an hour for us both to agree on a strapless snow-white sheath that hugs her from breast to knee and flares out subtly to fall in a soft whoosh to her feet.

  “You’ll need to get that fitted across the bust.”

  She looks down at her boobs and then looks at mine.

  “You’re so lucky you have boobs.”

  I snort and consider my just C’s. I wouldn’t call them great, but they’re a sight larger than her A’s —something I feel spitefully great, yet guilty, about.

  “All right then,” I sigh. “Anything else before I skedaddle back to the salt mines?”

  She stops and considers me, her head tilted at an angle.

  “Flowers?”

  Is this chick not a socialite? I thought they were born and bred to do this shit.

  “Roses. Weddings and roses go together like Forest and Jenny. Definitely roses. Maybe white?”

  She nods, and I find myself outside on the sidewalk a few minutes later, waving at her retreating back as I wait for Gregory to roll around.

  This is most definitely one for the history books. Mistress helps bride choose wedding dress.

  Have I lost what little is left of my mind?

  When he stops beside me, I get in and buckle up, studiously ignoring his questioning glances.

  “I’ve arranged a helper to come by this afternoon.”

  I ignore him and purse my lips.

  “For Nana,” he clarifies.

  I want to gasp in shock and lay into him at the temerity, but I don’t, knowing he’s trying and currently failing to get a rise out of me.

  “Han.”

  Chapter Four

  “Have you stopped sulking yet?”

  I keep my face expressionless and pick at the non-existent lint on the knee of my jeans. I’d kept all communications strictly business for the rest of the work day, going so far as to blatantly ignore his lunch invitation and his request for coffee.

  At this point I hope he fires me and lets me leave. Before I slap him into a goddamned coma. It doesn’t bug me much that I actually enjoyed my morning of ‘shopping’ with Selena, after I’d let go of every scruple I own and pretended I am not a raging liar.

  He doesn’t need to know anything about the fact that I’m not mad or angry or anything that would be much of a threat to him. At least, I’m not angry at him. I am pissed at myself for wanting to cry and bawl like a big cry baby.

  Now it’s seven, and I’m in his car, headed for his ‘apartment’. I say it that way because what he considers a little place in the city is probably big enough to fit my entire childhood home. With room to spare.

  We’re headed there, and I know he wants to talk more than he wants sex — I’m waiting for the sky to fall because of that one — and the truth is, I am incapable of saying anything that won’t humiliate me.

  Do I love Gregory Lucas? No. It’s way too early to even consider anything of the sort, but I like him, a lot, and I don’t want him to know it.

  He sighs at my continued silence and steers the car into an underground structure that just happens to be valet. When I scramble out instead of waiting, he scowls and grabs my elbow impatiently, steering me toward the elevator.

  “You have to talk to me, babe,” he says softly when the doors close, leaving us alone. “Come on, darlin’, scream at me, hit me, do something!”

  I wait until we’ve gotten off and he’s let me into a huge apartment that, yup, is decorated to perfection, before facing him to drill a finger into his chest.

  “You wanna know what I hate more than lying to that woman?” I ask, digging my finger into his pectoral. “Lying to myself. I spent over an hour convincing myself that what I was doing wasn’t wrong. I spoke to her like we were best friends and watched her try on wedding dresses, and when she couldn’t choose a favorite, I told her which one to take!”

  Shit. Now Selena Jeffries is going walk down the aisle in my dream dress and marry the man I’ve fallen in lust with.

  “You chose the dress?” he asks. “The one you like?”

  I roll my eyes and shove at him, taking delight in the fact that he stumbles back slightly.

  “Yup. And you wanna know what she said?” I ask, not letting him answer. “She said it was perfect and that she hopes one day I get to wear something just like it! And that I find a guy just like you!”

  And then she’d cried and hugged me, and I’d felt slimier than a can of worms as I hugged her back and pretended not to be jealous.

  “You’re such a sadistic A-hole. I can’t believe I’m still attracted to you.”

  His mouth curves in a sly smile, letting me know he’s zeroed in on the fact that I’ve just admitted to being attracted to him. Not ‘I can’t believe I liked you’. Not ‘I can’t believe I found you sexy’. No, I am attracted to him. I’ll probably want the guy till I’m dead and buried, and now he knows it.

  “Hannah, darlin’, come on over here,” he drawls, allowing his thick Southern drawl free rein.

  “No. I’m still spitting mad at you, Gregory Lucas. How could you do that to me?” I breathe past the lump in my throat. “That was worse than the time I told my sister her ass didn’t look fat in tights. Everyone’s ass looks fat in tights. I lied then, and I lied now. To that sweet woman.”

  He pulls me into his arms, ignoring my feeble struggles till I stop and burrow closer, finding comfort in the heat and scent that I know as well as my own.

  “Hannah, darlin’, Selena knows exactly what she’s getting into. Trust me,” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head. “Now stop fighting with me, and let’s talk about Josey.”

  He leads me into the kitchen, where a pizza box and bottle of cola stand waiting. When I have a slice and a glass, we move to the breakfast bar and sit, turning to face each other.

  “Gregory.”

  “Greg,” he insists for the millionth time, glaring at me.

  “Greg, I can’t afford her, and we both know it. I’ve called the agency, and they’ll send someone less…costly…over tomorrow for me to interview.”

  I’d have to work two jobs and sell an organ to keep up with rent and groceries and the qualified Josey Barnes.

  “I hired her when you looked so impressed,” he says, and I feel myself going icy.

  “Look—”

  “Don’t argue. We both know Chrissie can’t mind her all the t
ime, and I don’t want to have to drive you home every night. Once in a while I’d like for us to fall asleep together.”

  Me too, but that’s not in the cards. Besides, I’m vain, and I don’t think I’m ready for Gregory to see my morning face just yet.

  “Gregory.”

  “Greg! Goddammit, stop trying to put so much distance between us. We’re together, deal with it and move on already. And the goddamned helper stays!”

  I rear back, shocked that he is taking such a small thing so seriously, so…personally. Gregory is usually an easy-going guy. You’d assume that since he’s so controlling and domineering he’s got a stick shoved up his ass or something, but that is far from the truth.

  He’s easy to be around, when I’m not focusing so much on my guilt and the wrongness of something that feels too right. Some nights we eat and watch television, cuddled up on the sofa, before he even touches me suggestively.

  One time he’d been so comfortable I’d been forced to make the first move.

  “Greg, look…”

  “I mean, why can’t you just let us be happy together?” he asks softly, in a voice so unlike him I feel guilty for starting this argument. “We’re good together, Han, and you know it. We enjoy the same things, we both work hard — and well together — and we’re both in love with your nana. Just give this enough of a chance that I’m not yelling at you half the time. Please.”

  He says the words, and my immediate response is to fling his engagement in his face. But that is so old news already, and I can only use it so many times before even I know it’s old.

  The truth is that I do want to give in and let go and just be happy for however long we have together. He’s getting married, when, I do not know, but when that happens I know what we have will be over.

  I’ll likely never see him again or get to look into his eyes, touch him, kiss his lips as he strokes my hair. It’s wrong, I know it, but as I look at him and feel the pain of the coming loss, I make up my mind to let go and take whatever it is I can while he’s still mine.