Billionaire Erotic Romance Boxed Set: 7 Steamy Full-Length Novels (131 page)

“Get yourself together, Becker. They’re just shot glasses.” The muttered admonishment didn’t do much to calm her, but the clank of the pipes as her dad turned off the shower did. She wiped her face free of tears again and pulled open the freezer. Her parents could usually be counted on to have a Ziploc bag of frozen homemade spaghetti sauce in there.

Sure enough, crammed between a carton of Breyer’s vanilla bean and a bag of peas, she found the frozen sauce. She had it in a pan on the stove and was chopping an onion when her dad came downstairs. Now, at least, she had an excuse for the tears.

“Mom had some meat defrosted,” she said without glancing up. “Figured we could do spaghetti and meatballs.”

Her dad rubbed her shoulder. “Sounds like just the thing, sweet pea.” He puttered over to the fridge, his hair still damp and mussed, and began rummaging around inside.

“So,” Sophie began, sliding the diced onions into a bowl on the counter. “How’s work?” If there was one surefire way to keep her father from asking anything about her and why she was here, it was to ask him about work. Construction in upstate New York was fraught with issues, weather being one of the biggest. Especially in the spring, when it could go from eighty degrees and sunny one day to snow within the week.

“Oh, well, Fred’s got this notion that we can somehow get around building code on the window he wants to put in.” Her father poured himself a glass of juice and leaned against the kitchen doorway as he continued to regale her with tales of his current client, who apparently thought that laws were secondary to his aesthetics.

Sophie made the meatballs and listened to his stories, laughing in all the right places. It felt good to be home. Safe and warm. Perhaps it was pathetic that she still needed to run to Mommy and Daddy when something bad happened, but shouldn’t she feel blessed that she had a home she could run to? She’d think of it that way, instead.

“Well, goodness,” her mother said from the doorway. “If I’d have known we were having company, I would have shooed out that Grant kid earlier. He was just looking at the anatomical drawings in the medical texts, the little pervert.”

“Hey, don’t judge, Rennie. He might be a doctor someday.” Her father leaned over to brush a kiss on her mother’s cheek.

Rennie Becker squeezed her husband’s arm. “I’ll believe
that
when I see it.” She set her purse on the table and crossed the kitchen in two long legged strides. When it came to the gene pool, Sophie had been lucky to get her mother’s legs. Her father’s side of the family was all stocky and graceless. He’d be the first to say so. Her mom was willowy and elegant.

“Hey baby,” Rennie said now, wrapping an arm around Sophie’s shoulders and giving her a light hug.

“What’re you doing home?” Sophie leaned into her mother’s side as she kneaded the meat and spices to make meatballs.

“Oh, um. Gas leak at the studio. It’s going to take a few days to fix.”

Her mother studied her face with calm shrewdness, one dark brow quirked slightly upward. Sophie’s heart dipped a little. Had her mother seen the news? Maybe one of the town busybodies had said something. Sophie’s fingers tightened in the goopy meat mixture. But after a long moment, her mother nodded. “Well, I’m glad to see you.” She brushed a quick kiss on Sophie’s cheek and turned back to her husband.

“Come on and help me set the table, Jim. It’ll go quicker with two sets of hands.”

“Slave driver.” The grumble was good natured. He pushed away from the wall and began rummaging in the drawer, pulling out utensils.

Sophie tried to relax into warm, happy atmosphere her parents created wherever they went. She listened to her mother joke about the old ladies on the library board and their weeks long debate about the suitability of carrying the Harry Potter novels while she boiled the pasta and stirred the sauce. She watched her father’s facial expressions while he talked about the new kid on his crew while she browned the meatballs.

She felt as if she’d retreated into a shell, like a turtle. Things inside were pleasant and warm and comfortable. But she knew just outside the thin crust of protective layering, the world was cold and brutal. She caught her mother watching her while they ate, but as long as the conversation remained focused on them, Sophie was able to laugh and joke. She hardly thought about Henry at all.

The only bad moment had come when her cell phone rang. There was a lull in conversation as they all finished the last of their spaghetti. Sophie winced visibly when she heard the musical jangle of her ringer from her purse in the foyer. Was that him? He was supposed to call her tonight and set up their next date. The spaghetti she’d just eaten did a lazy roll in her stomach.

Sophie swallowed heavily. Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Gonna get that?”

“No.” Sophie shook her head for emphasis, but forced her lips to curve upward. “I have a no phones at the dinner table policy.”

“Good idea,” her dad rumbled. “All these young kids on the job, they barely put down their phones to use a nail gun, I swear. It’s a damn hazard.”

She could have kissed her father. Instead, she urged him along as he launched into a story of a young guy at his last job who’d nearly sawed his own hand off because he was updating Twitter. Her mother didn’t say anything, but Sophie felt her eyes on her all through the rest of dinner and dessert - angel food cake with strawberries.

By the time they’d cleared away the dishes and gone up to bed, Sophie’s nerves were stretched taut as bailing wire. Any second, she felt like she was going to snap. She slid her cell phone from her purse and glanced at it. Two missed calls. The first was from Darren, who she’d forgot to call when she’d gotten here.

The other was from Henry. She deleted the message without even listening to it. Whatever he said, it was only going to make her feel worse. Sophie sent Darren a quick text to let him know she wasn’t dead in a ditch, and then slid beneath her covers. Her whole body ached, as if she’d been dancing all day. Or she’d been beaten. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to see the trophies lined up on top of her bookshelf, and waited for sleep to come.

It was a long time before she sank into dreamless nothingness. Every moment until then was filled with thoughts of Henry.

Chapter Seventeen

Main Street hardly ever changed. For as long as Sophie could remember, Chuck’s Corner Store and the pharmacy were at one end, and the hardware store and Robin’s Nest were at the other. A few of the storefronts in between got makeovers or changed hands from time to time, but overall the feel of her hometown’s one main drag had altered little from when she was a child.

Her mother had suggested they have a girl’s day. She had to work at the library (which was also on Main) until noon, but made plans to meet Sophie for lunch at the Bistro afterward. Sophie couldn’t spend another minute alone at the house with all those pictures and trophies. So here she was, an hour early, perusing the shops. She’d gotten her first after school job at Robin’s Nest, the tiny little general store. They had still sold penny candy back then, the kind that was set out in jars on the counter.

Little tchotchkes and curios had lined every other available surface. Small ceramic ducks and beavers, Hummel figurines, polished stones. The cramped, overstuffed space had seemed somehow magical to her as a teenager. As if, if she just found the right object, her whole world would change. When it was slow, which it almost always ways except in the summer time when tourists flooded the mountains, Sophie had roamed the oddly proportioned room, stirring her hand through bins of corn cob pipes and vats of marbles.

She’d randomly pluck things from shelves and baskets and study them intently for their hidden properties. She’d imagined herself as someone in a ballet like The Nutcracker, suddenly discovering the secret lives of the figurines in the shop. Not that she hadn’t had any friends at all. But she’d always been so dedicated to her dancing, it had left little time for socializing.

“Poor little Sophie,” one of the other dancers used to sing-song as she and the other dancers tripped out of the studio to go to bars and hook up with men. Sophie almost always stayed back and practiced by herself.

She’d never needed a bunch of friends and boyfriends and parties. She’d had the dance, and that had always been enough. And then she’d lost it. Her knee twanged, as if confirming the unhappy thought. Sophie paused outside Mademoiselle de Maison and pretended to contemplate the shin length floral dress in the window. She bent and rubbed at her leg.

“A gross hole
,” Nicole had said. The words still felt like a punch to the gut. That’s how Christian had reacted, when he’d seen her leg after the accident as well. Before she’d been hurt, he would spend long minutes when they made love kissing her ankles and calves and knees and thighs, caressing her smooth skin and murmuring sensual words about her beauty before moving up to tease her cleft with his tongue.

Afterward he couldn’t bear to touch her injured leg. The few times they’d slept together once she was out of the hospital, he had come into her from behind every single time. She hadn’t even realized it until the one time she’d initiated sex. Sophie had felt him slipping away from her, distancing himself, and had desperately tried to cling to him, hating the way her body no longer responded to her on the dance floor.

She’d dressed in some of Christian’s favorite lingerie and approached him where he sat in the living room of their apartment. There had been heat in his eyes at first, but when she dropped the silk robe, she’d seen him recoil. He’d flinched at the sight of her scarred leg. Christian had recovered, of course. He was not the type of man to turn a willing woman away. He’d pulled her down into his lap and they’d made love there in the chair. But he’d never touched her left leg.

“Is it so horrible?” she’d asked him. Of course, she knew it was. But she’d so wanted his reassurance.

Christian’s eyes had been hard when he answered. “I just can’t look at it, Soph. It ruins you.”

It
ruined
her. He was right. That’s how Sophie felt about it. Had felt. But Henry had acted like it made no difference. “
You have lovely legs
,” he’d said, touching her scarred knee. But Nicole’s words tolled over and over in her head like a bell. “A gross hole.” The other woman had never seen her leg. Henry must had told her. And that cut to Sophie’s heart still bled. She clenched her teeth. It didn’t matter anymore. She was done with Henry Medina, once and for all.

The trill of her cell jerked Sophie out of her reverie. In the reflection of the shop window, her cheeks were pale. She snatched the phone from her pocket and pressed it to her ear, turning away from Mademoiselle de Maison.

“Hello?”

“You’re so lucky you’re there. Piper Strickland threw up all over the floor in the front room.” Darren’s voice held a smile. Hearing his soft tones, some of the tension eased from Sophie’s neck.

“You put on Rhythms on Parade, didn’t you? She gets really excited with that tambourine.” Sophie chuckled a little. Piper Strickland was four.

Darren made a gagging noise. “I don’t know what her parents feed her but it’s foul. Anyway, I was just calling to check up because you said you were going to
call
, but all I got was a
text
.”

“I know, Dar. I’m sorry I’m leaving you in the lurch. But—”

“Oh trust me, I know ‘but’ what.” His voice took on a sudden edge. Sophie could picture his blond brows knitting together. “And when I get my hands on that snake...” Darren growled.

“What are you talking about, Darren?” How did he know about Henry? Icy fingers tickled Sophie’s spine. Had Darren spoken to him? Darren would never tell him where she was. Would he?

There was a silent moment on the other end of the line, and then Darren continued as if he’d never stopped talking. “Nothing, Soph. You’ve been stressed, that’s all. What with all the...” This pause was microscopic, but she still heard it. “You know. Take as many days as you need.”

“Really? What about the cancellations?” She knew there were important things they needed to decide.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got everything under control. Even Piper’s puke. Sawdusted and swept while the tykes were bouncing with their bean shakers.” He shook one of the small, homemade maracas into the phone. Sophie’s lips twitched. As much as she loved her classes—all of them, not just the kids or the professionals, but everything in between—she really did need this time to get her head back on straight. Ever since she’d met Henry, she felt like she’d been spinning.

Sophie plucked at her lower lip. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. You have fun. Wallow in the small town delights. Tell your mom and pops I said hi.”

“I will. Thanks Darren. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “Probably die. Aren’t you glad you don’t have to find out?”

She actually chuckled. “Very glad.”

They said their goodbyes and Sophie tucked her phone back into her pants. She was lucky to have a friend like Darren. Someone who not only loved and supported her, but helped her achieve her goals and was always looking out for her best interests. She knew there were things that needed to be dealt with, business decisions that needed to be made, but Darren was doing his best to hold down the fort and give her the space that she needed. He was a real, true friend.

It was nearly time to meet her mother for lunch. Sophie’s belly grumbled at the thought. She’d had a light breakfast, and strolling along the street in the spring sunshine had gone a long way toward building up her appetite. Her phone rang again, just as she reached the gas station with it’s line of newspaper dispensers. She glanced at the display, frowning at the unknown number, and then froze.

Henry was on the cover of one of the papers. The photo was slightly grainy, obviously taken with a telephoto lens, but she recognized the strong line of his jaw and the wavy dark hair. She fished out a handful of change and snatched a paper from the stack. Bile rose in the back of her throat. She didn’t even read the headline. She didn’t need to. The blonde head inclined up toward Henry was Nicole Rossi, without a doubt.