Poor Little Bitch Girl (4 page)

“Listen to me, sweetie,” he cajoled. “You must—”

“I
have
been listening to you,” Carolyn interrupted, her voice rising. “I’ve listened to you non-stop for the last two years.” She stared at him accusingly. “You swore to me that we’d be together this Christmas. You promised you’d leave her.”

“I know, but—”

“You lied to me, Gregory,” she continued, her voice rising. “You
still
haven’t told her about us, have you?”

Tears began to course down her cheeks in an uncontrollable torrent.

Gregory Stoneman frowned; there was nothing more irritating than a crying female. Bad enough that he had to put up with it from his wife on occasion, now this one was starting to become extremely demanding. He didn’t need this kind of nonsense. Besides, he’d recently met a British journalist, the London correspondent for an up-market English newspaper. The girl was young and fresh, and looks-wise she put Carolyn to shame, although he had to admit that Carolyn did have a sensational body – great tits – which was one of the reasons he’d strung her along with all the false proclamations that one day he was definitely going to divorce his wife.

As if.

There was a game in Washington. And the game had stringent rules. An affair was an affair, and it
never
interfered with a marriage. Everyone who cared to play should learn to abide by the rules.

“Hush,” he said soothingly.

“Screw hush!” she shouted.

“After Christmas—” he began.

“No!” she shrieked. “You promised. And I expect you to keep that promise, or . . .”

“Or what?” he asked ominously.

“Or
I’m
telling your wife about us, since you can’t seem to do it.”

Her words hung between them like a dark curtain.

Gregory’s frown deepened. If only her boyfriend, Matt, had stayed around, this wouldn’t be happening. But no – Matt had made an abrupt exit. And where did that leave him? Stuck with a clinging girl who was starting to make demands he had no intention of meeting. And if that wasn’t bad enough, now she was making threats. Threatening
him
– Senator Gregory Stoneman – an upstanding member of the Senate with an unsullied reputation and a solid twenty-year marriage.

Her behavior was unacceptable and he was not about to stand for it.

“Kindly do not do this in my office,” he said, glancing agitatedly at the closed door.

“Why not?” she demanded, her face reddening. “Everyone will know soon enough.”

“No, they won’t.”

“Oh yes they will.”

He was getting severely fed up with her attitude. Who the hell did she think she was?

“And how’s that?” he asked coldly.

“Because
I’m
going to tell them,” she answered defiantly. “Your wife first, and then everyone else.”

He caught hold of her arm in a vice-like grip. “No, you are not,” he said, his voice turning into a strict command. “Do not even think about it.”

“Try stopping me,” she responded, determined to go through with this.

“Why?” he asked, making a stringent effort to control his anger. “Why, after all this time, are you doing this to me now?”

Carolyn stared at him, her lower lip quivering, hands shaking. She hadn’t wanted it to come out like this, but he had to know.

Her words were slow and halting. “I’m pregnant,” she said at last.

“
What?
” he said, visibly blanching as he took a step back.

“Pregnant,” she repeated, delighted that she finally had his full attention.

“That’s impossible,” he snapped, refusing to entertain the idea. “You’re on the pill.”

“Mistakes happen,” she muttered.

“What
are
you talking about?” he said brusquely.

“The pill doesn’t always work,” she explained. “It happens, you know.”

“Christ!” he exploded.

“So, you see,” she said, beginning to feel a lot calmer now that she’d told him, “it’s time for us to come out in the open. We have to.”

He paced up and down for a moment or two before turning toward her with an accusatory expression. “What makes you think it’s mine?” he said harshly.

She’d known he’d say something like that. It pained her, but she understood Gregory’s weaknesses only too well, and when it came to confrontations he always tried to dodge the blame, exactly as he did in his political career.

And yet . . . she loved him. Couldn’t help herself.

Now she had his child growing inside her, and she wanted to be with him more than ever.

“It’s definitely yours,” she said quietly. “There’s no doubt.”

“It could be Matt’s,” he argued, furious that he was caught in the oldest trap known to man.

“It’s yours,” she repeated.

“How can you be so sure?” he insisted.

Oh God! He was making her feel like such a loser. And it simply wasn’t fair. She loved him so much, she always had.

“Because I haven’t slept with Matt in over three months,” she said in a low voice. “This baby is yours, Gregory, face up to it.”

“Christ!” he exclaimed for the second time. “Why did you do this?”

“Why did
I
do this?” she responded with a sudden flash of anger. “If I remember correctly, it’s
you
who comes to my apartment twice a week all ready to fuck my brains out.”

“Don’t be so damn crude,” he said, throwing her a disgusted look. “It doesn’t suit you.”

This wasn’t turning out the way she’d planned. She’d wanted him to say, “You’re right, this is wonderful news. We should be together. I’ll divorce my wife immediately.”

Yeah. Sure.
In her dreams.

Deep down she’d had a hunch his reaction would be pure crap.

She sighed, and wished she had someone to confide in. But right from the beginning of their affair he’d sworn her to absolute secrecy, so she hadn’t even told Denver, her best friend who lived in L.A. As far as Denver knew, she’d been in a loving relationship with Matt until they broke up.

Ah Matt, even
he
had never suspected what was going on. They’d kept separate apartments, and he’d rarely stayed over at hers, so she’d been able to keep her affair with Gregory secret.

Now all she wanted to do was tell the world, and she especially wanted to tell Gregory Stoneman’s wife, Evelyn – who, according to Gregory, was a cold, domineering woman who refused to give him any sex. It was one of the reasons Carolyn had never felt guilty about sleeping with a married man. He needed her. She needed him. They shared an extremely close bond.

Gregory walked over to the window and stared out, his back to her.

“So . . .” she ventured, hoping his attitude was about to change and soften, “I think this means you have no choice. Either you tell your wife, or I do.”

He turned around, a strange look in his eyes. “Is that what you think will happen?” he said, his tone icy.

“Yes, Gregory,” she answered bravely. “This time I really mean it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

His expression was thoughtful. She took this as a positive sign; it was better than listening to him rant.

There was a long silence, and then he said, “You shouldn’t have told me here. This is something we need to talk about in private.”

“I agree,” she said, relieved that it seemed he was finally accepting the news.

“And you have to give me a couple of weeks to work this out,” he added, staring at her intently. “I cannot perform miracles overnight.”

“I can do that,” she said quickly.

“As you know only too well,” he continued, biting on his lower lip, “it’s very, very complicated. There’s my wife, and my children to consider . . .”

“Yes,” she said obediently. “I understand that it won’t be easy.”

“You bet it won’t,” he said, a sharp edge to his voice.

“But the thing is, we can do it together,” she added soothingly. “It’ll all work out, and then we’ll have each other.”

He shot her a wary look. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?” he demanded.

“Of course not,” she assured him.

“You’re absolutely certain?”

“Why would I? It’s our secret.”

“People tell secrets.”

“Not me.”

He began pacing, not looking at her.

She took a deep breath and waited for his next words.

“How pregnant are you?” he asked.

“Seven or eight weeks. I’m not sure.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“I made an appointment with my gyno for next week,” she answered, encouraged that he was taking an interest.

“Cancel it,” he stated abruptly. “I want only the best for our baby. I’ll arrange for you to see someone.”

Our baby
. How intoxicating were those words coming from Gregory.
Her
Gregory. She thought about the time two months ago when his wife and children were out of town and he’d taken her to his house. They’d spent a magical few hours together, he’d been so loving and so had she. That must have been the day she’d become pregnant.

Filled with a sudden rush of affection, she moved toward him, impulsively throwing her arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, nuzzling close and inhaling his masculine smell. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. But now that it has, I think it was meant to be. You do know how much I love you, and how I’ll always be here for you.”

“Yes, I know,” he said, his mind racing in a hundred different directions, none of them pleasant.

“It’ll be such a relief when we can come out in the open,” she said, imagining herself accompanying him to important Washington events and glittering dinner-parties. “You’ll see.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Only you must allow me to handle things my way.”

“I will,” she promised.

“You cannot say a word to anyone,” he reminded her. “That’s imperative. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course I do,” she said, kissing him, her tongue darting in and out of his mouth.

In spite of himself he was aware of a familiar stirring in his pants.

He felt angry, cornered and threatened, yet the conniving bitch could still give him a hard-on.

Placing his hands on her breasts he began tweaking her nipples through her blouse.

“Lock the door,” he muttered after a few moments, his voice suddenly thick with lust. “Then take off your top, get down on your knees and do that thing with your tongue you do so well. We’ll call it a celebration.”

“Yes, Gregory,” she murmured, thoroughly grateful that everything was going to be all right. “Whatever you want.”

W
hen Bobby Santangelo Stanislopoulos walked into a room, women took notice, for not only was he over six feet tall, in his mid-twenties, and undeniably hot, he possessed great style. With his longish jet hair, intense black-as-night eyes, Greek nose and strong jawline, he drove women a little bit crazy. And it wasn’t about being incredibly good-looking – which he was. Nor was it about being the heir to a major fortune – which he also was. No, it was just a certain something. A mix of the young John Kennedy Jr., a touch of the Ashton Kutcher edge, and the mysterious allure of a Robert Pattinson.

Bobby’s Greek billionaire father, the late Dimitri Stanislopoulos, had been a powerful man, a true force in the business world of shipping and commerce. Bobby had never harbored any desire to follow in his father’s footsteps – that kind of business was not for him. Nor did he wish to emulate his mother’s successes. The wildly beautiful Lucky Santangelo had always done things her way – including building several Las Vegas luxury hotels, and running and owning Panther Movie Studios for several years. Bobby had always been surrounded by high achievers. Apart from his parents there was his stepfather – Lennie Golden – a former comedian/movie star, who now wrote and directed highly successful independent films, and his maternal grandfather, the inimitable Gino Santangelo.