Provocative Professions Collection (32 page)

Each hair on the back of my neck stands up, a current of electricity zapping through me.
I know that voice.
No, I'm just wasted…but my hard nipples and instantly wet pussy say otherwise. Never breaking his gaze, I pull out my phone, waiting for his flinch that never comes.

Me: Your fucking name is Shaw Elliott Bryant.

Send.

We're in a stare off again when a ping sounds from his pocket, my heart splintering in my chest as he casually retrieves it. I watch, eyes watering, while he reads his message, a beautiful smirk gliding over his unbearably handsome face.

It's
him
.

FedEx, Shaw, Elliott, Phantom, Not Stalker is…fucking my friend Mabry.

Who
still
hasn't walked over here.

Well,
this
will get her attention.

With a dead calmness, I move to get my coat, slipping into it and cinching it tightly at the waist. Smirking, the tears still miraculously at bay, I saunter over to stand directly in front of him and crook my finger for him to bend down.

The instant he does so, I raise my arm and summon the strength of a million angry women march—and smack the fucking shit out of him.

My hand hits the door as I storm out moments later, and the first tear falls.

Chapter 19

"Amelia, wait!"

I quicken my pace, brushing aside the cascading tears as he chases after me.

"Stop, Goddammit!" he snarls, grabbing my elbow and spinning me to him like I'm his puppet.

Wasn't I, though?

"What?" I spit, venom pulsing in every vein. "What medication is it you've obviously quit taking? My God, enough! Let's not cause
another
scene."

His hard expression deepens. "Why are you so angry? Disappointed I'm not a
doctor
?" he sneers, the shadow to his eyes unfamiliar.

"What does that even
mean
?!" I wail, confused. "Is that like, some sort of dig about my
one
date with Max?"

"Ha." He barks out a coarse laugh. "Hardly. If Missionary Max did it for you, I'd never have gotten this far. I meant, are you upset I'm
just
the FedEx guy?"

My face transforms into a stoic mask. I can honestly say I've
never
seen someone more off the mark in my life. "
That
might actually be the only thing
not
wrong with you. I couldn't care less what you do for a living. I also managed to see past your questionable sanity, possible stalker status, and lack of face or name!" Forget the stoic crap, I'm screaming now, jabbing him in the chest as my throat burns with my indignation. "I
am
, however, slightly concerned that you're
fucking
Mabry, my best friend!"

I'm not sure if he looks stunned or pissed, but the way he's coming at me sends me moving. I stumble back, dazed but painfully sober, angry but hurting, and his hand immediately reaches out to steady me.

I recoil away from his touch, disgusted. "Don't touch me! Why, Ell—uh, Shaw? Whoever you are!" A fresh set of tears spring out. "Why be with both of us? You know we're friends. Are you really that fucked up or do you just not give a shit?"

He runs his hands through his hair, muttering under his breath.

And then it hits me, a bolt of realization that shreds my insides so fast and harsh, I'm sniffing past huge, rolling tears just to breathe. "Your thesis," I murmur, mostly to myself, testing it on my tongue. "Was I? You…you used me…as a
subject
?"

When he doesn't respond, my eyes roam up to meet his, unrepressed guilt shining bright.

"Answer me!" My fist pounds the broad stone wall of his chest, but he just stands there. "Say something, you fucking coward!"

"Amelia," he chokes out, catching me as I crumble like the weak, naïve test dummy I am. Literally unable to stand, I allow the contact as he runs a hand up and down my back. "Please, don't cry, baby. Let me explain."

I don't want him to. Or maybe I do. Remaining silent, mouth shut tight lest I might vomit, I nod for him to continue. I deserve this much.

"First of all, I have
never
slept with Mabry," he says sternly. "Never. I have no idea why you think that, but it simply isn't true. If it was, don't you think she'd be out here by now, asking why you just slapped the man she's sleeping with? And my thesis…" He inhales deeply, the release hot against my temple. "It did start that way, yes. But Amelia, baby—"

I struggle out of his embrace and hold up a hand. "I am
not
your baby, and all I heard was
yes
. Goodbye, Shaw, or Elliott, or whatever the fuck your name is.
Do not
follow me."

A knock on my door wakes me way too early the next morning. I swear to all that's holy, if it's
him
, only my death will save him from his own. Stomping down the hall, I yank open the door, itching for a murder, to find no one.

Lucy brushes up against my leg, drawing my gaze down, which is how I spot the flowers and note.

"Really?" I huff aloud.

Mr. Deep and Insightful… You think cliché ole flowers at the ass crack of dawn is going to work? Fat chance. I bend down and retrieve the note, but
only
because I'm already up.

Amelia, my Beauty,

We're far from done.

—Yours, Shaw

Oh, I beg to differ. I toss the note into the air and kick over the vase, slamming the door shut on it all.

Later that afternoon, my cell rings. Unknown caller. I think we both know we're past that, right?

"Hello?" I answer hotly.

"Amelia?"

Not
Shaw, nor my grandpa, because he's dead, but a voice similar to his greets me.

"Yes?" I reply with cautionary question.

"It's Walter, from the bookstore. How are you, my dear?"

"Um, good?" My entire face is tense. He's never called before.

Walter chuckles in my ear, and now I'm sure it's him, the jovial, kind-hearted sound easily recognizable once I'm calm. "I think you'll be even better if you come on down to the store. There's quite a surprise for you here, young lady."

My jaw grinds in rhythm with my racing thoughts, unable to speak.

"You still there, Amelia?"

"Yeah, sorry. Uh, what is it?" Please don't say your weirdo son finally got that head in a box for me, please, please, please.

"Well, if I told you, it wouldn't quite be a surprise, now would it? But, I can hear ya worrying, so I'll say this. It's perfectly fine and I'll be here waiting to see your big smile. Hurry up now."

I stare at the phone in my hand, contemplating long after I hang up. Walter is someone I trust. He'd never hurt me. Well, unless he was coerced, bound to a chair, and forced to recite with a gun to his head. In which case, I should save him.

I formulate my plan while getting dressed. If I can't see him, unrestrained, through the glass upon arrival, I'll call the police.
Simple.

But just in case, I slip the letter opener (seems fitting) in my coat pocket as I leave the apartment.

My relief is abundant when I find the precious old man holding the door open with his back, grinning from ear to ear as I hesitantly approach.

"I can't wait to see your face!" he greets, motioning me inside. "Come on."

Standing in front of the counter, brilliant eyes astute and friendly, is my favorite contemporary romance author. Like really there, in the flesh. I've read her bio, of course; I always knew she claimed to live in the area, but I never dreamed I'd ever
meet
her!

Awestruck, she offers her hand and speaks first. "You're indeed a beauty. It's nice to meet you, Amelia."

Beauty.
How'd he managed this in such a blip of time?

I'm at a loss, but all that matters is she's here. "You too, so much." My voice trembles, as does the hand I use to shake hers. "I…I can't believe this."

She laughs. "Me either."

I raise a questioning brow.

"Forgive me, but when Shaw called, the last thing I expected was for him to want a favor, and for a girl."

Now it's both brows that shoot up. For a girl? Did she think he was gay?

"That came out wrong." She chuckles, lowering her head before meeting my gaze, seriousness bright in her eyes. "Shaw's never been one to do much other than focus on school or work. He's dated, obviously—the boy's always been gorgeous—but I've never met any of those women personally, so this is a real treat for me."

Before I can ask how she knows him, she continues. "This is for you." She pulls several folded white papers from her purse. "Probably the most interesting thesis I've ever read."

"It's only a couple pages," I burst out, concerned for his grade despite myself.

"You already know the beginning and middle." Her voice takes on meaningful depth. "He figured he'd save you some time; all you need is the ending. I couldn't agree more, myself."

Oh, but I did so enjoy the middle.

No. No, I didn't, and I despise him.

Squaring my shoulders, resigned to unforgivable dismissal, I meet her challenging, almost smirking, gaze. "I'd much rather have you sign one of your books for me. I've read them at least a dozen times each. And your latest…" I struggle for words to convey the amount of heart-wrenching emotions it evoked from me.

She grins, understanding without words. "On the counter." She tilts her head toward it. "But Amelia, trust me. Read the paper."

I nod absently, my response a whisper. "All right."

"It was lovely to meet you," she says, giving me a quick hug. "Good luck."

I stand dumbfounded, watching her say a quick goodbye to Walter before strolling out.

If you'd have told me two months ago I'd be meeting my favorite author soon, well, I'd have laughed and thought you a liar. If you'd have then said I'd walk away feeling more desolate and alone than ever…I'd have called you a fool.

I have no idea what time I finally fall asleep later that night, but I took her advice and read the six final pages of Shaw's thesis. He took a huge risk, his conclusion anything but, instead another question, using it to tell me as though I'd given him the chance to explain. He believes separating mind and body is impossible.

"Even consistently being of mind, that it was to be of only body, I accomplished the exact opposite. Do we deceive ourselves to believe we have any control over either?" I read aloud for the fourth time, shaking my head at his insight.

The handwritten footnote on my copy, I assume, is one of a kind.

Amelia,

I confess, my intentions in the beginning were corrupt and ignoble. I fought it, but as I've said before, you destroy anything I've ever thought I knew, magnificently. You and I became more than a hypothesis long before our bodies joined or my mind itself told me what it already knew. The only regrets I will ever have are my initial deception and any pain I caused you. Mind or body, I can't, don't want to, erase you from either.

Please forgive me, Beauty.

Yours always,

Shaw Elliott Bryant

And I do.

Chapter 20

All night I thought of him, missing him the moment I felt the forgiveness lighten my chest. Strangely, it was one of the easiest things I've ever done. His words drifted through my restlessness and settled me into a dream-filled slumber. Maybe I didn't know the Shaw his friends knew, but the connection between us was undeniable. There was something deeper than I could explain…it just felt right.

My phone sat on the nightstand, calling out to me with every glance I inevitably cast its way. I didn't want to talk about things over the phone. I wanted to see him in person and I had a feeling I knew exactly where I could do just that soon enough.

I'm out of bed before the sun, taking obsessive care of my appearance. I've never been more ready to attend a wedding in my life.