4. When the suspicious phone rings
FOUR
WHEN THE SUSPICIOUS PHONE RINGS
WITNESS
It’s my first night on the yacht without the crew of men that have been my constant terror during the months I’ve spent with them. I feel liberated in ways I never thought I would, mostly because I didn’t dream of being pregnant on a yacht in the middle of some foreign sea where a professional assassin stepped in and freed me from my captors.
And I didn’t dream that dream because, back in October, when I boarded my international flight headed for Italy, I didn’t aspire to become the victim of a kidnapping.
I aspired to become the best song writer I could be. It’s why I enrolled in music school, and why I lied to my family during the first months I spent in Rome instead of living on the college campus in Nashville. The contracts with Fis’s boss, the man who promised me education and connections in music, were legit. The people I met with online were legit. Even the business-class airline ticket was legit.
During the first week in Rome, I was recovering from jet lag and sightseeing around the hotel. During the second week, the man who claimed to be a music executive with connections held parties every night, introducing me to countless, mostly intoxicated, people. The third week, I started wondering when we’d meet anyone for lunch or even dinner so we could talk about music.
Since partying like a rock star remains an industry standard, partying continued. One night, I met a nice-looking up-and-coming singer who charmed me into his bed after a few drinks. The morning after, I woke up and discovered he’d stolen the journal where I kept my songs.
Fis’s boss got really mad and kept looking for the guy, but the man skipped town with all my verses.
When the holiday decorations went up in Rome, I went online in search of tickets back to Nashville but ended up purchasing a pregnancy test because I remembered I never got my period. I found out I was pregnant.
I cried. A lot.
I couldn’t stay in the hotel, but I also couldn’t face my dad since I’ve been telling him I’m in a dorm. Besides, I live in a small town, and this pregnancy would devastate my parents and spread rumors, and it would make everyone’s life harder.
I wanted to call my brother, Denver, but the music agent wouldn’t let me.
He was becoming agitated and secretive, saying I knew too much and that he couldn’t let me go. That’s when Fis came into the picture. They agreed that Fis would keep me “safe” while his boss arranged for a high-ticket baby adoption.
I’ve never been more scared in my life, so I tried to run away, which earned me a few slaps across my face and a cot in a cage where the agent left me until Fis took over my “care” on a yacht.
Fis let me do whatever I wanted for as long as I behaved and got out of his way. But then my pregnancy started to show, and Fis got nervous. Real nervous. I think he shared some of his crew’s concerns. Like, why is the agent taking so long with the sale? How long were those among the rich and powerful who can’t legally adopt going to fight for a baby?
Tonight, while Shark’s in the shower, I’m proud of myself for sweeping all the substances off the living room table into a trash bag. Only last month, when I was having a particularly bad day, I walked by the table, wondering if I should just snort it all.
I didn’t because I’m trying.
I really am.
The baby helps me. When he kicks, he reminds me of why I should move on.
Hopefully, Shark will help too.
Before retiring for the night, he asked which of the six rooms was mine, and when I told him I slept wherever they didn’t, he said I could claim any room as mine for the duration of our trip. As a joke, I claimed the entire common area, but when Shark didn’t protest, I told him I wanted to sleep on the couch in front of the TV.
It’s after sunset now, and I’m eating popcorn while I watch a movie with that hot Henry Something actor when the burner phone on the counter rings. Quickly, I wipe my hands and leap off the couch but get dizzy from the sudden movement. I have to take a moment to steady myself before grabbing the phone off the tray and running toward Fis’s bedroom, which Shark claimed as his.
When I hear the water running, I burst into the bathroom and catch a glimpse of Shark Daddy under the shower, his hand between his legs, his muscles taut. He spins around, and my breath catches at the numerous scars on his hairless body. But that’s not why I can’t look away. The V his muscles make over his hips and the erection he’s sporting make me stare for longer than I should.
Flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and the bottom lip trapped between his teeth as if he’s been biting it all point to the fact that I’ve interrupted his self-care session. By the time I recover, the phone has gone silent. Damn it.
“Pass me the towel,” Shark says in an even tone as if he’s not naked.
I hold out the phone. “Sorry about barging in on you,” I say, fear of repercussions lacing my voice. Fis wouldn’t have liked me intruding on his privacy. He was particular about that.
I open the cupboard and catch my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are as flushed as his. I’m embarrassed at catching him in the act. After living with twenty-eight men and being at the mercy of the man who promised me success in the music industry, I didn’t think the shy-around-guys girl was still inside me, but there she is, staring back at me from the mirror. Hey, I want to tell her, it’s nice to see you again.
Shark clears his throat.
Oh. His towel. I hand him one, and he dries himself with it before wrapping it around his waist. As he steps out from behind the shower glass, I stare at his erection, forgetting to move out of the way. His front bumps my belly. I look up to see that his eyes are still burning, maybe even more so than before.
“Did it ring?” he asks.
I nod and flip open the phone, then brush my thumb over the nine digits. Don’t dial. Dial it.
“Don’t even think about dialing,” Shark says firmly.
“I’m trying not to.”
“I know.” He takes the phone and checks the screen. “No number, of course.”
“I should’ve answered,” I say.
“I should’ve brought the phone with me, but there’s this gorgeous girl who’s distracting me from my work.”
I smile. “You think I’m pretty?”
Shark winks. “No, I think you’re gorgeous.”
“Same difference.”
Since I’m blocking the exit, Shark can’t walk past me. I can tell he wants to, and maybe that’s why I don’t move. I want to know what he’ll do. I enjoy teasing him, even though I think it’s because I’m damaged and want to provoke him. Maybe provoking violence and getting him to off me is all I’m good for now.
Shark takes a step toward me, pressing against my protruding belly. Instead of pushing me away, he puts a palm against the small of my back and pulls me more toward him. When I skid forward, I end up stepping on his feet.
The next thing I know, my bare feet are on his bare feet, and he’s walking me backward into the room. All I can do is hold on to either his shoulders or his biceps. I choose biceps. Oh yes, I do, because, Lord help me, this man’s body is all lean muscle and lines, and the way he handles me is hot.
Under my palms, his biceps flex as he pushes open the closet.
“What should I wear?” he asks.
“What are the choices?” I lean in a little and sniff. He smells like…well, not Fis’s soap, so that’s a bonus.
“I’ll wear whatever clothing won’t remind you of the man who used to occupy this room.”
“It wasn’t just him, Shark. It was all of them.”
Shark grits his teeth. “I’m sorry I didn’t take my time. I regret I worked fast.”
His proximity is making me dizzy. We’re so close that if I inched my face forward, I’d kiss somewhere around his heart. “No regrets. Only lessons.” We’re talking about things I saw but didn’t see.
He glances down at me. “You’re too wise for your age.”
“I look younger than I am.”
“How young are you?” He’s sorting through Fis’s hangers.
“I’ll be nineteen tomorrow.”
Shark breathes out as if relieved. “Good thing I jerked off, then.”
“I’m an adult.” Also, he admitted he was jerking off. And he said it nonchalantly, not wanting to make a fuss over jerking off while, possibly, thinking about me. I don’t push him, but I note that he’s telling me he’s attracted to me.
“Did you make up your mind on what I should wear?” he asks.
“Pajamas?”
He shakes his head. “I sleep naked.”
At the thought of his nude body, heat crawls up my cheeks. I’m pretty sure I’m blushing.
He glances down and smiles. I’m so happy to still be able to blush that I wish I could blush on purpose.
“Wear Fis’s gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. They all wore these matching sportswear suits like soccer players wear.” I shake my head. “God, I hate them.”
Shark deposits me near the bed, and I notice he’s changed the sheets. After tonight, the bed will smell like him too. Shark must’ve brought his own toiletries. He smells like the summer spent at sea. Warm and inviting, a place a girl could drown in. I wish I’d met him in Nashville before all this. That sounds like a regret.
He dresses while I look around. “You didn’t bring clothes?”
“Not for this mission, no.”
A mission. “How about toiletries?”
“I always bring my own.”
“Even if you’re in hotels?”
He nods, dressed now. Hands in the pockets of his gray sweatpants, he stands there, watching me, his gaze drifting down to my belly. Since he’s wearing loose pants, I can clearly see the outline of his erection.
I rub my belly. “Do you want to touch it?”
He blinks. “What I want is for you to answer the phone next time it rings.”
“I will.”
He jerks his head toward the living room. “Someone on your show is about to get canceled.”
I tilt my head and listen, gasping when I hear the TV. “You’re right.” I scurry out of the bedroom. In the living room, I stand in front of the screen with a hand on my hip. “Meredith snitched on India.” I plop onto the couch and grab my popcorn. “Gah, I missed it.”
Shark speaks from the bedroom. “You can rewind, you know.”
“I watch TV in real-time, smartass.”
“These are reruns.” He walks past me, and I turn to see him climbing the steps. I expect him to ascend to the deck, but I hear the lock click into place. I make sure I watch when he comes back, because I like how his athletic feet dance over the steps.
He walks past me.
I lean over the left edge of the couch to catch sight of him walking toward the rooms. He turns, does a double take, and stops.
“Do you need something?” he asks, eyebrow arched.
“Nah, I’m just checking out your ass.”
He chuckles, a sexy, masculine sound. “Good night, Lollipop Thief.”
“Good night, Shark Daddy.”