Cheater

33. Chloe

Foiled into an orgasm once again. And the look of satisfaction on his face afterwards, you’d think I surrendered and declared I’d marry him or something.

And for a split second in that post-coital glow, I almost did. Thankfully my sense returned.

Just because there’s physical chemistry and just because he’s insanely attractive and swears he wants to make my wants and needs his first priority doesn’t mean I’m going to be dumb enough to just fall in line.

Unless you count the sex. Yes, I’ve given in there. Because not only is he incredibly strong with the ability to move me how and where he wants me, he’s definitely a god in bed. He makes my body betray me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll lose my marbles and give in. Because being able to make gorgeous, intricately-drawn but powerfully bold figure eights with your hips while inside me doesn’t equate to the potential for a happily ever after. Sadly.

Because how can I give myself over to someone who’s thrown my entire life into a tailspin? You don’t fall for someone who gets you to do what they want you to do through threats of violence against those you care about.

After fucking me, he cuddles me and seems in no hurry to go anywhere or do anything, but lets me pry myself away when I mutter that I need the bathroom.

I lock the door and take a long, hot shower where I do a whole lot of pondering the what ifs.

Will Alannah play a watch and see game? Or is she already hard at work on a plan to free me from this?

Should I try to speak to Derek’s sister on the side to see if she’s someone I can reason with? Could she steer her parents and siblings to get involved and have him signed in for a psychiatric hold?

Also, how is Adam doing? Is he missing me or is he counting all the opportunities coming his way? I guess it doesn’t matter anymore what Adam says, thinks, or does, does it?

My mind wanders somewhere it doesn’t generally go; my biological parents. Do I even want to know anything about them? What difference would it make?

He’s somehow hit the nail on the head about my family. My parents showed care and affection to me as a child. I wasn’t abused. But it was evident early on that Bryan was their favorite. The way their eyes lit up with every milestone, every accomplishment. I didn’t get that same light from them. He looked like a perfect combination of the two of them. When I found out on my twelfth birthday that they adopted me as a baby and that Bryan was their biological child, a lot of things made sense. But Bryan made everything better. He was the best brother I could’ve asked for. We were best friends. And I remembered thinking at night alone in my bed, months after finding out, that if we weren’t so close, if he hadn’t bonded with me as soon as he was self-aware enough to reach for me, maybe they wouldn’t have kept me. Because they had their bio kid.

When he got sick, I did become invisible. When he died, I did try to make up for things by being the perfect child. Cooking. Cleaning. Looking after my parents. Trying to be the glue for our family through trying hard with my grades, with athletics, with everything. But my mom was pretty checked out. Dad wasn’t much better.

My parents haven’t ever been cold or mean to me, but they don’t exactly make much of an effort. Really haven’t since I turned eighteen and went off to school.

So many people talk about how much their adoptive parents deserve their everlasting gratitude for giving them the most amazing childhood when their biological parents couldn’t. But I rarely hear kids talk about families who seem to tolerate their adoptive kids rather than treasuring them as if they were blood.

Even though I’ve occasionally felt like I was a second-class family member, I know it could’ve been worse. They’re not bad people. They’re just sort of indifferent.

But even still, I’ve never sought out my birth mother. All I knew was that she had me young and wanted me to go to a family who couldn’t have children. She wanted to go to college. She had a scholarship opportunity and didn’t have a supportive family to help her raise me. My parents told me she probably wouldn’t come looking for me. As far as I know, she didn’t. I thought about asking about her a few times before Bryan got sick. I never did and then after Bryan, I didn’t want to insult them or have them feel like they were losing me, too.

And now, feeling betrayed by Adam and that being compounded by Derek blowing the dust off the open wounds left from my relationship with my parents, I now wonder how much Derek knows about my life, my parents, my birth parents.

After the long shower, I finally have an appetite, so I dress in sweats and wander out to the kitchen to warm up my breakfast. Derek is at the dining table, laptop open, phone to his ear.

“No,” he says, “Columbus for at least a few more days. After that, we’ll see… Right. Right. Bye.” He puts his phone down and watches me put my plate in the microwave.

I avoid his eyes while uncapping the cold water I get from the fridge.

While I’m eating microwaved pancakes and bacon at the kitchen counter, studiously avoiding meeting his gaze as he shamelessly watches me, his phone chimes with an alert.

“Oh, Nicola is here,” he says and rises, eyes on his phone. “Be right back.”

I don’t ask who Nicola is. I continue shoveling reheated pancakes into my face. They’re good, even reheated. So is the syrup from his family place.

Bottled with love by The Steele Family.

Well, bully for the Steele family with their steel heart logo. Even if it is damn good maple syrup. After I’m done, I’m still hungry, so I reach under the dome on the counter and pull out one of the chocolate éclairs and take a big bite. And then another. Even a day old, it’s still the best thing ever.

Eating my feelings? Guess so.

This is, of course, when Derek’s head pokes into the apartment.

“Can you hold this door for me a sec, please?” he asks.

I see he’s got a rolling rack behind him.

I put the éclair down and move his way, too much food in my mouth, and not giving a care.

His eyes sparkle with amusement as I hold the door open. He backs up and then pulls in a long rack.

“That’s good,” he says and relieves me of door-holding duty, kissing me and then licking his lips, going, “Mm” as he shuts and then locks it.

He gestures to the seven or eight-foot-long rolling rack that’s filled with clothes and stacked boxes underneath. Shoe boxes, mostly, with some brand names I recognize.

“This is all for you,” he says. “I’ll roll it into the closet, you try on what you like. If there’s anything you don’t want, leave it on the rack. Anything you do want, just move it into the closet for now. It’ll all go with us when we leave. Have it all if you want.”

There’s a lot to unpack here but before I can even ponder where to start, he touches a sky blue dress at the front of the rack. “I’d like you to wear this tomorrow, if you don’t mind. Or this.” He points to another dress that’s nearly the same color of blue but with black and cream mixed in. “I’d love if you’d model them both for me and let me pick, but I suspect you’ll tell me to go fuck myself.”

“Tomorrow?” I ask.

“Brunch with my parents. It’s their family thing for their fortieth anniversary. Next weekend is the bigger celebration.”

I stare blankly. He’s serious.

“This will be family only. Next weekend, it’ll be about four hundred guests.”

I blink a couple times as he pulls the cart down the hallway.

I’m in the same spot when he’s back. “Not interested in the clothes?”

“Um…” I let that hang.

“I’m guessing you didn’t pack anything for tomorrow since you didn’t know about it.”

“Since you dragged me here against my will, you mean?”

“You exaggerate,” He pulls me into an embrace, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Irritated, I press my palms against his chest and push. He tightens his grip.

“What about the rest of it?” I finally ask.

“Clothes, shoes. A variety of things. I wanted you to have some nice things, so I asked my personal shopper to outfit you for a new wardrobe. You don’t have to keep them all if anything isn’t to your taste, but if you want them all, keep them all. I sent Nicola photos of you in several different outfits so she said she was getting things based on both your existing style and on what she thought would suit you.”

“Several photos of me?”

“I have a file,” he replies.

“A file? Can I see it?” I ask.

“If you want,” he replies. “It’s in my office at Downtown, though. You go check out the clothes, I’ll go get it for you. Don’t leave.” He gives me a dark look. “I’d find you.” He pokes me in the nose and then smiles as if he didn’t just deliver a threat.

I like nice things. I wouldn’t call myself a total fashionista. I own some designer things, but I’ve gotten the higher ticket stuff at trunk shows, from consignment shops. I’m a big fan of bargain-hunting, so while a lot of my stuff isn’t designer, some of it is. And I like fashion, love quality items, and really love getting something for a steal.

While I’m not impressed about Derek’s ability to shower me with expensive things, I am impressed with this Nicola’s abilities. Because there’s not a single thing on this rack that I don’t want, don’t like, or wouldn’t wear. There are business suits. There are designer jeans, cute tops, quality cardigans, party dresses, workout and relaxation clothes, and gorgeous footwear. There are even accessories that are my taste – to a tee.

I’ll just ignore the selection of sexy lingerie, but I might not be able to resist this comfortable and cute sleepwear. These clothes are worth a lot of money. And there are also a few boxes containing expensive shoes and after looking at them, I have to curtail my inner child who dares me to get excited, who is trying to squeal like it’s Christmas morning.

It wasn’t difficult to squash that reaction because I’m far too logical and pragmatic to let myself get dazzled by material goods when I’m here with a psycho stalker who seems like a ticking time bomb.

While I’m still perusing the jewelry, Derek comes back with a file folder in hand. I’m surprised he’s willing to give me access to the information he’s gathered about me.

That didn’t take long. The Downtown club is at least a ten minute drive. Maybe I got distracted by all the clothes. Any non-critical distraction with my state of mind right now is welcome.

“You didn’t try to run,” he observes. “Might have been fun playing hide ‘n seek, but I’m glad.” He kisses me, then shakes a file in his hand. “Interested in the birth mother? Background information about your adoptive parents? They’ve got life insurance policies willed to you, by the way. Their house is paid off. When they go you’ll have a decent inheritance, if you’re smart with the money it could’ve been a tidy retirement fund.”

I say nothing.

“I say could’ve because you won’t need a retirement fund because once you’re Mrs. Derek Steele you’ll be a multi-millionaire. I’ll hit the billionaire level by the time my father dies.”

I still say nothing.

“Aren’t you keeping any of it?” he asks.

“Huh?”

He tips his head in the direction of the clothing rack.

“I’m keeping all of it,” I state.

He looks surprised.

“If you’re willing to spend five figures on clothes for me and they’re clothes that match my style perfectly, of course I’ll keep them.”

I’m being bitchy in my reply, but it’s my new strategy. I just came up with it five seconds ago. Be bitchy. See if he decides he’s no longer obsessed with me.

“Here.” He hands me the file folder.

“Is this everything?” I ask.

“That’s what the private eye dug up for the background check on you and your family.”

“What else is there?”

“I have a file on Hallman. I have a file on Alannah Fisher. I’m having a file put together on your birth parents, though there’s a few paragraphs of information in there. If you don’t want the file, you don’t have to have it. But I ordered it in case you do.”

He sees a reaction and his eyes go warmer. “I suspected that’s why you were asking about the file. Want me to ask for a rush on it?”

I shake my head. “No.” I set the file down on the dresser. I don’t want to look this over now. I’m not sure I even want to see what’s in here. A thick file that’s supposed to encompass me?

“You want to see Hallman’s file?” he asks.

“No,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because Adam and I are history. You saw to that. His secrets are now moot.”

“Fair enough. Change your mind, let me know.” He looks at the rack. “You try anything on?”

I shake my head.

“Gonna let me pick your dress for tomorrow’s family thing?”

“I don’t want to meet your family.”

“I want you there with me,” he states.

“If you make me go with you, maybe I’ll blurt all the crap you’ve pulled on me.”

“No, you won’t.” He shakes his head.

“And how do you know that?”

“Because if I told you the consequences of such an action, you’d decide to be my good girl.” He smiles, wrapping his arms around me and kissing the tip of my nose.

My hands come up to push him away, but he walks me backwards until my back is against the wall of the closet we’re in.

It’s a dream closet. Huge. Lots of shelves and drawers. Derek has only a small amount of the space in use, but then again I know he doesn’t live here full-time. And I suddenly find myself curious about his other place.

“You don’t live here,” I state.

“I’m generally here a handful of days a year. When I have stuff happening at one of the clubs. When I come in for family functions. That’s why I came a couple weeks ago. Things for the clubs and knowing I’d have to be here for my parents’ fortieth.”

“But I live here,” I state the obvious.

“I know that,” he replies, still smiling.

“You’re expecting me to marry you and we don’t live in the same city.”

“You telecommute,” he says. “So your location is flexible.”

“No. It’s not,” I disagree. “I live in Columbus and that’s non-negotiable.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he says with a shrug.

But his eyes are lit with something; I don’t know what and I’m not sure I want to know.

“I need to get some work done,” I state bitchily.

He takes a step back and I slip by him.

I jolt in surprise when I feel Derek’s hands land on my shoulders. I’ve been sitting at the desk in his spare bedroom working all day. It’s now dark out.

“You’ve been working ten hours,” he says. “Dedicated, even when it’s work you’re doing for me.”

I blink a couple of times and stretch my neck. “Good point. Maybe I should sabotage everything.”

He laughs.

I roll my eyes.

“Time to pack it in for the night. Get some food. Relax,” he says and starts to squeeze, then his fingers start massaging. Before I search for the words to make him stop, I find I’m leaning into the tension relief his hands are capable of. He keeps going, fingers moving in circles around my shoulders, my neck.

I’m suddenly hungry.

I’ve put myself ahead of the game with work. It was a good distraction to get lost in something productive, something I have actual control over.

“Did your belly just rumble?” he asks against my ear, making me shiver. “I’ve got just the thing.” He takes my hand and tugs.

Rising, I try to pull my hand away, but his grip tightens and there’s no escape, so I follow him out to the living area and as the scent hits my nose, my salivary glands wake up. There’s a large pizza on the table. A bottle of wine and a glass for me. A glass of something brown for him. Two plates. Napkins. A candle lit. Candle lit pizza dinner.

But there’s more than that. Beside my plate is the wolf shifter romance he bought me. Beside his plate is a novel.

He opens the box and it’s covered in colorful vegetables, hot peppers, and pepperoni. Just like I like it. I ignore the way it feels to have a man know what you like and get it for you without you asking for it.

“Do you enjoy reading while eating or are you doing this to make me think we’re compatible?” I ask. “Because I don’t do this at home. I take myself on a dinner with a book date once in a while out somewhere.”

“I figure you’re probably not interested in conversing with me tonight, so thought I’d give this a try,” he says. “My sister Naomi bought me this series for Christmas a while back. My parents raised us getting something you want, something you need, and something to read every Christmas as kids. Grace buys me something she thinks I need every year. Nay always buys me something to read even though I’m not much of a fiction guy.” He gestures behind himself, and I notice the bay window’s window seat has a bookshelf under it. The door is open halfway and it’s filled with books.

Instead of asking him about getting gifts he wants like I’d normally do, I ask, “You like your pizza like this?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” he sits. “Usually a pepperoni, sausage, and mushroom guy.”

“And if you don’t?”

Adam bitched about my hot peppers because even though they were only on half, sometimes the juice went over the border to his half and ruined his life.

“Then next pizza we get will be half what I like and half what you like, I guess. I don’t know. Not a big deal, is it?” He shrugs and pulls a piece out of the box and sets it on my plate before taking one for himself.

“You went pretty far back on my socials, didn’t you?”

“Gave myself something to do at night when I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about you.”

I know he has to have gone back not only because of the accuracy of the toppings, because I don’t remember posting anything recently about pizza, but also because I do remember a rant post with a picture of a slice of pizza posted a few years ago. This pizza doesn’t have the crust air bubbles popped and he handed me a piece with a giant bubble on the edge. That pizza slice post went semi-viral a few years ago when I posted something about loving the air bubbles and not wanting them popped with a picture of a piece of pizza with a big one.

But I do like sausage on my pizza, too, and there’s none on this one. So he forwent something he likes on his pizza to try it my way.

I immediately peel the bubbled crust off and pop it in my mouth.

“This is good. Peppers add a nice bite to it,” he remarks.

“I like sausage on my pizza, too,” I tell him. And I don’t know why I tell him. My face goes hot when I realize this.

He smiles. “Next time we’ll get what you want and what I want then. The vegetables work for me.” He shrugs, flips his Jack Reacher book open and starts reading.

I open my book, too, but there’s no way I can concentrate on reading a love story about a bulldozing alpha male right now. Not only because of my state of mind, but also because I can’t keep my eyes off him.

He’s not paying lip service; he’s reading while eating his pizza. I don’t bother to pour a glass of wine. Instead I look in the fridge for a bottle of water but am pleasantly surprised to find a bottle of root beer. And to find the fridge is now fully stocked with food.

“Oh yeah, I got that for you. And some ice cream among other stuff,” he says, glancing at the root beer in my hand.

And I’m frozen in place. The effort here is impressive. I’m a root beer float lover.

He wipes his fingers on his napkin, flips a page and then grabs another slice of pizza from the box.

I manage to put away two slices with a big glass of root beer before I’m done. He’s eaten three slices and is still reading.

I haven’t been reading. I’ve been eating and also kind of watching him.

My phone chimes. I lift it from beside myself.

Alannah: Checking in.

Me: I’m fine.

Alannah: You sure? Send me proof of life.

I take a selfie and forward it to her.

Alannah: Gorgeous. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I’m thinking maybe all this happened for a reason.

I frown and wait for her continuation for a minute.

Alannah: Don’t get me wrong, he’s whackadoodle, but maybe you could wind up with a happy ending anyway. Msg me in the morning with proof of life again. Love you babe.

For a reason. The reason being what? What possible reason could the universe have for putting me on the radar of a psycho stalker?

I scoff to myself. And I’m also scoffing at the gorgeous remark because I’ve put no effort into my appearance today other than running a brush through my hair this morning when we had the world’s strangest breakfast, ever.

I put my plate and glass in the dishwasher and walk down the hall with my phone and the book in my hand. Not that I think I can get into it tonight.

A few minutes later, Derek joins me in his bed with his book, bringing in two bottles of water, setting one on the table on the side I’m on, turning on the lamp, then setting the other bottle on the opposite table.

He flicks the ceiling light off and gets in bed, then says, “I’ve seen him wheel into bed with his own water a few times. Saw you walk in with two bottles each time you went to bed first, setting him up on his side of the bed. Why the fuck he didn’t think about anyone besides himself when you were putting effort in is beyond me.”

He gets himself settled, opens his book, and resumes reading.

I set my book on the table beside me, face flaming.

“You wanna watch TV?” he asks, casually.

“No,” I snap, then flick the lamp off, turn onto my side and stare into space, feeling the grimace on my face.

“Is my light bothering you?” Derek asks.

“No,” I say.

“Sure?” he checks.

“I’m sure,” I answer.

And then I realize I’m supposed to be acting bitchy. I’m supposed to be behaving like a shrew who’s difficult to get along with and who a man would see as impossible to live with. I guess I’ll try again tomorrow.

There are a lot of things bothering me right now, not the least of which is him pointing out yet another flaw in my relationship with Adam. But miraculously, I somehow manage to fall asleep almost immediately.