All's Fair in Lust & War (5 page)

This morning she had felt so confident. So alive. She’d been sure that the world was hers to conquer.

Now? Now all she wanted was a giant glass of wine and the oblivion that came with sleep.

Without bothering to flip on the light switch, Becky stepped into the kitchen and opened the tiny fridge. Wincing at the glaring light, she pulled the Pinot Grigio from the top shelf and took a swig straight from the bottle.

A cockroach scuttled across the bloodred countertop directly opposite her. Without thinking, she slammed the bottle down, reveling in the sickening crunch that sounded as it met its demise.

“There’s one pest that’s out of my life forever,” she said, grabbing a paper towel to wipe its remains from her salvation.

She grabbed a plastic tumbler and filled it to the top before collapsing in the purple velvet chaise that was her prized possession.

Gazing out at the gently waving branches of the oak tree that graced her front window, she tried to relax.

It was no good. As soon as she let her guard down memories started to invade. And they weren’t all bad. For a long while Pence had been everything she’d needed.

She remembered how patient he’d been when critiquing her first efforts at advertising copy. He’d never laughed or shown disdain, no matter how awkward the headline or script construction.

And how he’d loved to surprise her. A midweek picnic aboard a chartered sailboat here. Front row seats to the summer’s hottest concert there. A private dinner prepared by the city’s top chef whenever anything was seriously amiss.

All wrapped in miles and miles of seemingly sincere promises. He’d painted beautiful pictures of the life they would create together—working opposite each other all day, then playing together all night, making sweet love whenever the mood struck them. He’d even included children in their mythical future: a girl with her hair and his height, and a boy with her eyes and his strength.

She’d thought she’d been transported from her dreary hand-to-mouth existence straight into a fairytale. Unfortunately her happily-ever-after had never put in an appearance.

At least not with Pence. And not in Detroit.

But she’d spent the last five years here in New York, creating a new direction for her story. And, unless she was sadly mistaken, she was almost to the good part.

She put the tumbler of wine to her lips, only to find it empty.

It was time for bed.

She shuffled into the closet that served as her bedroom and crawled beneath the sky-blue goose down duvet that was her biggest extravagance. Her bed was her sanctuary, and normally her lavender-scented sheets relaxed her within minutes.

Not tonight.

Tonight she could only toss and turn, searching for a comfortable place to lay her head.

She was tormented by images of the flowered treasure box that lay hidden under her bed. The one that contained memories she couldn’t stand to destroy—and that destroyed her to remember.

Sighing, she twisted the knob on the delicate crystal lamp on her nightstand and clambered out of bed.

With the box settled in her lap, she gently lifted the cover.

Resting there was a picture of her, snuggled against Pence’s broad chest at sunset aboard a sailboat. The camera had caught him midlaugh, his blue eyes crinkling, looking happy and relaxed. She could remember the exact moment. She’d felt so safe. So loved. So incredibly sure she was right where she belonged.

The ruby promise ring he’d given her was also there, nestled in its green velvet box. As was the long gold chain he’d insisted she hang it on, so she could wear it “next to her heart.” She’d loved to feel it hanging between her breasts, imagining it was him touching her every time the ring had brushed a sensitive area.

There were other pictures, including one taken at the dinner held in honor of her first award-win. He was scowling darkly at the camera, unhappiness obvious in every line of his body.

That was when things had started to go wrong. He hadn’t liked it when she’d started succeeding on her own.

At the bottom of the box was the memory she was most dreading. A grainy black-and-white photo of the peanut-size blob that had been her baby at eight weeks.

The baby she had aborted a week later.

She remembered the day the picture had been taken as if it was yesterday. She’d known she was pregnant for three weeks. After the first test had come out positive she’d bought an economy-size pack of pregnancy test strips and taken a new one every morning. The little pink line indicating the baby’s existence had got darker and thicker with each passing day, but it hadn’t been until her doctor had shown her the blurry black-and-white ultrasound image on a video monitor that she’d allowed herself to believe it was real.

And when he’d found the heartbeat her soul had melted, reforming itself around the tiny little being growing inside her. She’d promised the little peanut that she’d take care of it. That she’d be the best mom ever.

What a joke
that
had turned out to be.

The next night she shaved every last hair from her body and perfumed every crevice before sliding into the sexy white lace lingerie Pence loved. She’d donned silky back-seamed thigh-highs and a skintight black dress that showcased her newly voluptuous breasts.

Her one and only pair of Manolos had been the finishing touch.

When she’d arrived at the intimate French restaurant where she’d arranged to meet Pence she’d known by the slack-jawed look on the face of every man she’d passed that she’d done well.

But by the time the
maître d’
had shown her to the table and helped her settle into a chair under Pence’s watchful gaze, her confidence had already been taking a nosedive. His eyes had scraped over her body, taking in the size of her breasts and the curve of her hips.

“Have you gained weight, Becky?” he’d asked.

“N-no,” she’d stuttered. “It’s just this dress. It forgives nothing.”

“Good. You look great, but you know how important it is to stay thin if you want to make it in advertising.”

Becky had nodded. “I know,” she’d said quietly.

But inside her mind had been screaming. Pregnant women got fat. Would Pence love her when she was fat? It would only be temporary, but his attention span was notoriously short. By the time this baby was born and her body had returned to normal he might have forgotten all about her.

Then what would she do?

“What’s wrong?” Pence had asked, reaching out to stroke her hand. “Did I say something to upset you?”

“No, not at all,” she’d said with a small smile. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“That’s right.” He’d groaned. “You wanted to ‘talk.’ What is it this time? Is your mom after you to get married again?”

She shook her head. “No, not so far this month,” she’d said.

Just then their server had arrived, giving Becky a reprieve. He’d offered Pence a sample from a bottle of freshly uncorked Syrah. Pence had inhaled deeply, then swished the purple liquid around in his mouth. After a long moment he’d given a sharp nod. The waiter had smiled and filled their glasses before fading away.

Pence had looked at her over the rim of his glass. “So what is it?”

Becky had taken a deep breath and reached into her black sequined bag with a trembling hand. “I have a surprise for you,” she’d said.

He looked at her suspiciously. “I don’t like surprises,” he’d said.

She’d pulled out the small silver-wrapped package she’d stowed in her purse and handed it to him.

“I think you’ll like this one.”

Lord knew he’d talked about his longing for children often enough.

“Humph,” he’d muttered as he undid the bow. “We’ll see about that.”

He’d torn off the wrapping paper in one fell swoop. Becky had felt her heart rise into her throat as he lifted the lid of the box, unsure of what his reaction would be. He’d frowned when he saw the framed picture inside.

“What is this?” he’d demanded.

“It’s a picture,” she’d said. “An ultrasound.”

“An ultrasound? What? Do you have a tumor?”

“N-no,” she’d stuttered, taking a deep breath. “I’m pregnant. That’s a picture of a baby.
Our
baby.”

Pence fell back in his chair. “Pregnant? But how could that be? We take precautions.”

Becky had shrugged her shoulders, knowing full well that she wasn’t as religious about taking her birth control pills as he supposed she was.

“Apparently not enough,” she’d said.

“So this is real? You’re not joking?”

“No,” she’d whispered. “I’m not.”

“But this can’t be. You
can’t
be pregnant. I have a
wife!
”

Her heart had plummeted, smashing into the polished cement floor at their feet. “You’re
married?
” she’d whispered.

“Of course I’m married. I thought you knew that? Didn’t you ever wonder why I never spend the night? Or why I never invite you to my house?”

“N-no. I just thought... Well, I didn’t think. You said you loved me! You talked about getting married!”

He’d taken her hand again, stroking it gently. “I do love you. And I would love to marry you. But I can’t divorce my wife. Her father owns the agency. If I left her I’d lose everything.”

“But what about our baby?”

“There can’t
be
a baby. Don’t you see? You have to get rid of it. It’s the only way.”

“Get rid of it?”

“Yes. Have an abortion.”

“But I don’t want an abortion,” she’d said. “I want to keep it.”

“Then you’re on your own,” he’d said. “I won’t have anything to do with it. If you don’t take care of this problem we’re done.”

“But you just said you love me,” she’d whispered.

“Love has nothing to do with it. This is business. And I can’t let a little accident like this jeopardize my position with the agency,” Pence had said. “Please, just think about it?”

At a loss for words, she’d nodded.

“Good,” Pence had said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to attend a dinner party. With my wife.”

And with that he was gone.

Becky had stared after him, mouth agape. What was she supposed to do now?

The next week had been a nightmare. She’d crunched numbers, searched the internet and racked her brain, trying to find a way through the predicament she had suddenly found herself in.

Eventually, though, she’d admitted the truth to herself.

She was twenty-three. She had seventy-five thousand dollars in student loans and only made twenty-four thousand dollars a year. There was no way she could raise this baby on her own. And there’d be no help coming from the man she had thought loved her.

Worse, if she kept the baby her career would take a nosedive just when it was starting to get off the ground. The financially secure future she had imagined would disappear in a puff of smoke.

She’d end up like her parents, working two jobs and worrying over every penny she spent for the rest of her life. That was no way to live—or to raise a child.

There was only one choice she could make.

When she’d arrived for her appointment at the family planning clinic it was with cold anger and hot despair stomping on her heart. Rubbing her still-flat belly, she’d made her soon-to-be-aborted baby a promise.

She would never forget him—for it had become a him in her mind—and Pence would pay dearly for this betrayal if it was the last thing she did.

Hot tears leaked down her face now, as she stroked the image. She’d never forgive herself for not standing up to him. For allowing him to control her and for letting him convince her to do something that had felt so wrong.

No man would ever have that much power over her again.

Wiping her tears away with her sleeve, Becky slid the box back under the bed. She had to get to sleep. She had a competition to win—and a living nightmare to defeat.

FOUR

Mark arrived at
the office bright and early, doughnuts and coffee in hand. After the relaxed evening they’d shared he was looking forward to working with Becky today.

Tucking the breakfast items under his chin, he opened his office door, expecting to see it empty. But Becky was already there, pounding away at her computer, punishing the keys with every clack.

“Good morning, early bird! I brought breakfast.”

Becky looked up. If the dark circles under her eyes were any indication, Mark thought, she’d never left the office.

She smiled frostily. “Nice of you to make an appearance. Considering how much work we have to do, I thought it would be best to get an early start.”

Whoa
. Okay. Apparently they were playing a new game.

“Sorry. I thought eight-thirty on a Saturday was plenty early.”

“And that’s why I’m going to win and you’re not,” she snapped. “This job takes dedication.”

“I’ve got news for you, princess. Neither one of us is going to win if we can’t find a way to merge these two campaigns.”

She waved dismissively at him.

“I’m working on it. Why don’t you go over there and look for some pretty pictures or something?”

All right. Enough was enough.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to go over there and come up with another, even more kick-ass idea. And when David asks what your contribution was I’ll tell him you didn’t make one. How’s that sound?”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Just be quiet about it.”

Mark stomped over to his desk and slammed the coffee down. Forget quiet. He was going to work the way he always did. With music blaring.

Seconds later, the discordant sounds of a heavy metal guitar filled the room.

She glared at him, then reached into her drawer and pulled out a pair of headphones.

He loaded up his photo editing program to look at the images he’d already created, but the glare from the overhead lights was killing him. He got up and flipped the lights off. He’d hardly even sat down before she was turning them back on.

“Do you mind?” he said. “I can’t work with all that glare.”

“Well, I can’t write if I can’t see the keys,” she said,

“Come sit by the window,” he said.

“Go work in a cave,” she retorted.

He sighed. “Fine. Have it your way. It’s not worth fighting about.”

She huffed and put her headphones back on.

Mark turned to his computer to get started, but his mind refused to cooperate.

Maybe looking at the existing boards would help. He grabbed the pile from where it lay by the office door and spread the boards out on the plush red carpet, laying the two campaigns side by side.

Then he began to pace back and forth down the line, looking for common ground.

They both featured strong women. And used humor. Maybe...

Becky sighed angrily. “Really? Are you going to pace all day? Because it’s really distracting.”

He turned to look at her. She was standing with her hands on her hips, completely unaware of how ridiculously her angry expression contrasted with the giant happy face emblazoned on her oversize T-shirt.

Unbidden, the image of her standing in exactly that position, laughing and naked except for a pair of cheetah-print heels, rose to the front of his brain. How could that free spirit belong to this completely aggravating woman? There had to be a way to get past her anger.

Suddenly he had an idea. Grabbing his jacket, he turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Out,” he said. “See you later.”

“But what about—?”

“We can’t work together like this. So I’m leaving,” he said, shutting the door before she could see the smile on his face.

That would give her something to stew about.

* * *

Becky stared openmouthed at the shut door.

Her so-called partner had bailed on her.
Now
what was she supposed to do? True, she hadn’t exactly been welcoming, but that didn’t give him the right to just quit.

Of course if he didn’t come back the promotion would be hers by default. At least it would if she could find the brilliant idea that would allow her to win the competition.

And she
had
to win this. She didn’t even care about the promotion so much anymore. She just wanted to kick Pence’s pompous ass.

Sighing, she collapsed into her chair and put her head in her hands.

If only Mark wasn’t so damn hot. Just being in the same room with him made her think inappropriate thoughts. Thoughts of unbuttoning the faded blue shirt he’d been wearing and licking his chest. Of sliding her hand down the front of his jeans. Of letting him roll down her leggings and take her—right on top of the desk.

She was sorely tempted to do just that. To scratch the itch and move on. After all, she was an empowered, independent woman. Why shouldn’t she take what she wanted when he obviously wanted it, too?

Because once would never be enough, that was why. And she knew better than to get involved with a coworker— even a temporary one—ever again.

If sex was out, there was only one thing to do. Work.

An hour later she was still typing indecipherable garbage when the door opened. Mark walked in, carrying a giant F.A.O. Schwartz bag. Trying hard not to feel relieved, she looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You went to the toy store?”

“Yep.”

He waltzed over to his desk and turned his back on her. She heard a great deal of rustling, then boxes being ripped. Unable to hide her curiosity, she walked up behind him and stood on her tiptoes, trying to see what he was working on.

He turned and she quickly stepped back, nearly falling in the process.

When she caught her balance she saw that he was holding two...
plastic swords?

Mark looked at her, a serious expression on his face.

“I would like to challenge you to a duel,” he said.

“A what?”

“A duel. To settle the problems we seem to be having this morning. If I win you have to give up the attitude. If you win I’ll...well, I’ll do whatever you want. Leave. Stay. Draw pictures of monkeys. Whatever.”

Becky wanted to laugh, but he didn’t seem to think what he was proposing was funny.

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

She licked her lips. “All right.”

“Good,” he said, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. “Do you want to be red or blue?”

“Um...red.”

She reached out to take it. “This is actually kind of cool,” she said, taking a few test swings.

He nodded, and brought his sword up into fighting position.

“Ready?”

“Sure,” she said, imitating his stance.

He started to advance and they circled each other warily.

Suddenly he struck, aiming for her stomach. She moved her sword into position just in time, batting his out of the way before striking back.

He parried her blow and the fight was on. Soon they were whirling around the room, their swords crashing and crackling. Mark kept his expression serious, but Becky felt herself grinning.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this much fun with a guy. Or at all.

Mark lunged forward and she backpedaled before stepping on something sharp and cold. The award she’d thrown last night. She cursed at the sudden pain, then grabbed Mark’s arm to try and keep herself from falling. Instead she overbalanced, and they fell into a heap, Mark’s big body pinning hers to the ground. He pulled one arm free and lightly tapped her forehead with his saber.

“You’re dead,” he said.

Becky gave in to the laughter frothing in her throat.

“I guess you won, fair and square,” she said between giggles.

He grinned down at her.

“Yep. No more attitude from
you,
Sir knight.”

“I don’t think I could frown if I tried right now,” she said.

“Good. I like you better when you’re laughing.” His dark eyes took on a liquid sheen. “In fact, there’s only one expression I’d rather see,” he said.

And without warning he took her lips with his.

His lips crushed down on hers with an urgent demand that she give in to the heat that had been building between them—not just today, but every day since she’d returned from Vegas. And, God help her, but she couldn’t ignore it. Couldn’t say no.

She let her mouth fall open in silent surrender, giving in to the hunger his searing kisses awakened in her. His tongue plundered her mouth, claiming every inch of it for his own.

She twined her hands in his dark hair and pulled him closer, wanting all that he had to give. She gave up on thought, letting instinct drive her as she arched her body upward, wanting still more.

He took that as the invitation it was, sliding one hand down her body to cup her through her panties.

“Mmm...” he rumbled. “You’re already hot for me.”

Becky heard herself moan as he slid his hand back up, leaving the sensitive nub of nerves that she wanted him to touch so badly. She grabbed it and put it back, whimpering.

“Wait. Not yet,” he said. “I want you naked first.”

“Then help me get my clothes off,” she growled, starting to squirm out of her shirt.

He pulled it quickly over her head, then whipped her leggings off.

“Yours, too,” she said, and within seconds his clothes had joined hers on the floor.

Clothes gone, he lowered himself on top of her and kissed her lips again. She let him in, losing herself in the feel of the intoxicating hardness of his body. She pressed upward, moving her hips against his, almost delirious in her need to connect with him in the most primal way.

“Mark,
now,
” she begged. “I need...”

“Hold on, baby,” he said. “I want to taste you first.”

In seconds his mouth was on her, licking and nipping at her most sensitive parts.

“Damn, Becky, you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” he growled, from somewhere at her center.

She wanted to ask him how long, but the ability to form words left her as he began to suck. She could think of nothing other than the waves of pleasure he was creating. At that moment she would have given anything to keep him right where he was for as long as possible.

Seconds later she peaked, crashing into an abyss of pure sensation.

Mark kissed her as she came down, his mouth even more urgent than it had been before. Knowing what he needed, what they both needed, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Mark...now,” she whimpered against his mouth.

“Yes,
now,
” he said, and sheathed himself inside her with a quick flex of his hips.

She groaned and clenched her body around him, wanting to keep him there forever.

She let her eyes drift closed as he started moving, losing herself in the sensation.

“No, don’t,” he whispered. “I want you to look at me.”

When she opened them he was looking at her fiercely.

“I want you to see. To know it’s me that’s doing this to you,” he said as he thrusted, pressing against all the right spots.

“Only you,” she gasped as he moved inside her. “You’re the only one that’s ever done this to me.”

“God, Becky,” he rumbled, heat flooding his gaze as his pace quickened. “You’re amazing. Where have you been all my life?”

“I’m. Right. Here. Now,” she said.

The heat stabbing through her from his thrusts and the weight of his gaze melded together into a hot haze of perfection, and she felt her world beginning to splinter.

“Mark, I’m going to...”

“Come for me, Gorgeous Girl,” he said, smiling down at her.

And she did, waves and waves of sensation swamping her psyche and blurring his face in front of her.

His expression turned fierce and with a guttural moan he followed her over the cliff.

Afterward they lay twined together, their hearts beating in time. Becky lost herself in the perfection of the moment, unwilling to move and let the real world in again. If she knew the sex would always be like that she’d never let this man go...

When she could put words together again, she said, “You know, until very recently I thought I was bad at that.”

“Why on earth would you think that?” Mark said, genuinely shocked. “Becky, you’re amazing.”

He watched as she flushed, the rosiness reaching all the way down her chest.

“Oh, I...uh...shouldn’t have said that out loud. My internal filter must be busted.”

He pulled her into his arms. “But you did. Must’ve been on your mind. Why?” He was surprised at how much he wanted to know.

She looked down at her hands and picked at her fingernails. “Oh, you know. Heard from an ex. Stirred up bad memories.”

Judging by the way she was closing in on herself, they must have been spectacularly awful memories. Then he remembered a snippet from the night he’d found her asleep in the kitchen.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that Pence guy, would it?”

She looked at him sharply. “How would you know that?”

“You were talking in your sleep. That night in the kitchen.”

Realization dawned on her face. “Oh. Right. Well, yeah, that’s the one. But you know... Every girl’s got one.”

“Got one what?”

“A voice. One that points out her flaws and harps on her inadequacies. Mine sounds like him.”

Mark felt a wave of anger roll across his brain. “If I ever meet this guy I’m going to have a thing or two to say to him. He sounds like a piece of work.”

Becky looked at him, a wry smile on her lips.

“Well, you might get your chance.”

“Chance to what?”

“Talk to Pence.” Her lips twisted, the smile turning into an unconscious snarl. “His agency is pitching to Eden, too.”

Mark sat up straighter, surprised.

“How long have you known?”

“Oh...” Becky said, looking up at the clock. “About fifteen hours or so. He emailed last night.”

Suddenly her earlier behavior made a lot more sense. Wishing he could save her from her obvious pain, he pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

“We’ll beat him, you know,” he said. “Together. That jerk doesn’t stand a chance against us.”