Training Her Curves - Dallas (A BBW Billionaire Domination and Submission Romance) (3 page)

"Alexa--"

"Not that name," she whispered, sliding off the edge of the desk as she tried to get away from me.

Not that name...

Riona yelled my name. She didn't sound frightened, just pissed, and so I hesitated. I looked at Alexa, but she had turned from me. The way she held herself -- the rigid shoulders, her hands protectively wrapped around her torso -- told me she was shutting down, locking me out. She would remain that way until the harpy in the next room was removed from the studio.

"Stay here," I said before calmly inching the door open just enough to squeeze out without looking like I was trying to hide the presence of another person in the prop room. As soon as I entered the studio, I heard the bolt slide shut behind me and the scrape of the chair along the floor as Alexa used it to bar my re-entry.

I looked toward the stage and quickly counted five bodies -- Riona, Marjolein, Rick and two strangers, a male and a female. The man was paunchy and balding, his face and body circling somewhere in his early to mid-50s. The woman was of an indeterminate age. She looked like one of those over-tanned, surgery addicted "trophy" wives on reality TV who think they are hot as hell.

One look at her and my balls shriveled with disgust.

Seeing me, the woman pointed a bony finger in my direction. The man, I presumed her husband, stood next to her. His body visibly trembled and he looked like he was going to puke or shit his pants.

Maybe both.

"There's the fornicator," the woman yelled. She foamed at the mouth, flecks of spit visible half a room away. "Where is that whore I'm ashamed to call my daughter? Is she in there?"

She took a step toward me only to be blocked by my sweet, sassy Riona and Jo-Jo, both of them with giant curlers in their hair, three-inch pumps on their feet, and their soft, lush bodies covered only by the corsets and studio kimonos. If rage hadn't been boiling away my blood, I would have fallen to the floor laughing my ass off at how surreal the scene felt.

It was like I had landed in a Monty Python or Benny Hill sketch. Any second now, I expected
Yakety Sax
to start playing and Mrs. Holier-Than-Thou to start chasing the girls around with a frying pan or rolling pin.

Only Riona wasn't the kind to run. Her hand landed center of the woman's chest.

"Back the fuck up," Riona bit out.

The woman momentarily directed her attention away from me. The bony, accusing finger pointed first at Riona then Jo-Jo, each jab in the air punctuating that same detestable word.

"Whore, whore."

The man finally grew a set of balls and made an ill-advised move to grab Riona's wrist. Rick's arm snaked around the guy's neck and started to squeeze. I made a mental note to thank him later and then I eased myself between Riona and the woman.

"You're leaving," I said. "Now."

I might have been a ghost for all the notice she took. The woman's head tilted back. Her giant maw opened and she screeched loud enough I actually wanted to wrap a hand around her throat and squeeze until she shut the fuck up.

"Veronica Ann Davies, I know you're in here!"

Her neck straightened just enough that she could look me in the eyes. What I saw made my stomach churn. The deep, emerald irises were the same as Alexa's, down to the exact pattern of the paler green dots clustered around the pupils. Alexa's eyes but filled with hate and poison.

I didn't need to ask her who Ronnie Ann was.

I already knew.

Security -- two men and a woman -- streamed through the studio door. Seeing the pepper spray and Tasers they had drawn from their utility belts, I felt a hard twinge of delight. If the woman didn't have enough sense to shut her mouth immediately, I would happily watch one of the guards give her a thick spray to the face of the foul liquid.

Rick pushed the husband into the arms of one of the male guards before immediately herding a furious Riona and Jo-Jo out of range of the spray and Tasers.

The female guard tried to restrain the harpy. Face purpling with rage, the woman clawed at the guard's hands.

"I'm going to sue all of you, every last one. You're ruining my reputation, parading that fat whore around, showing off her desecrated body." Spitting in the guard's face, the woman managed to break free and make a run for the door to the prop room.

Faster than I could have anticipated, she was pounding at the door and screaming herself hoarse. "Everyone knows it's you, Ronnie Ann. They think it's my fault, like I raised you to be a whore. Donald can barely show his face at work. You're ruining us!"

God help me, I threaded my hands through the woman's thin hair, my fingers knotting in the artificially blond strands to pull her away from the door. I wanted to yank, wanted to toss her on the ground as if she were an adversary on the football field, but I restrained myself.

"Jesus, Ruth. Shut up."

The words were the first I'd heard from the man. Something about the tone made my blood boil. Oily, pleading, whiny. I couldn't fathom how these two had produced my Alexa.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I straightened my arm to keep the harpy far enough away from my face that she couldn't reach me with her claws or spit. The female guard managed to capture her hands and secure her wrists with cable ties.

Letting go, I rubbed my palms against my jacket. I felt contaminated. I wanted to run boiling alcohol over my skin, but I had to get back to Alexa, had to coax her into unlocking the door or break it down if I couldn't get her to listen to reason.

"Get them out of here," I growled as I turned on one heel.

"You want us to call the police?" One of the guards asked.

"No, but take their pictures and post them," Riona answered for me before turning to the couple with a warning. "Come back and you'll be spending more than the night in jail."

"You're the one going to jail," the woman screamed. "We have indecency laws in this state. Whores like you get what they deserve in prison!"

"Oh, hell, no!" Riona barked. "You did not just say that!"

I turned back to the scene, certain I would have to wrestle my kid sister to the floor or risk her dismembering the woman. Marjolein got to Riona first and wrapped her in a tight hug. I could hear Jo-Jo whispering in my sister's ear.

"Look, I want to give the bitch a beat down, too," Jo-Jo cautioned. "But we are going to let security handle it."

I relaxed a fraction. The guards were taking care of the trespassers and my sweet, little, foul-mouthed friend and former executive assistant would keep my hot-tempered sister in check. That left me free to focus on Alexa.

Or Veronica Ann...

I shook my head. I didn't care what name she'd been born with. I didn't need more than a second's exposure to her parents to understand why she had changed her name. Veronica Ann was no more. Only my sweet Alexa existed.

Waiting until I could no longer hear the woman's screaming, I knocked lightly on the door to the prop room. "Baby, they're gone."

I expected a long wait and time spent searching for the door key before I could talk to Alexa face-to-face. She surprised me by opening the door almost immediately. She had used the time locked in the prop room to hobble together an outfit. Seeing her luscious curves obscured beneath a shapeless top and pants, I winced.

Without a glance in my direction, she walked past me, her expression cold and mechanical. I snagged her elbow, but she shook it off before I could react and secure my grip.

"Baby, I know you're upset--"

Her gaze snapped in my direction and for one horrifying moment, it was her mother's eyes that glared at me.

"I'm leaving," she said, her body dipping down by the makeup table to retrieve her bag.

"Of course," I answered quickly. "We can postpone the shoot for a few days...as long as you need."

She looked at me and I knew she was about to slip through my fingers forever. I knew it before the words ever escaped her mouth.

"I'm going back to Chicago," she said. "Alone."

This time, when my hand wrapped around her arm, I made damn sure she couldn't shake it off. Securing Alexa's other arm, I glared over her shoulder and ordered everyone left in the studio to leave with a jerk of my head.

I held her there, my eyes daring her to struggle the tiniest bit, until we were alone. Only then did my grip relax, but I didn't let go.

"You're not going anywhere until we talk."

Relenting, she closed her eyes and began to speak.

Alexa

"What do you want to know?" I asked, my wrists still locked in Jake's hard grip. I didn't want to answer a single question, but I would. After Ruth and Donald's visit, I knew I would never have a future with Jake. Refusing to talk to him at this point would only prolong the inevitable. And maybe, just maybe, what I had to say would keep me out of jail.

I couldn't possibly hope that he would still want me, but maybe I could at least get a little mercy.

"Who are you?" His grip tightened as he asked the question.

My eyes flashed open for a second. All I saw was Jake's hard, impassive stare, so I closed them again. What I had to say was painful enough, I didn't need to watch him judging me as I told him my sob story.

"Veronica Ann Davies," I answered. "I was born in San Angelo. Ruth Ann was seventeen..."

His hands flexed around my wrists, momentarily stalling the flow of blood to my fingers. I had never named any of my family members to Jake even though he had asked. But I had told him I was from Pennsylvania. The location was one of many lies.

"Was that your father with her?" he asked.

My stomach heaved halfway up my esophagus before I swallowed down the need to vomit. Shaking my head, I continued.

"That was Donald Pine, her husband." Pausing, I tried to lick my lips but my entire mouth had gone dry. A sound that was more bark than laugh escaped me.

"Think of the worst southern white trash caricature you can imagine," I challenged. "Ruth was worse than that. Knocked up at seventeen by an over thirty dope dealer she only fucked because he had money..."

My voice trailed off as my relationship with Jake jumped up and bitch slapped me in the face.

Like mother, like daughter...

"Alexa--"

"No," I interrupted, shaking my head while I pressed my eyes more tightly shut. "Ronnie Ann -- clichés breed more clichés."

Another sick surge of emotion threatened to send me crashing toward the floor. My body sagged forward until Jake started to put his arms around me to keep me from falling.

"No," I bit out, my hands shoving against his chest. Free from his grip, I should have grabbed my bag and run like hell, but all I could do was stumble to the nearest chair and collapse.

Jake followed after me. He planted his hands on my shoulders, his strength and leverage ensuring I couldn't change my mind about escaping.

When I didn't continue with the story, he released my shoulders. A second later I heard the scrape of another chair along the linoleum floor. He sat down next to me, his long legs and the table caging me in.

His fingers brushed the side veil of hair from my face. He smoothed the strands over my ear and behind my shoulder. "You can't keep your eyes closed forever, Alexa."

I answered with another barking laugh. He was right, I would need to open them when it was time to walk out of his life forever.

"If you won't look at me," he continued, his tone becoming more stern, "then tell me why you had to change your name."

Tears leaked from behind my sealed eyelids. Jake grunted and then his arm slid around the back of my shoulders. I felt his head press against mine and then his lips brushed my cheek.

"You don't have to tell me the story, Alexa," he whispered. "Just don't leave."

I shook my head. Jake didn't wear his money like his brother did. He wouldn't care that I had lived most of my life at or below the poverty level. He wouldn't care if my crazy, born again mother had been a teen-aged "ho" before meeting her husband.

But that was just an extremely small slice of the secret I had kept hidden for so long.

Pushing my body as close to the table as I could, I opened my eyes and stared at the opposite wall as I continued resumed the story.

"By the time I was three, her lover was in jail for the long haul as a habitual offender. With the dope money gone, she spent another three years leeching off her relatives and his. After that, she went around to all the churches -- one for rent, another for utilities, a third for groceries."

Pausing, I sucked in a deep breath. I hadn't been a very happy child most of my first six years, but they had been paradise compared to what had followed.

"It was at the third church she met 'Deacon Don.'" I wrapped my arms my stomach, my need to throw up increasing with every word I spit out. "Eventually, he divorced his wife, married Ruth, got an even better job at some marketing firm in Dallas, moved us to some McMansion in Westlake..."