What If (Willowbrook Book 2)
Read What If (Willowbrook Book 2) Online
Authors: Ashlyn Mathews
Tags: #FIC029000 FICTION / Short Stories (single author), #FIC027000 FICTION / Romance / General, #FIC038000 FICTION / Sports, #FIC027020 FICTION / Romance / Contemporary
What If
Ashlyn Mathews
Commencement Bay Publishing
TACOMA, WA
Copyright © 2014 by Ashlyn Mathews.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher at [email protected].
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com
Cover designed by Christy Caughie at www.gildedheartdesign.com
Edited by Claire Ashgrove at www.finishthestory.com
What If/ Ashlyn Mathews. -- 1st ed.
ISBN 978-0-9960946-7-2
Blurb
He’s the one she let get away.
Star quarterback, Drew Hazard, was never meant to be with her, Emma Lombardi. He takes risks. She plays it safe. He mingles. She prefers the corner. He’s sexy hot. She’s plain Jane. When a night of unprotected sex leads to an unplanned pregnancy, Emma does the one thing her heart warns her not to do. She breaks up with Drew, the father of her unborn baby.
What if he’s unwilling to let her go?
After Emma crashes his party, Drew has more questions than answers about their break-up. Suspecting her of keeping a secret that could’ve brought them together instead of driving them apart, Drew does the one thing his mind tells him not to do. He’ll break Emma’s heart.
To MH. Thank you for being my anchor, my predictable, my safe, my love.
I will never regret being with you or say that I wish I’d never met you because once upon a time you were exactly what I needed. ~
Unknown
Chapter One
“Ready?”
Emma eyed the house and ran her palms over her ball gown. “Are you sure this is going to work?”
Sitting across from her in the limo, Eve leaned forward and patted Emma’s knee. “You look like me. He won’t know any better.”
Emma disagreed. She might be petit and have long brown hair like Eve, but the similarities stopped there. Eve could work a crowd and be the center of attention. Emma was fine with finding a corner and staying there until it was time to go.
Eventually, she’d find that corner, and that
might
tip Drew off. Once he realized she’d crashed his mardis gras party, would he demand she leave? At the thought of how humiliating that would be, she almost chickened out.
But memories of the hurtful words he’d said to her when they’d broken up had her changing her mind. He had said she played it safe in her life and didn’t take enough risks. Translation: Star quarterback, Drew Hazard, found her boring. Well to hell with him. If he wanted her to
not
be safe and to take risks, she’d gladly crash his party.
She grasped the door handle. “Wish me luck.”
“Not luck but fun,” Eve said. “Have loads of fun, Em, on me.”
Before she could question Eve about the mischievous smile spanning her face, the door of the limousine opened. A guy, decked out in a three-piece suit, reached for her. Saying a quick, “see you later,” to Eve, she set her gloved hand in the guy’s palm and stepped out of the limo.
Like her, the majority of his face was covered by a mask, leaving his identity a mystery. Would she recognize Drew? She didn’t think she’d have any problems finding him in a crowd. Usually,
he was
the crowd.
After the limo drove off, her escort led her toward the party house. Or more like party mansion. Lights lit the paved, stone path. She blinked against their brightness. A line of guests had already formed in front of the main door.
As she and her escort made their way up the steps and onto the walkway, she checked out the other women’s get-ups. The colors of their dresses were attention-getting, the necklines plunging, and the lengths ranged from butt-hugging to flowing just above ankles strapped into sky-high heels.
She had on a conservative—but in her opinion pretty—plum dress. As for sky-high heels? She had ogled four-inch, silver, platform sandals at the shoe store, love at first shoe. But in her condition, she’d chosen knee-high boots. She couldn’t risk falling on her butt.
A cool breeze coasted across her bare shoulders and arms, and she edged closer to her escort. Minutes went by. Finally, she was next to being announced. Her escort led her inside the mansion and to the emcee standing next to a microphone then left her. She glanced after him. There went her security blanket, her arm candy, her human heat pad. Accepting her decision to see this crazy idea of hers through, she focused on what the emcee was saying.
“There are no rules except one.” He leaned in close to her. “The host requests that guests keep their masks and clothes on at all times. Understood?”
“Sure.”
At the seriousness of his tone, she almost clicked her heels and saluted him. Her plan was to sneak a peek at Drew’s life in a new city, and without her. Not to have a one-night stand or restart something with Drew.
“Since this is a masquerade ball, you’ll be announced by your pseudonym,” the emcee continued. “Who should I say is here?”
“Pseudonym?”
Eve hadn’t mentioned anything about a pseudonym. Yet, the conspiratorial twinkle in Eve’s eyes . . . Emma resisted the impulse to slap her forehead with the heel of her palm. Of course there’d be pseudonyms. This was a masquerade ball. Groaning under her breath, she excused herself to make a phone call. Eve took her time answering.
“What’s up, Em?”
She wanted to ground her teeth in frustration at the smug tone in Eve’s voice. “You left out important information. Like the piece about a pseudonym.” She scanned the ballroom for an exit. “What’d you pick?”
The place was packed, and suddenly, she wanted to be sick. Eve was infamous for meddling in other people’s life, and then some.
Above the music, the teasing sound of a woman’s laughter snagged her attention. In a semi dark corner of the room, she made out the silhouette of a woman standing close to a tall man. Like a firefly drawn to the heat of a mesmerizing light, the man leaned into the woman, nuzzled her neck, and whispered something into her ear. Emma couldn’t miss that body or that profile.
Drew
.
“Did you hear me?”
Eve’s impatience yanked Emma back from the wonderful fantasy she was having of throttling the woman with Drew. Normally, she wasn’t the jealous type. However, the woman with Drew looked very familiar.
“Give it to me again.” She looked anywhere but at the couple. Eve gave her the pseudonym. Emma sucked in air. “Eve, I can’t—”
“Don’t you see, Em? This is your chance to get Drew back.”
“I don’t want him back. I’m here to see if he’s happy.” Why hadn’t she sounded more convincing?
“Ma’am?” The emcee’s tone hinted of annoyance.
“Gotta go.” She ended the call and looked over her shoulder, in the direction of the front doors. More guests waited for their turn. Shifting from foot to foot and rubbing at their bare shoulders, the women glared her direction. It was cold out there.
She dropped her phone inside the small, satin clutch dangling from her wrist, and grasping the fabric of the dress, Emma pulled her shoulders back and walked over as confidently and as regally as she could. The emcee tilted his head down to hers. She gave him the pseudonym. He scanned for the pseudonym on the screen of his electronic tablet.
“You sent a late change request.” He tapped on the microphone. A hush went over the crowd. “Didn’t like Marie Antoinette, eh?” He laughed. “I don’t blame you.”
Everyone stared their direction. With an exaggerated bow and a smile her way, he said, “May I present Marguerite St. Just.”
Apparently no one in the room realized who Marguerite St. Just was other than the man in the corner shooting daggers at her with his eyes. Clearing her throat, she reached up and skimmed her fingers across the smooth edge of her mask.
With the anonymity the mask gave her, she could become anyone, including a woman who could resist the sexy hunk of a guy who continued to stare at her from across the ballroom. The force of his glare could level a building. Tipping her chin at Drew, she hitched up her dress and made her way down the marbled steps onto the ballroom floor.
At her sides, men offered her their arms. She accepted the closest man’s and steered him anywhere but toward Drew. The last she saw, before she disappeared into the crowd, was Drew with his arms crossed tight over his chest.
Dammit, once Eve came back for her at midnight with the limo, Emma would give her meddling friend an earful. Emma was here to observe. Not to be tracked and possibly hunted down by her ex-boyfriend.
“By the way, name’s Red.”
“Red, huh?” She snuck a peek at the man at her side. The mask he wore couldn’t hide his square jaw, bright blue eyes, or friendly smile.
“Red’s my favorite color.”
“And I bet the color of your jersey,” she offered.
He laughed. “How’d you guess?”
Tilting her face to him, she shrugged and smiled. The twinkle in his baby blues told her he got that she knew he played for Drew’s winning football team. Would this man play again for the team in the upcoming season? Yet, why should she care? Football was what had kept her and Drew apart.
“You from around here?”
By here, he must mean the Bay area. “I’m from Oregon.”
“You flew here for a party?”
“Call it crazy, but yes.” She had two hours before the limo arrived to pick her up. Then she’d catch a redeye flight back home to the small town of Willowbrook.
While Red talked football, she searched the ballroom for a quick exit.
Just in case
. Instead of an exit, her eyes took in her surroundings. The marbled dance floor was the color of her favorite ice cream flavor—mocha. On each round table, dressed with crisp, white tablecloths, were bouquets of red roses. The extravagance was more than she was used to in her frugal and ordinary life. A whistled edged out from between her teeth.
Next to her, Red chuckled. “Yeah, Drew’s place is unbelievable.”
Unbelievable was an understatement. Walking along the periphery of the dance floor, she bee-lined for the banquet table in the back with Red in tow. He had other plans. He tugged her toward the dancing crowd. She shook her head.
The bright lights, the noise, her nerves, not really eating or drinking anything since her flight touched down, oh, three hours ago. Suddenly, it was too much.
“Not feeling good, darling?”
Swaying, she closed her eyes. From behind, strong hands gripped her waist and steadied her against a solid, muscular body.
“You need a quiet place to lie down.” The voice was low and gruff, and too familiar for her taste.
Her eyes shot open. Red wasn’t in the crowd. “Where’s Red?”
“He saw me and took a hike,” Drew whispered in her ear.
She detested the arrogant tone in his voice. Just because he led his team to the Super Bowl didn’t mean he ruled her world. “Point me to the back exit, and I’ll leave. Quietly.”
“No go, babe.” He tightened his hold on her waist. “You crashed my party. The infraction comes with much needed punishment.”
Dammit, she was in trouble with a capital T.
Chapter Two
“How’d you guess it was me?”
“Do you have to ask, Emma?”
She groaned.
No
. Once the pseudonym was out there, Drew would know it was she and not Eve beneath the mask. Both Drew and Eve had known she loved Marguerite St. Just, the heroine from The Scarlet Pimpernel.
“Come on, Em.” He slung an arm behind her lower back and anchored her to him. “I’ll help you to one of the bedrooms.”
No way would she stay in a room where he might’ve brought other women to for sex, and she told him so. Ignoring her, he hoisted her over his shoulder.
“Put me down.” She resisted the urge to pound on his muscular back. “You can’t possibly carry me.”
She didn’t doubt he could physically carry her. Or that they were making a scene as the men whooped their encouragement while the women shot her envious glances. What worried her was their close contact. Being so near to him again . . . her chest ached as though an invisible hand squeezed, let go, and squeezed until she wanted to cry.