Secrets of the A-List, Episode 10 Page 4

  Elana was so pent up with tension, it took forever to make herself pee. When she came out, she had to wait what seemed like hours for Dr. Dunham to do whatever she had to do.

  Finally there was a flush and what sounded like a wash of hands in the sink.

  Dr. Dunham came out still using a paper towel. “Positive,” she stated.

  Jesus Christ, woman. Google “bedside manner.”

  Not that Elana had expected her to soften the blow.

  Was this kind of news supposed to be such a blow? Elana looked at the hands she was knitting like a baby blanket across the lap that would grow—Oh, dear God, she was not ready to think of that!

  “How—” Her voice had fallen off a cliff. “How far along am I?” She gave Dr. Dunham the date of her last period.

  “I would say seven or eight weeks.”

  Elana glanced at the wall calendar and tried to remember what she’d been doing. The dates slammed through her. She and Jarrod had been meeting feverishly that week, arguing about whether to continue their affair. She distinctly remembered staying home one night, having sex with Thom as a sort of rebellion, trying to show Jarrod she didn’t need him.

  Trying to prove it to herself.

  She had failed. The next morning, she’d been on her knees on the couch in his living room, hips clamped in his strong hands, biting back moans so his housekeeper wouldn’t hear them going at it like animals.

  “And my pill? I mean, I’ve missed one or two before. This has never happened...” She trailed off as Dr. Dunham looked at her the way some teachers used to look at her—like they seriously couldn’t believe how dumb she was.

  How was she supposed to understand things like positive and negative numbers when no one taught her? How had she been expected to learn anything, when she’d been dealing with guys staring at her chest all day and girls talking behind her back?

  Her private school years had been a series of drama productions—onstage and off—interrupted by assignments that made less and less sense. She had passed through to each grade on pleas, threats and lies. Teachers had gone along with it because it wasn’t a good career move to fail a Marshall. There had always been a way to dig herself out of whatever hole she was in.

  Even at work, she always found a way to skate by. Gabe stepped in, or her mother. Or her father.

  She opened her mouth, looking for the leverage she could use on Dr. Dunham.

  Her mind blanked.

  “You got lucky,” Dr. Dunham said. “They’re meant to be taken every day.”

  Elana stared at her, barely processing that this was real. She had been so sure Dr. Dunham would say something like she had a plugged artery or the water in Bali had given her a parasite.

  Shit. This wasn’t supposed to be real!

  “But I can’t be pregnant. I—” As her mind whirled, she started to blurt out that she wasn’t sure about the father, but couldn’t afford to start rumors about herself. Even the tight-lipped Dr. Dunham might have wine nights with the girls. “I wasn’t expecting this. We weren’t trying.”

  “I see.” No judgment, bless her shapeless white lab coat, just a calm nod.

  Elana had already—very briefly—looked up paternity tests. Now she knew the pregnancy was real, she scratched her brow, trying to think how she would get a blood sample from Thom without arousing suspicion.

  “Aren’t you supposed to get a blood test when you get married?” She had thought that was a thing. Why hadn’t they done that?

  “It’s been years since that was required.” Dr. Dunham looked vaguely confused.

  “Oh.” Elana chewed her lip. Even if she somehow nicked Thom with a kitchen knife, how could she get Jarrod’s blood?

  “Are you thinking you would like to discuss options?”

  For paternity tests? God, was it obvious she didn’t know who the father was? Before alarm could finish sinking through her, Dr. Dunham clarified. “This has clearly caught you off guard.” The corners of her mouth pulled in what might have been considered a smile in whatever robotics lab she’d been produced in. “Sooner is better if you’d prefer to terminate. There’s a pill—”

  “What?”

  Elana had been quite sure this morning that she did not want to be pregnant. Now that she had confirmed a baby was growing inside her, she wasn’t sure how she felt. Everything had changed very quickly. Stopping the pregnancy seemed...wrong.

  “No.” The word came out of her, pushed by a feeling like an electric shock that went through her at the word terminate. She might not want to be pregnant, not really, but she didn’t want to not be pregnant. It was really confusing.

  “I just need time to figure things out...”

  A lot of things. If Jarrod made good on his promise and left his wife, she highly doubted it would be for his baby mama. She couldn’t even imagine how he would react to this news!

  Did she have to tell him? There was an equal chance it was Thom’s. Wasn’t there?

  Like she had a clue about probabilities. She had walked into statistics long enough to find out what a horse tranquilizer it was, gave her teacher a fruit basket and a blow job, and never showed up for class again.

  What she did know for sure, one hundred percent, was that Jarrod sure as hell wouldn’t want to leave his wife to raise Thom’s child.

  This baby had to be Thom’s. Had to be. They were married.

  So it had to be.

  Why hadn’t she backed out of her wedding when she had had the chance? Shit and shit again. This was happening because her mother had played the guilt card yet again. If she wasn’t always on her about every single fucking thing, she wouldn’t have been sleeping with Jarrod in the first place.

  So this baby was Thom’s. If she believed it, then it wasn’t a lie. Sure, there was a small risk of a surprise down the road, but she could worry about that when it happened.

  Right?

  She scratched her brow again, thinking her forehead felt quite clammy. Her hand was shaking.

  “I’ll have a prescription for prenatal vitamins emailed to your pharmacist,” Dr. Dunham said, rising from her stool. “Congratulations.”

  Elana smiled weakly. She was going to be a mother. Wasn’t this supposed to be the happiest news of her life?

  She felt like throwing up.

  * * *

  Nora wasn’t used to being fat. It was uncomfortable, physically and mentally. Her svelte figure had always been one of her best and most reliable assets. She felt unattractive and uncouth.

  Swinging her naked reflection back and forth in the mirror, she eyed what was looking less like an overindulgence and more like what it was. Twins.

  One had been bad enough. How on earth was she supposed to deal with two little brats?

  At least her breasts continued to be of benefit. Her legs would always be quite nice, along with her creamy skin. Her backside—well, thankfully she was in America where a generous booty was admired.

  Merde. If she had known she would wind up with two, she wouldn’t have gone through with this pregnancy. She had kept the baby as an insurance policy. Spitefully, because Harrison had been such an arrogant prick when she had told him she was pregnant.

  Now clearly showing his spawn in the mirror, she traced the line from her navel to the small tuft of groomed hair on her mound, weighing the news that she carried twins. Liability? Or double the advantage?

  One paternity test was all she needed, and she would be settled for life. She had thought Harrison would gladly pay her to keep his bastard child on the far side of the pond. Now she couldn’t reach him.

  His wife, however, would love to hear from her again. She was positif.

  Chapter Four

  The best thing any man could experience on this earth was that first slide into a woman, when she was ho
t and wet and welcoming.

  Joe was already drunk on the scent in Mariella’s hair, like earthy gardens and a hint of spice. Her skin was soft, her lips softer, her hands and the sweet noises she made driving him mad. He could stroke and caress and taste her all day, his appetite for her endless.

  But as she drew him over her and into that sacred space between her smooth thighs, he broached the very gates of heaven itself. She took him in hand and guided him, arching her neck and gasping, making him feel like a god bestowing a gift when he was the one receiving the ultimate pleasure. He savored that slow first thrust, taking his time sinking all the way in, holding himself deep as she hugged him with her internal muscles, breaths shaken against his ear.

  Nothing compared to this. To her. It had always been her. This was the woman he had always wanted. To have her slide her fingers into his hair and tilt her hips, inviting him to move, sent a shiver of pure ecstasy through him.

  He didn’t think about who they were or why this was wrong. They had crossed well past all of that. The only thing that mattered, in this second, was the dance of their bodies. That he be the one who made her voice catch and her nails bite into his skin.

  He rode her a little harder. They’d done this enough now he knew how rough he could get, knew she liked a stronger tempo as they warmed up.

  Her noises of strangled pleasure grew more frantic. Her face contorted, eyes clenched, bottom lip caught in her teeth.

  He got his arms behind her knees and pounded into her, hard and fast, so close to losing it—

  She went stiff and jammed her heels into his back, jagged cries breaking from her panting lips.

  No, there was nothing like that first thrust. Except this. The delirium of the act, existing in a state of pure arousal as he thrust, aware of each shivering pulse in her, both of them flying higher and higher. Then the tight clench and release of her orgasm overwhelming his attempt to hold back. He let go and his whole body jerked, spurting his entire being into the woman he loved.

  It was damned near an out-of-body experience.

  With his heart hammering, he didn’t even know if he breathed. All he knew was that there was nothing left of him.

  Eventually, limbs trembling with exertion, he settled over her, withdrawing and hearing her mew of loss. Best noise in the world.

  He kissed her damp temple, inhaled their combined scent and rolled to her side, enfolding her, feeling tender in the afterglow. So happy, he could hardly stand it.

  Into the euphoric silence, she spoke.

  “Ana suspects.”

  “This? Us?” His blood cooled. Foreboding rushed in. The ever-present tension he’d managed to sublimate while they made love returned. “What did you tell her?”

  “Nothing.” She hugged her arm across his waist, snuggling her warm, soft body closer to his. “But she said people have noticed.”

  What was she saying? That they should stop? No matter how often they did this, their relationship remained fragile. It was frustrating. If Harrison died, they would have a future, but he couldn’t—shouldn’t—wish for that solution. What then?

  “I wish we didn’t have to sneak around.” He settled her more comfortably against him so he could reach the side of her breast with his bent knuckle and caress the swell. His mind searched for answers.

  “Me too.”

  He relaxed marginally at her sigh. She wanted this, too. So long as Harrison remained in a coma, they had no reason not to continue.

  “Not that I have anything to be ashamed of!” she said, breath hot against his chest.

  He lifted his head at her vehemence and saw her expression had grown dark and dismayed. “Because he cheated?”

  “Exactly. Do you know who she is?”

  “No.” It was mostly true. Nevertheless, he had to be careful what he said. If he revealed he had known about Harrison’s affairs for years, along with many more secrets, Mariella would be furious that he hadn’t tipped her off long before today. He could lose her trust and this beautiful accord between them.

  But if he told her he had hired a detective to find out all that Harrison had been hiding, he would tread dangerously close to the worrisome fact that he might have caused Harrison’s accident.

  His private investigator still wasn’t answering his cell, dammit, and hadn’t been into his office since that morning, according to his receptionist. The girl hadn’t been paid and had forwarded the company line to her cell in case her boss called. The PI hadn’t been back to his apartment, either, not that his neighbors could tell.

  Joe bit the inside of his cheek, afraid to ask Detective Burns to add the PI’s name to the file on Harrison’s accident, in case Burns learned that he, Joe, had hired the man and hadn’t been up front about it.

  Until he found the PI, he wouldn’t know exactly what had happened the morning of Harrison’s accident—or what the man might have found out about Harrison’s dealings, especially with the Fixer.

  “You don’t have any ideas?” Mariella asked, sighing hopelessly against his chest. “I mean, she knows who I am. She called me once and may again. Forewarned is forearmed. I want to know what I’m dealing with.”

  Exactly what had prompted Joe to hire the PI himself.

  “Harrison knows better than to discuss something like that with me.”

  Joe had suspected for a long time that Harrison knew how Joe felt about Mariella. He might even have known from the beginning. If Joe had been bolder years ago, when they’d all first met, he might have won Mariella before Harrison moved in and ran away with the prize.

  “Humph.” Mariella’s mouth pursed, and her lashes swept to hide her eyes.

  A horrible thought struck. “Is that what this is? Am I your retaliation against him?”

  “What?” Her face came up, genuinely shocked. “No!”

  “Comfort, then? Why are you sleeping with me?” Do you love me? That’s what he really wanted to ask. He held his breath, more than ego on the line. His heart hammered with dread and anticipation.

  “Joe.” A wounded shadow passed behind her dark eyes. “I believed in my marriage. I took my vows seriously. I wasn’t looking for another man and didn’t expect this. If Harrison hadn’t cheated, then...well, I probably wouldn’t have, either. But once I realized my marriage was a sham, I was able to act on feelings that have, yes, taken me by surprise, but they’re very real.”

  His chest swelled as he drew in a giant breath of relief. “I wouldn’t be here, either, if I believed he’d been faithful.” He wished he could say more, tell her everything. He wished he could tell her how much she meant to him, how deep his feelings really ran.

  “So many secrets,” she murmured, then lifted her head. “And you don’t know who the Fixer is, either? How is that possible?”

  “I didn’t ask,” he said with complete honesty. “For all the time we spent together, Harrison kept a lot to himself.” So had he, for that matter. “He frowned at the ceiling. “To be honest, I always thought it was better if I didn’t know the details of the fixing business. Plausible deniability.”

  But there had been that prickling suspicion along with it. What all had Harrison been hiding? Turning a blind eye could mean Joe had missed things that did concern him. Was all that money from fixing? Or did some come from cheating his business partner?

  “Plausible deniability is great for you,” Mariella muttered. “You’re not tied to it as closely as we are. Just like his mistress, the Fixer is out there, with intimate knowledge of our finances, our family... What if Harrison dies and it comes out that serious crimes have been committed? What if we’re implicated?”

  “Harrison always implied that the Fixer’s motives were pure.” At her skeptical look, he allowed, “Or, at least, that his loyalty to the Marshall family, and Harrison, was unimpeachable.” Did he sound as gullible to her as he
did to himself?

  “His?”

  “I believe it’s a man, but I don’t know that for certain. I don’t even have a good guess as to who it could be.” Which had begun to eat at him as much as it was bothering her. If the Fixer was someone close and loyal to the Marshall family, how much did he know about Joe?

  Mariella stayed propped on an elbow, one finger drawing abstract circles on his breastbone while she frowned toward the window. Sunset was painting mauve across the sky beyond it. No doubt she would start worrying about the time soon and insist she had to leave. He clenched his teeth against asking her to stay the night. He didn’t want to hear her refuse.

  “Gabe says the Fixer hasn’t done anything to raise alarms, but his mere existence bothers me. I have to find him. I don’t want to be pinned with any crimes he’s committed. I can’t bury my head in the sand!”

  He heard the indictment in that remark, even though it wasn’t aimed at him. He had buried his own head for years, thankful for the money Harrison made him, not asking the hard questions until it was too late.

  “Look. At least you have a nest egg to fall back on. If Harrison doesn’t survive—and I’m sorry to say that, Mariella. That’s not what I’m hoping for—” It felt like a lie, and her gaze dropped as he said it. “But the company is on shaky ground with his absence. If he isn’t here to oversee it, you may need all the money you can get.”

  She gave him a little push. “I can run Marshall International. Don’t think I can’t. And I won’t live in fear that the Fixer will swoop in and undermine me. I will find out who it is, Joe.” Her formidable personality was on full display.

  “You’re hot when you get assertive.” He rolled into her. He hadn’t been this insatiable in years.

  “Don’t patronize me.” Her aristocratic nose went into the air.

  “I’m not. I know Harrison didn’t build Marshall International all by himself. I know what you’re capable of.”

  A light blush at the flattery stained her cheeks, then her expression became more vulnerable. Hungry for approval. “Do you really believe in me?”