Playing For Love (13 page)

“Zach,” I whispered, then rushed out, “It’s not a big deal. He asked if I was really married and said he was coming over, but he doesn't know where you live. It’s nothing, you don’t need to worry about it.”

“
Yes, I do!
You were freaked the fuck out. You think I'm just gonna—”

“David, it’s nothing. I’m fine,” I snapped not wanting to talk about Zach or my issues. “I’ll talk to you later.” I ended the call before David could respond.

“He's just worried about you.” Fergus spoke from the bedroom doorway, startling me. “You should talk to him. Give him some peace.”

Give him some peace?

An image of Fergus at the law firm flashed through my mind.

I called David back; he answered on the first ring.

“Why do I know Fergus?”

Soon as the question left my mouth I heard Fergus' footsteps as he walked back down the hall, giving me privacy or satisfied I had done as he said. I really didn't like anyone that wasn't David trying to dictate me.

After a moment of silence he said, “What do you mean?”

“You know
exactly
why I know him. Why was he at that law firm?”

I remembered Fergus. He sat in the law firm lobby—where I was temping—
every day
for hours since the Thursday after I met David. I thought it was odd for him to spend three to four hours a day at a law firm he didn't work at. At the time, I thought maybe it was a bad divorce or he was just really strange.  

“Watching you,” he answered without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because I paid him to. To make sure you weren't seeing anyone, to make sure you didn't have anything going on at work, to find out if those fucking lawyers were hitting on you, touching you.” His voice got louder as he spoke. Angrier.

“So if you can't stalk me personally, you'll pay someone to do it?”

“Of course I will!”

“What if
he
was interested in me? What would you have done then?” I challenged.

“You think that's funny?” he asked soberly.

“No, I don't! I married my fucking stalker, David. I don't think it's funny at all.”

“
Yeah
, you fucking did. Don't forget it.” His tone was serious, bordering on threatening.

My breathing and heartbeat sped up. I didn't know what was wrong with me that I responded this way to his aggression.

“Are you threatening me?” My voice was a barely a whisper.

“No. I'd
never
threaten you.” His voice was still hard, confusing me. “Just want you to remember you
married
me. You
chose
me.
Forever
. You knew I was never letting you go. And you
chose
me
anyway.”

I understood where this was coming from now. He was insecure. Completely ridiculous, but he was—for some reason. Maybe it was Zach or he was worried I was going to change my mind.

Nah... It’s probably Zach.
 

“I did. I would choose you over any other man. Even if I wanted to kill you, I'd still choose you.”  

“Good,” he said with finality. “So you want to kill me?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I'll see you at the gym.” I avoided answering.

“So we're still working out?” He sounded pleased with himself.

“Fuck off,” I laughed. “You're going to be late.”

“I love you too,” he laughed. “And I'm sitting in the parking structure.”

“Go work. Leave me alone.”

“Never gonna happen,” he muttered just before I ended the call. 

I turned over to find Fergus standing in the doorway.

Watching me.

“You weren't very stealthy spying on me at the law firm.”

“I was instructed to stay as close to you as possible. Close enough to hear your phone conversations and see if you were texting anyone.” His voice would be robotic if it wasn't for the accent.    

“Is that what you do for living? Spy on people?” I teased, partly—because I really wanted to know.

“I do what I'm hired to do—spy on people, track people down, security, whatever I get hired to do,” he responded evenly. 

“How does someone end up in that line of work?” I probed. I wasn't normally a curious person, but the fact that David trusted him enough to leave me alone with him said a lot. I wanted to know what that was about.

“Mrs. Taylor,” he answered patiently, “the sooner I check the house, the sooner I can call Mr. Taylor back. I assure you, he's waiting for my call.”

He didn't need to assure me of anything.
I knew David would be.

I walked out, going to the kitchen.

David wasn't going to get any better.

Ever
.

Sometimes I loved it, sometimes I wanted to rebel against it. I was having a rebellious moment. Grabbing a bottle of water and some popcorn, I went to the movie room to find something to distract me for a couple hours until I needed to leave.

David

This was torture, sitting in the dressing room waiting for Fergus to call back... I knew I should have gone back home. I really didn't want him being alone with Austin for any length of time. Not that I thought he would do anything, knowing she was married to me. But chicks liked that fucking accent of his.

Scottish fucker.

He was the kind of guy women swooned over when they heard him speak. And I wanted my wife thinking about
me
. He'd spent a few days watching her without any problems, but being in a public place and being inside our home was very different.

Deep down I knew Austin wouldn't cheat. She was defensive when men paid her any attention. But what I knew and what I felt were not the same. Because I also knew people did cheat, people you would never suspect—if the circumstances were right.

When my phone vibrated, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.  

“Yeah,” I answered immediately.

“Everything's good. All the sensors are good. She didn’t text or talk to anyone else while I was around her. But she looked on the verge of a panic attack when she got that call. I think you should consider the program I told you about, get remote access to her phone. You'll know who she's talking to, you can see her texts as they come in, it'll save to your phone. She could be
deleting
texts.”

“Get it for me, but I want it in her phone too. I want her having the same access to my phone.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked slowly, like I might want to rethink it.

“Absolutely. I won't keep any secrets from her.
Nothing,
” I clarified, offended by what he was suggesting.

“Okay. You want me to set it up now?”

“Yeah. Just tell her—”

“Don't have to,” he cut me off. “She left her phone in the kitchen.”

“Fine. I'll tell her later.” Along with everything else I needed to tell her. “I also need a way to track her car.”

“You want it done today?”

“Yeah. She'll be at the gym later, do it then. I'll have them park her car in the back. Two to three thirty.”

“I'll get it done.”

Relieved, I let out a harsh breath. “Okay. She's leaving at around twelve thirty.”

“I'll stay here until then.”

On one hand, I was grateful, knowing she was safe. On the other, it ate at me knowing anyone aside from me was with her. But Fergus was right, I needed to stay away right now. Me running to be with Austin might set off Dawn, my last arrangement. She had become a problem, one that was progressively getting worse. Zach was little more than an annoyance in comparison, one I was still going to get rid of.  

“Thanks.” I ended the call quickly before I found another reason to keep talking, keep him on the phone away from Austin. I wasn't delusional, I knew he saw through me. He was retired MI6; he knew exactly what I was doing. He just had enough class or respect or whatever not to call me out on it.

She was going to be alone with him for the next two hours.    

Fuck me.

“David, whenever you're ready,” I heard someone say from the other side of the door.

This was going to be the longest two hours of my life.

CHAPTER NINE

The makeup girl kept lingering too close, trying to flirt with me. She was cute, long sandy brown hair, thin, and tall. Maybe I should have been happy for the distraction from worrying about Austin, but I wasn't. I was about two seconds from telling the girl to fuck off.

This behavior always got on my nerves, but never angered me this much before.

Couldn't she see the fucking ring on my finger?

She showed no concern or respect for my marital status, and I realized I was fooling myself, thinking Austin's wedding ring would discourage men from hitting on her—no matter how big it was. I couldn't remember ever being hit on this aggressively before at a shoot.

Fuck. Did wedding rings have the opposite effect?

This was one of the few situations where having close friends would be beneficial; I'd have someone to ask about this shit.

“Do you realize I'm married?” I asked, genuinely wanting to know.

She opened her mouth, but said nothing, clearly unsure how to respond.

“Do you know I’m married?” I asked again.

“Well... yes,” she finally answered. “A guy who’s not afraid to commit is really hot.”

What the fuck?

My eyebrow lifted as I waited for her to rethink her words. When she showed no signs of comprehension, I tried to explain.

“If I was the kind of guy who responded to what you're doing... I wouldn't exactly be committed, would I?” I slowly pointed out the complete ignorance of her statement.

Her mouth popped open. And I watched as her response died a slow death. The eagerness in her eyes dimmed as the flirty smile on her face faded and she finally put it together.       

She was the type of girl I couldn’t stand. Shallow, dumb and easy. I couldn't understand it. Did these girls think
they
were the one, out of all the other half-naked girls throwing themselves at me, who would stand out? That I would find it attractive?

“How
old
are you? Do you always chase married men?” I questioned, her behavior bothering me more than it should.

“I'm twenty,” she answered proudly. “I've only dated one married man.” 

“Daddy issues or just after a rich husband... Or is it both?” I was being a dick, but her behavior was offensive to me. I had zero tolerance for anyone even hinting at disrespecting my wife, directly or indirectly.

“Wow. I feel sorry for your wife. She married an asshole!”

“But you didn't feel sorry for the wife of the man you were fucking?”

She started to answer, but she finally noticed the photographer standing behind her.

“I asked my wife to come up here, Chris.” I looked pointedly at the girl and continued, “I don't want this girl here if she shows up.” 

It wasn't her fault I couldn't deal with any extra shit today. It was just the wrong day for anyone who wasn't Austin to get on my nerves. It was just a bit of an overreaction to everything that was happening right now. At least I hoped so. Snapping at every girl who flirted with wouldn’t go over well.

“Sorry about that, David.” Chris's voice cut through my thoughts. “It won't happen again. She's normally very good.”

“I don't want her, or anyone like her, anywhere near me. Not now. Not in the future,” I said curtly.

His
face gave away his shock and surprise. I was generally pretty easygoing. Not anymore. I expected Austin to conduct herself a certain way, and I was sure as fuck going to do the same. I wasn't giving her any more reasons to not trust me. 

“Okay,” he finally said after he recovered from his initial shock.

“How many more shots do you need?”

“You have one more change.”

“Let's get this done.”

*****

An hour later, I pulled into the gym parking lot, more than ready to see Austin. This time apart stuff was not for me.

“Park it next to Austin's in the back,” I said to the valet as I stepped out.

“You want me to wait?”

“Wait for what?” I asked distractedly.

“For Mrs. Taylor to get here.”

That got my full attention. “What?” I turned to him. “She isn't here yet?”

“No, sir. I've been watching for her since you called.”

That I believed, Austin had several of my male employees’ full attention.

“Yeah, wait until she gets here.”

There was no way she could have found out about having a tracker put on the car today...
Or about Dawn.

Fucking Dawn.

I had to tell her about Dawn, it felt like an axe hanging over my head. I knew with Austin’s trust issues if she found out from anyone but me it would devastate her.

I went inside, dialing her number as I walked toward the front desk.

“Has Austin called?” I asked the new girl—I couldn't remember her name.

“Umm. I don't know, Mr. Taylor. No one has left a message,” she answered hesitantly.

I went into my office, shutting the door a little too hard when I got her voicemail. I pulled up the tracker for her phone, she was in Santa Monica, less than two miles away. But she was in a residential neighborhood. 

I dialed Fergus.

“How do I access her phone,” I asked as soon as it connected.

“You downloaded what I told you?” he asked, never missing a beat.

“Yeah.” My voice was gruff with frustration, anger, and worry.

He walked me through the process of accessing her phone, even though he would be here within minutes. He understood my urgency and my irrational behavior where Austin was concerned, mostly because he was aware of the full situation—that my last arrangement was threatening to kill my wife. It was probably nothing, but her recreational drug use had turn into a full-time problem and she had colored her hair to look like Austin’s—according to Fergus’ information. And his information was never wrong. 

What I didn’t understand was how this was happening. She wasn’t a random girl off the street. She had been screened, all my arrangements had, for previous arrangements and compliance to those arrangements, i.e. it didn’t go public, end up in court or in stalking. She was already stalking and we were well on our way to this ending up in court.

I found the confirmation text for her appointment and called it. After finding out she had kept her appointment, my anxiety quieted marginally, I didn’t know how serious Dawn was or what she was capable of. I dialed Austin again and was surprised when I heard, “I'm on my way,” she said in a singsong voice. “My lady was running late.”

“Where are you?” My tone was more demanding than intended.

“Off Montana. I'll be there in a minute, calm down.” She was relaxed, which had the same effect on me.    

“I've been calling you. Why didn't you answer?”

“Because I was walking to the car. I had to park in the neighborhood. It's crazy
busy
over here.” She sounded fine. Normal. She didn't even seem concerned with my questions.

“I'm here. Waiting on you. Hurry.” Then I added, “But be careful.”

“I will.”

Austin

I should have texted him when they told me my waxer was running late. But he was earlier than he'd said, fifteen minutes earlier. If he had arrived when we'd originally planned, he wouldn't have known I was running late.

Technically, it's his fault.

He hadn’t told me what was going on this morning, and I had been sidetracked with the information he was having me watched when I was temping. Whatever it was, he still seemed stressed about it. It also seemed he was insecure about Zach, if the texts I received during his shoot were any indication. I still wasn't sure why, though. Zach wasn't competition for David. No one was. David was perfect for me and a fucking sex god.

Oh God
, those texts were burned into my brain.

I miss you. You miss me?

When I didn't respond, I received,

Don't give Zach a second thought,

I'll handle him. You just think about your

husband fingerfucking your ass on our

wedding night. How he made you come

so hard you couldn't move.

How you just offered up that ass and

pussy like a good girl
.
     

Ten minutes later, I pulled up next to David's car under the portico.

“Mrs. Taylor, he's looking for you,” the valet informed me.  

After reading his nametag, I met his eyes. “Thank you for letting me know, Shawn.”

It was sweet, but this kid didn't know David at all. David was never looking for me. Tracking me, stalking me, lying in wait for me—yes—but never just looking for me.

“Excuse me, miss.” I heard as I passed the front desk.

I turned to see a young fresh-faced type of girl looking at me expectantly.

“Hi, I'm Austin. I'm David's—”

“Oh, yes. I'm so sorry. I'm new.”

“That's okay. I'm still new too.” She looked at me oddly but said nothing, so I continued, “What's your name?”  

“Kelly. Kelly Duncan.” She sounded eager to have something she knew how to respond too.

She was far too innocent for this place or LA in general.

“I'm sure I'll be seeing you around.” I gave her the best smile I could at the moment, and walked back toward David's office.

Before I took two full steps, the office door opened, revealing a too serious David. I immediately felt the impact of all that raw energy radiating off him. There was a simmering anger mixed with it, making it more intense. I took a moment, visually devouring my husband’s body. He had already changed clothes, showcasing his muscled thighs in those low-hanging, gray sweats. The thin, white tank clung to his defined stomach and pecs, amplifying his thick traps, strong neck, and chiseled face. 

Damn.

My view of him shifted, appreciating the reality of my situation. This masterpiece was my husband—who I fucked frequently, who catered to my every need. He was so much more than I ever thought anyone could be. It was like I was seeing him for the first time again, but in a whole new light. 

When my eyes finally met his, his expression was dark. The swells of his shoulders jumped with the clenching of his hands.

“Mrs. Taylor.” David's tone was brisk, jaw clenching. I felt like I was going to the principal’s office, not my sex god’s office, where we fucked like wild animals.

“David,” I mimicked his tone.

It was only a moment before I saw the laughter in his eyes.

“I need a personal trainer,” I said soberly.

“I'll train you.” His voice was still all business.

And I didn't like it. I didn't want to deal with whatever neurosis the events of the morning had stirred up, especially not mine.

“Can I get
personal
attention?
Really
personal attention.” I pushed my chest against his, looking up at him from under my eyelashes.  

“As personal as you can handle,” he growled as his heated, possessive gaze pulled me in.

“Can I get fucking worked into the deal? Part of my cardio, maybe?”

He hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me into his office, shutting the door behind us. “We can absolutely work fucking into your workout routine. Long as I'm the trainer and you're the client.”

“How much do you charge per session?” I breathed as my hands glided up his biceps to his thick shoulders.

“I think we can work out a trade. How bout, I get to do anything I want to you?” he purred, palming my sex.

“Fucking and eating this sweet pussy as much as I want should cover it. If not” —his other hand gripped my ass, fingers pushing into my crack— “this sweet ass, should.” 

Oh, fuck.

I sucked in a sharp breath at his touch, at his words, my clit pulsing hard in his palm. I was sure he could feel it through the thin fabric of my yoga pants.

I was horny now. I meant to distract him, lighten his mood, not send us both into a mating frenzy.

“Are we fucking first or working out?” I panted.

His expression transformed. “Working out.” He huffed out a pleased laugh. “If I fuck you first, I won't get through a workout, sweetheart.”

Then I noticed David's hand.

“Take off your rings,” he said as I stared in dismay at his bare finger. “You can't wear 'em while we workout.”

Oh. Yeah.

Made me feel a little less hurt.

Only a little.  

David put me through a
hard
leg workout; it felt like punishment for something. Maybe for not going to his shoot or for being late or for wearing a cropped tank/sports bra—that he alternately glared at and eye-fucked. To my surprise, he ignored everyone who looked our way, except the few who approached us to congratulate us. I could tell more than one thought it would be short-lived. I didn’t. I had the security of knowing David would stay with me even if we were both miserable. That was the most comforting thing I could imagine, knowing he wouldn't go anywhere no matter how bad things got. That gave me a sense of freedom—freedom to fuck up. Freedom to be as imperfect as I was.