Undone, Volume 2

UNDONE,
VOLUME 2

CALLIE
HARPER

Copyright © 2016 Callie
Harper

Cover
Design Jada D’Lee Designs

Ebook
Formatting by Jesse Gordon

All
rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to
real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights
reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any
format without the permission except in the case of brief quotations
used for review. If you have not purchased this book or received a
copy from the author, you are reading a pirated book.

The
author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in
this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without
permission.

This
book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not
continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of
content is disturbing to you.

• CALLIE HARPER’S BOOKS
  
• CHAPTER 1: ANA
  
• CHAPTER 2: ASH
  
• CHAPTER 3: ANA
  
• CHAPTER 4: ASH
  
• CHAPTER 5: ANA
  
• CHAPTER 6: ASH
  
• CHAPTER 7: ANA
  
• CHAPTER 8: ASH
  
• CHAPTER 9: ANA
  
• CHAPTER 10: ASH
  
• CHAPTER 11: ANA
  
• CHAPTER 12: ASH
  
• CHAPTER 13: ANA
  
• UNDONE, VOLUME 3 (the Beg for It series)
  
• ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  
• CONTACT
  

Off
Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance

Unleashed: Hot Alpha Romance,
Volumes 1-4
(Beg
for It series, Book 1)

Undone,
Volumes 1-3
(Beg for It series, Book 2),
released in
March 2016

Ana

Saturday morning I lay
in bed, no sign of the sun peeking through the shades though it was
already nine o’clock. On this cold, cloudy December day I wasn’t
in a hurry to rise. Tonight I had a big holiday party to go to, the
annual Kavanaugh family bash. I needed my beauty rest.

Plus, I had some stuff
to think about. Like the way it had felt last night when Ash had
touched me. It was a marvel, the way his fingers felt against my
skin, such a mix of rough and gentle. His touch was magic, awakening
erogenous zones I hadn’t even known existed. The back of my knee?
My hair? My waist? I mean, sure, it had felt good when Stan had put
his hand at my waist. Solid and steady. But Ash? When he’d reached
his hand down and wrapped it around my curves, it made me feel so
delicious. He touched every inch as if he couldn’t believe how
perfect I was. Every stroke felt like a prelude and a promise of more
to come. As if he could coax any sensation he wanted from me,
feelings I’d known nothing about.

My whole body had sung
to his touch, sighing into him, as if I were an instrument he played.
As if I’d been waiting my whole life to feel his hands. As if
everything up until then had been shadow play, mere pretend
approximations of the real thing. I’d given myself orgasms before,
but those were like miniature playthings in comparison to how he’d
made me feel. They were like the fake plastic food you pretended to
bake when you were a kid, compared to sinking your teeth into a
fresh-baked morning bun for the first time.

When he’d slid his
strong fingers into my wet, slick folds I’d nearly come instantly.
He had me so aroused, my clit so swollen, the way he pressed and
circled, flicked, then plunged his fingers up inside of me. I’d
never felt anything so good.

I didn’t want to get
up, not yet. I knew myself. The minute I rose out of bed, I’d start
feeling nervous again. All those reservations and concerns waiting on
the sidelines, offering reasons A-Z why this arrangement with Ash was
a very, very bad idea would all start clamoring for the mic. He’s a
jerk! You’re going to hate having every second of your life
photographed! How are you going to explain this to your parents? And,
most challenging of them all, how did I expect to spend an intimate
month with him without anything like what had happened last night
happening again?

Because it had felt so
good. And now I’d agreed to spend a month pretending to fall in
love with him, in a ‘whirlwind romance’ as he’d put it. He’d
say things to me with that low, sexy voice of his. I’d probably
even hear him sing. He’d mentioned he had a New Year’s
concert—the one he was going to propose to me at. What would it be
like to see him perform all those songs I loved? To be backstage for
it all?

With any luck, the more
time I spent with him, the less I’d like him. That would make
things easier. He’d sure surprised me last night. And humiliated
me. Just when I’d thought things were working out like a dream,
he’d sprung it on me—I’m average. That was why he liked me.
Even in my bed, I could feel a blush stealing up to my cheeks.

My phone blipped. A
text message. I reached over to my night table and picked it up.
“Call when you’re awake.” From a number I didn’t recognize,
area code 310. Hmm, was that L.A.? It could be Ash.

I clicked over to my
email and saw there’d been a flurry of activity. Ash had a lawyer
who apparently didn’t sleep. Last night he’d sent me a bunch of
documents and I’d looked them over with a mug of tea in my pajamas.
I’d clicked to e-sign more because it all felt surreal than because
it all made sense to me. All the language seemed to be around
protecting Ash’s privacy, and I had no interest in messing with
that. I had a long list of personal hopes and dreams, but gaining
notoriety through a celebrity tell-all wasn’t one of them.

Plus, Ash had put it in
writing that he would set up a fund to cover operating expenses for
the branch library for twenty years, exact financial details to be
finalized at a later date. I honestly had no idea how much it would
cost, but there had to be renovations involved. The building dated
back at least a hundred years. All that charm with the lions and
gargoyles came with the price tag of leaky plumbing, poor ventilation
and loud, hissing radiators that made children jump as if monsters
were in the walls. But Ash had agreed to cover it all.

The latest email from
Nelson Armistead, esq., was from an hour ago. It said I could expect
the hardcopy paperwork for signing to arrive via courier at nine a.m.
On cue, I heard a buzz.

Jillian got to the
intercom first, irritated at the early morning interruption though I
knew she’d probably already been up for a few hours. Early to bed,
early to rise and all that for Jillian. On the other hand my other
roommate, Liv, had probably only hit the hay a couple of hours ago.

In my fluffy blue robe
and slippers, I ran down the stairs and signed for my documents.
Jillian waited for me up at the door of our apartment, holding a cup
of coffee and brimming with questions.

“How was it last
night? Is that package from him? Did he apologize for what he did to
Mandy Monroe?”

“Well.” I shifted
my weight from one foot to the other. Subterfuge was not my middle
name. On the scale from crafty as a spy to over-sharing as my Aunt
Irina, I tended more toward my aunt than I’d like to admit. “I
had a good time?” It came out way too much like a question.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes?”

She looked at me
quizzically. “Is he a jerk?”

Yes, he was a jerk,
wasn’t he? If you weren’t a creep, you didn’t have to hatch
elaborate plans to prove that you were a good guy. You didn’t need
a lawyer drawing up agreements and a PR firm cooking up a storyline.
If you were a decent guy, you just walked around your life being
decent. Not like Ash Black.

But I couldn’t tell
that to Jillian, because I’d sworn everything to secrecy. I
couldn’t tell a soul about what we’d agreed to do. I couldn’t
really say anything about him to anyone other than the types of
details that we’d officially agree upon.

“Does he feel bad
about breaking Mandy Monroe’s heart?” Jillian asked.

“Yes, I think he
does.” At least he felt bad about it getting taped and millions of
people watching it, I knew that much.

“Do you think you’ll
see him again?”

I nodded. “He’s
taking me to his family’s holiday party tonight.”

“What?” Jillian’s
mouth dropped open, but I was saved further questioning by my phone
ringing in my bedroom.

“Sorry.” I ducked
out of our kitchen and closed the door of my bedroom behind me. Our
walls were as thin as paper, though. This was going to be harder than
I’d thought.

“Hello?” I caught
it after the third ring.

“Anika?”

“Yes.”

The woman calling
introduced herself as Lola Delacroix from the PR firm representing
Ash Black. “I hear you’re joining the team for the month?”

“The team?”

“Team Ash. You’re
going to be a clutch player. You can think of me like your best
friend and your coach all-in-one.”

Huh. Why did that sound
more like an ultimatum or a threat than reassurance?

“I’ve just sent
over your itinerary for the day. Look it over and tell me if you have
any questions.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.” I could
practically see her eye-roll through the phone. I could tell, this
one ruled with an iron fist. I found her email and clicked open the
attachment. Oh my, the first appointment was in 45 minutes in midtown
Manhattan. First a stylist, then a salon, then a personal shopper,
then a meeting with Lola, herself.

“You’re in New
York?”

“Will be. I’m
hopping on a plane right now, and we can review your role together in
person.”

My role. “Are you
sure all this is necessary?” I could already tell my day looked
like a montage from a teen movie where the nerdy girl gets a
makeover. Only I wasn’t sure I was ready for all that. And hadn’t
Ash said, he’d picked me because I was so average? Why did they
want to give me a whole new look?

Lola gave a dry laugh.
“You’re so cute.” But she didn’t sound like she really
thought that, more like moronic. “Have you ever been interviewed
before, Anika?”

“You can call me
Ana.”

“Ana?”

“One time, my school
was changing its lunch policy and the local news came and interviewed
students.” My palms had sweat and I’d looked like a terrified
rabbit on the news that night, replying in one-word whispers.

“We’re not talking
anchormen and school lunches, Ana. We’re talking vultures. Sharks.
You’re going to be smack in the middle of a feeding frenzy like
nothing you’ve ever known.”

I cringed. “Won’t
they mostly be interested in Ash?”

“Sure, but you’re
new. Fresh blood. They’re going to want to know all about you. And
we’re going to have to give them some great shots.”

She meant staged
romantic moments, candlelight dinners and all that. My stomach
flipped, and I had to admit it wasn’t entirely because of the media
circus she was describing. It was also the thought of the show I’d
be a part of in the ring, the focus of Ash’s attentions.

“Now, I know you’ve
signed the NDA. And you’ve passed a thorough background check.”

I had? When had they
done a check on me? How had they had time?

“But I have to ask,
are there any skeletons in your closet we should know about? Because
now’s the time, Ana. Any misdemeanors, fetishes, drug habits,
enemies?” She rattled off the list as if she were well-accustomed
to dealing with clients with all of the above.

“No,” I answered
honestly, suddenly feeling squeaky-clean. I hadn’t thought of
myself as such a girl scout, but I guessed when you compared me to
the kind of celebrities who needed to hire PR firms to do damage
control I looked like an angel dropped down from heaven.

“Well, prepare
yourself,” Lola continued, “because they’re still going to try
to look for dirt. So, believe me, you’re going to want a good
haircut.”

§

Two hours later, I
stood in the middle of what looked like a giant closet filled with
racks of clothes on wheels in the shortest dress I’d ever worn. It
barely brushed the tops of my thighs.

“I don’t think so.”
I shook my head, but no one seemed to hear me. People buzzed around
with clipboards and wireless earpieces and swatches of fabric. They
weren’t all on my case, I didn’t think. That would be weird. But
they were all intensely busy and focused for a Saturday.

A woman began measuring
the inseam of my leg, her hand brushing alarmingly close to a part of
my body only my OB/GYN got access to. And Ash last night. Heat crept
back into my cheeks.

“I’m not sure I can
wear this,” I tried again a little louder. The woman measuring me
spoke to someone next to her. “OK for the show in L.A., but for
S.F. we’re going to need to tone it down.”