Beg For Me: Chapter 23

Sore and sated, I wake up Friday morning to the sound of Carter in the shower.

He’s singing. Loudly. Terribly.

It’s that funny nonsensical Italian opera voice again, booming off the tiles and probably making every dog within miles howl. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling and grinning.

We didn’t fall asleep until the wee hours. After the sex, there was talking and teasing and giggling, then more sex, another two rounds of it. I should be tired, but I’m not.

I feel as if I could fly.

Stretching my limbs luxuriously under the sheets, I sigh in happiness. I rise from bed and slip on a robe, then go into the bathroom and stare at Carter through the glass shower doors, shaking my head and smiling at the picture he makes. Soap suds sliding over bulging muscles, water pouring down the planes of his golden skin…he’s so gorgeous, it should be illegal.

He catches me watching and grins.

“Come in!”

I shake my head. “You finish. I’ll go put the coffee on. If I get in there with you, we’ll both be late for work.”

“Work? Who’s going to work? Let’s take the day off and drive up the coast.”

“I love the idea, but I can’t play hooky from work. Let’s do it tomorrow.”

He pouts but breaks into a grin again when I blow him a kiss. “Tomorrow it is, beautiful.”

Tying the robe’s sash around my waist, I head barefoot downstairs to the kitchen. I grind fresh coffee beans and start the machine, then rummage around in the fridge for something to eat for a quick breakfast. By the time Carter comes down with wet hair, wearing only his jeans, I’ve got the eggs ready. I pop two pieces of bread into the toaster and give him a kiss.

“Have a seat. I’ll get you some coffee. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

“Wow. I could get used to this.”

I turn toward the toaster but he pulls me back into a hug. Nipping my throat, he whispers, “What do you have on under this robe?” He slips a hand inside my robe and fondles my bare breast. “Hmm. Nothing. My favorite.”

Pinching my nipple, he takes my mouth in a hot kiss. When I wind my arms up around his shoulders, he moves his hand from my breast to my bottom, squeezing it before sliding his hand between my legs and fondling me there.

He breathes, “If I said your body’s a wonderland, would you know it’s a John Mayer song?”

“Please. He’s only an elder Millennial’s dream.”

“Ugh. You lady executives are way smarter than your male counterparts. I’ll work on more esoteric references I can take full credit for. In the meantime, I’ll just tell you you’re beautiful and leave it at that.”

We share a smile as the toast pops up from the toaster. He settles himself in a chair at the kitchen table while I butter the toast and pour two mugs of coffee. Aware of him watching me, I plate the toast and eggs and bring them to the table, leaning down to kiss him again.

He pulls me onto his lap and deepens the kiss, caressing my breasts through the robe.

We’re in that position when Harlow crashes through the front door.

“Mom!” she hollers, barreling through the living room. “Mom, where are you?”

I leap to my feet and yank my robe closed just in time for her to spot me and pull to a stop. She looks back and forth between me in my bathrobe and a shirtless Carter sitting at the table, and her mouth drops open.

“What the fuck!”

“Watch your mouth, young lady. What are you doing home? You weren’t supposed to be back until Sunday.”

She shakes her head in disbelief and gestures angrily to Carter. “Who’s this?”

Carter stands. “Hi, Harlow. I’m Carter. I’m dating your mom. It’s nice to meet you.”

She stares at him blankly for a second as if she’s trying to understand what foreign language he’s speaking. She takes a moment to look him up and down, taking in the muscles, the tattoos, the poster boy good looks. The undeniable glow of youth.

When she turns back to me, her expression is horrified.

“Sorry you had to find out this way, sweetheart, but your mother isn’t a nun. Say hello.”

She huffs in outrage instead, then turns on her heel and runs away. The sound of her footsteps pounding up the stairs echoes through the entire house. Then a door slams, rattling the kitchen windows.

I turn to Carter and say drily, “That went well, don’t you think?”

He makes a pained face. “I’m glad you’re not upset. That was a little intense.”

“It could’ve been worse. She didn’t start crying.”

“Sophia?”

From the front of the house comes the sound of Nick calling my name. I freeze.

Gazing in the direction of Nick’s voice, Carter says, “Is that the fuckwit ex?”

“Yes. Please stay here and eat your breakfast. I’ll be right back.”

I take a breath to steady my nerves, then walk through the living room. Nick stands inside the foyer, the door open behind him, rifling through a stack of mail in the bowl on the console. He looks up when I approach, taking a moment to sweep his gaze over me in a proprietary way.

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself. Get out of my mail. Why are you back early? And why is Harlow so upset?”

“You didn’t get my text?”

He used to use that line on me when he was late coming home from work. I believed it the first few times. Then one morning, I checked his phone when he was in the shower to confirm he’d never sent anything. When I confronted him about it, he played innocent and blamed it on the cellular network.

Misdirection and denial have always been a liar’s two favorite plays.

“You didn’t send a text, Nick. What’s going on?”

He tosses the mail back into the bowl and shakes his head. “Your daughter was being a royal little bitch the entire time we were gone, that’s what’s going on. You need to do something about that attitude.”

My face flushes with anger. I’ve never heard him speak about Harlow like this. “Whatever she did, name calling is off the table. Tell me what happened.”

I glance around him through the open door. His Mercedes idles at the curb. In the passenger seat, Brittany chews her thumbnail. When she sees me looking, she quickly turns away.

“Your daughter snuck out of the hotel in the middle of the night to party with some boys on the beach. When I found her, she was stoned and half naked, dancing around a bonfire with her shirt off.”

That news horrifies me. “She was on drugs?”

“And probably about to be sexually assaulted, yes. Whose Corvette is parked in the…”

Looking over my shoulder, he trails off. His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open.

He’s still gaping like that when Carter walks up behind me.

He says calmly, “That’s mine,” and rests his hand on my hip, claiming ownership of both me and his car with two simple words.

At a loss, Nick stares at him in open astonishment.

I have the strangest urge to break into gales of laughter, but I keep my composure and introduce them.

“Carter, this is my ex-husband, Nick. Nick, this is Carter McCord.”

Nick starts blinking like he’s trying to signal for help in Morse code. It’s funny but also irritating. He can’t believe what he’s seeing, as if the idea of me being with another man is as unlikely as me deciding to become an astronaut.

He snaps out of his stupor and says arrogantly, “I don’t care who you are, kid, but this is my house. Get the hell out.”

Kid. If he only knew.

I say crossly, “Oh stop it, Nick, and dial down the possessive act. We both know you don’t care. And this is my house. I got it in the divorce, remember? Carter’s not going anywhere.”

I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know that Carter and Nick are engaged in a pissing contest stare down, but I do feel a great sense of satisfaction when Nick capitulates first.

He slants me a hard gaze, then turns on his heel and walks out without another word.

I take Harlow’s keys from where they’re hanging in the lock and close the door behind him.

“On a scale of one to asshole, baby, your ex is an eleven.”

I turn to him. No wonder Nick ran away. Carter’s jaw is hard and his beautiful blue eyes blaze with anger. His expression indicates he’s plotting war.

“I’m sorry about this. I’m sure this isn’t how you thought your morning would go.”

His murderous expression softens. “Don’t worry about me. How are you?”

Sighing, I drop the keys into the bowl on the console and run my hands over my hair. “Nothing like a little domestic dispute to get the blood pumping. Did you eat your breakfast?”

He pulls me into his arms and gazes down at me in concern. “Fuck breakfast. How are you?”

Groaning, I rest my forehead on his chest. “I’m okay, but I need to go talk to Harlow. Apparently, she snuck out of the hotel to party with some boys, among other bad behavior.”

“If I had to endure a vacation with that douchebag, I’d sneak out too.”

Smiling, I raise my head and look up at him. “I’m sure she’d appreciate your support, but that’s not helpful.”

He gives me a squeeze and a kiss on the tip of my nose. “I’m sorry. I’ll go get dressed and get out of your hair so you can deal with the situation.” His eyes darken. “But if the douchebag comes back and starts giving you a hard time, I want you to call me.”

I tease, “Why? You gonna beat him up for me?”

His smile is dark and mysterious. “Something like that.”

He swats me on the bottom, then saunters off, headed upstairs. He finds me in the kitchen a few minutes later, sitting at the table sipping my coffee and contemplating my approach with Harlow.

Teenage girls are like feral cats. You have to handle them with extreme caution.

“I’m heading out, beautiful. Will you call me later?”

“I will.”

He leans down and kisses me gently on the lips. Gazing into my eyes, he murmurs, “Last night was amazing. Thank you.”

That makes me smile. “It was. And don’t thank me. The pleasure was all mine.”

He kisses me again, then straightens. “Good luck with Harlow. And remember, call me if you need backup with Nick the Tiny Dick.”

He tweaks my nose and leaves before I can answer. I hear the front door open and close, then the Corvette’s engine rumble to life.

Once the sound fades in the distance, I head upstairs to get dressed and deal with the feral cat.