The Wallbanger Read online

  Connect with G.R. online:

  Join G.R.’s Newsletter: https://app.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/t1r6v0

  Join G.R.’s Rebel Readers (on Facebook): https://www.facebook.com/groups/reneesunusualsuspects/

  Like The Other Team on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/theotherteamclub/

  Follow G.R. on Twitter: https://twitter.com/reneegeorge2008

  Visit G.R.’s websites: http://www.grgeorge.com

  eBooks by G.R. George

  Holiday Hotties Romances, Paranormal MM series

  http://www.holidayhottiesromances.com/

  1. Fruitcakes

  2. You Don’t Know Jack

  3. Stupid Cupid

  The Other Team, Contemporary MM Romance series

  http://www.theotherteam.club/

  1. The Wallbanger

  2. The Hot Toddy

  3. The Gin Rickey

  4. The Dirty Martini

  5. The Old Fashioned – Wallbanger 2

  6. The Hurricane – Hot Toddy 2

  7. The Sparkler – Gin Rickey 2

  8. The Screwdriver - Dirty Martini 2

  G.R. George writing as Renee George

  Midnight Shifters, a Paranormal Romance series

  http://www.midnightshifters.com

  1. Midnight Shift

  2. The Bear Witch Project

  3. A Door to Midnight

  4. A Shade of Midnight

  5. Midnight Before Christmas

  Lion Kings, a Paranormal Romance series

  http://www.lionkingshifters.com/

  1. The Lion Kings

  The Cull, Paranormal Romance series

  http://www.ozarkshifters.com/

  1. Claimed By the Alpha

  2. Protected By the Alpha

  3. Ravished By the Alpha

  G.R. recommends … Lexxie Couper

  “If you love hot, sexy romance, I recommend Lexxie for more contemporary fiction that grabs a hold of you from the first page and doesn’t let you go until the end.”

  Switching It On

  Stimulated, Book 3

  Lexxie Couper

  Chapter 1

  Sydney, Australia

  “They say she’s a real ball-buster.”

  Michael Bailey gave the man beside him a sideways glance, noting Julian was attempting to hide his mouth with a mug of steaming coffee. The fact the extroverted, in-your-face weather reporter was attempting to hide his mutter with a hot beverage from their new executive producer spoke volumes to Mike.

  Returning his attention to the woman currently crossing the conference room on legs any hot-blooded male would give his left nut to feel wrapped around his hips, Mike felt a familiar knot twist in his gut.

  It seemed he wasn’t as prepared for Lena Wilkes to be back in his life as he’d hoped.

  Fuck.

  “I heard,” Julian continued, his voice the epitome of a conspirator’s whisper, “she fired the main cameraman on her old news program the day after his wife was told she had cancer because the poor bastard missed his cue by thirty seconds.”

  Unable to stop himself, Mike ran his gaze down Lena’s body. As always, it looked incredible. She’d never been skinny, but the voluptuous curves she had were toned by dedicated hours on a StairMaster. The silk, black sleeveless shirt she wore for today’s introductory meeting showed off her arms, shoulders, and breasts with just the right amount of professional flirtation. Her burgundy pencil skirt highlighted the subtle strength of her thighs and calves, along with the narrow dip of her waist and the perfect form of her butt.

  On her feet were stilettoes Mike guessed to be somewhere in the six-inch range. That would put Lena at five feet seven. Barefoot, the top of her head reached his solar plexus.

  “And the network backed her up,” Julian’s voice sounded both mortified and awestruck, “because the news program jumped five points in the ratings the week she took over the EP role.”

  Mike’s gut knotted again, dragging his stare from Lena to his own lukewarm coffee.

  He remembered the incident Julian was referring to well. It turned out the cameraman had fabricated the cancer scare to avoid being fired for being drunk at work. Not a smart move. Mike had been there the night the drunken cameraman caused major problems during a live feed.

  He’d been the program’s main sports reporter. He was sitting behind the desk, waiting for the camera to cut to him when the Ando—the cameraman—completely missed the cue. As a consequence, the female news anchor had been caught on live television scratching her nostril with a well-manicured nail.

  He’d enjoyed working for that program. There’d been a real sense of fun there. He’d been earning almost six-figures back then just for talking about something he loved. He was earning more than that now, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing really was, since—

  He killed the thought and took a sip of coffee. Was there any chance he’d get through this meeting without Lena acknowledging he was there?

  No. What chance is there you’re going to get through it with your balls intact?

  His balls. God, the last time his balls and Lena had been in the same thought, he’d been staring at a yellow-gold band sitting at the bottom of a loo.

  “I also heard,” Julian went on, obviously hell-bent on drawing attention to himself and Mike regardless of their new EP’s reputation, “she took her ex-husband to the cleaners. Eviscerated the poor bastard through her lawyers. Took his dignity and his Maserati. All because of unsubstantiated rumours the guy had a thing with their dog-walker.”

  “There was no thing,” Mike growled, before he realized what he was saying.

  Everyone in the room snapped their attention to him. Everyone—News at Nine’s two news anchors, the program’s producer and associate producer, the news director, the social media manager, and N@9’s three news writers.

  And Lena Wilkes.

  At Mike’s side, Julian let out a surprised snort.

  Mike bit back a curse, drew a deep breath, and met N@9’s new executive producer’s steady, ice-grey stare.

  “Lena,” he said. He curled his lips into the patented Michael Bailey smirk, the one that had landed him the title of TV Week’s Sexiest Man on Television three years running.

  He’d always found the accolade a laugh.

  Until that title was used as a weapon against him, of course.

  At the end of the table, Lena Wilkes raised an eyebrow, her own lips curling. Fuck, those lips… He hadn’t thought of those lips in quite a while.

  Quite a while.

  Bullshit. You thought about them last night. Wrapped around your—

  “Mikey,” Lena said, her husky voice going straight for his jugular.

  Mike slumped down in his seat, threaded his fingers behind his head and let his smile turn toothy. “Ah, c’mon, Button. You know how much I hate the name Mikey.”

  Something dark flickered in Lena’s grey eyes. He’d only ever called her Button after crazy, wild sex. The kind of sex that left one person questioning how they’d existed without the other in their life.

  For five years he’d questioned that very thing every time he and Lena lay together in their marital bed, sated and panting and glistening with sweat.

  Five years.

  And then seven and a half months ago, one psycho dog-walker with a serious crush climbs into said marital bed while Lena is out of town. Not just climbs in, but takes selfies of herself naked beside him while he’s equally naked and sound asleep.

  Takes selfies and posts them on Instagram.

  And before Mike knew it, he was being handed divorce papers.

  Divorce papers he’d yet to sign. In fact, where the hell were they? Somewhere in his apartment.

  Maybe.

  Hmm, he should look into that.

  “Let’s get this meeting started, shall we?” Lena’s voice filled the stretching silence. A silence Mike recognized as awkward and curious.

  Yeah, when this was over, he was in for some interrogation. And ri
bbing.

  Shit.

  He looked around the room, noticing how everyone but Julian avoided making eye contact with him. Everyone in here apart from Julian knew he and Lena had been married. Everyone in here had kept silent about it when the head of the network announced she’d joined the team. That announcement had come—conveniently, in Mike’s jaded opinion—while he’d been in Brisbane covering the Cricket World Cup. All he’d gotten was a text message from N@9’s main news anchor saying Hey, you know the new EP.

  It wasn’t until Mike returned to Sydney the next day that he found out it was Lena.

  Twenty-four hours before this meeting now. Not enough time for Mike to tell the head of the network what he thought of the situation. Not enough time for Mike to tell the owner of the network what he thought of him either.

  Apart from Julian, the team must have known how Mike was going to react. Julian only got a pass because a) he was an imbecile, and b) new to the team. New to the country, in fact. Julian still wore a Union Jack vest under his suit jacket whenever he wasn’t on-screen. In fact, he sometimes wore it even then.

  The team must also have known long before Mike found out and hadn’t said anything.

  There could only be one reason why the entire N@9 team, from talent to crew, had kept mum about the situation.

  Because the owner of the network—a multi-billionaire media mogul who’d been born in Australia but now lived in the US, a man who got off on manipulating every living soul in his employ and was, in Mike’s opinion, a Grade-A wanker—had instructed them not to tell him.

  One of these days, Mike was going to tell that Grade-A wanker exactly what he thought of him. That day might very well be this day. Possibly in the next hour.

  “Are you okay with that, Mikey?”

  He blinked at the subtle acerbity in Lena’s question.

  He remembered that tone well. She used it to perfection back at their previous news program when dealing with the prima-donna behavior of the news anchor. Mike had always found it sexy.

  And now here it was, directed at him.

  Christ, was that a semi hard-on in his pants?

  Fark.

  “What, Button?”

  Her eyes narrowed at the pet name.

  “I said, I’m moving you off the Ricardo West interview. I’m assigning you to a human interest piece at the St. Xavier Primary School’s athletics carnival.”

  “Are you?”

  She nodded, placing the pen she’d been holding onto the table. “I am. I think it’s time to shake things up a little. Surprise the viewers. So Jilly is going to interview West.”

  Mike didn’t blink. “Jilly? Fresh-out-of-university intern Jilly is going to interview the three-time World Heavyweight Champion?”

  “Yes.”

  “A man notorious for threatening those who interview him with physical violence.”

  “Yes. I think she can handle him.”

  “Jilly is going to conduct the interview the network has been promoting as my interview for the last month?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m…”

  “Going to run in the three-legged race with Mrs. Kowinski.”

  “Mrs. Kowinski?”

  Lena’s lips twitched. A little. “St. Xavier’s principal.”

  The room had never been more silent. Mike held Lena’s stare. “Is she hot?”

  Julian broke the silence with a baying laugh. “Is she hot?”

  Mike threaded his fingers behind his head again and directed a wink at his ex-wife.

  Wife. She’s not your ex yet. Not until you sign the papers.

  The rest of the meeting flew past. He had no idea what was said. He spent the duration watching Lena. Noting how many times she flicked a glance his way.

  How many times she caught herself just before chewing on her bottom lip.

  How many times she snagged the gold-ball pendant of her necklace with her fingers and ran it along the gold length of chain.

  He recognized the behaviours for what they were—Lena’s tells. The little quirks that told him she was nervous. That screamed loud and clear, to him at least, she wasn’t prepared for the impact of being in the same room with him.

  Mike chuckled more than once throughout the meeting. Every time he did, everyone at the table looked at him. Except Lena, of course. Lena only flicked surreptitious glances his way. And—once—lost her train of thought, which made Mike chuckle again.

  The end of the meeting was signaled when Lena rose to her feet.

  Before she finished straightening, Mike was on his.

  “I’m outta here,” he told Julian loud enough he had no doubt the declaration would reach Lena’s ears. “Gotta get to the gym to prep for Mrs. Kowinski. Want to look my hottest for her.”

  Julian, true to form, burst out laughing as he, too, stood.

  “Mikey?”

  Everyone stopped.

  Half the employees stared at Mike, half stared at Lena.

  Mike met her steady gaze across the table. “Button?”

  Something unreadable flickered in her eyes, there and gone in a blink.

  “I want you to stay behind for a moment.”

  “Someone’s in trouble,” Julian singsonged beneath his breath.

  Mike gave him a grin. In his chest, his heart kicked up a notch. Was he prepared to be alone in the same room with his wife?

  “Sure, Button,” he said, directing his grin—correction, his infamous smirk—back at Lena. “I’ve never been able to say no to something you want.”

  Julian sniggered. The rest of the N@9 crew and staff let out their own nervous guffaws.

  Lena’s lips thinned to a line.

  Mike’s heart beat faster.

  Oh man, he really was in trouble.

  *

  The bastard.

  He’d done it to her again. Thrown her for a loop when she’d been so sure she’d been on solid, steady, level ground.

  Not just content with stomping on her heart when she’d given it wholly to him, he now had to show up at the N@9 meeting looking hotter than hell, sexier than sin, when she’d expected him to be looking like the sheepish, guilty, cheating bastard he was—and calling her the name he’d only ever called her after great sex.

  The bastard.

  You know, you were unprofessional first, by calling him Mikey. You were the one who set the tone for this awkward reunion. You were the one who thought you were over him…

  The second she’d seen him there, sitting at the end of the table with his top button undone, exposing the strong column of his throat she remembered kissing and biting all too easily, she’d been shaken to the core.

  The second she saw the dark stubble on his chin and jaw—at least three days’ worth—and his dark hair an artful just-climbed-out-of-bed mess, all her meditation and preparation and you’re-over-him mantras were null and void.

  All her strength, her promises to herself, shot.

  And what had she done? Behaved like an unprofessional bitch and pulled him from the interview with Ricardo West just to prove she had the power.

  Petty behavior. Not like her at all.

  The bastard had done it to her again. With one look, she wanted to strip him naked, strip herself naked, climb him like a pole, and slide down until all their bits fit together in the sinfully perfect way she knew they did.

  The bastard.

  And as for saying no to her?

  Huh. He…he…

  Lena ground her teeth, her stomach clenching. Actually, when they were together, Mike pretty much worshipped the ground she walked on. He’d spoiled her. Idolised her.

  She’d met him a week before discovering her previous boyfriend—a game-show host with a killer smile—was cheating on her. She had been his EP on his first-ever news job. She’d known who he was before his journalist career began of course, had already been an admirer of his sporting prowess on the hockey field, and had been immensely impressed by his natural charisma and chemistry with the camer
a. Had been even more impressed by his natural talent as a journalist.

  He’d also been the perfect rebound: a hot jock with a hot body and a quick mind who knew how to use both to make her girly bits melt. Just what she’d needed after busting her game-show host boyfriend sexting with his game-show assistant.

  When she’d confessed to Mike a month later, on the night he whispered “I love you” in her ear as they lay in her bed together, that she’d only ever intended him to be a rebound, he’d laughed and told her it didn’t matter to him, that he loved her all the same.

  A week later, she realized she’d been fooling herself. He wasn’t the perfect rebound, he was the perfect everything, and she loved him as well.

  Which was why it had hurt so much to discover he’d been unfaithful.

  With their freaking dog—

  “The divorce papers,” she said, fixing him with a look she hoped screamed I am so bored with this already.

  He raised his eyebrows, lips twitching with that smirk of his that made women strip their undies off and post them to him. Or throw them at him during live interviews.

  “What about them?” he asked, standing at the conference room’s open door.

  Open door.

  Lena glimpsed the rest of the main N@9 team suspiciously lingering a few feet beyond it.

  Blowing out a stream of exasperated air, she folded her arms over her breasts and gave the gaping window into their marital situation a pointed look. “Can you close the door, please?”

  Mike let out a dry laugh, turned on his heel and wrapped his fingers around the steel knob. “Sorry, guys,” he said to the rapidly scrambling people on the other side of the threshold. “Show’s over.”

  He closed the door.

  Lena couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles in his shoulders and arms bunched and coiled as he moved the heavy tempered glass.

  The pit of her belly fluttered. And then contracted when Mike locked the door. Locked it. This time, however, the tension radiated lower into the junction of her thighs. Her clit prickled with a sudden rush of blood.