Guarding His Fake Family Read online

  Then Alisha took charge, rolling Simon over onto his back and lavishing kisses and caresses down his body until she could worship his gorgeous cock. Usually, giving head wasn’t her favourite thing, but with him it was… wow. He was so responsive, guiding her to what he liked best, his fingers gentle in her hair, caressing rather than tugging, never forcing her to do anything she wasn’t ready for. By the time he pulled her away, his faced was flushed and his chest was heaving.

  “I can’t wait,” he said, the words rough with need. “I need to be inside you, Alisha.”

  “I need that too,” she said, straddling him and sinking down atop his cock, loving the fullness of him inside her, the heat of his skin, the hardness of his muscles. At his startled look, she chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m on the pill.”

  Then she started moving, slowly at first, then faster as they found their rhythm, riding him for all she was worth. This was so much better than any fantasy. This was everything.

  All too soon, she teetered on the brink of climax. As if sensing it, Simon bucked beneath her, driving harder inside her while reaching down to stroke her most sensitive flesh and sending Alisha toppling over the edge. While her body still convulsed around his, milking him, Simon rolled her under him and thrust hard into her, once, twice, before finding his own release.

  Wave after wave of pleasure eventually gave way to fatigue. Simon stretched out beside her and pulled Alisha back into him, spooning her from behind. His arm was around her waist, his breath warm and soft on the nape of her neck as Alisha drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

  Tomorrow, there might be consequences. But tonight, she had no regrets. None.

  Three

  The next morning, Simon stood in the kitchen at his house wondering exactly when he’d lost his damned mind. Not that sleeping with Alisha Lewis hadn’t been amazing. It had. Maybe too amazing.

  He finished getting the coffeemaker ready, then started it brewing before sighing and leaning back against the edge of the counter. No. Amazing or not, it had been a mistake, sleeping with her. So much so that when he’d awoken this morning before dawn, he’d snuck out of her place and headed back to his own without waking her, needing time and space to sort it all out in his head uninterrupted.

  They were going to be working together on this story and they needed to keep things professional from here on out. Never mind that he could still taste her on his lips each time he licked them. Or the fact that each time he closed his eyes he could still see the moonlight on her smooth skin, still hear her soft cries as she came apart in his arms.

  All that was over. Done. Hasta la vista, baby.

  As of today, they both needed to get back on track. He had too much riding on this lead to screw it up by screwing Alisha on a regular basis. Best to stick with just being colleagues. Yep. Good. Settled.

  His phone buzzed on the charging pad on the counter and Simon reached over the snag it and answer. “Stone.”

  “Hey,” said his friend Eddie, a cop for Seattle PD and a trusted source of intel. Too late, Simon remembered the voicemail his friend had left the night before. Simon had shot Eddie a quick text before leaving the bar, asking him to look into Alisha’s suspicions about Warren and the Andronetto brothers. “You didn’t return my call.”

  “Yeah, sorry.” Simon raked a hand through his hair, hoping his buddy couldn’t see the heat rising in his cheeks over the memories of exactly how he’d spent the later part of his evening. “I got busy.” In more ways than one. “What’s up?”

  “Did some checking into that matter you sent me,” Eddie said, the usual hubbub of police headquarters droning in the background behind his voice. “You sure you want to work with Alisha Lewis?”

  “Why not?” Simon scowled, turning to shut off the now-beeping coffeemaker. “Sounded like an intriguing lead.”

  “But she’s bad news, man.” Eddie’s tone lowered. “Crazy ambitious and has a reputation for chasing stories even when there’s nothing there. I mean, she’s cute, I’ll give her that. And I think her heart’s in the right place—she’s not acting out of malice or anything. But it’s like she wants a big story so bad that she sees conspiracies everywhere she looks. She has a tendency to twist facts to suit what she needs to report on, if you get my drift. All so she can climb the ladder faster.” Eddie sighed. “I’m just saying that after everything you’ve been through with your ex, maybe any story this girl brings to you isn’t the story you’re looking for. Your credibility’s already taken a hit. Maybe you should look elsewhere for something more solid for your next project.”

  Not what Simon wanted to hear this morning, but he couldn’t discount it, either. He’d picked up on some of that ambition from Alisha the previous night. It hadn’t seemed malicious and he hadn’t gotten the sense that she was using him…but that didn’t mean she wasn’t fooling herself, thinking she’d uncovered some kind of smuggling ring. Eddie himself had said that she had good intentions—she just saw what she wanted to see. It wasn’t a stretch to believe that that might have been what was happening here.

  But dammit, his gut still told him there was something to this lead, especially after what they’d witnessed in that lot last night. “I saw something at Warren Antiquities last night.” He went over the crate and the cash exchange and the guards. “I mean, they sent dogs after us and everything. That can’t be nothing, right?”

  Eddie scoffed. “They’ve got valuable stuff there, man. Is it really that surprising that they’d have good security? And are you really sure you saw anything illegal? Maybe all you saw was a guy getting paid for making a delivery. Nothing illegal about that.”

  “But what could an antiques dealer need delivered from a bar?” Simon pressed.

  “How should I know?” Eddie asked. “Maybe he got them to provide booze for a cocktail party or something.” Simon frowned. It sounded unlikely…but not entirely impossible. Eddie’s certainty that there was nothing there was undermining Simon’s confidence in the story. His reputation couldn’t take another hit. What if he chased after the story and it turned out there was nothing there at all?

  “I did some digging into Thomas Warren after you texted me,” Eddie continued, “and he checks out just fine. Not even a parking ticket. He’s got a good reputation, and so does his operation. No complaints, no reports of anything shady. Everything’s on the up and up there, even down to the official documents of authenticity on the items he sells. I’ve got copies. I’ll send them over if you want so you can see for yourself.”

  Part of Simon said no, he should let it go. But his SEAL training wouldn’t let him leave loose ends. “Fine. Yeah, that’d be great, Eddie. Thanks.” Even if it was nothing, like Eddie said, at least he could show Alisha the paperwork to prove it to her. “I’ll talk to you later, man.”

  “Documents on their way now. Should be in your inbox momentarily,” Eddie said. “See you around. Call me if you want to grab a beer Friday.”

  “Will do.” Simon ended the call, then fixed a mug of coffee before slumping down on the sofa in his living room to check his email. He should try to eat a little breakfast, but his gut didn’t feel up to it. Too tight from all the uncertainty, made worse now after Eddie’s warnings about Alisha. All his inner alarm bells were going off.

  Eddie was right. After the hell Laura had put him through the past year, dragging his reputation through the muck in the tabloids, Simon needed to partner with someone he was absolutely certain he could trust for his next story. And unfortunately, it looked like Alisha wasn’t that person.

  * * *

  Alisha went to work the next morning hoping the buzz of the newsroom around her would drive away her lingering thoughts about Simon Stone and the night they’d spent together. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working its usual mojo.

  Gah! Get a grip, girl.

  She rubbed her temples and stared down at the same blank notepad she’d been looking at for the last hour. But instead of seeing the paper, she kept picturing Simon’s dark eyes and
Simon’s tousled hair and Simon’s sculpted chest and abs and…

  Ugh. Okay. Fine. The man was H.O.T. And sure, he’d been incredible in bed, but seriously. She had zero time for this right now. She had a story to work on, an important one that was time-sensitive. After last night, she was more certain than ever that some shady shit was up at Warren Antiquities and she was determined to find out what it was.

  Now if she could just get Simon Stone off her mind, she’d be all set.

  Except when she looked over toward the entrance to the newsroom, she saw none other than the man himself, as if she’d conjured him from her erotic thoughts. Flustered and frustrated, in more ways than one, Alisha quickly tried to look busy and focus anywhere but on him as he spotted her and headed in her direction.

  Crap. Okay. Act cool. He’s here to work on the story, not rehash last night. Right?

  “Good morning,” he said, his deep, gravelly voice sending an unwanted shiver of delight up her spine before she could tamp it down. He handed her his phone, then took a seat in the chair in front of her like he owned the place. “Got those from a cop friend of mine this morning. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it looks like everything’s on the up and up with Warren Antiquities.”

  Alisha glanced down at the screen and saw what looked like certificates of authenticity from Warren Antiquities. “These don’t prove anything,” she said as she scrolled, doing her best to refocus on the case and not how good he looked this morning or the fact that the hair at the back of his neck was still damp from a recent shower, because if she thought about that then she’d start picturing him all naked and soapy and… God, when had it gotten so hot in here? She managed not to fan herself and instead stopped on one of the images to zoom in and read it. “Of course some of his items are going to be legit. Maybe even most of them. The best place to hide anything is in plain sight. He’d need legitimate items to camouflage the ones he has that are either illegally smuggled or forged. I haven’t had a chance to do a lot of digging yet, but those men we saw last night are up to something. I can feel it.” She closed that document and opened up the next one. “We can’t be sure that these certificates cover everything he has—it’s not like we have a head count of everything in his inventory. And even if the items are all listed here, that doesn’t mean they’re all legit. These certificates can be forged pretty easily by someone who knows what they’re doing.”

  “My cop friend checked them out himself personally. The paperwork’s all real, and they all match up to the inventory in the store. Nothing unaccounted for,” he said, sitting forward and pinning her with that dark gaze of his. Neither of them had mentioned the previous evening, but it sat there like a one-ton gorilla between them anyway. “Just who is this contact of yours?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” she replied, swallowing hard and staring at the phone screen again. “But I trust them completely. Unlike the cops.” She’d had her share of negative experiences with law enforcement over the years and heard too many horror stories about black and brown people not getting fair treatment. While this particular case wasn’t connected to race, she saw that mistreatment as ample reason to view cops with wariness. She certainly wasn’t going to take one’s word as absolute proof—especially when Simon had been careful not to mention the man’s name. There were trustworthy cops out there. And there were also cops who were bullies, liars, or sell-outs. Without a name to work with, she couldn’t say where Simon’s source fit.

  “Why’d you involve your friend in this anyway?” she asked. “I thought we agreed to keep this confidential between the two of us for now.” She glanced over to see one of her nosy colleagues taking an interest in her and Simon’s conversation and shot the guy a dirty look. God, this was humiliating.

  “I never agreed to that,” Simon said, his expression unreadable. “And I’m sorry, but I need more than your word to trust that there’s really a story here. We barely know each other.” His cheeks flushed slightly beneath his tan and he looked away, obviously remembering the same fact that she was—they knew each other quite well, in some ways. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m just saying that I can’t pursue this story any further. I’ve got too much on the line here and I need something more solid to go on than just a hunch. I’m sorry, Alisha.”

  Cheeks hot, she handed him back his phone across the desk. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. It’s fine. You do your thing and I’ll do mine, just like I planned.” She forced words past her constricted throat, her voice barely above a whisper. “And as far as pursuing things, we should just forget about last night, okay?”

  He held her gaze a moment then nodded. “Agreed. Goodbye, Alisha.”

  She watched him leave, slumping farther down into her chair as the weight of her colleagues’ stares grew heavier.

  “Alisha, can I see you in my office please?” her editor said, beckoning her from his office door.

  God, could anything else go wrong today? She got up and headed across the newsroom, feeling like she was walking the Green Mile.

  This wasn’t good. Not at all.

  Four

  Three weeks later…

  Zoo openings. That was the level of reporting Alisha had been reduced to. Screaming kids and stinky animals and flies that refused to leave her alone. She’d worked hard her entire life and this was what it had come to.

  Of course, she honestly was thankful to have a job at all after that awful meeting in her editor’s office. He’d transferred her from the local crime division to the Home and Lifestyle section after Simon’s visit had stirred up all sorts of doubts about her credibility.

  Irony at its finest, folks. The illustrious Simon Stone had screwed her over the same way his ex had done to him, and without even trying. It was almost enough to make her run screaming from a journalism career and never look back.

  But no. Journalism was her dream, and she wasn’t going to let it go. Not for anything. And certainly not because of some idiot man. She’d worked her way up from the very bottom before, and she could do it again. One horrendous fluff story at a time.

  So here she was, stuck covering parades and some old geezer who helped geese cross the road or—she side-stepped a crazed toddler with crud-encrusted hands tearing across the tarmac toward his mother and wailing at the top of his lungs—ribbon cuttings for the new zoo.

  Everything about this situation was misery-inducing, but the longer she stood waiting for the stupid ceremony to get started, the more she realized things were about to get worse. Much, much worse. Because now she had to pee. Not “before long.” Not “soon.” Now. Of course, she’d planned to make herself urinate, thus the large Slurpee she’d had for breakfast. She’d just hoped it would happen at a more opportune time, that was all. She’d been too nervous that morning to squeeze out a drop before heading out the door, so she’d brought that stupid pregnancy test in her purse—and bought the Slurpee on her way to the zoo, to speed things along. Well, things were now officially sped, to the point where she was going to have an accident if she didn’t find a toilet soon.

  Dammit.

  “Sorry, Jon,” she said to the photographer with her, “but I need to use the ladies’ room.”

  “Now? Seriously?” He rolled his eyes, then nodded. “Better hurry, the mayor’s speech starts soon.”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t want to miss that,” she said, giving an eye-roll of her own. “Be right back.”

  She battled the crowds and waited in line and finally made it into a stall. It had toilet paper left and everything. Her lucky day. What wasn’t so lucky, however, was the fact that her period was late. Like way late. Later than it had ever been before, and Alisha was worried. She reached into her purse and pulled out the small box she’d stowed in there earlier. At first when she’d bought it, she’d felt stupid. She didn’t want kids, never had. That was why she’d been religiously strict about taking her birth control pill for years now. She’d never missed a day. So she couldn’t be pregnant. It was ridicu
lous. But the longer the test had sat there on her dresser and her period had remained AWOL, the more her niggling insecurities had gotten the better of her until today, when she’d decided to just do the damned thing and get it over with.

  Fumbling, she pulled out the small plastic stick and stuck it into her urine stream, then waited, checking her watch periodically while ignoring the growing sound of annoyed coughs from the patrons still waiting to use the restroom outside. There were more kids screaming and wailing too and oh God. What if the thing came back positive? What if she ended up in the same sorry boat her mother had, alone, pregnant, raising a kid on her own and struggling to have a career too? Her mom had made a success of herself professionally, but when it came to her mothering skills? Well…

  The second hand on her watch hit twelve and she slowly looked down at the stick to see two pink lines.

  Positive.

  Her stomach sank to her toes and her vision blurred, bile that had nothing to do with morning sickness burning the back of her throat. She was pregnant and what the actual fuck was she going to do now?

  * * *

  Simon closed his laptop on a blank page and stared at the wall across from him. For the third week in a row he’d typed no words. None. Not even a chapter title. To say he’d been struggling with an idea for his next story would be the understatement of the millennium.

  In fact, ever since the day he’d walked out of that newsroom, away from Alisha and her hunch about Warren Antiquities, he’d been doing nothing but spinning his wheels. Every time he tried to think of a story, his mind just kept straying back to thoughts of her. Which was crazy. He wasn’t looking for a relationship, and her story idea had been a dud. So why couldn’t he get her off his mind? Surely they were both better off having gone their separate ways.