Stripped Bare (Vegas Billionaire 1)

“Finn, we need to start making appearances. Having you bring that woman to events last month will make our engagement look . . . well, it doesn’t make me look good.”

Sighing, I close my eyes and rest my head against the back of my seat. The words “get the hell out of my life” sit heavily on my tongue, but instead I sit silently in my car, waiting. Waiting for what, I don’t know. A sign maybe, something to tell me that my life is meant to go in a different direction?

I don’t even know what that direction would be. All I know, right now, is the one person I want to see is inside the mall and the last person I want to speak with is on my phone yammering about how we need to announce our engagement.

“I gotta go,” I say, not giving her time to respond before I hang up. I’m out of my car and back to watching the screen that tells me where Macey is. I don’t know how much the mall has changed over the years, but I have a fairly decent recollection of the layout.

The mall is fairly busy as I weave around people, trying to make my way toward Macey. I come to a stopping point and realize she and I are on a path that’s going to meet as soon as we each turn the corner. Quickly pocketing my phone I walk with determination, around the wall and smack-dab into her path.

I’m met with the most startling blue eyes I have ever seen that stop me dead in my tracks. The shocked face of Macey registers only briefly before I’m back to staring at the little girl next to her, taking in a miniature version of my mother, right down to her smile. In the picture I saw, she looked like Macey, but the real-life version has me second-guessing everything. This version has me remembering the many times I sat on my grandmother’s lap and looked at pictures of my mother until I had her cherub face memorized. I did this again when she died, committing to memory what my children would need to look like to carry on her genes. Something tells me that I’m looking at my creation now.

My mouth opens and closes as Macey moves the girl behind her slightly. The woman I have deep carnal knowledge of is now in protective-mother mode and I don’t blame her. Clearly, in her eyes, I’m the big bad wolf.

“What are you doing here?” she asks me again, for the second or is it third time today. I’ve lost track even though I continue to ask myself the same fucking question over and over again. What the fuck am I doing? The answer never seems to come because the meaning of the question changes day by day. First, it’s because I offered Macey the money, then I fucked her and loved every minute of it and now I’m home, chasing her down under the guise that she owes me another day, when I don’t give a fuck about another day. Except the truth of the matter is that I do, although for the purely selfish reasons of being with her again and hoping she has another moment where I need to come rescue her once more because it would be so fucking worth it.

“It’s a mall,” I point out, spreading my arms wide.

“None of the labels you wear are here.”

“Are you calling me a label whore?”

Her face blanches and I realize my mistake. Before I can correct myself though, Mom Macey is in full effect. “Don’t say those words around . . . around . . .” She looks down at the child who is clearly her daughter and tries to smile, but it doesn’t even come close to reaching her eyes or turning her cheeks upward.

“Daughter?”

She nods, as if she’s embarrassed.

“Is this Morgan?”

Macey doesn’t answer, but Morgan does. “Yes,” she says with the smallest, most determined voice I have ever heard. This girl is a fierce protector of her mother, I can tell.

“Hi, Morgan.” I step forward and shake her hand. It’s small and dainty, and easily dwarfed by my larger hand.

Macey refuses to make eye contact with me, increasing my level of anxiety. Placing my hand on her bicep, I tug her gently toward me.

“I need to speak with you.”

She shakes her head, maintaining her gaze on Morgan.

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “Is she mine?” I ask her, needing to know if the little girl I’m staring at is a product of our one night together so many years ago. My gut tells me she is. My heart says no. No because I spent a week with Macey, paying her to be whatever I needed and she didn’t say one damn word about us having a child. Not once did she correct me when I asked if Morgan was her fucking boyfriend. Never did Macey find the time to tell me that she needed the money for our kid or pick up the phone in the years that have passed and ask me to support her.