Make Me Yours (Bridgewater County 5)

With one hand, he reached around and cupped a very fake breast. “You wouldn’t.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Yes. I would.” I didn’t realize I was shaking until I jabbed my finger toward the door. “Get out. Both of you.”

The blonde flipped her long hair back and gave me a dirty look. “Bitch, ever heard of waiting for your turn?”

I held up my hands and took a step back. Then another. “I’m not doing this.” And I wasn’t referring to getting some tongue.

Turning, I grabbed the house phone off the nightstand.

“For fuck’s sake, Lacey.” Chris pushed his partner away and looked around the room, condom covered dick glistening. At least he was smart enough to use protection. I wasn’t sure if I should gag from the porno in front of me or if I should be impressed he used protection.

“If you’re trying to find your pants, they’re on the stairs.” I thumbed over my shoulder. “You can put them on while you’re on your way out of my life.”

His shoulders stiffened but his erection flagged. I glanced away. I didn’t need to see that. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. I’m not doing this anymore. I won’t be associated with you, not even in the tabloids. When your PR firm wants to know what went wrong, you can sort it out.”

His lip curled back in a sneer. “Fine. I don’t need your stuck-up bitch face to get me where I’m going. I was only into you for the connection, to get the world looking at my band. I’ve got that now and I don’t need you anymore. It’s not like you ever put out.”

Thank god for that. I had to thank my busy schedule for once to have kept me away from his dick. We’d done things together—events, dinners, casual parties—but never alone and never naked.

He climbed off the bed, tugging off the used condom and tossing it in my trashcan. “You know what, Lacey? Go ahead, call the fucking cops. Get the press in here, too. Let’s make this breakup official.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the doorway. I whipped my head around to find someone from the party had already found us. The guy wore a stage crew t-shirt across his narrow chest and a had his phone pointed at me, Chris and the blonde who, instead of scrambling away in shame, had dropped to her knees on the carpeted floor and devoted herself to reviving Chris’s limp dick.

“Put that away,” I growled.

“Fuck, no. Keep it out. Let’s get this on camera.” Chris fisted the blonde’s hair and pressed deep into her mouth until she gagged.

Slamming the phone down, I turned my back on Chris and everything else, stopping only long enough to grab my clutch from my carry-on. If they wanted to film a porno, so be it. I wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted nothing to do with him. I didn’t need the police. Chris and his party people would leave eventually. The PR firm who’d put us together in the first place would do damage control on the house and my public image tomorrow.

Or they wouldn’t. I pushed past the guy in the doorway, who kept the camera on the little sexcapade in my bedroom, down the stairs and out the front door—which still stood open. The fresh air did nothing to make me feel better. As I called for another car to pick me up and settled on the curb at the end of the driveway to wait, I realized I didn’t care whether anybody cleaned up this mess or not.

I just didn’t care. This was not my life. This was not me. I needed out. Away. I just didn’t know where to go.

CHAPTER TWO

Micah

“There’s a pretty girl. Go on, gobble it right up. I’ve got more where that came from. Long as you behave, you’ll get your fill.”

Behind me, the scuff of a boot preceded an amused laugh. “This one doesn’t need buttering up, Micah. I picked out my easiest girl for you.”

“That right here is why we’re still single, Colt. I’ve never met a lady who didn’t need at least a little bit of seduction. This filly’s no different, are you, girl?”

The horse rolled her big brown eyes and tossed her head as if to tell me to get lost so she could enjoy her apple in peace. After giving the other mare her own treat, I left the pair of horses to munch at the edge of the corral and strode over to where Colt Benson was pulling down the gear I’d need for my mount and the mares my clients would be riding.

The September sun was still warm and I stopped to roll the sleeves of my long-sleeved shirt up.

“Our seduction game’s just fine. It’s our judgment that’s shit.” Colt tossed saddlebags my way.

I couldn’t argue with his assessment because it was true. Our—yes, our, because we were Bridgewater men, and we’d been raised the Bridgewater way—romantic judgment didn’t have a good track record.

My phone vibrated in the back pocket of my jeans. I pulled it out long enough to scan the message, then deleted it.

“She still texting you?”

I glanced at Colt before putting my phone away and grabbing my packing list. “She never stopped. Next time we date a woman, we’re using a burner phone until we’re sure she’s not bat shit crazy.”