#I didn’t realize there was a way to choose the color until after mine hatched but I decided to keep him blue

[radarsteddybear]

No “None of the Above” option; you can still have an opinion even if you’ve never played the game.

Bonus: reblog and put your Yoshi's name in the tags!

[starcrossedmoth]

Chapter 1: Beginning Travels

The inside of the egg was dark, enclosed, she felt as if she had just woken up for the first time. All she knew was that she didn’t want to stay in the egg anymore. The little fae dragon had struggled, attempting to stretch against the hard, almost wooden, shell. She found a bit of reserved strength, however, and gave one large push with her front claws. The egg splintered open, and she tumbled out.

No parents greeted her, no siblings hatched alongside her, there was no other dragon around. There was, however, nature. Thousands of small green clovers, dozens of pink lilies, and several large trees surrounded her. The little fae hardly felt overwhelmed, in fact, she felt perfectly at home in this overgrown clearing.

She stood, and started waddling around, her wings still damp from hatching. The trees were too thick to pass through, but there was a clear, little stream, and plenty of insects around. She guessed this was just her home, and she looked at her warped reflection in the slow stream. All she saw was green, various shades of green, even in her eyes.

Once she learned the name of this wonderful, beautiful color, she decided to name herself after it. Emerald wouldn’t choose to call herself Green, however, after finding out about the green gem. She wouldn’t learn her name for a while, as she was stuck in the little clearing until she could fly.

She lived in that clearing, all by herself, for nearly a year. Each day she would flap her wings, and stretch them, and eat plenty of bugs. Emerald knew nothing of the world outside that clearing, aside from the occasional lilyfowl flying overhead, or the buttercup strangler passing through. Finally, the day came where she found herself able to fly high enough.

She could barely carry herself over the branches of the looming trees, but it was enough. She was free. Emerald gave one last longing look at the little clearing she knew her entire life, and she flew off. If she had looked beneath her, she would’ve noticed several other nurseries, each containing an egg or dragon like her.

Emerald was an inquisitive little thing, and she felt a connection to her breed’s homeland, she didn’t know it at the time, however. She just knew she had to travel, until she found this place, just to see what it was like. The first challenge, however, was to fly through Dragonhome. It was within a small mining town there that she found her namesake.

Emerald had landed in the town, called Rovite, on her third day of travel. She had become weak and exhausted, hardly resting or eating. She didn’t know hunger, or exhaustion, until she left her nest. Lucky for her, however, that another nature dragon was in town. Spirit was as old as Emerald, but he had grown faster, stronger, as was the way of the mirror breed.

He was pale, with deep green wings, darker than any of the greens Emerald showed, and his four eyes seemed cold and harsh, despite being the same green hers were. Spirit looked down warily at this weakened creature. He was only in town to rest, before visiting his own breed’s homeland in the Scarred Wasteland.

Emerald stirred, and seeing another dragon, tried to get up so she could greet them, having learned a little of the  common language already. She collapsed once more, however, and Spirit was tempted to just leave the wretched little thing, but something kept him from doing so. He picked up the small dragon in his mouth, pulling her first onto his wing, then his back.

He took her to a shallow cave clawed into the side of a very large boulder, where he was staying for the night. Spirit cringed as he dug up some Nymphs to feed Emerald with. The little thing perked up after having something to eat, and she gratefully accepted his offer of water when he nudged the wooden bowl closer to her. Spirit decided she was well enough to understand him, “Who are you? Why are you all the way out here?”

She just tilted her head, not fully sure how to reply. It was at that moment she noticed a bright green gem amongst Spirit’s belongings. “That. Rock like me. It’s name?”

“Ah, that’s an emerald. You don’t know the language well, but you definitely aren’t a coatl. You must’ve come from an abandoned egg.”

“Emerald. My name now. I don’t know words well. Be patient.” She talked in the same, monotone voice expected from all faes.

Spirit nodded, “Well then, Emerald. You’re a very small thing, very fragile-looking, and I would hate to see harm come to you now that I’ve invested my own time and energy to helping you. Would you like to join me on my journey?”

Her facial crests flared, a sign of happiness, or maybe aggression, possibly both as far as Spirit was concerned, “Yes, but, we go two ways.”

“That’s right, you’re from Starfall Isles. Well, we could go there before we head to the Scarred Wasteland.”

“Starfall Isles?”

“Yes, your breed, faes, originated from there, from the Arcanist. Those like us, born from long-forgotten eggs, wish to travel to their breed’s homeland, even if for a bit. Something to do with realizing the connections we can’t have to the place because we have no family.”

“No.. Family?” The crests drooped, Emerald had thought if she went to this unknown place she was drawn to, she would find a family.

“That’s the way the leaves fall, sadly. Dragons like us just have to make our own families, or do without. Now, get some sleep, we should leave tomorrow and get out of Dragonhome.”

Emerald begrudgingly did as she was told, and fell asleep on the only blanket that Spirit owned. He was confused by this small creature, and how she could be so sheltered. Did no dragon ever stop by her nest? Even abandoned eggs the Gladekeeper took in to make original bloodlines from were visited occasionally by older dragons.

He decided not to dwell on it, as he was tired as well. Spirit curled around the smaller dragon to keep her sheltered, and laid his head next to hers. Normally dragons wouldn’t get this cozy, but she had stolen the only blanket and they were in a small crevice with little room. He soon fell asleep, a bit worried about what would happen with his new companion.

[bspoetryandart]

Madame Psychosis

Chapter 4: Into the R.i.pcurrent

      As he stepped swiftly down the sidewalk the schoolyard was silent, the trees did not rustle, nor did the grasses whisper, the birds or crickets or cicadas sing.  His boots echoed echoed echoed step by step through the empty heart of the town as lights lit the hotel red blue red blue.     Cade stopped and the siren song of silence bore down on him oppressive as the humidity or midday sun.  Steam rose from the sidewalk but it was just as wet as it had been when he had passed here surrounded by a sea of skirts.     “Over here.”  If Cade hadn’t stopped, the voice may have been lost in the cadence of his clicking heels. The bartender attended to the abandoned tea party, stayed low, nearly out of sight.  Cade took a step toward him.     “Stay back.  For now. You don’t see me.”     “Okay.”  He looked toward the hotel.  “What do I see?”     “A set-up.  But for now you’re safe.  The children didn’t know any better than to tell the truth.  A good whooping tonight will show them how they saw things wrong by tomorrow.”     “The truth?”     “That you were in the company of the womenfolk when your crime was committed.”     “My crime?”     “You’ll have to go face it to find out.”     “What if I don’t?  I intend to leave long before the sun sets on this place.”     The bartender scoffed.  “The sun doesn’t rise or set on Bolivar anymore, it merely waits.  And in some places it shines and in some it turns its back to avoid seeing what no one should see.”     “I don’t quite follow you.”     “Nor should you.  Just leave your case here and go back to your room.  Last thing you want right now is the officers to have a reason to detain you.  You know where to find me after.”     Officer arms crossed and eyes tossed glances at Cade as he strolled up to the hostile hotel wholly intent on leaving again a free man. They moved aside for him, opened a path to his room and the detective dickering about within.  Yellow tape blocked the bedroom, flash bulbs firing furiously beyond.     The detective smiled like a remorseful executioner and pulled his pad and pen from his pocket, plodded toward Cade palm extended. They shook.     “This your room?”     “I just rent it.”     “For how long?”     “Two weeks so far as I recall.”     The detective chewed that over.  “You often have trouble recalling things right?”     “Are you going to arrest me for something?”     “If you knew what was good for you you’d give me a reason to. Consider it friendly advice.  The sheets in our cells are strong and you don’t look to weigh much.”     “Suicide isn’t a hobby of mine.”     “You might consider taking it up.  Once you’re convicted you’ll wish you had.”  The detective takes Cade by the arm.  “Now if you’ll kindly come with me, you need to see what it is you’ll be confessing to before long.”     You will have to forgive this digression, my directness, you really have no choice but to accept it.  Most days when I find myself returned to consciousness it feels as if I have not aged in years; I think, I feel, I am all but in body not a day over maybe nineteen and sometimes when I look in the mirror those other fifteen odd years between me then and me now have vanished.     But there are some things that should you be faced with them inevitably change you.  Such as when you are faced with death and not just death but two young women you had seen alive not an hour before ripped apart literally limb from limb, armless, eviscerated, their bulging eyes and bare breasts feeling the air like the prolegs of a crushed caterpillar, the blood curled locks springing broken from their foreheads antennae that waved in the breeze of the creaky ceiling fan.     Here were two women, two people, two pupae that had not emerged from their crinoline chrysalises to spread their colorful wings to the sky but instead to die and in death be pulled apart like a fly by the person who had not only saved them from the web but spun it in the first place.     Cade looked in the mirror, a mirror he had either not known about or just not noticed in the corner of the room on its long wooden legs and casters, and saw himself and all the sweat and all the grime and the worry and frustration and for the life of him with the reflection of those girls before him on the bed he thought he looked guilty.     He had four limbs in a guitar case and here four limbs were missing and though he knew it had more to do with Mary than he he felt a blow to the gut that would have made him throw up if only there were something in his stomach in the first place.     When had he last eaten?  Wasn’t that an odd thought to have while two girls lay dead before you? Had these girls deserved to die in such a vicious, bloody-     “There’s no blood,” he said to the detective. “There’d have to be blood.  You can’t rip apart a body and not have blood.”     “So you’ve ripped apart bodies before.”  The detective made notes on his pad.     “So I’ve heard.”     “Ahh, thanks for clarifying.  You’ve only heard bodies ripped apart.”     “You really have a bad attitude about this.”     “And you have a bed full of body parts.”     “If you intend to take me in then take me in already.”     “If Mary wanted you in custody right now, you would never have left her house.  I suggest you think about what you’ve done and hit me.  At least then a set of bars will separate her from you.”     “Thanks for looking out for me but I’ll have to decline.”     “Don’t think of it as looking out for you.  Think of it as saving me having to fill out another death certificate,” the detective waves at the bodies, “like this.  You at least deserve an open casket, don’t you?”     Cade crept to the closed door of the bar, now chained and somehow smaller.  A pull revealed it to be not locked and the chain to be not too tight for him to slip into the darkness and slide stealthily to the stools.     “What the hell is going on here?”     A glass hit the counter with a clunk and ice followed with a clink and the stink of gin.  “You are getting out of here.”     “Why would the police offer protection to a murderer?”     “An alleged murderer.  They weren’t offering you protection, they just wanted to engage a stalemate.”     Cade slammed the gin back.  “Can you start making sense?”     “They can’t take what belongs to the Queen, but you could choose to go of your own volition.  Either way and your eyes are good as sewn shut.  That’s why I’m offering you a third option.     “Back here is a hatch and down that hatch is a way to the woods.  Avoid the roads and head up north to Mud Island.”     “If I head north I’m not stopping until I cross into Arkansas.”     “You can try but I guarantee that ain’t the way to leave Bolivar. On Mud Island you’ll find two men, the dead belles fiancés who rather didn’t fancy them but each other and were too afraid to face it until you set foot in this place and set this whole mess in motion.     “On these men you’ll find two rings that will match those on the missing arms of the girls.  Take them and wear them and then come back to me.”     “Now you sound as crazy as everyone else.  I’m going up to the highway and hitching the hell out of here.”     “By engine is no better than by foot or hoof or wing.”     “How did you-”  The bartender hushed him.     “I know the Queen.  Only other way you have is by hand but that’s a long way north to balance upside down or you could try the river but the Mississippi is awfully deep and I doubt you can hold your breath that long.  So either get those rings and come back here or pick up a shovel and bury yourself.”     “Fair enough.”     The bartender reached into his pocket.  “Thanks for reminding me.”  He pulled out two coins of silver with faces nearly worn smooth and slid them across the counter to Cade.     “What’s this?”     “Fare enough.  Should you need it.  Styx don’t flow out here in the sticks but it’s never far enough away.”     “I’d settle for the whiskey river about now.”     The bartender smiled, picked up a bottle and poured Cade a couple fingers worth of bourbon.  “This one is on the house.”     “And the house always wins.”     “Usually the House does.  You’re playing blackjack with cups and wands and the Queen is dealing but she doesn’t realize someone is counting cards for you.”     Cade shrugged and slammed back the smoky liquor.

[anavoliselenu]

Hiched chapter 11

Jeez . . . maybe I should have. If I was going to endure an awkward morning after, I might as well have enjoyed a fun night beforehand.

Wait, hell no. Don’t even entertain the thought of fucking Justin. That way lies madness. Even though he clearly wants me and part of me wants him back, because his damn sexy face and voice and body and wicked words always hit me right in the . . .

Cheeks burning, I hurry to my office. I e-mail Dad the draft of our proposal, pour myself a giant cup of coffee, and check my backlog of messages. The tedious task works almost as well as a cold shower.

Half an hour later, I get a reply from Dad.

Proposal looks great. Let’s discuss? I’ll order in pastramis from Sal’s.

I smile to myself. Dad knows that place is my favorite deli. And evidently, he also knows that I haven’t eaten since before our flight. I close my laptop and walk to his office.

As I open his door, Dad beams at me from behind his desk. “Your work is top-notch as always. When did you even find the time to write this?”

“Justin and I worked together last night.” As much of a nuisance as Justin made himself, he deserves due credit.

Dad’s expression morphs from pride into pity. “Last night? Oh, sweetie—”

“It’s fine,” I say, interrupting him. I don’t want to hear two different men protest about my wedding night in less than twenty-four hours. And even though my sex life is nonexistent, discussing it with my own father would still be just way too gross. “So, what were your thoughts on the proposal?”

Dad sighs, but takes the hint. “It looks better than anything I’ve come up with. I guess I made the right decision, putting you kids on the case.”

Something in his tone makes me narrow my eyes. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“I’m not sure where we’re going to get the money for all this training.”

“What do you mean? I double-checked our budget. Unless . . .” I trail off, worrying my lip. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

He nods grimly. “Red Dog Optics pulled out. Halfway through a project. They’re paying us for the deliverables we finished, plus our early termination fee, but everything we had in progress . . . labor down the drain. And of course, we can’t count on that future income anymore.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose hard, trying to ward off an impending stress headache. That’s one of our biggest clients—well, it was, anyway. Son of a bitch. I’m out of the office for less than two full workdays, and look what I miss.

Thank God I didn’t let Justin persuade me to catch a later flight.

“Why the hell would they do that?” I ask. “We’ve lost clients before . . .” By which I mean, we’ve been steadily bleeding them for years now. “But never so suddenly. Why not ride out our current contract and then just avoid signing another one?”

Dad shakes his head. “No idea. Our work on that project seemed up to our usual standard, as far as I could tell. The only explanation I can think of is that something spooked them.”

“What, they thought we’d collapse before we could even finish their project?” I lick my raw lip nervously.

Tate & Cane certainly isn’t doing great, and I knew our reputation would take a hit after the board started meeting with buyers and word got around . . . but our situation isn’t nearly bad enough to make Red Dog react like this.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I’m being paranoid. Some dumbass probably just made a careless comment to his golf buddy, it got misinterpreted, and the rumor mill spun out of control. If anything suspicious happens again, then maybe we should investigate. But for now, we don’t have the time or resources to spend on a wild goose chase.

“Then we’ll just have to find a consultant who’s willing to handle our training for cheap,” I say with a lot more confidence than I feel. Hopefully we won’t get what we pay for. “And we can concentrate on winning back some old clients before we try to court new ones.”

“Sounds like a plan, sweetie. I’m behind you kids all the way.” Dad leans forward on his desk. “I’m counting on you to get creative and save this thing we’ve built together . . . not just for the sake of your futures, but for your children too.”

I give him a confused look. “Children? That’s a pretty long ways off, Dad.” Reproducing isn’t on my radar at all. I haven’t wanted babies since I learned they weren’t really brought by storks.

Dad gives my confused look right back. “Not that far off . . . ?”

My phone chimes. I pull it out and see a text.

Justin: You hear about Red Dog?

“Sorry, Dad.” I sigh, not very sorry at all to get off the topic of children. Thanks for the conversational escape hatch, Justin. “I should probably go meet with Justin to get started on this. Can you tell the delivery guy to take my pastrami to my office when he gets here?”

Dad nods good-bye and I hustle to Justin’s office, far away from any ten-pound hints about starting a family. That last part of our chat was surreal. I’m sure Dad has a whole fairy-tale ending envisioned for Justin and me, but seriously? I’m not even close to the motherly type.

Okay, back into work mode. We have to figure out how to start implementing our business plan on the cheap and recovering at least a few old clients. Justin can definitely help on both of those fronts. Persuasion is his specialty . . . sweet-talking, haggling deals, calling in favors. And if there’s a woman in any position of influence, he can turn on the playboy charm and use his handsome face to help sway her. Like he did with Estelle Osbourne at Clair de Lune.

I set my jaw as I walk a little faster. Remembering that dinner still pisses me off way more than it should. It’s not like Justin is really my husband. Hell, I never wanted him to be “mine” at all, in any sense of the word.

At least, I didn’t want that a month ago. Maybe even two weeks ago. But now, maybe . . . I think I might. God, I don’t even know. My feelings have gotten so complicated lately. I think of Justin’s mischievous smile, his low, smooth voice saying my name . . .

Then I push those thoughts right out of my head. We are professionals. I’m a professional. Our job is to get our company through this quagmire. That one single problem is what we’ll eat, sleep, and breathe until we convince the board to reverse their decision about selling Tate & Cane. We have no room for emotions or desires.

Maybe Justin is right about me being an ice queen sometimes. But right now, with over six thousand futures hanging in the balance, that’s so much safer than being human. I just need to maintain my focus and composure, and pray that we’ll get through this.

Chapter Five

Justin

When Sterling texted me asking how the wedding night went, rather than answer, I asked him to meet me for lunch.

My best friend has a way with the fairer sex, and I’m hopeful he has some advice for me about how to proceed after my less-than-stellar wedding night. It wasn’t that I expected Selena to drop to her knees and service me, or spread her legs in our marital bed, but a good-night kiss would have been nice. Sheesh.

“That bad, eh?” Sterling asks when I slide into the chair across from him.

“The wedding night? A fucking disaster.”

He doesn’t have to reply because his eyes say it all. In those honey-colored depths fringed in dark lashes that women go nuts over—the lucky bastard—is a mixture of pity and curiosity. But he says, “Tell your good mate all about it,” leaning back in his seat with his fingers laced behind his head.

Thankfully I’m saved from his Dr. Phil-style self-help entertainment with the approach of our waitress.

“What can I get you gentlemen?” she asks.

When I asked Sterling to lunch, he agreed on the condition that we go to his favorite British-style pub. Despite having English blood pumping through my veins, I despise the food. Sterling was born and raised in the countryside outside of London. He still has a taste for it—reminds him of his youth, I guess.

He places an order for the ploughman’s lunch, and I choose the least noxious thing I can find on the menu—fish and chips. Tea is the one thing we can agree on.

When the waitress saunters away, he’s back to smirking at me expectantly. “So, do tell. How’s the wifey?”

If he bats those fucking eyelashes at me one more time, like we’re having girl talk, I’m going to slug the son of a bitch.

“At least let me get my tea before you badger me,” I mutter.

The waitress delivers a little porcelain kettle with piping-hot brew. It reminds me of the one I have at home. I think of Selena and something inside me pinches. She tapped away on her keyboard until late last night; whether she was determined to get her thoughts on paper or to keep her distance from me, I wasn’t sure.

“I’m not trying to badger you,” Sterling says with a sigh. “Just wondering what’s the problem. I take it the wedding night wasn’t all you dreamed it might be?”

“You could say that.” I take a sip of my tea and find it’s the perfect temperature.

“Is she still as icy as ever, or is she warming to you?”

“We spent all night going over a new business plan,” I say.

“Christ on a cracker. The woman is a ballbuster.”

“Tell me about it.”

It’s true that Selena is relentless in her pursuit of perfection. She’s smart and determined, and she never wavers in confidence. It’s sexy as hell. Frustrating. But admirable.

Nothing fazes the woman. She’s smart as a whip, and doesn’t take shit from anyone. I’ve never once seen her back down from a challenge. What I have seen is her effortlessly dominating executive meetings filled with industry veterans—men old enough to be her grandfather, who were in business suits before she was out of diapers. And she doesn’t even notice or care how beautiful she is . . .

I realize Sterling is still watching me and snap out of my thoughts. They were getting too gooey for my own good, anyway.

“She sure as hell doesn’t act like anybody’s wife,” I mutter.

He shrugs. “So she isn’t a romantic.”

Actually, according to her friend Camryn, she is. But I don’t tell that to Sterling at the risk of sounding like a total cliché.

“She fell asleep at her desk sometime after midnight.”

“You don’t become that successful at the age of twenty-six by taking your eye off the ball.”

“I guess.”

“So I can assume that baby-making isn’t going well?” He chuckles.

“Not exactly.”

“What are you going to do? A woman’s never refused you before, and now your own wife won’t fuck you.” He makes a disappointed noise in his throat.

When I merely flip him off, he excuses himself for a visit to the restroom. When Sterling is gone, I pull out my phone and check my messages.

There are three e-mails from Fred, all of them about the dire situation of the company, and another from Preston informing me that the board is having an “exploratory meeting” with a rival firm next week.

Fuck.

I close out my in-box. Since Sterling still isn’t back, I pull up the business news app on my phone to scroll through the headlines, hoping to take my mind off all the bed news at work.

“Can Manhattan’s New “Power Couple” Turn a Marketing Dinosaur Around Before It’s Too Late?”

I begin reading the top article, only to discover that it’s about Selena and me. Financial advisors are speculating about the future of the company and predict a plummet in our stock price as leadership changes are shaken out.

Well, fuck that. I won’t watch our company go down in flames. But the truth is, we’re not even close to being out of the woods yet. And all this bad press is bound to hobble us even more.

Frustrated, I slam my phone down on the table just as Sterling approaches.

“What now?” he asks, sliding into his seat and laying his napkin across his lap.

It feels like my work life and personal life are both imploding. I’m not used to failing so miserably. Feeling so helpless.

Then I realize something—the solution to both my problems is winning over Selena. We have to work together to save this shipwreck, and I’m tired of her rejections, her pessimistic idea that we can never work. Fuck that.

“I know what I need to do,” I blurt.

“And what’s that?”

“I need to seduce my wife. I need to show her how good we can be together.”

Sterling nods. “So, what are you going to do? Plan some big elaborate date to woo her?”

I think it over, then shake my head. “No. Selena’s much too skittish. It’ll take more finesse than that.”

• • •

When Selena arrives home from the gym at seven, I’m ready. I turned down the lighting in the penthouse and put on some smooth jazz to play softly in the background.

She sets her gym bag on the floor, giving me a skeptical look. “What’s going on?”

She’s probably reading the mood as a romantic one, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. My goal is just to get her to relax tonight.

Trying to act natural, I reply, “I got some dinner for us and thought we could take the night off from spreadsheets and numbers.”

She shrugs. “Sure. Let me grab a quick shower, then I’ll be right out.”

I expected more of a fight. Maybe the gods are looking down on me tonight with pity.

Toeing off her hot pink tennis shoes, Selena heads toward the bathroom. When I hear the spray of the shower, I head into the kitchen to finalize everything.

The food arrives by the time I hear the shower shut off. I arrange the contents of the takeout containers on a couple of small plates, to keep with the tapas theme.

There’s goat cheese with roasted figs, seared scallops, and a potato-and-gruyere gratin. It smells great. I pour two glasses of cabernet sauvignon and carry everything to the coffee table in the living room.

I hear Selena’s footsteps on the wood floor and look up. Fresh out of the shower, she’s dressed in a pair of black leggings that hug every last curve of her shapely legs and round ass, along with a gray sweatshirt that’s cut to hang off one bare shoulder, exposing her lightly freckled skin. She looks dewy and flushed from the shower, and I want to touch her to see if she feels as warm and soft as she looks.

“Wow. What’s all this?” she asks, sitting down beside me on the couch.

“Just a casual dinner. I thought we deserved some relaxation, considering the pressure we’re under at work.”

She accepts the glass of wine I hand her, and takes a sip. “How thoughtful.”

The sweet scent of her honeysuckle-and-vanilla body wash hits me square in the face, making me want to lean in and taste her skin, her lips, her breasts.

Shit.

I need to get it together. My plan is to win her over, to woo her, not to push myself on her with unwanted advances.

She may have a tough exterior, but I’m starting to learn that she’s actually a little timid when it comes to getting physical with me. Which is not at all what I’m used to. Most other women would love a ride on Justin Tate.

Selena helps herself to a portion of each dish—cutting off a little bite of sea scallop, letting out a little murmur of pleasure as she chews, blowing on a steaming forkful of potato gratin before closing her lips around it.

“So good,” she says with a moan. “How did you know I love tapas?”

I shrug. “I may have pumped Camryn for information.”

Her eyes flick over to mine as she takes another sip of wine. “Why would you do that?”

Returning her gaze, I decide to make myself vulnerable. “Because I like you, Selena. I want this to work.”

And I don’t just mean that in the sense of taking back our company and making a fuck-ton of money. I genuinely think that if she is willing to try, we can have a shot at being a real, happy couple. But I don’t clarify all that extra stuff. Selena appreciates honesty, but there’s such a thing as baring too much too soon. Or possibly at all.

I already know we’re compatible when it comes to the major stuff—politics, religion, and work ethic—but I’m starting to think that together in the bedroom, we’d be explosive. She tries to deny it, but the way her body responds to me is ridiculous. Not to mention the desperate way I crave her luscious ass and her perky tits, even her smart mouth is ridiculous. I’m normally a hit-it-and-quit-it type of guy. Once I’ve had a taste, I’m done and on to the next course. But something tells me that with Selena, once wouldn’t be nearly enough.

First, though, I need to know how she’s feeling about all of this. With the threat of Brad’s blackmail looming over us, demanding all our attention, I’ve barely gotten a chance to talk to her about the wedding, the contract, and especially the baby-making that needs to happen. We need to discuss this elephant in the room like mature, responsible adults.

“So, how do you feel about kids?” I ask.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Kids?”

I nod slowly, now confused as well as nervous. Why is she so shocked?

“I, um . . . well, I guess I haven’t really thought about them,” she stammers.

My stomach grows uneasy. How in the fuck has she not thought about it? This is Selena, the woman who weighs every decision with a list of pros and cons. Her childhood letters to Santa were probably formatted in official memo style with bulleted requests.

“Why? You’re not thinking about . . .” She’s so flustered that she leaves the rest of her sentence unfinished.

Of fucking course I’m thinking about it. We have a contractual obligation to fulfill. Period.

Then realization slams into me all at once.

Holy. Fuck.

“On the day of our wedding, did you read the contract or did you just sign it?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral.

She shrugs, curling her legs under her on the couch. “Signed it. I already knew what it said. Dad and Prescott must have explained everything a hundred times at all those meetings we had.”

I never expected Selena of all people to sign a contract without reading it. I’m so stunned that I just stay quiet as the minutes tick past and we continue sipping our wine.

I try to calm down and think through this. But I’m stumped. The contract is finalized now—we’re legally bound. We’ve been legally bound for almost a week at this point. And now that I’ve been quiet about it for so long . . . how do I tell her without making it seem like I was lying all along?

Plus, I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’ll rip up the contract and storm off, and the deal will fall apart. I can’t let that happen. No inheritance means no second chance from the board. Which, in turn, means that everyone at Tate & Cane—innocent people like Rosita, who depend on the jobs we provide—will be royally fucked.

I can’t let anything happen to jeopardize this deal. I can’t afford to take even the smallest risk. I’ll just have to win Selena over with my charm and let it all happen naturally. Well, as natural as impregnating your fake wife can be.

Besides, even if I told her about the heir clause and she miraculously didn’t go nuclear, that would just put pressure on her to get pregnant for our company’s sake. Having a kid wouldn’t be a free choice. It’s better if I pitch her the idea on its own merits.

I’m up to the task, right? I’ve already done something similar; she used to hate my guts, and it took me less than a month to woo her into marrying me. Changing her mind about kids will be a lot tougher, but I just have to take things up another notch. Really put my back into it. Be my most charming, appealing self. If anyone can make a woman fall in love, deep enough to start a family . . .

But Selena isn’t just any woman. I suppress a despairing groan. Fuck me sideways . . . I’ve got my work cut out for me.

What in the hell do I do now?

“So, what else is on the agenda, Mr. Tate?”

Selena smiles warmly at me like she has no idea about the inner war I’m waging. I’ve refilled her wineglass twice, and something tells me she’s feeling tipsy and carefree.

That makes one of us.

I stack the empty plates, carry them into the kitchen, and pile them in the sink. Then I just stand there, my hands gripping the edge of the countertop. I need a minute. I feel like the apartment is closing in on me.

Before I make any big decisions about how to approach this problem, I need to think carefully. But with my head spinning and Selena waiting expectantly in the other room, I can’t do that here. I have to take things one step at a time.

So the question is: what the hell do I do right now?

“Justin? Are you coming back?” she calls.

I take a deep breath and return to her side. Realizing I can’t let this unpleasant surprise distract me from my plan, I decide to push forward. Tonight was supposed to be about getting her to relax, unwind, and trust me. There’s no point in ruining the whole evening by thoughtlessly blurting out everything. I’ll figure out a graceful way to tell her later.

“You’ve been so wound up from work. We both have,” I say as I sit back down.

She nods, agreeing.

“Tonight I was hoping we could set all that aside and chill together.”

She smiles at me. “Very good idea. I don’t chill nearly enough.”

Part of me is almost shocked that she’s going along with this so easily. The rest of me is still busy reeling from the realization that she has no idea I’m supposed to get her pregnant within the next three months. Actually, it’s more like two months now.

Selena sets her wineglass on the table and rolls her shoulders, sighing softly.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Just a little tight, is all.”

I inhale through my nose. I have to shove the pregnancy stuff to the back corner of my brain. We’re a long way off from Selena letting me pump her full of my semen anyhow, so why am I stressing about it now? The first step is showing her how compatible we can be.

And that starts now.

I smile at her. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

I grab a bottle of massage oil from the hall closet and return to the living room. The soft jazz music seems to float in the air, creating a pleasant buzz in the atmosphere.

Selena’s eyes widen when I rejoin her on the couch, but she doesn’t question me.

“I’ll give you a massage,” I suggest. “Take off your sweatshirt.”

Selena flinches, chewing on her lip while she watches me. “But I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

That’s the idea. “I promise not to look.”

She hesitates for another second, then turns her back to me and pulls her shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor. The creamy canvas in front of me is one to be admired. The twin dimples in her lower back near the band of her leggings would make lesser men weep.

I warm a few drops of oil between my palms and rest my hands on her stiff shoulders.

“Relax. Okay?”

She gives me a swift nod.

I work my fingers into the knots I can feel under her skin, and when I press my thumbs in next to her spine, she moans.

“Dear God, that feels good.”

“Been a while?” I ask, just a hint of mischief in my voice.

“Since I had a massage? Yeah.”

I meant to ask if it had been a while since she enjoyed a man’s touch, but at the last second, I decide not to clarify my question. The last thing I want to hear about is my wife’s past conquests. No fucking thank you.

I continue caressing her tense muscles and feel her slowly begin to relax. Knowing her breasts are bare and just out of my reach is practically a cardinal sin. Trying to figure out a way to entice Selena for more, I say, “If you turn around, I can reach the front of your shoulders better.”

Total lie. I’m hoping she can’t read my mind.

When she hesitates for a few seconds, I lean in and kiss the back of her neck. “You’re my wife, sweetheart. It’s no big deal.”

Those words hang between us, blossoming into something more than I think either of us ever dreamed.

She swallows, then slowly begins to turn toward me.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes glossy with desire, Selena faces me on the couch.

Without saying a word, I drizzle a few more drops of oil into my palms before rubbing them together. I massage the front of her shoulders, her upper arms, and fight off the erection pressing against my zipper.

Selena’s breathing has changed—the entire mood surrounding us has changed. My gaze dips down briefly, and I watch as her nipples harden into little pebbled knots.

Unable to resist the temptation she’s placed before me, I cup the weight of her breasts in my palms and rub my thumbs across her nipples.

Selena draws a shuddering breath, her lips parting in surprise.

My fingers, slick from the fragrant oil, glide easily over her skin as I rub her nipples in small, circular movements.

A tiny groan—just barely audible—slips past her lips, and I dive in for a kiss, knowing she’s silently aching for more. My tongue pushes past her lips and she kisses me back, hard and passionate. I’ve got her right where I want her. Wet. And ready for me.

As we kiss, I move my body over hers until she’s lying on the couch and I’m balanced over her. Her thighs part, inviting me even closer, and I nestle in until my steely shaft finds her warm center. Selena gasps, breaking apart from the kiss. The contact is deliciously frustrating—so close and yet so far, separated only by a few layers of clothes. But if I have my way, they’ll be gone soon enough. My mouth moves to her neck as I continue circling my hips, bumping against her clit with each movement.

“Is this okay?” I murmur and wait in agony as she pauses, her eyes searching mine.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes, her hips lifting to find that friction once again.

I lean down and take one ripe nipple in my mouth, rolling my tongue over it and sucking on the firm tip.

Selena cries out in pleasure. “Justin . . .”

My name on her lips, in that sweet, gravelly voice laden with desire, snaps the last thread of my restraint. I kneel and grab the sides of her yoga pants, peeling them and her panties down her legs until she’s bare to me.

Christ. My cock surges, leaking pre-cum in my boxers. Selena’s body is perfection. Soft milky curves, full breasts, and a bare pussy with a pink clit peeking at me from between her juicy lips. I want to wrap my lips around it and suck until she screams. I won’t—not yet, anyway, but I can’t help reaching down to touch her. Running a fingertip down the length of her cleft, I stroke the soft, swollen bud lightly. Selena lets out a tiny, pleading whimper.

I’m trying to go slow, I swear I am, but with Selena naked and writhing on the couch, looking up at me with those huge blue eyes of hers, it’s nearly impossible. Fighting with myself to slow down and remember my manners, I stroke her clit with one careful fingertip, while my other hand caresses her breasts, thumbing her nipples.

Is there a polite way to say, Ride my face until you come all over my tongue?

“Everything okay, princess?” I ask instead, my voice husky with desire.

“It feels so good.”

She watches my hand as I continue my slow, torturous movements, lightly rubbing her clit, wanting to draw out her pleasure. I can feel how wet she is for me, and use the moisture to sweep across her swollen bud, back and forth, back and forth.

A whimper of frustration rises up her throat, and I know I have her right where I want her. There’s no way she’s walking away from this—from us—until I’ve given her what she needs.

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