Unintended, Page 25

  I can see where this train wreck is going. “She brought another woman into your bed.”

  “You’re half-right. It was a man the next time. Heath.”

  If he didn’t already have my full attention, he’d damn sure has it now. “Dude-on-dude action. The plot thickens.”

  “I don’t do dick. It’s pussy only for me.” Good grief. That mouth.

  I don’t know jack shit about this multiple partner stuff, but I understand a scorned woman’s mind and how it works. “Heath was your punishment for growing close to Jenna.”

  “That’s the understatement of the century. She sure gave me a taste of my own medicine.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a fair statement since she’s the one who did the soliciting. But one thing’s for certain. Invite trouble inside and it will enter every time.”

  “It gets so much worse.”

  “You watched your fiancée have sex with another man. I can’t imagine it getting more unpleasant than that.”

  “Erin was pregnant. It was mine. We know because the timing made it impossible for the baby to be Heath’s.”

  I was wrong. It can get so much worse.

  “I came home from work one day last month and Heath had taken her to the abortion clinic. The procedure was done before I knew about it. The kid was mine, and I didn’t get a say if it lived or not.”

  He’s hurting, and I don’t know how to respond. Something inside me wants to comfort him, but to say “I’m sorry” feels so insignificant. So empty.

  This man isn’t wounded over a woman. He’s grieving a loss sex won’t cure. “Are you sure you should be here?”

  “I came to fuck ninety-nine different ways. This is definitely the place I need to be.”

  He can’t fuck away this kind of pain. “How many of those ninety-nine ways have you gotten under your belt so far?”

  “None yet. I just got here.”

  That seems like an excessive amount of sex during a getaway. “How many days are you staying?”

  “Nine.” Same as us.

  “I’m no mathematician but you’re here nine days, counting today. That means you have to fuck eleven different ways per day if you’re going to squeeze in ninety-nine. You better get crackin’, sir.”

  “There’s no hurry. There’ll be plenty of opportunities after midnight. That’s when things heat up.” I’ll definitely be safely tucked in my bed long before then.

  I’m guessing I’ll be sick of this place by the end of nine days. It all seems so extreme. “Do you typically stay so long?”

  “No. I’ve always done long weekends because of work.”

  I recall the variety of people I’ve seen since my arrival. “Do you have standards for the people you have sex with or is a vagina the only requirement?”

  He chuckles. “Of course I have standards. Don’t you?”

  “Absolutely. High ones.”

  “What does a girl like you look for?”

  He’s lumped me into some kind of category. “A girl like me? What does that mean?”

  “A vanilla girl.”

  I am vanilla but I’ve not yet decided if I’m going to be pissed off about having that label placed on me. “Call me old-fashioned but I don’t long to be double penetrated.”

  “You might like it if you tried it.”

  I hate being judged. “You assume I haven’t.”

  “You assume I have.” He totally has me there.

  “You’re the one who was in a sexual triad involving two guys and a girl. Two dicks. One vagina. Three assholes. I already know you aren’t into dudes so my assumption was made by process of elimination.”

  He laughs. “You sort of have a dirty mouth.”

  “Not dirty. Innocent-challenged.” He hasn’t heard shit out of me yet. “I’m curious to know what you thought of it.”

  “It feels great.”

  I hear a silent but in there somewhere. “But you hated her being with another man?”

  “Of course. She was going to be my wife. I loved her. Every time Heath came into our bed, it was a reminder I was never going to be enough to satisfy her.”

  Does the poly want out?

  “Be happy you figured it out before you married her instead of after.”

  “My affection for her slipped a little further away every time I saw them together. The love I had for her eventually drifted beyond my grasp. I tried but couldn’t get it back. She became nothing more than a body to me, an object I used for getting off.” I can believe that.

  “Will your next relationship be polyamorous?”

  “I have no idea. I only know I came here to fuck the two of them off my mind. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

  Sex isn’t a fix for what’s going on in his head. And heart. But he has to figure that out for himself.

  “I don’t want to talk about those fuckers anymore. I rather hear about your vanilla girl high standards.”

  “I want true and beautiful.” I bet he thinks that’s unrealistic.

  “Total myth. Doesn’t exist in today’s world.” Pessimist. He’s probably a glass half-empty kind of guy.

  “It does. I saw it between my mother and father. The fairy tale is real, and I won’t settle for less.”

  “This is a different generation. But I wish you the best of luck with that.”

  “Tell me your standards since you have so little faith in love.”

  “I could tell you but it would be so much easier to show you.”

  My stomach flips; I don’t know what that means. “A verbal description would suffice.”

  “Come on. It’ll be fun. You can help me choose my first of ninety-nine fucks.”

  Oh. That’s not what I thought he meant. It’s a total wakeup call for what Beau likes. “I don’t think so. It was lovely meeting you but I think it’s time for me to go in for the evening.”

  “Don’t go, Peach. It’s still early.” All the more reason for me to get back to my suite before things heat up around this place.

  I leave the water and go to my dress and panties on the beach. I shake my dress before pulling it over my head.

  He comes out of the water and is by my side stepping into his trousers. “Did I say something to upset you?”

  “Nah. It’s all good.” I’ve enjoyed my non-hedonist time with Beau, but he’s ready to go on the hunt. It’s time for this to end.

  Despite attempting to decline, Beau insists on walking me back to my room. Claims he wants to ensure I make it there safely. That may or may not be the truth but it doesn’t matter.

  He’s a hedonist.

  Hell, he’s poly.

  I’m not.

  No way we’re happening.

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  Dear Agony,

  You've been my shadow, following me through childhood—filling my days and nights with terror and uncertainty. You cleverly disguised yourself as some form of pain or suffering as I grew into a young woman. We were unwavering companions … until I severed our ties.

  I traded homelessness on the streets of New Orleans for a luxurious bed covered by the finest linens.

  I traded dumpster diving for dinner in the finest restaurants.

  I traded myself to a stranger—Bastien Pascal.

  I have a good life within my platonic and mutually beneficial companionship with Bash.

  He’s my friend. My mentor. My roommate.

  Until everything changes.

  I’m not supposed to get goosebumps when his hand brushes my skin.

  I’m not supposed to be eager for his soothing touch following one of my nightmares.

  I’m not supposed to think about what might happen if I reached out to him in the darkness.

  Falling in love with him? Preposterous . . . unavoidable.

  Agony, why are you back with a vengeance to rob me of this life I’ve come to love so dearly?

  I’m finally happy. Don’t ruin this for me.

/>   Always yours,

  Rose

  In this epic love story, Dear Agony forges a connection between an unlikely pair—a beautiful rose entwined in barbed wire and a shipwreck sinking into the darkest depths of the ocean. This agonizing romantic novel poses some gut-wrenching questions: What does a woman do when the man she loves is planning his own demise? And how far will she go to give him something to live for?

  CHAPTER 1

  ROSE MIDDLETON

  She’s here again. The woman who always dresses in black. The woman with perfectly applied cosmetics and long silky, ebony hair. The woman who sits with crossed legs on a nearby bench and watches me for hours each day.

  The woman who’s after something from me.

  She puzzles me. And pisses me off.

  What could a well-put-together lady like her want with a girl like me? I have nothing. It’s impossible for her to think otherwise.

  Look at me. I’m on Jackson Square in New Orleans wearing a ridiculous Mardi Gras getup I found in a dumpster. I stand motionless, imitating a mannequin, and holding a pose on the steps of St. Louis Cathedral. I’ve spent the last two hours praying for kindness and mercy in the form of a few clinks in my tin bucket.

  A trio of guys around my age stops in front of me. The tallest one in the bunch steps close and waves a ten-dollar bill back and forth in front of my face. My mouth floods as I consider how much food that would buy. “All you have to do is move. Grab it and it’s all yours, honey.”

  I hate when men call me pet names. Just another way of degrading me. I’m no one’s honey or baby or sweetheart or kitten.

  And I never will be.

  I consider abandoning my pose and snatching the money. Ten bucks would cover my supper tonight plus breakfast in the morning. Maybe lunch tomorrow if I’m frugal.

  The guy’s friend punches him in the shoulder. “Make her work for it, dumbass.”

  “Right.” He shoves the bill down the front of his jeans. “All you gotta do is go after it, sweetheart.”

  I’ve been doing this long enough to know that going after it isn’t all I have to do. No one gives you something for nothing in New Orleans.

  Maybe I should do as he asks . . . and give his balls a twist while I’m in there. That would show this dick I’m not his honey or sweetheart.

  The runt of the group slaps his friend on the back. “Look at her face, dude. She’s thinking it over.”

  The jerk is totally right. I am considering diving into his pants to go fishing for that money. That’s how hungry I am.

  I’m a millisecond away from breaking pose . . . until I remember she’s here. Watching me. And something beyond my empty stomach won’t allow me to cave to these pricks in front of her.

  I’ve always been stubborn. It’s gotten me in trouble more times than I care to admit. And it will this time too, ultimately costing me meals I so desperately need. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Not while she’s watching. And judging.

  Don’t know why I care.

  “Come on, Mark. Don’t waste your money on this chick. She’s ugly anyway.”

  She’s ugly. Pff . . . like that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that. Like I’m not immune to hearing those words.

  Let it go, Rose. Let it roll off your back. Just like you always do. These idiots don’t define you.

  The triad of ass monkeys leave, and I’m relieved. Grateful they didn’t stick around to sling more insults in my direction.

  I never let jackasses like those guys get to me. I learned to wear my skin like armor a long time ago but this incident is different. She heard them taunt me. This gorgeous woman, with the straightest spine I’ve ever seen, heard them call me ugly.

  A tingle in my nose stings, and I will it to stop. But it doesn’t. My stare becomes blurred and I fight the urge to blink, afraid she’ll see my tears and mistake them for something they are not.

  I’m not hurt. Emotional pain isn’t possible when there’s only emptiness in the place where you once had a heart.

  I. Am. Pissed.

  Pissed this woman is here again. Pissed I don’t know why. Pissed she witnessed my humiliation.

  Her attention is unwanted. Being noticed by people has never ended well for me. And I’m sure it won’t this time either.

  I’ve stayed below the radar of many in my life. I actually became skillful and cunning about it. Until that night. The night I let my guard down.

  The night I can’t remember.

  The night I can’t forget.

  I’ve had enough of this—of her—and whatever it is she’s trying to pull. She needs to leave me alone and go away. Now.

  I break pose, hold out my hands, and shout at the woman. “Whaaat?”

  I fume when I see the amusement spread across her flawless face and red-stained lips. “Do you really have so little going on in your life that you get a kick out of coming here day after day just to have a laugh at my expense?”

  She gets up from the bench and approaches, her hips swaying with each long stride she takes in her skyscraper pumps. I don’t know how women walk in shoes like those.

  She flashes a business card and several one hundred dollar bills. “Use this money to buy some decent clothes. Rent a room for the night and get cleaned up. You stink. And then meet me at The Court of Two Sisters. We have reservations for seven thirty tomorrow night.”

  One. Two. Three. Four. This woman’s seriously handing over four hundred dollars? For nothing?

  Nobody gives you something for nothing. And they definitely don’t give you four hundred dollars for nothing. “I’m not a hooker.”

  “I’m aware.”

  I’m calling her out on her MO. She needs to know I’m onto her and this little game she’s playing. “You’ve been watching me. I’ve seen you every day this week.”

  She laughs, making me feel like I’m not privy to some kind of joke. “I’ve been watching you much longer than a week, Rose.”

  Shit. She knows my name? “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

  “That’s a conversation for us to have over dinner after you’ve made yourself presentable. Not while we stand in front of St. Louis Cathedral with you looking like . . . that.”

  I’m further humiliated when this elegant woman points out the fact that I look like a fool. “You think I like dressing this way? You think I really need you to tell me I look stupid?” I’m homeless—and maybe I am a nobody in everyone’s eyes—but she doesn’t have to be so unkind.

  “I think you’re dressed like that because you’re surviving the only way you know how. But I want to show you a different way. If you want to hear what I have to say, be at The Court of Two Sisters tomorrow night.” She drops the card and bills in my bucket. “If you’re not interested, at least spend this money wisely.”

  I quickly retrieve the money from my bucket, stuff it into the wrap around my chest acting as a bra, and flip over the card.

  Vale

  Duets Foundation

  Specializing in Mutually Beneficial Relationships

  504-555-8900

  [email protected]

  I’m not into girls, but I can’t resist watching her swagger and listening to her heels click away on the pavement until she disappears around the corner. So elegant and graceful and classy.

  “Specializing in mutually beneficial relationships.” I have no idea what that means and I don’t care. I’ll worry about Vale of Duets Foundation after my belly is full, I’m freshly showered, and I’m snuggling in a real bed with a roof over my head.

  Or maybe I won’t. I made her no promises.

  Agony, please don’t allow this hope to grow if nothing will come of it. I’m barely hanging on. Barely hanging on.

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  About the Author

  Georgia Cates

  Georgia resides in rural Mississippi with her wonderful husband, Jeff, and their two beautiful daughters. She spent fou
rteen years as a labor and delivery nurse before she decided to pursue her dream of becoming an author and hasn’t looked back yet.

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  STANDALONES

  Dear Agony: A Novel

  Indulge

  Sweet Torment: A Novella

  THE SIN TRILOGY

  A Necessary Sin: Book I

  The Next Sin: Book II

  One Last Sin: Book III

  The Sin Trilogy Bundle

  THE SIN SERIES NOVELS

  Endurance: Jamie and Ellison's Story

  Unintended: Westlyn and Kieran’s Story

  Redemption: Leith and Lorna's Story (TBA)

  THE BEAUTY SERIES

  Beauty from Pain: Book I

  Beauty from Surrender: Book II

  Beauty from Love: Book III

  The Beauty Series Bundle

  MEN OF LOVIBOND

  Tap

  Stout

  Porter

  Men of Lovibond Bundle

  GOING UNDER SERIES

  Going Under: Book I

  Shallow: Book II

  Going Under Complete Duo

  THE VAMPIRE AGAPE SERIES

  Blood of Anteros: Book I

  Blood Jewel: Book II

  Blood Doll: Book III

  The Complete Vampire Agape Series