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//-->Biker Billionaire Special Boxed Edition© 2012 - Jasinda WilderORLY Presswww.orlypress.comBiker Billionaire #1 - A Wild RideBiker Billionaire #2 - The Mile High ClubBiker Billionaire #3 - Riding the HeirBiker Billionaire Bonus StoryMore Books by Jasinda WilderBIKER BILLIONAIRE #1: A WILD RIDE"Leo, I'm sorry," John said. "It was just a stupid comment."I rolled my eyes and huffed. "Whatever, John. You say that, and then what? Okay, you're sorry. Iforgive you. But what does that fix? Nothing. Just leave me alone. Take me home.""Please, baby. I can do better. I'll change.""Yeah. Heard that too. Just last week, in fact." I stared out the window of John's VW Golf,watching the suburban side-streets flicker past, rain-drenched and gray and dull.Like my life."Well what the hell do you want me to do? I said I'll do better, and I will. Why isn't that goodenough for you?"I didn't want to answer that question, so I didn't. I toyed with the half-carat ring on my finger,placed there a month ago. Four long, painful weeks, in which we'd argued more than we'd kissed,fucked in anger more than we'd made love, ignored each other more than we'd gone on dates."Come on, baby. Please, talk to me." John put his hand on my leg, and I brushed it off, jerking myleg away."What is there to say? We've gone in circles, John. Yes, you're right. We fight about something,and I tell you the problem, and you fix it, as best you can. I recognize that, and it's great. The problemis, there's always problems. If it's not one thing, it's another.""People have problems, Leo," John said. "Couples have problems. We can work it out."Again, I didn't want to answer. The only response was one that would lead to more arguing,another breakup. We'd broken up four times in the three years we'd been together, the last time lessthan a week before John proposed. He'd proposed as an apology, and ithadbeen pretty romantic, andithadled to some pretty spectacular sex. By spectacular, I mean he'd fingered me first, so I'd actuallyhad an orgasm, and he hadn't fallen asleep right away afterwards. We'd actually gone a second time,which we hadn't done in months. It was that second time that had me worried.I was late. Yeah...Aunt Flow was running a few days behind, and I was like clockwork usually, soI was in a bit of panic. I hadn't taken a test yet, and I certainly hadn't told John. Kids were a hot buttonwith him; he didn't want a kid for a few years after we'd been married, he maintained. I wanted themsooner...or at least I had thought I did. Now, with the way things were going with John, the idea ofactually having a baby with him scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I was not ready to be tied toJohn forever, and I wasn't ready to be a mother yet. I wasn't sure which of those two was the moreimperativenot-ready.Now, the words were bubbling on my tongue. I owed it to John to tell him. I was cranky andtouchy about everything since I'd first realized I was late, and I was taking it out on him. It wasn'texactly fair, even though he had been a royal dick earlier, leading to our current argument.We'd been out on a nice date, all dressed up with reservations to my favorite restaurant, a bottle ofnot-the-cheapest-kind wine, some good conversation in which I'd been briefly reminded why I'dfallen in love with John. He'd been charming and funny, and hewaspretty hot, in a boy-next-door way—which was how I'd met him. He was my next door neighbor at my downtown condo. He was,literally, the almost-sexy boy next door.But then, in the midst of an inane patch of conversation, I'd mentioned my latest diet and exerciseregimen, and he'd made some stupid, snarky comment about how it was "actually working this time."What did that mean? A natural question to ask, of course, I'd think. And I'd gotten the usualresponses: Oh baby, I'm sorry, that just came out wrong, I just meant you were looking thinner andfitter recently is all...Which had helpedso muchof course. I'd slapped him and walked out.Now, don't get me wrong: I'm not a petite, pixie little thing, all size zero with A-cups that seemlike B's on a toothpick frame. I'm a woman with a body. I'm five-eight and half, size never-you-mind,but not a zero. I've got an ass that wants to absorb more of my food than I'd like, and a pair of tits thattends to draw attention even when I wear loose clothing. John always said this was what he lovedabout me, that I'm a real woman, not a model-thin girl with no assets. But then that comment drew intoquestion all those claims.I'd catch him looking, of course. Men look at the women around them; they're visual creatures. Iget that and allow him some leeway, as long as he's not ogling and doing double takes. But thatcomment: "it's actually working this time," God, it just made me think. My brain whirred on overdriveall the way home, clicking through memories of the girls he tended to look at when we were out. Theywere thin,svelte,he'd call them. Little nubbin tits and no booty. Expensive clothes, straight, platinumblonde hair, all that.I'm not that girl. I've got curly blonde hair that doesn't like to cooperate, and I don't like a lot ofbling. I wear a tasteful necklaces to offset my outfit, which wasn't expensive since I wasn't exactlyrolling in money working as an ER nurse, and neither was John, managing a bank.So, yeah, I was questioning John's attraction to me, and thus my own value as an object ofattraction. Plus, it was just a dick remark.John pulled the car to a stop at a red light, and I felt the words bubbling up. I tried to stop them,but they came out anyway."I think I might be pregnant."John was silent, but I watched his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, and the corners of hismouth flatten out and turn down. His pale blue eyes narrowed, and he sighed, almost imperceptibly,but not quite."You think you're pregnant." His voice was carefully neutral.Which only pissed me off. Okay, yeah, I didn't want me to be pregnant either, but where did he getoff being mad about it? That was how John got mad: quiet, carefully neutral, always in control, justthe narrow eyes and tight knuckles and subtle frown."I'm almost a week late. It's not for sure, but it's possible. I haven't taken a test or anything, but I'mnever late."He didn't look at me, didn't respond, just carefully accelerated through the green light, a practicalman driving a practical car carefully."Let's take a test, then, just to make sure." John pulled the gearshifter into second, still lookingstraight ahead."I guess," I said. "We can stop at CVS on the way home."He just nodded. And that was when I lost it."That's it? No reaction?" I wasn't yelling yet, but I was winding up to it. "You're just gonna be allpractical? Just, keep calm and carry on? Say something, damn it!"John looked at me, a raised eyebrow his only expression of surprise. "What do you want me tosay? You are or you aren't. We don't know yet, so there's no sense panicking.""Would you panic, if I was?"He shrugged; yes, that was his reaction. A shrug."You wouldn't, would you?" I was definitely yelling now; my voice was filling the tiny car. "Youwould just carry on, practical and calm and...goddamn it, so fucking boring! You wouldn't be happyabout it, you wouldn't be mad. You'd just deal with it and move on. God, I'm so sick of yourmotherfucking practicality! Be extreme about something! React, for once!""Leo, you know how I feel about you swearing so much," he said, as calm and unflappable asever.I wanted him to be flappable, just once. My mouth opened to swear, or curse, and then somethinginside me just stopped. Time went gloopy and I saw us, five years from now. We'd have a little girl,pleasant-looking and nice, and John would come home from the bank, and we'd be pleasant, and we'dhave our pleasant house, and our pleasant flat-screen TV, not too big, and our little dog, not too big,not too yappy, just right. Then, in ten years...the girl would be older and joined by one more, a boy,just as nice and well-behaved, and the TV would be new, but the same. And the dog would be thesame, nice and calm and practical, and John too, through it all, would be nice, and calm, and pleasant,and he'd have his hair, thinning maybe, gray maybe, and he'd be still trim and slim. We'd have sexevery Saturday, maybe Sunday morning every once in awhile, missionary position, like always, in thedark, like always.I nearly vomited.John carefully pulled the car to a stop at a red light, and I was shaking, my stomach in my throat,and I couldn't help seeing John as he'd been in ten years, in my mind: the same, just older. And me, thesame, just older. Unexcited. And our life: predictable and pleasant.I pulled the ring off my finger and tossed it on the dash, grabbed my clutch purse, my preciousCoach bag, the one nice thing I owned, and I got out of the car, in the pouring, sluicing rain. In myheels. I ran out into traffic as the light turned green, and cars honked, and John yelled calmly for me tocome back.I swear to fucking god, John is the only man capable of yelling calmly.I just gave him the finger, thumb out, Detroit-style. I kept running, made it to the sidewalk and keptgoing, running blind through the cold, pelting rain. Something snapped beneath my foot and Istumbled, tripped, and fell to the ground, slapping the rough concrete with my hands, ripping mydress. I whimpered and sat down on my butt, splashing into a puddle. I looked at my hands and sawthat I'd cut up the heels of my hands on the sidewalk, and my knees were bleeding. The heel of myshoe had snapped. My purse, my two hundred and fifty dollar Coach purse was lying submerged in amud puddle on the grass next to the sidewalk. Rain beat down on my head, my hands and kneesthrobbed, and my left wrist started to ache, and my purse was ruined and all my things in it wet,which meant my cell phone was ruined, my uninsured, one-year old iPhone. I heard a car pull up nextto me, and a window hum open a few inches."Get in" John said. "You're hurt and wet. I don't know what got into you. You'll catch pneumonia."I stood up, expecting John to be next to me, helping me. Was he? Nope. He was sitting in the car,rummaging in the back seat for a towel to lay down on his leather upholstery. He had shoved the dooropen from the inside.I stared, open-mouthed. He couldn't even get out of the car to help me? Nice."Get in! My leather seats are getting wet."I laughed, shaking my head. "You are unbelievable."I kicked off my heels and left them in the puddle. I bent down to pick up my purse, slipped in themud and fell again, splashing mud all over my face and the rest of my dress, which was nowcompletely soaked and sticking to my skin. I choked back a sob as I stood up, wobbling on limpknees, clutching my purse under an arm and holding my now-throbbing wrist. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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