Sinful Abandon(2)

By: Jeannine Colette

Still thrusting his pelvis into Misty, Jarrod replies, “I wasn’t expecting you. Otherwise, I would have waited. Wanna join?”

The shakes. I get the shakes. My toes start to tremble, and it travels up my calves and into my thighs. My hands start next, and it radiates up through my shoulders, making my head spin.

Do I wanna join?

I mean, if he’d asked if I were up for a threesome, I probably would have been game. My goal is to please Jarrod enough to make him propose. But this? This is blatant cheating. He didn’t know I was coming up here. He’s banging the freaking local weather whore on his desk. The same desk we’ve had sex on multiple times.

Throwing my hands up in the air, I spin around and rush back through the newsroom.

“Can you close the door, love? I don’t think the cleaning crew would like a show.” Jarrod’s words echo from his office, but I keep on walking down the corridor and straight to the elevator.

I fold my arms in front of my body and violently tap my foot as I wait for the elevator to open.

Any second now, Jarrod is going to come rushing down the hallway and fall to his knees in apology.

The elevator doors open. I pause for a moment.

Any second now…

The doors are about to close, so I walk inside the cab and press the button to hold the doors open.

Any second…

My heart starts to beat in anticipation. He’s probably pulling up his pants right now. I’m sure he’s tossing Misty out of his office, and he is going to come rushing after me.


Oh, fuck it.

I let the doors close and hit the lobby button. That piece of shit isn’t coming after me.

What the hell did I expect, chasing after a known womanizer like Jarrod Bellomy? That I’d be the one to make an honest man out of him? What for? It’s not like I love him. Hell, I think he’s beyond conceited, and he has a terrible personality. But he does have the one thing I’m looking for.

I rush out of the elevator and through the lobby. My heels wobble a little as I try to move out of the building as quickly as possible.

When I get to the sidewalk, I see a taxi and charge for it. Thank God. The only thing I want right now is to go home, pour myself a large glass of Tito’s, and drown myself in it.

My hand is on the handle. I pull on the lever and open the door when a man’s hand charges on top of mine and rips my hand away.

“This is my cab,” an irritated male voice says.

I don’t even bother to face him. With a hip nudge, I try to force him to the side. “What are you? The taxi police? Get your own fucking cab.” I start to open the door further.

He places a hand on the door and slams it closed in front of me.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I spin around to face the asshole, and my heart skips a beat.

Standing eye-to-eye with me is a man, a gorgeous-faced man, with cobalt-blue eyes and a sinful mouth accentuated by a masculine jaw and day-old stubble. I am momentarily rendered speechless.


“Remove your hand from the door.”

“In or out, guys,” the cabbie calls through the open passenger window.

“I’m getting in as soon as she moves,” the man says.

“I got here first. Get your own cab.” I pull on the handle, again, but he holds the door closed.

His chest presses into mine. “I did, but you just stole it.”

I push back harder. “Stole, my ass. You snooze, you lose.”

“I don’t care that you’re cute and get everything in life. Catch the next one.”

If he think’s I’m cute, I’ll show him just how cute this bitch can be.

Pursing my lips, I dig my heels into the ground. “This has nothing to do with me being a woman!”

“Well, I’d punch you if you were a guy, so let’s both be thankful you’re a woman.”

“I’ve never—”

“Step back before you get run over,” the driver says as he pulls away from the curb.

I jolt back from the car and nearly trip over my stilettos, falling right into the lean, muscular arms of the cab stealer.

“Get off of me,” I demand of him even though I’m clinging to his biceps, steadying myself on the blacktop.

Cars are whizzing by us, but all I feel is the curve of his muscle underneath a blue button-down that brings out his eyes. Across his chest is a messenger bag as brown as the perfectly styled hair on his head.