Free Bound to You: Volume 2 by Vanessa Booke

That’s the thing with dating movie stars. Your business becomes everyone else’s.
    “A certain someone came by today.”
    “A certain who?”
    "Miles."
    I freeze. Miles? As in my ex?
    "He was asking about you. I told him you were off in New York being a big shot at a major publishing company." Thanks, mom. I’m sure he could smell the desperation in her voice when she told him that.
    "What did he want?" I ask, annoyed. I really hope he isn’t planning on coming to see me. Just hearing his name makes my hand twitch. I start to feel murderous again.
    “I'm not sure, sweetie, but he asked for your information." Well, so much for anonymity.
    “Ugh. Mother, please tell me you didn’t give him my work address.”
    She laughs. "No, of course not." Oh, thank God.
    “But I did tell him you work on Sixth Avenue and I gave him your office number.”
    Damn.
    "You never told me why you two broke up." That’s a little too tricky to explain. I don’t think she would appreciate hearing how I found him balls deep in another woman.
    “He's not a good guy, mom."
    “Oh, sweetheart, is that why you left?"
    The point is moot. We've been down this road before and it always ends in an argument. "Mother, I have an amazing opportunity here.”
    "I just miss you,” she says softly. “Are you coming home for Christmas?”
    “I’m not entirely sure.”
    “What do you mean? You’ve never spent Christmas away from home.”
    “Yeah, but my boss will probably need me.”
    “He works you too hard.”
    Try telling him that. We say our goodbyes and I promise her that I’ll try my best to be home for Christmas. The conversation leaves me feelings slightly torn. Hearing my mom mention Miles is like ripping old scabs off. They might look healed, but the memories come rushing back and everything feels fresh again. I set the alarm on my phone for work and slip into bed underneath the warm covers.

I don’t remember driving back to the office or taking the time to hang my coat and tie, but somehow I’ve managed to undress myself and pour a glass of scotch. When the woman at Demure mentioned red hair, I knew it couldn’t be anyone but Rebecca, but I had to see for myself. I rescheduled with Emily and promised to take her out to lunch another time. In a way, I’m glad she didn’t come because it would’ve been a very awkward way to meet my assistant for the first time. Although Emily has been to the office a couple of times, she hasn’t had the chance to meet Rebecca.
    I toss the glass back as thoughts of her flood my mind. I shiver at the memory of Rebecca’s bare skin and the soft curves of her body hidden only by small pieces of lace. Watching her in the fitting room left me floored. How am I supposed to forget that? Her hips will forever be engrained into my mind.
    I feel like a fucking animal. I’ll fuck her until she begs me to stop and then I’ll fuck that smart little mouth of hers. I want to be the reason for the blush against her freckled skin. I’ve never been so aroused by the mere sight of freckles . They taunt me, as if daring me to kiss each one. I ache to know the feeling of her pussy clenching around me. It’s an all-consuming need. And I know I won’t get my release until I’ve buried myself between those gorgeous legs. Maybe then I can get her out of my mind. Maybe then I can let her go.
    I’m not exactly sure what the hell Rebecca was doing with my account. She ran out of Demure so fast I didn’t even have a chance to stop her. When I spoke with the woman who called about my account, she didn’t know the name of the female shopper who was using my account. The only thing she did know was that she was a redhead. That’s all I needed to hear to pique my curiosity. I’ve never actually dated or fucked a redhead and there’s only one redhead I know – Rebecca.
    Her friend Carol wasn’t very informative when I asked her about the incident, and Lola kept apologizing profusely. She even refused to charge my