Undone volume 2, p.1

Undone, Volume 2, page 1

 part  #2 of  Undone Series


Undone, Volume 2

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Undone, Volume 2



  Copyright © 2016 Callie Harper

  Cover Design Jada D’Lee Designs

  Ebook Formatting by Jesse Gordon

  All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission except in the case of brief quotations used for review. If you have not purchased this book or received a copy from the author, you are reading a pirated book.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.

  This book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.
















  UNDONE, VOLUME 3 (the Beg for It series)




  Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance

  Unleashed: Hot Alpha Romance, Volumes 1-4

  (Beg for It series, Book 1)

  Undone, Volumes 1-3

  (Beg for It series, Book 2),

  released in March 2016



  Saturday morning I lay in bed, no sign of the sun peeking through the shades though it was already nine o’clock. On this cold, cloudy December day I wasn’t in a hurry to rise. Tonight I had a big holiday party to go to, the annual Kavanaugh family bash. I needed my beauty rest.

  Plus, I had some stuff to think about. Like the way it had felt last night when Ash had touched me. It was a marvel, the way his fingers felt against my skin, such a mix of rough and gentle. His touch was magic, awakening erogenous zones I hadn’t even known existed. The back of my knee? My hair? My waist? I mean, sure, it had felt good when Stan had put his hand at my waist. Solid and steady. But Ash? When he’d reached his hand down and wrapped it around my curves, it made me feel so delicious. He touched every inch as if he couldn’t believe how perfect I was. Every stroke felt like a prelude and a promise of more to come. As if he could coax any sensation he wanted from me, feelings I’d known nothing about.

  My whole body had sung to his touch, sighing into him, as if I were an instrument he played. As if I’d been waiting my whole life to feel his hands. As if everything up until then had been shadow play, mere pretend approximations of the real thing. I’d given myself orgasms before, but those were like miniature playthings in comparison to how he’d made me feel. They were like the fake plastic food you pretended to bake when you were a kid, compared to sinking your teeth into a fresh-baked morning bun for the first time.

  When he’d slid his strong fingers into my wet, slick folds I’d nearly come instantly. He had me so aroused, my clit so swollen, the way he pressed and circled, flicked, then plunged his fingers up inside of me. I’d never felt anything so good.

  I didn’t want to get up, not yet. I knew myself. The minute I rose out of bed, I’d start feeling nervous again. All those reservations and concerns waiting on the sidelines, offering reasons A-Z why this arrangement with Ash was a very, very bad idea would all start clamoring for the mic. He’s a jerk! You’re going to hate having every second of your life photographed! How are you going to explain this to your parents? And, most challenging of them all, how did I expect to spend an intimate month with him without anything like what had happened last night happening again?

  Because it had felt so good. And now I’d agreed to spend a month pretending to fall in love with him, in a ‘whirlwind romance’ as he’d put it. He’d say things to me with that low, sexy voice of his. I’d probably even hear him sing. He’d mentioned he had a New Year’s concert—the one he was going to propose to me at. What would it be like to see him perform all those songs I loved? To be backstage for it all?

  With any luck, the more time I spent with him, the less I’d like him. That would make things easier. He’d sure surprised me last night. And humiliated me. Just when I’d thought things were working out like a dream, he’d sprung it on me—I’m average. That was why he liked me. Even in my bed, I could feel a blush stealing up to my cheeks.

  My phone blipped. A text message. I reached over to my night table and picked it up. “Call when you’re awake.” From a number I didn’t recognize, area code 310. Hmm, was that L.A.? It could be Ash.

  I clicked over to my email and saw there’d been a flurry of activity. Ash had a lawyer who apparently didn’t sleep. Last night he’d sent me a bunch of documents and I’d looked them over with a mug of tea in my pajamas. I’d clicked to e-sign more because it all felt surreal than because it all made sense to me. All the language seemed to be around protecting Ash’s privacy, and I had no interest in messing with that. I had a long list of personal hopes and dreams, but gaining notoriety through a celebrity tell-all wasn’t one of them.

  Plus, Ash had put it in writing that he would set up a fund to cover operating expenses for the branch library for twenty years, exact financial details to be finalized at a later date. I honestly had no idea how much it would cost, but there had to be renovations involved. The building dated back at least a hundred years. All that charm with the lions and gargoyles came with the price tag of leaky plumbing, poor ventilation and loud, hissing radiators that made children jump as if monsters were in the walls. But Ash had agreed to cover it all.

  The latest email from Nelson Armistead, esq., was from an hour ago. It said I could expect the hardcopy paperwork for signing to arrive via courier at nine a.m. On cue, I heard a buzz.

  Jillian got to the intercom first, irritated at the early morning interruption though I knew she’d probably already been up for a few hours. Early to bed, early to rise and all that for Jillian. On the other hand my other roommate, Liv, had probably only hit the hay a couple of hours ago.

  In my fluffy blue robe and slippers, I ran down the stairs and signed for my documents. Jillian waited for me up at the door of our apartment, holding a cup of coffee and brimming with questions.

  “How was it last night? Is that package from him? Did he apologize for what he did to Mandy Monroe?”

  “Well.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Subterfuge was not my middle name. On the scale from crafty as a spy to over-sharing as my Aunt Irina, I tended more toward my aunt than I’d like to admit. “I had a good time?” It came out way too much like a question.

  “Are you sure?”


  She looked at me quizzically. “Is he a jerk?”

  Yes, he was a jerk, wasn’t he? If you weren’t a creep, you didn’t have to hatch elaborate plans to prove that you were a good guy. You didn’t need a lawyer drawing up agreements and a PR firm cooking up a storyline. If you were a decent guy, you just walked around your life being decent. Not like Ash Black.

  But I couldn’t tell that to Jillian, because I’d sworn everything to secrecy. I couldn’t tell a soul about what we’d agreed to do. I couldn’t really say anything about him to anyone other than the types of details that we’d officially agree upon.

  “Does he feel bad about breaking Mandy Monroe’s heart?” Jillian asked.

  “Yes, I think he do
es.” At least he felt bad about it getting taped and millions of people watching it, I knew that much.

  “Do you think you’ll see him again?”

  I nodded. “He’s taking me to his family’s holiday party tonight.”

  “What?” Jillian’s mouth dropped open, but I was saved further questioning by my phone ringing in my bedroom.

  “Sorry.” I ducked out of our kitchen and closed the door of my bedroom behind me. Our walls were as thin as paper, though. This was going to be harder than I’d thought.

  “Hello?” I caught it after the third ring.



  The woman calling introduced herself as Lola Delacroix from the PR firm representing Ash Black. “I hear you’re joining the team for the month?”

  “The team?”

  “Team Ash. You’re going to be a clutch player. You can think of me like your best friend and your coach all-in-one.”

  Huh. Why did that sound more like an ultimatum or a threat than reassurance?

  “I’ve just sent over your itinerary for the day. Look it over and tell me if you have any questions.”


  “Yes, now.” I could practically see her eye-roll through the phone. I could tell, this one ruled with an iron fist. I found her email and clicked open the attachment. Oh my, the first appointment was in 45 minutes in midtown Manhattan. First a stylist, then a salon, then a personal shopper, then a meeting with Lola, herself.

  “You’re in New York?”

  “Will be. I’m hopping on a plane right now, and we can review your role together in person.”

  My role. “Are you sure all this is necessary?” I could already tell my day looked like a montage from a teen movie where the nerdy girl gets a makeover. Only I wasn’t sure I was ready for all that. And hadn’t Ash said, he’d picked me because I was so average? Why did they want to give me a whole new look?

  Lola gave a dry laugh. “You’re so cute.” But she didn’t sound like she really thought that, more like moronic. “Have you ever been interviewed before, Anika?”

  “You can call me Ana.”


  “One time, my school was changing its lunch policy and the local news came and interviewed students.” My palms had sweat and I’d looked like a terrified rabbit on the news that night, replying in one-word whispers.

  “We’re not talking anchormen and school lunches, Ana. We’re talking vultures. Sharks. You’re going to be smack in the middle of a feeding frenzy like nothing you’ve ever known.”

  I cringed. “Won’t they mostly be interested in Ash?”

  “Sure, but you’re new. Fresh blood. They’re going to want to know all about you. And we’re going to have to give them some great shots.”

  She meant staged romantic moments, candlelight dinners and all that. My stomach flipped, and I had to admit it wasn’t entirely because of the media circus she was describing. It was also the thought of the show I’d be a part of in the ring, the focus of Ash’s attentions.

  “Now, I know you’ve signed the NDA. And you’ve passed a thorough background check.”

  I had? When had they done a check on me? How had they had time?

  “But I have to ask, are there any skeletons in your closet we should know about? Because now’s the time, Ana. Any misdemeanors, fetishes, drug habits, enemies?” She rattled off the list as if she were well-accustomed to dealing with clients with all of the above.

  “No,” I answered honestly, suddenly feeling squeaky-clean. I hadn’t thought of myself as such a girl scout, but I guessed when you compared me to the kind of celebrities who needed to hire PR firms to do damage control I looked like an angel dropped down from heaven.

  “Well, prepare yourself,” Lola continued, “because they’re still going to try to look for dirt. So, believe me, you’re going to want a good haircut.”


  Two hours later, I stood in the middle of what looked like a giant closet filled with racks of clothes on wheels in the shortest dress I’d ever worn. It barely brushed the tops of my thighs.

  “I don’t think so.” I shook my head, but no one seemed to hear me. People buzzed around with clipboards and wireless earpieces and swatches of fabric. They weren’t all on my case, I didn’t think. That would be weird. But they were all intensely busy and focused for a Saturday.

  A woman began measuring the inseam of my leg, her hand brushing alarmingly close to a part of my body only my OB/GYN got access to. And Ash last night. Heat crept back into my cheeks.

  “I’m not sure I can wear this,” I tried again a little louder. The woman measuring me spoke to someone next to her. “OK for the show in L.A., but for S.F. we’re going to need to tone it down.”

  “San Francisco! Get out the performance fleece!” a man sauntering past called out.

  My phone rang in my bag. “Sorry, I just need—” I broke away from them for a moment and grabbed it. It was almost noon and I hadn’t heard from Ash yet. But it wasn’t him.

  “Hi, Mom.” I tried to make my voice sound normal, like I was having a typical Saturday, maybe still at my apartment drinking coffee and chatting with my roommates. Chilly hands unzipped the back of my dress and the fabric fell to my feet.

  “What’s this?” a woman asked, fingering my bra strap as if it were contaminated.

  “I know, right?” another woman agreed, shaking her head in disgust over the sorry state of my plain, beige bra. Apparently they didn’t buy their lingerie off the extra-markdown discount rack at Marshalls. But maybe they should, you could get some good deals there.

  “Who’s there?” my mom asked, her spidey sense tingling. “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, nothing, just my roommates.” Stripping me naked and making me try on new bras, just like every other Saturday.

  “Do you work today?”

  “No, not until Monday.” They’d been cutting back on our shifts, part of their money-saving campaign. Which would end in a month, I reminded myself. That was the silver lining of all of this.

  Speaking of silver, the bra they hooked me into fairly glittered with silver beading and boy did it lift and plump. But why were they bothering with my bra when Ash and I had a no-sex clause clearly and explicitly written into our agreement? I’d signed the papers, twice now, electronically last night and in hardcopy this morning. Despite romantic appearances, both parties agreed to not engage in sexual relations of any kind. I knew it made sense and would certainly help to keep things simpler between us, but I had to admit when I signed I felt a hint of disappointment. He’d made me feel so delicious, so irresistible, as if he couldn’t stand to keep his hands off of me. But then hours later he’d signed an agreement to not touch me for the next month.

  Guess all that adoration had been manufactured, a ploy to reel me in. It had worked. The feel of his fingers working their way along my thighs, slipping under my panties, stroking my sex so slippery wet for him. It had worked really well.

  “And this afternoon, are you finishing your Christmas shopping?” Mom asked.

  “I think so.” How was I going to handle this with my parents? Maybe I should drop a hint? “I had a nice time on a date last night.”

  I winced, knowing the avalanche of questions my simple statement would provoke. “A date? You didn’t mention a date! Who’s the boy? Do we know him? What does he do for work?”

  Like a life preserver thrown from a coast guard ship, another call came in offering me an out. “I’m sorry, it’s my boss at the library calling. I’ve got to talk to her.”

  “Call me back!”

  “OK, Mom.”

  The conversation with my boss went as easily as I’d expected. She was thrilled that I needed more time off around the holidays. As it was, they’d been encouraging people to take vacation so they could save money. They already had implemented reduced hours and reduced staffing. My requesting more time would only ease things up for them.

  It wasn’t any harder with t
he families for whom I taught piano. Around the holidays, none of them stayed in town anyway, all heading either somewhere warmer to de-thaw or somewhere even snowier to ski and snow board. My absence until the second week of January wouldn’t create any inconvenience at all. It was almost too easy to free myself up. I almost wanted to ask—wait, don’t you need me?

  But Lola had informed me that she and Ash certainly did. She wanted me to treat my romance with Ash Black as my full time job for the month, and as such all of my expenses would be paid. I’d be outfitted, styled, flown across the country and perhaps out of it—details were still being finalized. I was expected to give everything to this.

  Starting tonight. Apparently Ash’s family didn’t just throw a typical sort of party for the holidays. No, they held their party at the Waldorf Astoria, black tie. Stop one on the Crazy Train.

  The stylists slipped something new over my head. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and tried to prepare myself for the wildest ride I’d ever been on.



  The Waldorf Astoria ballroom. I knew it like the back of my hand. If the back of my hand kept getting redecorated and retouched every year. We’d congregated here for our annual holiday party as long as I could remember.

  After all of five minutes, I ducked out of one of the service doors. Ana wasn’t there yet, no need to torture myself with relatives I didn’t know and former colleagues of my father’s offering their condolences. I could hide out until Lola texted me that Ana was about to arrive. Then, I’d rush to the entrance, the eager suitor, helping her out of her limo and embracing my dearest love.

  Lola had assured me that that there’d be a full array of media outlets represented to capture the moment, our public debut. Our modest family shindig of 500 usually got a few pics in the press anyway, what with all the socialites and brand names in attendance. Lola had merely turned the usual interest up a notch. Well, really I’d done that. She’d just let them know that if they came, they’d get an Ash Black-related hot new scoop.

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