Page 18 of Used By the Unicorn

“You can’t just hurl all over my taxi. You gotta pay for that!”

I don’t even have it in me to chew him out.

Stirling cuts him off, shoving a credit card at him. I’m still staring at my sick all over his lap. “Take this. Charge whatever you need to cover the cost of the ride and cleaning, just please stop talking, OK?”

Mercifully, the guy stops talking, charges Stirling and hands back his card with a grumble. Stirling opens his door and the whoosh of cool air on my face makes me sob. I’m still frozen in my seat when my door opens and Stirling leans in to help me out. I vaguely notice he seems to have misplaced his shirt andI’m distracted by his tight blue nipples as he pulls me to stand. Then he ducks back to grab my handbag and phone. He’s so tall he nearly catches his horn on the door.

Now we’re out of the taxi, I’m really cold all of a sudden. I’m shivering a little; the wind stings my bare legs and cuts through the thin material of the too short dress I chose just to fuck with him. Stirling drapes his warm arm around me. “Come on. Which one is you?”

I don’t question it any more. I lead him to my apartment building and let him follow me inside. Follow is not really the right word for it, since he basically carries me up the stairs. Once the door is closed and we’re standing in my messy apartment, I lean my head on his chest and groan. “I messed up your pants. And you don’t have a shirt. Why don’t you have a shirt?”

He chuckles. “Used it to clean the seat so the driver didn’t blacklist me.”

I groan again, burying my face deeper into his chest. I kinda love the way his skin is covered in soft fuzzy fur and I definitely love the defined pecs that feel like the world’s best pillows right about now. “I’m sorry. Please let me wash your clothes for you.”

“I’d have to get naked.”

I’m frankly amazed he manages to make me laugh in a situation like this. “Oh, I think I can handle that.”

He pulls away and I’m sorry for a minute, until he reaches for his belt and starts unbuckling. Then I just appreciate the show as he makes short work of the jeans, revealing tight gray underwear that aren’t doing much to hide the snug fit of the material around his package.

And that’s him soft. Oh Jesus. I forgot how big he is.

“Laundry?”

I snap out of my pervy daze to take the balled up shirt and dirty jeans from him, grimacing at the smell. Funnily enough, my stomach has settled now, so I don’t feel like I’m in danger ofa repeat performance. “It’s downstairs. Let me run down and get these washed for you.”

There’s no time to worry about leaving him unsupervised in my apartment. Half my things are still in boxes anyway, so he probably won’t find much incriminating evidence.

I shove the dirty clothes in the washing machine and set it to wash, then run back upstairs as fast as I can in the heels I still haven’t taken off. What a mess. I wouldn’t blame Stirling if he refuses to pay for this date. I’m pretty sure I thoroughly spoiled it for him. If my difficult attitude earlier didn’t do it, my projectile vomiting prowess sure must have.

When I open the door, I find him in the kitchen. He turns with a steaming mug in his hands. “Tea? I found this sort in your cupboard and figured that’s what you drink.”

I should be annoyed he went through my kitchen, but since there are tons of worse things he could have done, and since the smell of the peppermint tea already has my headache easing, I step forward with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

I take a sip.

My client is standing in my apartment in nothing but his underwear, serving me tea. Not just my client. The guy who whispered the hottest sweet nothings in my ear while he was inside me only weeks ago, making me come harder than I’ve come with anyone else. Also the guy I just vomited on.

Yeah, I really don’t know how to feel here. Then I remember the phone call.

Shit.

Setting down my tea, I hunt my handbag and fish out my phone. The missed call stares accusingly at me from my screen. When I dial my voicemail, I get a kind message from a receptionist checking if I’m going to make my appointment tomorrow.

“If you get this message before nine pm, then you can call us back on this number. Otherwise, send an email to maternal instincts dot com and we’ll see it in the morning.”

“Want to tell me what happened back there?”

I look over at Stirling watching me from the kitchen. Retrieving my tea, I traipse over to my sofa and sit. “I have a scan tomorrow. Or I’m supposed to, only I’ve been avoiding it.”

Stirling doesn’t say anything. He walks over and leans against the wall between the kitchen and living area, waiting for me to continue.

“If I go and I do the thing, that makes it real, you know?”

He nods.

“And I’m not ready for it to be real. Not with things the way they are.”

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