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  Trapped Book 2

  Beverley Kendall

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  Beverley Kendall

  Copyright © Beverley Kendall 2019

  Published by Season Publishing LLC

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  www.smittenbybooks.com

  www.beverleykendall.com

  Cover Design © Okay Creations

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  License Statement

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Also by Beverley Kendall

  Social Media

  Acknowledgments

  Blurb

  The summer Josh and I got together, we agreed to keep things strictly physical.

  And it was.

  Until our casual hookups stopped feeling casual.

  Having sex with him stopped being just about sex.

  And the thought of calling a halt to it left me feeling empty and cold.

  But Josh doesn’t “do” relationships, so I called it quits before I started to fall. Luckily, I was able to move on from the experience completely unscathed, my heart fully intact.

  Or so I thought.

  Until I saw him again.

  His arm was wrapped around her. And unlike me, she isn’t a hookup or a “booty” call.

  No, she’s the girlfriend he told me he didn’t want. And she’s getting from him everything he’d said he couldn’t give any girl.

  So it turns out that Josh isn’t averse to being in a relationship after all. He simply hadn’t wanted to be in a relationship with me.

  Chapter One

  Erin

  Josh is here.

  My heart performs an annoying flutter at the sight of his car. It’s impossible to mistake his silver Infinity, not with the CATCHME vanity plates beckoning every police officer in the state of Georgia to do just that.

  I’m sure many women have tried, only to discover that catching Josh is close to impossible.

  I wasn’t one of those women, though. Josh and I had an agreement where there’d been no chasing much less catching. Nope, with us it had just been a lot of amazing sex.

  I hastily push memories of that summer aside and pull my brand-new Lexus Hybrid—a Christmas gift given in the spirit of parental guilt—into the driveway beside his sports coupe.

  The gorgeous stone and brick, four-bedroom house I’m parked in front of belongs to my best friend Paige and her fiancé Mitch. They live here with their two-and-a-half-year-old daughter Bree. Yes, they kind of flipped the script on the whole marriage and then babies paradigm but they couldn’t be happier with the way things turned out.

  I get out of my car and sling my handbag over my shoulder. The scent of fresh-cut grass is heavy in the air and the crape myrtles bookending the flower bed are just starting to bloom, the flower a beautiful lavender.

  I breathe it all in. Suburban living at its finest.

  Shoulders squared and nerves only slightly on edge, I’m ready for battle.

  You probably think I’m making too much of seeing Josh, but having to socialize with my former—What do I even call him?—sucks.

  I can’t bring myself to refer to him as a former lover because it suggests an intimacy we never had. On the other hand, something like fuck buddy sounds too crass.

  What about booty call? Itch scratcher?

  How about the best sex you ever had?

  I bitch slap the last thought clean out of my head, refusing to accept that assessment. Seriously, no good can come of handicapping my future sex life.

  Anyway, memories of superior sexual prowess have a tendency to be overblown, the same way nostalgia for the “good old days” frequently glorifies days when a woman couldn’t sneeze without her husband’s permission. I’ll take a hard pass on that, thank you very much.

  I’m confident other guys will come along. A guy with lips and hands so talented he’ll put Josh’s orgasm-giving abilities to shame. And with a tongue so skilled and agile, he’ll effortlessly have me coming on command while screaming his name.

  Yeah, good luck with that.

  Oh, be quiet. The voice in my head is all but taunting me now.

  A girl has to have hope or risk dooming herself to sexual mediocrity.

  Seriously though, Josh can’t be the be-all and end-all. He’s just a guy. Take away his orgasm-giving abilities and all that’s left is six-feet-one-inch of dark-haired, slate-blue-eyed, panty-melting deliciousness whose good looks are only surpassed by his artistic talent and superior intelligence.

  Crap. That didn’t come out right. What I meant is the guy’s a jerk.

  Maybe you should just go home. You can visit Paige and Bree tomorrow.

  Don’t be a coward. Stay. Face him. It’s not as if he has any power over you.

  Josh and I haven’t seen each other since the super awkward, day-after Christmas dinner at Mitch’s grandparents’ house four months ago, but it’s not as if I’ve been deliberately avoiding him.

  Actually, it may very well be the other way around with him avoiding me. Regardless, I can handle this. I barely think of him at all these days. Yesterday doesn’t count. Watching the Chrises in all their super-hero male glory in Infinity War had me wishing for some DD-battery assistance, but was also a painful reminder of the pathetic state of my sex life. And since Josh is the last guy I got naked with…well, you know.

  Oh, and dreams don’t count either. I can hardly control those.

  But I won’t be thinking about headboard-banging, mind-blowing sex when I come face to face with him in approximately—I glance at my watch as brisk strides take me past the daffodils lining the stone walkway—one minute.

  His ridiculous six pack abs are my Achilles heels so as long as he keeps his shirt on, I’m good. No really, one glimpse of them and I’m a goner.

  If you want to know the truth, from the moment we met, Josh has been my hate-crush. I hated that I was crushing on him.

  I had a crush-crus
h on Trent, Paige’s older brother—by choice not blood, so no relation. He’s always been super sweet to me but sadly treats me the same way he does Paige. Needless to say, I was little-sister zoned at the age of six.

  Josh, on the other hand, wasn’t sweet at all.

  When he wasn’t teasing me, he ignored me altogether. And as you may know, sixteen-year-old girls with fairly high opinions of themselves don’t take kindly to being ignored, or worse yet, being treated like a kid by hot college guys with oversized egos. Hence my hate-crush.

  Light illuminates the porch the second my black Manolo Blahnik hits the bottom step. A moment later, the front door opens to reveal my best friend holding her daughter.

  Dressed in skinny jeans and a loose V-necked blouse, Paige is rocking the whole young motherhood thing like a pro. If you ask her though, she wouldn’t have traded one day of baby bottles, diapers and sleepless nights for a more normal college experience.

  “I saw you pull up,” Paige explains with a pointed look at my car. “I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

  My attention is on my goddaughter, who’s looking too-cute-by-half in her lilac Tangled-inspired pajamas. “I haven’t seen my munchkin in a week so I’d thought I’d drop by and catch her before she goes down for the night.”

  Paige silently ushers me inside and I step into the two-story entryway, the chandelier above infusing the area with an abundance of light.

  Ah, warmth. I give an involuntary shiver. Not that it’s Maine or Vermont cold outside, but today has been one of those rare late-April days in Georgia that had me reaching for my Burberry jacket—another parental guilt gift—before leaving for work this morning. Don’t worry, tomorrow it’ll be eighty-five degrees because Georgia’s weather is bipolar like that.

  Paige casts an apprehensive look down the hall before quietly announcing, “Josh is here.”

  “I know. I saw his car,” I reply absently.

  Smiling giddily at Bree, I hold out my hands to her, which is all the invitation she needs. She promptly pitches herself into my arms.

  “Air-win,” she chants into my neck, smelling of baby lotion and little girl sweetness.

  Holding her close, my heart swells as she grabs hold of chunks of my dark auburn hair and kisses me wetly on the cheek.

  God, I can’t tell you how much I adore this little girl. I was in the delivery room when she was born. I was also the one who cut her cord.

  Long story about why it was me and not her father, but let’s just say that’s all water under the bridge now. Months of groveling won him back his girlfriend and went a long way to restoring my faith in him. Make that men period.

  “How’s my favorite munchkin?” I ask, pressing kisses all over her adorable little face. She’s the spitting image of Paige—which means she’s gorgeous—her delicate features framed by silky, dark-brown hair, but those emerald-green eyes are all Mitch. “Are you being good for mommy and daddy?”

  She responds with an enthusiastic nod. Her mother lovingly rolls her eyes.

  “If by good you mean getting into mommy’s makeup bag, then yes, she’s a veritable saint,” she says dryly, smiling indulgently at her daughter.

  With Paige’s help, I somehow manage the feat of getting out of my jacket without removing a clinging Bree from my arms.

  The low murmur of a male voice coming from the family room can only belong to Josh or Mitch. They’ve been best friends for as long as Paige and I have. Besties through the ages. Through good and bad times. It’s yet another reminder that in some way, shape, or form, Josh and I will always be connected.

  Then I’m struck with a rather stunning revelation that began with the heart flutter I experienced when I first spotted his car.

  I miss Josh.

  I miss the low, melodic sound of his voice. I miss the woodsy scent of his cologne and the indescribable scent that’s his alone. I miss the way he’d look at me in the lead up to sex. And God, how I miss his touch.

  Suddenly I’m more anxious to see him than I’d been dreading the encounter. The rhythmic click click of my heels on the hardwood floors quickens and Paige is slow to respond to my increased pace.

  “Erin!” Paige whispers fiercely from behind me.

  I turn to her, startled at the urgency of her tone.

  “Chloe’s with him.”

  And that’s all the warning I get before I’m confronted by a sight that nearly has me dropping the precious, thirty-pound cargo perched on my hip.

  The scene comes at me like a slow-motion car wreck. Sitting in my favorite chair is Josh, his arm wrapped around someone. A very blonde someone.

  Chapter Two

  Erin

  The liar. He told me he wasn’t particularly attracted to blondes.

  When he sees me, he doesn’t jerk his arm from around her and jump guiltily to his feet—as he should given the fact that I’ve seen him naked. No, he smiles at me as if I’m an old friend he’s happy to see again.

  An old friend he hasn’t fucked.

  I swallow hard and put my game face on. “Hey, Josh.” I give myself credit for not going all reality TV on his ass. I’ve never done it, but I’m pretty sure I can cause a scene.

  He tips his chin at me. “Hey, Erin.” Then he shifts his gaze to the blonde practically sitting on his lap. “This is Chloe. My girlfriend.”

  So she’s his girlfriend now? Last I heard they were just dating.

  Just dating. The way we’d been just fucking?

  Obviously not since she’s his girlfriend and you’re not.

  The knowledge is like a dagger in the heart. And the tender way he’s looking at her twists the blade as it’s going in. I don’t remember him ever looking at me like that. And post-coital haze doesn’t count.

  I switch Bree over to my other hip, keeping my arms firmly enclosed around her warm, little body.

  “Hi.” The blonde’s chipper greeting makes it clear Josh hasn’t told her about our past…relationship.

  “Hi.” I pray my smile doesn’t look as wooden as it feels.

  It never occurred to me that she would be here. Paige is my friend, not hers, and since I got her and Mitch in the breakup, Josh bringing her here is all kinds of wrong. It’s obvious the rules need to be spelled out to him and then vigorously enforced.

  Mitch’s arrival does little to alleviate the sheer awkwardness of the moment, but I welcome the distraction. He enters the room by way of the kitchen, carrying a large bowl of chips and a smaller bowl of pretzels. He pauses in his stride and does a double take when his gaze lands on me.

  Yeah, what did I say, awkward.

  I have to give him credit, though, his recovery is almost seamless.

  “Hey, Erin. Paige didn’t say anything about you coming over.” Advancing forward, he places the bowls on the center table between the sofa and loveseat.

  At the sight of her favorite snack, Bree’s eyes go wide with delight and she immediately begins squirming, pushing on my shoulders for me to put her down. “Pretzels!”

  The second I lower her to the floor, she races toward her father, hands out. “Daddy, I wan pretzels.”

  Mitch prevents her from plunging her arm elbow-deep into the bowl, hastily handing her one instead. “Honey, one at a time. And don’t chew too fast,” he cautions before returning his attention to me.

  Six feet and change with dark blonde hair, Mitch is bonafide underwear model material, but the most attractive thing about him is that he’s a good fiancé to Paige and a doting father to Bree. Especially since that wasn’t always the case.

  “That’s because she didn’t know. I thought I’d drop by and see how you guys were doing. See how the house is coming along.”

  I slowly peruse the room, noting the two additions to their budding painting collection hanging on either side of the stone fireplace that spans the entire length of the wall. “Looks good. I love the one with the Adirondack chairs. Is that new?” I point to a large grandfather clock against the far wall.

  Paige n
ods. “A belated housewarming present from Mitch’s grandparents.”

  “Because giving you this house for Christmas wasn’t enough?” I ask, smirking. Honestly, I’m hardly one to talk. Although my parents haven’t given me a house—yet.

  “I told Mitch to tell them they’re forbidden from buying us another thing.” Paige sends her fiancé an I-told-you-so look. He shrugs.

  My family is considered wealthy by any standard, but Mitch’s folks are filthy rich. His grandfather founded one of the most successful luxury home builders in the country. Now his father has taken over running the company and Mitch works there as an architect.

  “You staying for the movie?” Mitch asks as he drops onto the sofa across from the lovebirds. Bree immediately crawls onto his lap, pretzel in hand.

  I regard Paige, my eyebrow raised in question.

  “Infinity War,” Chloe supplies, being as helpful as I expect any girlfriend of Josh’s to be.

  Not.

  I wasn’t talking to her.

  I make a face, feigning disappointment. Sorry not sorry. “I just saw that one yesterday.” It’s a rare occasion where the truth works in getting me out of an unwanted situation.