Snare (Falling Stars #3) (8 page)

"There are these little bumps covering the surface," she says, leaning forward and pointing to the tiny green nodules. "They really didn't
do
much. It was disappointing. I ended up not using it in the box."

"What is this…" I pause, find the right picture, and then finish, "Toy BoXXX?"

"It's one of my businesses," she says, matter-of-fact. Digging through more papers, she pulls out a professionally printed flyer.

She holds it out and I take it, skimming over the marketing piece.

"So, it's like a porn subscription box?" I tear my eyes away from the flyer and look at her.

"It's not just porn," she argues. "Yes, porn is included, but I also include sexual health pamphlets, support groups information for sex addicts, sexual health toys—"

"You mean sex toys?" I interrupt.

"Sure, you can call them that, but there are others that are for sexual health." The energy that starts pouring off her is contagious enough to get me excited about this dirty little box. "See," she says, shoving paper in my face, "this is a new device."

"It looks like a cock ring," I state.

"True, but it's enhanced to record sexual activity stats for men," she informs. "This device is like those fitness bracelets, but for sex. It's pretty fucking cool if you ask me."

"And you include this in your…box?"

I set the paper back on the bed.

She shakes her head.

"No," she groans in disappointment. "It isn't fully realized and I can't get a BETA version to test."

Fingering the paper, she gives a whimsical sigh.

"So, this is a start up?" I ask, reaching for another folder stamped with financials.

I open the folder and look over the numbers.

Holy shit!

My eyes snap back to Sid.

She sits, arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed, and one brow raised.

"You were saying?" she asks in a sickeningly sweet voice.

"Is this national?" I choke out the question, 'cause I already know the answer.

"Nope," she says popping the 'p'.

My eyes flicker back to the financials.

I knew the answer was no and it blows my fucking mind. She is raking in just below six figures for something she's not yet taken nationally.

"Don't get drool on my papers," she teases. "My accountant needs those."

I close the folder and set it back on the bed.

"You do this alone?"

Darkness settles over her features.

"No," she mumbles.

"Is that the hostile takeover?" I press.

"Maybe," she snaps. "Now, can you go away? You're distracting me."

"I'm afraid not," I say, reaching over and shutting her laptop.

"You touched my laptop." Her eyes don't leave the closed device. "I've killed people for less, you know?" She still doesn't look at me.

"Come on, killer."

I push up from the bed. When she doesn't follow, I walk around the bed, grab her arm, and pull her to her feet.

"Stop manhandling me, you ape," she insults, slapping my hand.

Instead of releasing her, I glance over her body.

"You'll need warmer clothes," I inform.

"Well, I'm not changing, so sucks to be you," she counters, trying to pull her arm free.

"You'll need snow gear. Pants, coat, boots—"

Her sudden stillness interrupts me.

She's grinning and it's kind of fucking scary.

"I'm afraid I'm all out of snow gear, ya furry redneck." She points to the side of the room where shoes are lined in the closet. "And those are all I have with me."

The smug look on her face means she thinks she's won. It's almost sad to destroy her feeling of triumph. Almost.

"Put on pants, socks, and a long-sleeved shirt." I release her arm. "We'll go see what my sisters left here."

"No," she clips, backing around the bed away from me.

"Do it, or I'll put your ass in the snow as you are," I threaten.

"You wouldn't," she growls low.

"Have it your way," I say with a shrug.

In a flash of movement, I'm around the bed and grabbing her waist as she tries to crawl over the mattress to get away.

I pull her back, put my shoulder against her stomach, and lift.

"Oh my God," she screams, punching my back. "Put me down!"

"I warned you."

I stride from the room to the stairs.

"Please, put me down." The desperation in her voice sends a wave of concern through me.

Before I can set her down, she says on an anxious plea, "Xavier,
please
, put me down."

I set her on her feet and she wraps her arms around herself.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, clasping her face in both my hands. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Sid jerks her head from my hands and walks toward the room I just carried her out of.

"I wasn't scared. I just didn't want you to break your back carrying me," she tosses over her shoulder, attempting to make a joke, but it sounds too sad to be funny.

She closes the bedroom door behind her.

Guilt swims in my stomach. Taking the two steps between the door and me, I raise my hand to knock, but put my hands on each side of the door and press my head to it instead.

Closing my eyes, I wallow in remorse. I didn't mean to frighten her. I should've thought before putting my hands on her. Lord knows what else that asshole's done and I just fucking grab her like she's a thing. Fuck, I even threatened her.

"I'm such a fucking asshole," I growl low.

The door jerks open, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"I agree," she says, nodding.

"Look, I'm sorry I—"

"I'm dressed. So, what is so important to show me?" she asks, cutting me off.

She no longer wears her glasses.  I take a quick look down her body to see what else is different. She put on a pair of black pants and a long-sleeved shirt that says,
This is My Only Shirt Without Cum On It
.

My laugh comes out in a burst of surprise.

"Best shirt ever, right?" she asks, waggling her brows.

"Come on."

My first instinct is to take her hand, but after what happened, I opt for motioning her to follow me.

At the master bedroom door, she asks, "You're taking me into the
locked
room?"

I look back at her, and respond, "Yeah."

"Is it red?"

"No, it's like the rest of the place," I say, confused.

She sighs heavily and crosses her arms just under her breasts, drawing my attention to their fullness.

"So, no crops, whips, floggers…?" Her question trails off in a wisp of disappointment.

"Why the fuck would that be in my room?" I ask.

"You've never read..." unfolding her arms, she puts her palms up toward me and shakes her head, "never mind. I forgot you're an illiterate hillbilly."

I open the double doors and shove them wide.

Sid walks around me and into the room.

"Why do you keep it locked? You just don't want other people in your space," she asks, and then answers her own question as she sits on the edge of the mattress.

For a second, my heart pounds and heat pours through my veins at the sight of her on my king size bed. Our eyes meet and my mouth goes dry. Something flares in her eyes before she blinks it away.

"You don't want others fucking in your bed, huh?" Her question breaks through my lust-filled moment.

"I keep my personal stuff in here."

On my way to the large closet, I point to the photographs on the wall.

"Pictures of my girls, family, and shit people don't need to see. I don't want my personal items ending up in a tabloid or on eBay."

Inside the walk-in closet, I go to the back and dig out the boxes of snowsuits my family has left here over the years. Finding one with the women's shit, I carry it out and set it on the floor.

Sid's snort draws my attention. She stands at the wall of pictures, holding one frame in her hand. She turns to me and snorts again.

"Are these your sisters?" she asks, holding up the photo taken of all three of us two years ago during a summer trip.

"Yeah, why?"

She brings the picture to her stomach and bends forward, laughing.

"Whew," she exhales, trying to stop laughing. "You honestly believe I'll fit in anything these two supermodel sized women ever wore is hi-freaking-larious."

Still laughing, she replaces the frame on the shelf.

"I'm pretty sure there is something in here…" I almost fuck up and say my sister wore when she was pregnant, but having picked up on Sid's trend of putting down the shape of her body, I catch myself.

"Oh my God," Sid gasps, taking a frame off the wall.

Great, here we go.

"This…This is…This…" she stutters, turning wide eyes on me, "it's Cherry Summer."

"Um, yeah, about that—"

I rub the back of my head.

"How do you know her?" Sid asks, looking from the photo to me. Before I can respond, she continues.

"She's won the most AVNs than any other porn star. Her signature
Cherry Pop
is a fucking classic." She clasps the picture to her chest.

Well, this is definitely a new reaction from a woman.

"Holy shit, did you fuck her? Did you do porn with her?"

"What, fuck, no!" I yell, sick at the thought. "She's my fucking mother."

"She's your…" She looks at the picture, to me, and then to the other pictures on the wall.

Sid steps closer, looking over each photo.

"Cherry Summer…is your mother," she says, almost hyperventilating.

"Yeah, I prefer to call her mom, and since she's retired from filming—"

"A very sad day I still mourn each year over," Sid interrupts.

I ignore her reverence and keep going.

"As I was saying, her name is Sherry Stone."

"Wait, wait, wait." Sid puts one hand up to silence me and the other slides the picture of my mom back onto the shelf. "I'm going to need to sit down for this."

In three quick strides, she sits back down on the bed.

"Cherry Sum…err…Sherry Stone," she corrects before I can, "is married to the CEO of Stonehard Productions, Duncan Stone."

"Yeah, Dad," I stress his title where I'm concerned, "started the company after he stepped off the screen and behind the camera."

Sid lies back on my bed, hand to her chest, taking deep breaths.

"Your parents are Duncan and Sherry Stone, porn royalty," she says, sounding like she's going to cry. "You're the son of porn royalty."

"Are you done yet?" I cross my arms over my chest.

As much as this reaction is better than the look of disgust or the dollar signs in other women's eyes, I still feel a bit bothered discussing it with her.

"No," she shakes her head, "I'm close, though. I'm soooo close," she moans, then laughs at her own joke.

My dick doesn't think it's a joke, though. He knows she's on the bed and the sound of her moan is now an invitation.

"I can't believe I didn't know this," she says to herself. "I'm an idiot."

"Yes, you are," I agree, earning a glare from her. "Now, get your ass over here so we can see if this gear will work."

One last sigh and she pushes off the bed in a fluid motion.

"I don't know why you think anything your twig sisters wore will fit me," Sid states, coming to stand next to the box. "It's a lost cause. I'm just going to go back to my room and type up a blog post about my six degrees of Cherry Summer moment."

Her mentioning not fitting in something my sisters wore gives me an idea.

"The Wi-Fi is down," I remind her, going back into the closet.

She shrugs and says, "I can save it to post later."

"I've got it!" I exclaim, finding and pulling out the box full of men's stuff.

I drop it on the floor, pull off the green lid off, and pull out snow pants and a coat.

"Here you go. I bet they're even too big."

I grin victoriously as I shove them in her arms.

"Yeah, but—"

"But nothing, let's go."

Grabbing another set of pants and a coat, I walk out of the room. Sid reluctantly follows.

"So, you pretty much grew up in the porn industry, right?" she asks, causing me to grin.

The annoyance with the topic is gone, replaced with a weird comfort I have around her. Maybe it's the acceptance of my family I find so refreshing.

"Basically," I answer, stopping at the door to slip into the snowsuit.