The Forgotten Claim - The Claim: Book 1

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Chapter 2 - Olivia

A knock on the door woke Olivia. She squinted around the bright room. Warm sunshine filtered in through the sheer curtains since she had forgotten to pull across the heavy ones last night. It took her a second to realize she wasn’t in her bed at home when another knock sounded.

“Room service,” came a woman’s voice from the other side.

Confusion tugged on her mind before last night’s events flashed before her eyes. She clapped a hand over her mouth before looking around the room for something to cover herself with.

“Coming!” she called.

Springing up from the bed, she nearly crashed down to the floor when her knees gave out.

Holy moly! Her body ached all over—especially between her legs where there was a thick coating of crusty residue from a night of lovemaking. Were those bruises on her arms and legs?

Hastily, she pulled on her rumpled sundress from the floor and answered the door.

A covered tray of food on a cart was handed over by a middle-aged woman who avoided eye-contact and hurried down the hall without another word.

Alone again, Olivia brushed her fingers through her tangled mop of dark red curls as she looked around the room. It was a standard room with a plush queen-sized bed, TV on top of a dresser, a small desk and chair, a narrow little closet, and a standard four-piece bathroom.

Aside from the ache that gripped her body, the bruises, and the crusty residue between her legs, there was no sign of anyone else having been there.

Last night couldn’t have been a dream.

But then, where was Cameron?

Setting her breakfast down on the little table in the corner of the room by the window, she found a notepad with a scribbled message across it.

Sorry you have to wake up alone but an emergency called me away. See you later. Hope you like sunny-side up, Sunshine. ~ Cam

A phone number was scratched on at the bottom and she wondered what kind of business he was in that had him dashing out before nine o’clock on a Sunday.

She frowned. Didn’t he say he was in security? What emergency could he have?

Digging her phone out of her purse, she scowled at the black screen that flashed a dead battery symbol. She’d have to charge it in her car later as she didn’t bring her cable with her. She hadn’t planned on spending her entire day in Aspen Beach so she didn’t pack her charger or a change of clothes with her.


She blushed at the thought of him.

He was far too attractive for his own good. He had dark brown hair buzzed short on the sides and longer on top with a slightly tousled look as the tips curled out, warm cognac eyes that were coppery-brown in the middle and surrounded by golden honey, high cheekbones, a prominent nose, and a five o’clock shadow that added definition to his strong jawline.

And his body... He had to work out every day for that washboard stomach and muscled arms.

Too smooth were his movements. His touch sparked like lightning and made her heart thunder within. His eyes drew her in like a magnet, making it difficult to pull away when she had enough sense to do so.

It was all too good to be true and too good to last.

While it sucked that he had to run out so suddenly, at least he was thoughtful enough to order her breakfast.

And last night...

Holy cow!

Heat rushed up to her face as a sharp pang of desire struck between her legs as her memories crashed into her.

Last night had been surreal. The walk around town followed by the beach. Dinner and dancing. The chemistry was too real with the sensations of their bodies moving in sync with each others’, the heat of his skin against hers. The way his mouth explored every inch of her in passionate worship. The friction. The ecstasy...

Burning up, she hurried to take a shower before returning to her cold breakfast of eggs, toast, and a side of fruit with some orange juice and a lukewarm cup of coffee.

After eating, she set out to the front desk to check out but was informed that the room was booked again for that night.

‘See you later,’ he had written. Was this his way of asking her to wait for him? That he wanted to see her again when he was done with his emergency?

Without answers, she held onto her key and left in search of her car. She found it right where she left it, parked down the street from the house she showed yesterday, and promptly turned it on and plugged her phone into the car-charger attached to the dash.

Pulling the note from her purse, she dialed the number Cameron wrote down but it went straight to voicemail. After leaving an awkward message to have him call her back, she hung up and wondered what to do for the rest of the day.

She decided to follow up with yesterday’s client and touch-base on their thoughts and where to go from there. After that, she wandered around the town for a bit after letting her phone charge for half an hour. By lunchtime, she wondered if she should return to the city or continue to wait on Cameron to call her back. What was taking him so long to return her call?

The afternoon came and went. She lounged along the beach, watched the couples, groups of young people, and families with children while listening to the sounds of their laughter and shouts over the soft lapping of the water over the shore.

She ate dinner alone, her phone about to die when she returned to the hotel and returned her key card. She had to be up early in the morning and if Cameron didn’t show up or even call back by now, what difference did it make?

Let down and frustrated, she returned home, hoping he might still call her with an explanation.

He didn’t.

One week passed.

Then another.

She left a few messages but otherwise got caught up with work and tried not to dwell on what happened or why he wasn’t getting back to her.

By the end of the second week, she tried calling again but the number was no longer in service.

Her heart sank into the pit of her gut.

The chemistry had been overwhelmingly real. She hadn’t dreamed it—she knew she hadn’t. She could still recall it as though it happened yesterday, although all traces of love-bites and rough lovemaking had vanished from her body.

Sometimes, she scorned his memory. He played her. No doubt he did this sort of thing every weekend. Probably called every girl “Sunshine” and ordered her eggs sunny-side up and was never there when she woke up for breakfast.

And other times, she was angry at herself. How could she have fallen so hard for someone like him? How could she be so stupid?

As the weeks went by, she tried to continue on with her life as best as she could, though a part of her continued to ache over him. It was as if she was heartbroken and mourning a relationship that had lasted a year rather than a single day and night.

It struck her one morning. A nauseated feeling that had her skipping breakfast and meeting an early morning client—and throwing up in the client’s bathroom.

She wiped the sweat from her brow as she leaned her cheek against the side of the cool toilet bowl. The scent of lemon cleaner hung in the air after she flushed away the stomach acid.

A knock rapped gently on the door. “Olivia? Are you feeling okay? We can reschedule if you’re ill.”

She pulled herself up with a groan and splashed some cool water on her face and rinsed her mouth out.

Maybe she was ill? She did wake up feeling queasy and fatigued.

She went back home to bed and woke up after a brief nap feeling better. She took it easy and rescheduled her appointments in case she got worse.

It didn’t and she was kicking herself. She’d have to make up her lost time over the course of the week now.

The next morning, the same thing happened with her rescheduled early morning client.

“You sure you’re not pregnant, Olivia?” A note of humor was on the voice that came through the door.

Stricken, Olivia slowly lifted her head over the sink and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Beads of water dripped down her flushed cheeks as wide green eyes stared back at her.

She couldn’t be pregnant, could she?


She shivered at the thought of him. The memory of him. Of his cheeky grin. His lips on hers. His mouth on her breast. His dick buried deep inside her. Thrusting.

He wore a condom, didn’t he?

Didn’t he?


She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep the noise of a dying animal locked inside.

She couldn’t remember him putting on a condom. Or changing the condom for that matter each time he came.

How much time had it been since then?

When was her period due?

Shit, I’m late!

She quickly rescheduled and ran to the nearest drugstore for a pregnancy test.

She didn’t even wait to go home—she used the store’s facilities and sat on the toilet with the test resting on her leg, waiting for the result.

The seconds ticked by and the result was clear.

She was pregnant.

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