The Ugly Duckling

Amelia's POV:

"Hello, Amelia," the smooth baritone says over the phone, and my eyes go wide immediately. My pulse quickens as my brain produces a face to match the voice almost instantly.

It is the one face I had tried so much to get over - the one face that makes my heart beat erratically and my thighs tingle shamelessly.

My treacherous body and heart cloud my common sense when it comes to this one man.

"Who is this?" I say, unable to keep the trembling out of my voice as I woefully pretend not to recognize his voice. I clear my throat, but my heart is still beating like a wild, untamed animal trying to break free in my chest.

"Tsk tsk tsk. You don't recognize my voice? That's too bad, Amelia," he says. I can hear the disappointment and slight amusement in his low, smooth baritone. It makes my pulse jump. It makes my mouth dry, even as I moisten my lips with my tongue.

Ashley, my roommate and best friend, is watching me with her brows furrowed into a question mark across the room. I look away from her, cupping the phone closer to my ear.

"What do you want, Mr. Tanner?" I whisper harshly. What could he be calling me about at this time of the night? It is 10 p.m. on a random Tuesday. We haven't spoken in three years since the funeral of my mom. I wanted nothing to do with him. I have successfully run away, hiding from him, hoping he would not be able to reach me.

"I thought we agreed on you addressing me by just Linc." His voice cuts into me, but I can't pull the phone away from my ear.

I am drawn, and yet my brain yells at me to just drop the call and block this new number. But I don't listen because he will just call me again. He will always find me, or I always allow myself to be found.

Ashley, having sensed my need for privacy, stepped out of the room already.

"Mr. Tanner," I take a deep, shaky breath to steady my nerves so I don't sound like a scared, squeaky mouse over the phone, "Why are you calling me at this time of the night with a strange number?" I fail; I bite down on my lower lip in muffled anger.

It's been so long since I heard his voice, his deep baritone voice that sends swarms of butterflies in my lower belly, my nipples hard as nuts, pressed tightly to my crop top.

"Because you blocked all my other numbers and cut everyone else off," he snaps. Though there is still that hint of amusement in his voice, like he is enjoying toying with my emotions like this. He knows what he's doing; he always does, and I swear on my life he could literally picture me shaking for him.

"Yes, and?" I say with a brow raise like he can see me, hoping I'm doing a good work at acting unaffected and unbothered as though I hadn't masturbated an hour ago with his halfnaked picture I saved on my phone from social media account.

Hell yes! You can say I'm stalking him, too. God! Seeing him shirtless, his shorts hanging lower beneath his hip brought waves of forbidden feelings I never knew existed within me.

My pussy watered at the sight of him, throbbing and clenching like a wanton slut.

"Ames, darling, you worry me," Linc Tanner, my stepfather breathes into the phone, and heat rises to my face at that damn nickname. That nickname coming out from his forbidden lips, capable of making my toes curl, my knees bend before him, taking all of him deep into my throat.

"Don't call me that!" I yell, cutting him short. My face is going red. I hate the way my body reacts to him. Every part of me awakens at the sound of his voice. It terrifies me; it excites me.

"I will call you what I want," he replies calmly and dangerously low and then continues in the same calm tone like I am not huffing and puffing over the phone at him, "It has been three years, and I needed to know how you were doing. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," He pauses like he is rethinking his choice of words, and I hold my breath, refusing to think too much about the fact that he just said he hasn't been able to stop thinking about me, "Wondering how you were coping," he adds finally.

I exhale.

The sudden vulnerability in his voice drives a sharp sting directly to my heart. It hurts for a second, and then I pull my defensive walls up again, guarding that traitorous organ called the heart.

"It is not in your place to worry about me. I am not your responsibility. I am doing perfectly fine on my own," I bite back, but deep down a surge of joy was gradually brimming.

He had not been able to stop thinking about me.

That last word got stuck in my head, deeply imprinted in my brain. I pressed my thighs together, hoping to calm the aching feeling in between. I could feel it throbbing, tbrobbing for him.

He obviously has not called me to talk about my shortcomings in the way I handled the aftermath of my mother's funeral three years ago.

That is why I had his numbers blocked. I know Linc Tanner is rich enough to find me within days, but I hoped that common sense would tell him not to bother me regardless, and he didn't.

"You know that is not true. I am your guardian; of course, it is in my place to worry about you," Linc says, his smooth baritone pierces me like a lash. I imagine him pulling his hand through his thick wavy jet-black hair in quiet frustration.

It is one of the things I noticed about him immediately when I was first introduced to him four years ago. That thick midnight dark hair. For his age, it was ridiculous for his hair to still be that youthful looking, that mouthwatering, the sexiest man I have ever set my eyes on.

But that was Linc Tanner.

A walking contradiction of a man.