by Erin Noelle
James Levi.
The best freestyle motocross rider in the world, known for his desire to attempt the impossible.
That’s who Dakota was talking to at Ember.
Huh. Interesting.
Mystery solved, I lie back down and cuddle Hudson close to me, fitting our bodies seamlessly together, and kiss her forehead.
“I love you, snow angel.”
The debate over the legalization of marijuana, for both medical treatment and recreational use, has been a hot topic in our society over the past several decades. Historical records dating as far back as 2900 B.C. describe the use of cannabis as a popular medicine, first documented in China, then Egypt, India, Greece, Rome, Arabic civilizations, and eventually, in the dominant British Empire. The Jamestown settlers originally introduced the marijuana plant to North America in 1611, and much like it had in many other parts of the world, medical marijuana became a commonly utilized form of treatment to suppress headaches and other minor aches and pains, to increase appetites, to aid in sleeplessness, and to improve symptoms of depression by the middle of the 19th century.
After a series of legislative acts in the first part of the 20th century, recreational marijuana use was prohibited in the United States, and several decades later it was also deemed illegal for medicinal purposes, despite the opposition from the American Medical Association. Fast-forward nearly half a century, after extensive research, testing, and overwhelming support from the medical community, on November 5, 1996, California became the first state to legalize medical marijuana, though many others had previously passed laws to decriminalize cannabis. Since then, twenty-two other states, as well as Washington D.C., have followed suit in making it legal to possess and use with a prescription from a doctor.
In 2012, Colorado and Washington legalized the recreational use of marijuana for adults ages 21 and over. Two years later, Oregon and Alaska voted to do the same, and there at the time of publishing, there are a handful of other states to vote on similar laws in 2015.
Regardless of your stance on recreational marijuana use, the scientific facts regarding the medical benefits of both THC and CBD, chemicals found in cannabis, cannot be denied. People diagnosed with a variety of cancers, glaucoma, epilepsy, arthritis, eating disorders, mental health diseases, and hundreds of other illnesses are discovering the physiological and psychological benefits, and in turn, are suffering less.
Erin Noelle is a Texas native, where she lives with her husband and two young daughters. While earning her degree in History at the University of Houston, she rediscovered her love for reading that was first instilled by her grandmother when she was a young child.
A lover of happily-ever-afters, both historical and current, Erin is an avid reader of all romance novels. Her titles published include the Book Boyfriend Series, the Dusk ‘Til Dawn Series, Translucent, Conspire — co-authored with SE Hall, Surviving Us, and MILF: Wrong Kind of Love.
Her books have been a part of the USA Today Bestselling list and the Amazon and Barnes & Noble overall Top 100. You can follow her on Facebook @ www.facebook.com/erin.noelle.98, her blog @ www.erinnoelleauthor.com, on Twitter @authorenoelle, and on Instagram @erinnoelleauthor.
This is one of my favorite parts of every book because without these people, there’s no way I would’ve been able to finish this book, at least not with some sort of sanity still intact. So without further ado, it is with much thanks and big hugs that I recognize the following:
My husband and girls ~ Y’all will be #1 on my list Every. Single. Time. I love you more than anyone else in the entire world and thank you for dealing with my crazy, manic writing schedule. Your support means everything. You’re why I try so hard.
Stacy Kestwick ~ Where have you been all my life, woman? There aren’t enough words to express my appreciation for how much help you’ve been in this book, and I can’t wait for the next ten that we do together! I’d skip around the globe for you <3
Jill Sava ~ Forever my Bright Side. Thank you for keeping me organized and scheduled. Thank you for being crazy and understanding my crazy. Thank you for all that you do, every day. Love you lots.
Hang Le, Trina Marie & Kirsten Papi ~ Three years later and here we are. Still together. Each of you ladies is so special to me and even if I never wrote another book, I know we’d stay close friends.
Toski Covey ~ Sister, you outdid yourself on this one, but you already knew that. Thank you for being you. Thank you for sharing your talent. Thank you for being a genuine friend through it all.
Mo Mabie ~ One of my favorite hookers. I’m so happy that we found each other because now that I have you, I’m never letting go. Thank you for your never-ending support and for never judging. I can’t wait to cuddle soon!
Aly Martinez ~ My other favorite hooker. Who knew after I found you signing your books in a bar that we’d end up here? I’m still not sure how you do everything you do, but I’m blessed to be a part of it…even if you did make me the old, crotchety neighbor woman. Thank you for being a part of my every day and for always making me laugh.
Natasha ~ My cheerleader. My Crew lover. My whore. I finished my third book!! Aren’t you proud of me? Thank you for being the craziest person I know. Thank you for loving my characters, possibly even more than you love me. Thank you for being a part of my bubble.
Alison, Michelle, & Allison ~ My kick-ass betas. Thank you all for reading along with me, for taking this journey with me. Even the days you hated me ‘cause I left you hanging. This story is a better story because of each of your inputs, and I’m so very grateful.
Kayla ~ My awesome editor and Twinnie. I think I’ve said it all before, but you’ll never know how much I appreciate your fabulous work, how you deal with my sporadic submissions, and your friendship. Seven books down together, seven thousand to go…
Steph ~ My Smoops. Thank you for always being there for me.
Jessica ~ My writing date. Thank you for always being in my corner, even when we’re in a round room. I love our brainstorming sessions and our writing dinners.
CM Foss ~ My Clare Bear. Let me count the ways I love you. You never cease to amaze me (in the best way possible, of course) and I’m so very blessed to call you a friend.
Street Team ~ You ladies are the bomb. I can’t ever thank you ladies enough for your continued support and constant pimping.
Bloggers ~ The hardest working people in the business that get little credit and no pay. I greatly appreciate the time you spend reading, reviewing, and/ or promoting the books we authors pour our heart and soul into. We couldn’t do it without you.
Readers ~ I have the most incredible readers ever. I absolutely love getting feedback from you and visiting with you on a daily basis. You’re the main reason I continue doing this! Love you all!
Prologue
Holding my breath, I carefully eased open the lid of the small velvet box, barely able to contain my excitement. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows of our downtown Nashville loft hit the diamond ring, speckling the walls with tiny prisms.
Damn.
The air left my lungs in a surprised whoosh. That was some rock. I plucked the ring with the larger-than-expected center stone from its blue cushioned bed, pinching it between my thumb and forefinger, and examined it the way one would inspect a dropped contact lens. The cushion-cut center diamond had to be at least two carats. And the side stones, another carat easily. “Wow,” I whispered, fighting the huge smile overtaking my face. I thought about slipping the ring on, wanting to see how it would nestle between my fingers, but I held back. I would only have that first moment once, and it should be after I said yes.
Slipping the ring back inside the box, I replaced it exactly the way I’d found it, tucked under a stack of trouser socks in my boyfriend’s top dresser drawer, next to a tangle of power cords and chargers for his various pieces of tech. A laptop, iPod, GoPro camera, and two different sized tablets littered the top of his dresser.
I knew it. Asher was pl
anning to propose. I squealed and jumped up and down like a little girl. When I’d gotten home early today – my scheduled afternoon photo shoot had to be canceled after an early morning thunderstorm soaked the outdoor venue – I couldn’t resist taking advantage of the empty apartment to do a little snooping. Asher had been acting funny the last few weeks, fiddling with his computer and that top drawer, stopping whatever he was doing immediately when I walked in the bedroom. I had been suspicious at first, but, really, this was Asher.
Predictable was Asher’s middle name.
He’d graduated summa cum laude two years ago from the University of Tennessee, his parents’ alma mater, and immediately returned home to Nashville to join his father’s prestigious accounting firm. He got his hair cut at the same place he had since he was seven. Ate the same turkey-and-cheddar sandwich for lunch every day. Had the same best friend since middle school. He was solid and steadfast, and I loved that about him.
Asher took the trash out. Opened my car door. Let me pick the radio station. Always paid the check. He was the epitome of what mothers hoped their daughters found in a man. Security, sweetness, and respect wrapped up in a lightly muscled, perfectly combed package. And predictable didn’t mean boring. We heated up the bedroom twice a week, occasionally spicing it up with lingerie or strawberries and cream, on Tuesday and Friday. Sometimes Saturday too, if it was football season and the University of Tennessee won their game. On those nights, Asher would yell, “Touchdown!” as he came inside of me. It was cute.
He was cute.
We were cute.
We were that couple. Best friends in high school who turned into more at college. The one that never argued and had already picked out the names of our future children – first a boy with his daddy’s charm named Michael, then a sweet apple-cheeked girl named Molly. Even our siblings got along. His older brother and mine had been college roommates at Vanderbilt.
I was the more rebellious one. Secretly getting a tattoo at seventeen. Earning a management degree at Vandy, like my brother Simon, but starting up a photography business upon graduation instead of joining my parents and brother in the music business like everyone assumed I would. Asher had been unwaveringly supportive, urging me to move in with him so he could help me out financially while I got my company off the ground. Never complaining about my crazy hours. Helping lug all my equipment around to shoots until I made enough money to hire my own assistant. Tolerant of my frequent visits to the South Carolina coast to visit Rue – my college roommate and best friend – for long weekends of girl time.
Beaming at the realization that I would most likely be engaged to the perfect guy in the next three weeks, I floated aimlessly around the loft, daydreaming, absently touching the few hodgepodge holiday decorations we had scattered around. I bet he’d tuck it in my stocking, I mused, as I unpacked the new 800-thread-count sheets I’d bought us earlier in the day, an early Christmas present to ourselves. I was going to put them on the bed and don a red bra-and-panty set to be the bow on top of his surprise gift – it was Tuesday, one of our usual frisky days. The new satiny soft sheets had felt sensual when I picked them out, a nice little change from the standard cotton percale we had now.
As I fluffed the last pillow, I heard the apartment door opening. Confused, I glanced at the clock. It was only 2:15, and Asher didn’t normally get home until 5:30. I heard Asher’s voice echo through the loft, and I started to answer when I realized he wasn’t talking to me.
“Dude, that last video was smokin’! When’s the next one?” I recognized the voice of Jameson, Asher’s best friend. I bet Asher would ask him to be his best man. And then Jameson would walk Rue down the aisle. They’d look cute together. Maybe dark pink and black for wedding colors. What kind of flowers were dark pink? Not daisies. Lilies? Roses, maybe?
I tuned out the sound of Jameson and Asher talking, lost in my wedding fantasy, until one of them saying my name snagged my attention. “… Sadie still has no idea?” Jameson talking again. How cute, they didn’t think I knew about the ring. I rolled my eyes. Guys were so dumb. Like I hadn’t figured out that was coming. Asher had been extra sweet and affectionate lately, and the sex had been steamier than usual. Plus, we’d been together, officially, for three years now. Definitely time to start thinking about settling down.
Asher scoffed. “Hell, no. And after I propose, can you imagine the footage from that night?”
“Think you’ll be able to get her to do some new positions?”
“I think she’ll do anything I ask her to after I put that giant rock on her finger.” I could hear the smugness in Asher’s voice, a vulgar, calculated tone I wasn’t used to.
Positions?
Footage?
Crinkling my brow, I crept closer to the bedroom door. Jameson’s slightly nasal reply – why had I not noticed how grating his voice was before? – mixed with the dust motes floating in the air. “What about Rebecca? When’s the next one with her?”
Rebecca?
My head snapped back. Rebecca was my photography assistant, a cute junior from the local community college I’d hired a year ago when she’d needed the job to help with tuition.
One of them snorted. “You know as soon as I make her my fiancée, she’ll be dying to take a trip down to Reynold’s Island to show off the ring to Rue. I’ll set it up for then. Probably before New Year’s if I’m lucky.”
“You’re a fucking bastard, Ash.” Jameson made it sound like a compliment. “You plan on keeping it up after you’re engaged?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I dunno. Don’t you think it’s a little different if you do it after you pop the question?”
That was Asher’s long drawn out sigh. I recognized it. “I’ve thought about that. Maybe stopping the stuff with Becca on the side. But, seriously, the sex is so fucking hot. And Becca lets me do stuff that Sadie won’t.”
“Like what?”
“Like maybe I don’t share everything I film with you guys.”
They laughed long and hard. I wrapped my arms around my middle, my breathing shallower, my legs feeling weak.
“Want a beer, man? Dad’s out of the office the rest of the day, let’s call it quits early and play Madden at your place.” There were some thuds, then two loud pops followed by slow hisses. Beer cans. I slid bonelessly to the floor by the window, automatically picturing Jameson’s almost identical loft down the hall.
“For real, though. Sadie doesn’t suspect? How do you manage to get away with it?”
“I’m sweet. Considerate. Loving. The perfect boyfriend. Seriously, Jameson, if you tried it sometime, you’d probably get some action of your own instead of having to jack off to mine. Sadie eats that shit up. With Becca, though, it’s different. More raw, more intense, more –” Grunts and slapping sounds echoed off the high ceiling. A lone tear hesitated at the corner of my eye, waiting for permission to trail down my cheek.
“Yeah, Becca’s tits are pretty epic. And her legs –”
Asher interrupted. “And her ass and her mouth and her tongue. Yeah, dude, I know exactly what I’m doing with her.”
“Shit, man.” Awe radiated from Jameson. “You’ve, like, studied this or something?”
Asher laughed. “Yeah, dude, I totally studied fucking in college. And, trust me, I got an A.”
A phone rang. Not Asher’s ringtone. Numbly, I heard Jameson answer and, a few minutes later, the door slammed in the front of the loft. The guys leaving.
I was frozen on the floor, that stubborn tear still clinging to the hope that this was all a nightmare, and it didn’t really need to fall. I drew in shaky breath, suspended in disbelief.
This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t Asher. This wasn’t the guy who rubbed my feet after a long day and packed me snacks to take to work. The guy who told me I was hot no matter what I was wearing. The guy that whispered in my ear at night that I was his other half and made sure I always had extra batteries and memory cards before a big shoot.
Shit. Footage. Hadn’t Jameson said something about footage?
My attention shifted to the laptop, and I automatically moved across the room, grabbing the sleek computer and settling on the new sheets that I definitely wasn’t going to be christening tonight.
Opening the screen, I hesitated at the password screen. What would he use?
My fingers typed in the word, and I hit enter. The home page appeared. Touchdown, I thought bitterly.
I ignored the software icons and looked at the file folders in a row across the bottom of his screen. The first four yielded nothing, but the one labeled Work Proposals had two subfolders labeled 1001 and 1002. Clicking on the first one, I saw thumbnails of video files, each meticulously labeled with dates. Opening the first, I saw an ass – my bare ass – walk across the screen. The camera was aimed at the bottom two-thirds of our bed. The bed I was sitting on.
Instinctively, I slid to the floor, away from what was playing on the screen. It was earlier in the summer. I could tell by my tan lines. I watched, stunned, as I crawled across the bed, over Asher’s naked body. You couldn’t see our faces. My hair was in a messy ponytail, and Asher kept his face turned toward the windows, away from the camera. I squinted at the screen. I had vaguely noticed that change in his behavior. How he often faced that way during sex in recent months.
Fucking bastard. And I definitely did not mean that as a compliment. As my onscreen self lowered onto Asher’s erection, I abruptly closed the video.
I clicked on the other folder, the one labeled 1002. Again, video thumbnails organized by date popped up in a box. Picking the most recent one, I double clicked.
My bedroom, same view as before. Only, that definitely wasn’t me bobbing between Asher’s spread legs. That big-breasted, pale skinned girl was most definitely my assistant, Rebecca, who I had almost considered a little sister.
I closed the video immediately, bile rising in my throat. Looking back over the dates on the videos, I realized they went back just over five months, to July fourth. The bottom of the file folder cheerfully informed me the folder contained forty-one items.