British Black Sheep: A Hero Club Novel

by Lauren Smith

  British Black Sheep

  A Cocky Hero Club Series Novel

  Lauren Smith

  Contents

  Note From the Author

  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

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Copyright © 2020 by Lauren Smith and Cocky Hero Club, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Sweet N’Spicy Designs

  Note From the Author

  British Black Sheep is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s British Bedmate. It's published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward's New York Times bestselling series.

  For Kate and her loveable bulldog Yogi who gave me so much joy when writing this book.

  1

  Newark Liberty International Airport, New Jersey

  “You’re not going to die.”

  Brie Honeyweather laughed at her friend’s quip over the phone. If anyone could calm her down right now, it was Bridget.

  “I know,” Brie said with a sigh. “But it’s been a while since I’ve taken one of these international flights. It’s a little scary. That’s all.” She shifted on the blue leather chair in the gate area. Her flight was scheduled to board in half an hour and all around her the other travelers were stuffing snacks in carry-on bags and adjusting curved pillows around their necks.

  “It’ll be fine. Simon, Brendan, and I just landed this morning. We’re on our way to Merryvale Court. We can’t wait to see you.”

  Brie grinned as she hastily pulled her backpack out of the way of a passenger stepping through the rows of chairs.

  “I’m excited, too. I still can’t believe you helped arrange all this. I mean, Christmas in an English country house? It’s going to be a dream come true.” Brie could already picture the snowy gardens, taste the Christmas pudding, and see a large tree shimmering in the great hall.

  “I only got the ball rolling, Brie. When I sent your books to the Countess of Merryvale, she was so impressed. She was so taken with your writing that she called your publisher for her Christmas holiday book.”

  Brie blushed. She’d been a ghostwriter in Rhode Island for four years and loved writing the stories and biographies of famous people, but this project with the countess felt different. The countess called Brie three months ago and explained in a beautifully polished British accent that she wanted to write a Christmas tradition book detailing how the holidays were celebrated on grand British estates over the years. Brie had been hesitant until she’d realized that Merryvale was the location where her favorite Regency romance series had been filmed. Both Merryvale and the countess were legendary—to Brie at least, who’d poured over the garden maps and immersed herself in the architectural history of the grand manor house.

  “So, you leave at 7:30 tonight and you arrive at 7 AM tomorrow in London? Are you staying in the airport all day tomorrow to wait for your flight to Manchester?” Bridget asked.

  “Yeah. I have to. My flight from Heathrow to Manchester leaves around about six. Then I’ll have a car take me to Merryvale tomorrow night.” Brie glanced around at her fellow passengers in the gate area. “The flight is going to be packed.”

  “At least the countess is flying you first class.”

  “I know.” Brie exclaimed. “I’ve never flown first class in my life.”

  “And overseas is the best. You get those little pod things to sleep in. It’s so nice. Brendan and Simon stayed up all night watching movies, of course. Now he’s exhausted.”

  “Brendan or Simon?” Brie giggled.

  “Simon,” Bridget clarified. “Brendan never runs out of energy.” Brendan was Bridget’s twelve year old son from her first marriage. A few years after her husband died in a car accident, Bridget had met and married Simon.

  “How about the twins?”

  “Eleanor and Elizabeth are staying with Simon’s parents for a week while we stay at Merryvale.”

  “How does Simon know the Countess of Merryvale? I feel like I need to start taking notes.” Brie was beginning to think she needed a notepad to jot down all the family members and the titles of her hosts.

  “Simon went to university with Lady Merryvale’s son. They’re ‘old school chums’ as he says. Simon’s friend called his mother and had her invite Simon, Brendan, and I for Christmas while we are here visiting Simon’s parents in Leeds. She thought it was a great idea since she was having you fly over for a few days.”

  Brie dug around in her backpack for her laptop to take some notes. “Right.” If she was going to write about Merryvale and its family she was going to need more details.

  “Well, I should go. You’ll be boarding soon…and I need to stop Simon from buying half the convenience store snacks for Brendan before we get back on the road.”

  “Good luck!” Brie chuckled and hung up.

  A minute later, the flight attendant at the gate desk announced that special needs passengers and families with priority boarding were to line up. First class would be next. Brie took one last moment to people watch at the gate, creating little stories about them in her head. The older couple who were dressed expensively, perhaps an anniversary trip? The family of six with two exhausted parents and wrinkled clothes, a Christmas vacation?

  And then she saw him…

  Mr. Gorgeous-as-a-God. He had to be six foot two with a trim, muscled physique all poured into an expensive tailored business suit. He had a rolling attaché briefcase made of what looked to be brown Italian leather. His dark golden hair was long enough for a woman to run her fingers through and grip tightly if she wanted. And she wanted. She wanted to commit his features for later mental replay. It was a long flight, after all.

  He had a chiseled look that made her want to trace his face with her fingertips and memorize all the hard angles from his jaw to the straight nose and proud chin. He had a cell phone out and was casually texting with one hand while holding the handle of his briefcase with the other. Such an ordinary everyday thing to do shouldn’t have been attractive, but there was nothing more enticing than a man who looked like he meant serious business. Maybe it was because men like that could be so damn hot when they unleashed all that focus and intensity on a woman. Brie couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. He was just so gorgeous.

  Most people in the airport had that harried, frantic look or they appeared disgruntled and rumpled. But this man looked like he’d walked off one of those video billboards in the terminal that featured attractive men in Gucci or Armani suits.

  “First class passengers group 1, please line up for boarding,” the flight attendant announced.

  A small collection of thirty people got up along with Brie to jockey
for position at the entrance of the gate. Brie winced as her backpack straps dug into her shoulders. She wished she could have put more items in her checked suitcase, but she needed to work during the flight. If she didn’t stay busy, she would freak out.

  Mr. Gorgeous was at the front of the line and he held out his phone, swiped his boarding pass and went straight onto the plane. The rest of the passengers ahead of her weren’t as organized and most had to dig for their boarding passes. By the time Brie was at the attendant station, she had her pass out.

  As she headed down the gangplank, her stomach knotted with nerves. Flying always made her anxious. She just repeated Bridget’s words in her head over and over.

  You won’t die. Everything will be fine.

  As she boarded the plane, she glanced around the first-class seats and scanned for 4D. It was a window seat.

  A window seat next to Mr. Gorgeous.

  No…No…No. She did not want to sit down next to this guy. Sure, he was insanely hot, but he was the very opposite of her type. Okay, that was a lie, he was totally her type, but she was refusing to have a type right now. She’d married too young and divorced too soon, and Brie was not about to make the mistake of falling in lust with someone like her ex ever again. And this guy was just like Preston, all suave and sexy with that corporate alpha male sex appeal. Love and lust were two different things, and she’d confused the two badly.

  It’s just seven hours. He probably won’t even talk to you. He’ll be glued to his phone or laptop, and you will be too.

  She halted next to his seat as she shoved her purse into the overhead bin and then looked expectantly at him. He didn’t look up. Just like she thought. Arrogant asshole.

  “Hi, I’m so sorry, but I have the window seat. We can switch if you want…”

  He lifted his dark gold brows and his light hazel eyes flicked up to hers. With an exaggerated sigh, he rose from his seat and stepped into the aisle, allowing her to squeeze by him to the window seat. She shoved her backpack under the seat in front of her and settled into the cushy first-class seat.

  Oh yeah, first class was definitely amazing. She was going to owe the countess one heck of a Christmas present for this plane ticket.

  Her not-so-charming seatmate removed his jacket and folded it, stowing it in the overhead compartment. He was facing her, but his face wasn’t visible because of the overhead bin. He rolled up the sleeves of his pale blue dress shirt. Even though their seats weren’t squished together like they would be in coach, she could smell a soft blend of pine and spice with a natural masculine aroma. Damn, so Mr. Gorgeous smelled amazing. Well, at least that was a plus and not a minus. Brie focused on the window, watching the ground crews loading bags as she heard the man settle back into his seat.

  While the rest of the passengers boarded, she retrieved a book from her backpack to distract herself. She preferred her e-reader when she traveled, but she’d misplaced her charger the day before and her poor e-reader was sitting dead on her nightstand back in her apartment in Rhode Island.

  Luckily, she had a stack of books on her to-be-read pile. This one was a pirate themed historical romance. The bodice ripper cover was a tad embarrassing, even though she secretly liked those covers, and she adored the author. She carefully angled the book’s cover toward the window.

  When she was fairly certain she wouldn’t attract any attention, she peeped at her sexy seatmate. He had his laptop out and was reviewing spreadsheets. The way he was staring—no, glaring—at the screen, along with the scowl and stubborn set of his chin, meant he wasn’t happy with what he was seeing.

  Brie wondered what he did for a living. Something fancy, or intense. He wore an expensive tailored suit and even the rough, yet artfully-styled look of his hair screamed money. Was it the alpha vibes he was putting out that was attracting her? How did men do that? Just sit there and ooze sexuality?

  He noticed her watching him, turned slowly to look at her and raised a brow. God, the man could do so much with his eyebrows. She felt like she’d just been caught watching him undress or something.

  “Sorry,” she muttered and focused on her book again. This time she did manage to get lost in the story, at least until the plane started rolling down the runway. At that point, she abandoned her book and gripped the armrests in a white knuckle hold and closed her eyes. This was happening. This was really happening. Hours and hours of flying way too damn high over nothing but ocean.

  “Are you all right?” A deep British accent asked. She opened one eye to see her seatmate watching her. That voice had been exactly what she would have expected from him: deep and sexy as hell.

  “Er…nope,” she whispered. “I just hate flying. Like any sane person.” She spoke in short bursts, too afraid to keep talking about her fear. It would only make it worse.

  “You’re going to be fine. Just don’t think about it,” the man replied. His British accent was going a long way to distract her. He could read a grocery list and it would sound amazing.

  “Can you keep talking, please?” she asked, closing her eyes again as the plane began to rumble faster down the runway.

  “You want me to talk to you?” He sounded half-amused and half-annoyed by her request.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just…your voice is nice and distracting.”

  The man chuckled. “You know, most people would just pop an Ambien or Benadryl and it’s lights out.” He snapped his fingers.

  “Most people might, but I’m not about to do that. Fall asleep on an airplane headed to a foreign country? No chance. My cousin works as a paralegal for a law firm that defends airlines. You wouldn’t believe what she tells me happens to some female passengers.”

  “Color me intrigued,” the man said.

  Brie was about to speak but the plane chose that moment to power up and her body was flattened back against her seat as it gained momentum. She tried not to look out the window to see how fast the runway was zipping by. In fact, she shut her eyes as tight as she gripped her seat, which was pretty damn tight.

  After a minute or so, the rumble lessened, and the sense of acceleration dropped.

  “We’re in the air,” the man said more quietly, his tone gentle. She opened her eyes to see him leaning back in his chair, watching her with an unreadable expression.

  The plane now shifted in the air, dipping down enough to send her stomach roiling as she recognized a few seconds of them freefalling. The horizon dipped out her window. They were making a turn.

  “I really hate this. We’re stuck in a huge metal deathtrap.”

  “Let me guess.” He steepled his fingers as he continued to look at her. “You don’t travel.”

  “Oh, I travel,” she shot back, her temper flaring. She didn’t like that he was implying she was a coward. “I just hate planes.”

  He made a low noise in the back of his throat that sounded disbelieving. She wanted to argue with him, but he leaned over and pulled the romance novel out of her lap and flipped it over to see the cover. He burst out laughing the second he saw it.

  “Do you mind?” She pried one of her hands off the armrest to grab the book, but he swatted her hand away.

  “This trash entertains you?”

  “Trash? It’s not trash, you…” She bit her lip to keep from calling him an asshole. She usually had much better control of herself, but something about this guy set her on edge. Gorgeous men always did.

  “Come now. All of it is bodice ripping mommy por—”

  “Don’t say it!” She made another attempt to get her book back, but he leaned far enough away that she missed and her hand smacked his stomach. He had a hard, muscled abdomen, because of course he did. The man now thumbed through a random section of the book.

  “Let’s see here… Heaving bosoms, a pirate lord, an arrogant naval officer who wants to marry the heroine. Yes, this is most definitely—”

  Before he could finish, Brie unclipped her seatbelt and lunged at him, half landing on his lap as she struggled to free her boo
k from his hands. He released the book immediately to grip her hips and steady her. If he hadn’t, she would have taken a swan dive into the first-class aisle with economy-class grace.

  “Very well, take your book back Miss…”

  “Honeyweather, Brie Honeyweather.”

  “Brie?”

  “Brie. B-R-I-E.”

  “Like the cheese?” He laughed, drawing the attention of the man across the aisle. She became keenly aware that she was still sitting on the British asshole’s lap while she should have been strapped down by the window. Brie pulled free of him and sat back in her own seat, clutching her book.

  “It’s short for Breanna.”

  The asshole was still laughing at her.

  “What’s your name? Or should I just call you Mr. Asshat?”

  “You may call me whatever you like, Brie.” He emphasized her name with another chuckle. “Or you can call me Alec.”

  Alec. Of course, he had a sexy sort of name. It couldn’t have been something silly like Eugene or Percy, something that would have lessened that British sex appeal.

  “Well, Alec, I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you but…well…” She trailed off, feeling a tinge of guilt at her catty remark. It wasn’t like her at all.

  She was not usually this rude, but this guy made it impossible to be nice. Maybe it was because he reminded her of Preston, and she was determined to see every flaw in advance. Not that she’s stood a chance of a guy like this. Not that she wanted to.

  She was twenty-nine with a job that she could do from home, and she’d embraced her single life quite comfortably. She’d bet anything that this guy always dated models. Brie knew she was attractive, but she wasn’t a model; she was too curvy to pull off that waifish look, and she was only five foot five.