Kiss Talent Agency Boxed Set (Books 1-6)

by Virna DePaul

  The design is beautiful—and I’m not just saying that because I drew it up myself on the computer. It’s a vibrant display of watercolors painted across a tapestry of stars, and in the stars, there are distinct, unrecognizable faces peaking through the abyss.

  “What does this mean to you?” he asks.

  I lift my chin. “It represents the people who have come and gone in my life. Some who cared about me. Some who I cared about. But none who stayed.”

  “So you see it as a reminder that we came into each other’s lives and then moved on?”

  I shrug.

  He sits back. “Do it, Dani.”

  He sounds utterly serious.

  I shake my head. “Hunter…”

  “Do it, Dani. Not because I want to go our separate ways, but because people have come and gone in my life, too. Some who I cared about. But none who stayed. None who I wanted to stay. Not until you.”

  I freeze and my gaze jumps to his. Instinctively I want to shout, No fair! He knows my family history. That my father didn’t stay. How I’m afraid that no man will stay with me because of my inability to have kids.

  And now he’s telling me that he wants me to stay, even knowing what he knows about me?

  Him? Hunter Kiss?

  Golden boy agent who can have any woman he wants?

  No. He’s fooling himself. Thinking he can fool me.

  “Plenty of women would stay if you want them to. Amy’s super interested. Why don’t you just call her up and invite her to your place again. This time, I promise I won’t run her off.”

  “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. I know who you’re talking about, but I swear, I haven’t talked to her since before I first met you.”

  It’s not just his words or tone that makes me believe him, it’s the look in his eyes. His expression of utter truth and sincerity. I’d been wrong about him bribing Chad. I’d obviously been wrong to believe Amy about Hunter asking her over.

  “Fine. For the final time, are you sure you want this tattoo? You sure you want me to ink it?”

  “I’m sure.”

  I place the design against his arm, and then fold it around carefully to get perfect placement. I pick up the ink gun, preparing to inject ink into his muscular, virgin flesh.

  “Okay, here we go.”

  He takes a deep breath, we take a deep breath together, and I press the throttle and run the gun over his skin. His entire body tenses as I begin to outline the eyes of the first face in the background, using a medium-shade of blue. He relaxes slightly the more time that goes by.

  I’m about half-way done when I’m suddenly overcome with emotion and I stop because my hands start to shake and my eyes begin to water.

  I put down my tattoo gun and am about to turn away, mumbling that I need a quick break, when he gently takes my arm, stopping me. After tipping my face up so I’m looking into his eyes, he shakes his head, his eyes lit up like the fourth of July with an intensity and hunger I’ve not quite seen before. “I need you, Dani Cross.”

  He kisses me, pulling me inside out with the touch of his lips against mine. And it feels right. It feels like fate. It feels like…love?

  I don’t know. All I know is that it’s dangerous. But I also know some of the most worthwhile things are dangerous.

  Maybe, just maybe, Hunter is my chance worth taking.

  I revel in the way he’s able to lift my spirits with nothing more than a kiss. And when he breaks away, his breath hot, husky fire against my sensitive lips, he cups my face and looks into my eyes as if I’m his entire world. “Let me in and give us an honest shot at finding out what we can be. Because when I’m with you, I feel something.”

  I cup his jaw in both my hands. “I feel something too. But I’m scared.”

  “I know you are. But here’s the thing—all my life, I’ve chased money and success. I’ve chased women, but they never stayed for long because I never wanted them to stay.” He swallows a nervous lump in his throat and wets his lips. “You’re different. I don’t want to wake up to find you gone.” His gaze bores into mine. “I want you to stay.”

  “I want to stay, too,” I manage to whisper.

  “Then we’re going to work out the bullshit, and it’ll be hard because we’re not used to staying--we’re not used to other people staying—but we’re going to stay.”

  I nod. “I’m good with that.” I clear my throat. “But first, I need to finish this damn tattoo because right now, you look like an idiot with half an eye outlined.”

  He barks with laughter. “You always know the exact right thing to say.”

  “Of course I do.” I’m almost choking on happy tears. “I’m a romantic, after all. Now, let’s get back to work.”

  As I trade my now contaminated gloves for a fresh pair, he sits down, lets out an exhale of hot, nervous air, then closes his eyes when I press the gun against his arm.

  “Relax,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”

  He opens his eyes and says, in all seriousness, “I know you do,” before closing his eyes again.

  As the gun buzzes and I color lines of watercolor into his tan skin, I think about how much I love the art of ink. I think about the sense of fulfillment I find in tattooing, and then I think that maybe…

  Just maybe…

  I can find that same sense of peace and love with him.

  Hunter fucking Kiss of all people.

  I guarantee nobody saw this coming.

  I certainly didn’t.

  Epilogue

  Dani

  One Year Later

  Hunter’s chest heaves against mine as we struggle to catch our breath. Finally, with a sigh of satisfaction, I loosen my legs from where they’re wrapped around his hips and he takes a shaky step back from my desk, where I’d tempted him into a quickie. Only it hadn’t been all that quick, and now we’re running late.

  “Totally worth it,” he says, as if he can read my mind, even as he pulls up his pants and zips up. I swipe my panties off the floor and slip them on under my new dress before turning to the small mirror hanging nearby. As quickly as I can, I comb my fingers through my hair so I can be as presentable as possible for the television cameras.

  Once his shirt is tucked into his pants, Hunter straightens his tie but his hands are shaking—he always gets nervous being in front of the cameras—so I offer him some assistance. A year ago, I couldn’t tie a tie to save my life; now it’s become second nature.

  I’ve learned so many things over the past year, some minor and some major.

  I’ve learned more about football. To appreciate the game because of the feeling of community it brings its fans.

  I’ve learned that I’m more stubborn than I’d like to admit, and I’ve learned that’s okay.

  But most of all, I’ve learned that people don’t always leave. Hunter has taught me so much, just by sticking around and not bolting when things got rough. And because of him, I’ve learned to stay too.

  “How did I get so lucky?” I pat him on the chest once I’ve fixed his tie.

  “I’m the lucky one.” He gently caresses my cheek, his eyes twinkling with love and lust, then drops his hand to entwine the fingers of my left hand with his right. He lifts my hand and kisses the ring that is a symbol of our commitment to one another.

  Everything can change in a year. Everything has changed in a year.

  “We should go,” I whisper. He nods and leads me out of the office. We make our way down a familiar hall leading to the first of two black curtains. We rush through the open space with three workspaces on either side of us. The tattoo shop is basically the same as it’s always been—for now.

  Hunter and I are preparing to work on renovations.

  That’s right, I’m the owner now. I’m keeping all of the current tattoo artists and personnel while scouting for up and coming artists who are more than great artists—I want to bring in people who know how to tell stories with ink. I want to mentor them, help shape their artistic s
tyle in the same way kind men and women had done for me.

  “Can you grab the sign?”

  Hunter steps behind the counter to grab the plastic sign to hang on the door.

  After he’s hung the sign and we’re outside on the bustling city sidewalk, I turn the key and take a step back to look at the tattoo shop—my tattoo shop. The sign reads: Closed For Renovations. Will Re-Open on May 25th Under New Name, Watercolor Dreams.

  Hunter massages my shoulder with a firm hand and kisses me softly against the back of my neck. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready for what?” I place my palm on his, holding him in place as I lean gently back against him. “To run this place, or for Chad to become a national star?”

  “Both.” He throws his other hand around my stomach to hold me in place. Every time he touches me there, I can’t help worrying he’s sacrificed far too much to be with me. It’s always been a fear of mine, not being able to keep a man for multiple reasons, not the least of which is my inability to have children.

  I’ve managed to voice my fears. Hunter assuaged those fears, literally tore them away from the aching pit in my gut that always seemed to scream the loudest that I wasn’t worthy.

  We’ve talked about our options extensively when it comes to having children, and we’re not sure what path we’re going to pursue but I know whatever the path, we’ll walk it together.

  “It’s a nice sign,” Hunter murmurs. “But we should really get going. Won’t look very good if Chad’s agent and sister are a no-show.”

  I laugh, turning around and throwing an arm over each of his shoulders. “Yeah, well who’s fault is that?”

  “Seriously?” He arches one brow, a cocky grin hitching across his lips. “If I recall correctly, you’re the one who pulled me into the office under the guise of needing an opinion on something.”

  “An opinion on which dress I should wear.”

  “And after you tried on the first two, I picked this one,” he points out, grabbing a fistful of the white fabric of the dress that flows just beneath my knees.

  “And then you said my panty lines were too noticeable so perhaps I should go commando.” I laugh and shake my head. “After which, you stepped toward me with that familiar look in your eye and somehow…”

  He shrugs with a cocky grin. “I am irresistible.”

  I break away from the hold he has on me and slap him playfully in the chest. “Seriously, we need to go.”

  “Should we take my car…” He cocks his head to me. “Or should we take your bike?”

  I stop dead in my tracks. “Really?” To this day, he still hasn’t agreed to ride my bike with me. For being a big, strong man, he certainly has a lot of phobias—needles, heights, bikes, spiders, and snakes—and I love that he doesn’t hide behind machismo but rather tells me every single one.

  “No.” He laughs and shakes his head defiantly. “I was kidding. There’s no way I’m getting on that deathtrap in this traffic.”

  I purse my lips, feigning a sad pout.

  He continues to shake his head, but with a little less conviction. So I turn my lips into a full frown, and that does the trick.

  “I hate you so much,” he groans.

  “That’s a lie.” I poke him in the chest then practically skip to my bike parked at the curb. It takes a little more maneuvering than normal to hop on thanks to my dress, but I manage. He knows we’re in a hurry, so he glides on behind me. And it’s so damn cute how tight he holds me as I turn the key in the ignition.

  When we speed out of the parking lot, his grip gets even tighter, almost to the point where I can’t breathe. I immediately begin to have second thoughts that perhaps we should have just taken his car, but the fact that he’s okay riding shotgun behind his woman says a lot about him. People in this world might think they know who Hunter Kiss is—I certainly used to believe he was somebody else entirely—but they’re wrong.

  They have no fucking idea.

  Once we begin to merge onto the interstate, his grip on me loosens. It’s a freeing experience being on the back of a bike with the wind in your hair, and I do believe it’s an experience he’s going to become addicted to. He lets out a wild yell, hollering against the wind as we accelerate faster and faster down the highway, weaving in and out of traffic. It’s like he’s a young boy experiencing something for the first time, one of many first experiences for us both over the last year.

  A year ago I was terrified Chad wouldn’t graduate, that he’d end up signing his life away without a backup plan. Chad and Hunter both knew of my concerns, and together they worked out an agreement that would allow him to graduate first. Chad said it was always what he’d wanted, but I know better. I know that he did it for me, and I’m so thankful for that.

  Today’s a big day for all of us, Chad most of all. He’s a first round pick in the draft. It’s the realization of a dream.

  And our father will be cheering him on from the audience, and that’s just about the best possible gift he could have ever given my brother. I’m still wary. I’m not ready to forgive or forget completely. But I’m willing to give my father a chance, and so far, he’s worked hard to prove he’s changed, and that’s been the greatest gift to me.

  Well, second greatest gift.

  The man hugging me from behind, his strong arms cradling my stomach, he’s the greatest gift I’ve ever known. He loves me completely. Loves every part of me. My stubbornness, my attitude, and my curves.

  He loves me for me, and I’m confident he’s going to be the one to stick around.

  Life’s a game, and scoring him was the ultimate touchdown.

  Description

  She won’t be his flavor of the week. But just a taste won’t hurt…right?

  Jenna

  I love Lee Bowers. And that sucks.

  He’s my brother’s best friend, but a bookish nerd like me would never fit into his celebrity-chef, serial-heartbreaker world. I don’t do risks. Lawyering feeds my bank account. Anonymous food blogging feeds my soul.

  But one night, in a red-wine-fueled funk, I pour out my feelings in a blog post, safe behind my anonymous mask. And realize too late my drunken fingers hit “Publish” instead of “Delete.”

  Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I am screwed.

  Lee

  At first, I wanted to skewer the popular food critic who brutally lampooned my restaurant—apparently while simultaneously ogling my butt. But you know what? She’s right. The only hands-on time I’ve spent in the kitchen lately involves a hot blonde and, um…a zucchini.

  Somewhere between my I’m-gonna-sue fury, and unexpectedly cuddling with Jenna after a night of soul-searing sex, I accidentally discover that blogger’s identity. And my whole life does a screeching 180.

  I love Jenna Harrison. And I’m going to prove it to her, one anonymous, sexy text message at a time.

  1

  Lee

  “All the rumors are true.”

  “Yeah, ladies, it really is that big.”

  Those are the kinds of things a man wants the woman he’s with to tell her friends about his dick.

  However, if my own dick doesn’t get with the program, Sonya is going to be telling her model friends a whole different story.

  She’s sitting next to me on the prep counter of my restaurant. Blonde hair spills over her shoulders. Her long, lean legs are crossed at the knee, her hot pink toe nails bouncing in an open-toed five-inch stiletto. Her dress clings to her perfect figure so tightly I know there’s no way she’s wearing underwear. Full breasts slip further and further from her plunging neckline as she leans over. Waiting, willing, wanting.

  And this damn zucchini in my hand is harder than I am.

  Christ, if I didn’t know the real reason for my lack of interest, I’d be seriously concerned. But I do know.

  Jenna. My best friend’s little sister.

  She’s the reason.

  It’s her birthday tonight: the big 3-0. I offered to cook both her and her brother dinne
r, just like I have every year for the past ten years.

  I remember exactly what I made her and where. For the first two years, I made her dinner in whatever apartment I was living in. Up until five years ago, I made her dinner in my first restaurant, Oven on the Street. Just a hole in the wall stuck between two massive skyscrapers with only enough room for a few tables. I literally found an oven on the street from a restaurant going out of business and that was the start.

  Since then, I’ve opened five more restaurants. I’ve cooked Jenna dinner in every one of those restaurants except Torch, the one I’m in now.

  Torch is my two-story sprawling Manhattan monstrosity of a restaurant. Closing it for Jenna’s private dinner is costing me a hell of a lot of business tonight, and earning me numerous angry calls from celebrities and socialites who thought they were getting off the wait-list.

  I don’t care. It’s Jenna’s birthday, and it’s tradition.

  But, thanks to Sonya’s earlier amorous attentions, I’m running behind. Jesus, I already gave her three orgasms today, and she’s still not satisfied. Normally, I’m up for the challenge, but not tonight. Instead, I’m wishing I hadn’t invited her to join us for dinner. It’s not something I’d normally do, but she’d asked my plans during a particularly, well, intimate time, and it had seemed rude not to.

  When she leans in for a kiss, I turn my head away and demonstrate how to peel the skin of this zucchini I’m holding.

  “Garnishes complete a dish. So, you have to make sure you give it a nice twist.”

  “Oh, Lee,” she purrs in my ear. “I’ll give it a nice twist.”

  Her perfume is expensive and exotic, but it clashes with the smell of the food I’m making: scallops dripping in butter on a bed of risotto with truffle oil. It’s Jenna’s favorite, and I want everything to be perfect.

  Sonya slips off the counter and disappears under my apron.