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Contents
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
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Chapter 1
No distractions.
These were the words that had instantly sold Zahra Hart on the idea of spending the next two weeks at her literary agent’s summer home in Lake Lamont, North Carolina. No interruptions were precisely what she needed to put the finishing touches on her romance novel. Hopefully, her next bestselling romance novel. After the last two duds, she needed a winner.
This seclusion would be good for her. Quiet time to just write. No sister blowing up her phone to discuss her latest relationship drama or barging in at the most inopportune moments to siphon off hours of her valuable writing time to discuss her inability to understand men. As if anyone did. And definitely not Braswell, continuously attempting to justify sleeping with another woman and ruining their three-year relationship.
The latter caused a ping of pain to ripple through her chest. After six months, his betrayal still stung like hell, which was a prime reason why she had yet to finish the novel that should have been done weeks ago. She groaned, regretting the pressure her procrastination would place on her.
She had no one to blame but herself. But in her defense, who could write about love when the despicable emotion was the last thing on her mind? Though she’d said it several times before, this time she meant it. She was done with love.
Maybe.
Definitely for the foreseeable future.
Ugh. Why did she still have to believe in happily-ever-after?
It wasn’t like she needed the distraction of love. The exact opposite, in fact. With writer’s block jamming her creativity, she needed to shift her focus elsewhere. With her writing in limbo, her focus was needed elsewhere.
Her mother’s words drifted into her head. The right one is out there and searching for you at this very moment. Well, apparently, her supposedly right one was directionally challenged because at thirty-five, she hadn’t been found yet. It wasn’t like she’d been hiding all these years.
Okay, maybe she wasn’t completely done with love, but Mr. Right One was taking a long time to locate her, so he’d better make one hell of an entrance into her life when he finally showed up. She was talking firework-level sparks that ignited her entire soul. She wouldn’t settle for anything less. An average Joe who was capable of seeing past his own damn ego. Yeah, that was the type of man she needed.
“Right one.” She scoffed. “Yeah, right.” Was there even such a thing? She was poised to say no until she recalled her parents’ relationship. They’d been happily married for decades. Considering those two, true love definitely had to exist. Maybe just not for her.
“If it’s meant to be, it’ll be,” she mumbled to herself.
“You say something, darlin’?”
Zahra eyed Captain Skip—the gentleman at the helm of the boat and the person responsible for getting her to her destination—and gave a lazy smile before shaking her head. “No, sir.” Her smile turned into inward laughter when she considered how much Captain Skip resembled an older, rounder, tanner version of the Skipper from Gilligan’s Island. Was that how he’d gotten the name?
Even though she wore a thick coat and huddled inside the partially enclosed structure, the icy wind still penetrated to her bones. Now she understood why Leona and her family made this trip only in warmer weather.
Captain Skip inhaled a deep breath. “Storm’s coming through.”
Zahra’s brow shot up. Had he gotten that from a mere whiff? She tilted her head toward the clearest sky she’d ever seen. Not a gray cloud swirling. For kicks, she drew a breath. The chilly, crisp late-January air stung her nostrils. All she took in was the freshness of Lake Lamont. No hint of precipitation.
She appreciated the clear atmosphere. Unlike the air back in Charlotte, which was most often—thick and unpleasant. Still, she loved living in the Queen City.
“Won’t be able to get back up here till after it passes. Could be three or four days if it’s severe. Think you’ll be okay?”
Yes, she would be. Perfect, actually. Stormy weather was when she did her best writing. “I’ll be fine.” She appreciated the older man’s grandfatherly concern.
Initially, the only-accessible-by-boat thing had given her pause. But for only a couple of moments. All the time it had taken to research the crime rate in Lake Lamont and discover it to be practically nonexistent. A damaged fence here, a smashed mailbox there.
“Good thing you won’t be—”
Captain Skip paused at the sound of her cell phone ringing.
“Ooo, I have a signal.” The last time she’d checked, there hadn’t been any bars. She fished the device from her purse and smiled when the name and face of her fabulous agent for the past five years filled the screen. Making the call active, she held the phone to her ear. “Hey, Leo.”
Leona Landen’s voice crackled on the opposite end. Zahra stood in hopes of acquiring a stronger signal. Swaying, she grabbed hold of one of the metal railings supporting the canopy. “Leona, are you still there?”
“I’m—”
The call dropped before Leona could finish her sentence. “Shoot.”
The bars flatlined again, so Zahra stuffed the cell phone back into her purse. Leona had probably just wanted to make sure she’d arrived safely. So far, so good.
“Those devices don’t work all that well around here. It’s hit or miss. Mostly miss. That’s why I rely on this trusty gadget.” Captain Skip held up what resembled a CB microphone. “Dual band. Seven hundred and fifty channels. Excellent frequency range.”
“Sounds useful. But it seems a little too daunting to carry around in my purse.”
Captain Skip bellowed with laugher, slapping his thick thigh several times like she’d told the best joke he’d ever heard. When his amusement dried up, he said, “Yeah, I reckon that would be a bit difficult,” then experienced another fit of laughter. It clearly didn’t take much to tickle the jolly man.
Several minutes later, they rounded a bend and Landen House came into view. Leona’s description of the structure, made of beautiful light and dark cobblestone, hadn’t done it justice. She’d labeled it a cozy getaway. The large home was more like a secluded paradise, dotted with what seemed like a thousand windows, great for natural light. Her favorite. Yep, she was going to absolutely love it here.
Three equally impressive homes shared the island, the closest two or three miles away. Good. She wouldn’t have to worry about prying neighbors. Assuming the houses were even occupied this time of year. Places like this were mostly used
as summer homes, not permanent residences.
A short time later, Zahra stood in the foyer of the contemporary-styled home. Obviously, someone had been there to prep for her arrival because it was warm and cozy inside. A set of stairs leading to the upper level was to her right, while an office slash library rested to her left, connecting to a large family room. She ventured that way, removing her coat and tossing it over a chair. The open space was decorated in a teal, gray, white and taupe color scheme. It was absolutely gorgeous. Pictures of sailboats and seashells hung on the walls.
Veering into the adjoining kitchen, she took in every inch of her surroundings. The room resembled something plucked from the pages of a luxury kitchens magazine spread. Stainless steel and expensive wood decorated the sterile space. Oh, she was going to enjoy preparing meals in here. It was twice the size of the kitchen in her condo.
And speaking of cooking, she moved to the fridge and peered inside. Just as Leona had promised, the woman had it stocked to the brim with everything she could possibly need. Along with tons of fresh produce.
“Gold Peak Green Tea. Hmm.” She usually preferred hot tea, but she’d give it a go. Removing a bottle, she twisted the top and took a long swig. The masculine voice that rang out in the room nearly caused her to drown in the liquid. Coughing ferociously, the bottle slipped from her hands. Wide-eyed, she ogled the hooded man filling the doorway, her wobbling legs threatening to betray her.
Despite just downing a few ounces of liquid, her mouth went dry, her stomach churned and her pulse rate tripled. Her heart pounded so ferociously against her rib cage, she was surprised it couldn’t be seen thumping through her clothing.
In hindsight, she wished she’d taken the self-defense class her sister had suggested some months back. Eyeballing the guy, Zahra doubted the techniques would have been beneficial now. It would take a skilled professional to take down this mass of a man. While she could barely see his face under cover of the hoodie, she could feel his eyes boring a hole through her.
Bile rose and burned the back of her throat, but she forced herself into self-preservation mode. Dying today was not an option. She hadn’t even seen The Lion King Live yet. It was on her bucket list, so she couldn’t kick it.
* * *
When he thought he heard the hum of a boat, Gregor Carter’s eyes rose from the twenty or so pills he held in his hand. Spilling the opioids back into their bottle, he sat it on top of the nightstand and stood. He winced at the dull pain that radiated through his ankle. While his joint felt much better than it had several weeks ago, it still wasn’t where it needed to be. Where it had been prior to the accident.
After rotating his foot in a circular motion several times to loosen the stiffness, he crossed the room. At the window, he realized his hearing hadn’t deceived him, spotting the same vessel he’d arrived on two weeks ago pulling away from the dock. While he hadn’t seen anyone disembark from the watercraft, he knew someone had entered the house by the chime of the alarm.
Thad?
His agent hadn’t said anything about coming. Was he here to check on him? Had Thad noted the hint of desperation in his voice when they’d spoken earlier? If anyone knew Gregor was not himself, it would have been Thad. Not only was he one hell of an agent, but he was also a damn good friend. Loyal.
He moved back to the bed and stashed the pill bottle inside the nightstand drawer. It would have been so easy to swallow the pills and dull it all—the hate mail, negative commentary by broadcasters, messages from so-called fans calling him everything from selfish and irresponsible to reckless and the worst quarterback in the league—but he wasn’t going out like that. He wasn’t going out like his father. Coward.
It hurt like hell that even some of his teammates regarded him as the enemy and had turned their backs on him, but he knew most of their animosity stemmed from the fact that they’d wanted so badly to head to the Super Bowl. Hell, so had he.
If he hadn’t known any better, he would have sworn he wasn’t the one in jeopardy of losing everything. But he did know better, and his career—along with countless endorsement deals—was in limbo. The only thing the world seemed to care about was the fact that he’d missed one of the most important playoff games of the season, which—by their assertions—had caused the Carolina Thoroughbreds their shot at the Super Bowl.
It irked him that no one cared he’d suffered an ankle sprain that had sidelined him and threatened his livelihood. Nor had they considered the fact that he’d already brought them four Super Bowl wins.
And they’d had the nerve to call me the ungrateful bastard.
He recalled some of the social media posts he’d read. Fans felt let down? How in the hell did they think he felt? This was supposed to be his opportunity to earn a fifth championship for his beloved Thoroughbreds. And he’d blown it. Over a woman. The recollection angered him. Never again.
Everyone had assumed he’d been horsing around the night of the accident, up to his usual antics. But it hadn’t been the daredevil in him that had forced him to barrel down the road on his Harley at a stupid speed. It had been the scorch of betrayal.
Walking in to see his ex bouncing up and down in another man’s lap, in the bed Gregor had purchased, in the condo he paid for... Well, that had been enough to make any man irrational. Instead of a confrontation that would have surely led to bad press, he’d left in a rage.
Too bad that had yielded the same result he’d been trying to avoid. He should have just smashed the bastard’s face in and spared himself weeks of physical therapy.
That night had changed him. Not his ex’s treachery—of course, that had affected him, too—but the accident. Seeing his life flash before his eyes had forced him to reevaluate things. Since that night, nothing in his life felt...adequate. A link was missing.
Gregor released a heavy sigh. Maybe this was all his fault. Maybe he should have had better control over his emotions. Maybe he had been selfish and reckless for driving too fast and getting into the accident. Maybe, maybe, maybe. None of it mattered much now. The damage had been done.
Pulling on a black hoodie that cloaked his head and hid the scar that was a continuous reminder of that night he’d hit the asphalt, he moved from the downstairs master bedroom to greet Thad.
To Gregor’s surprise, it wasn’t Thad he found as he followed the rustling into the kitchen. His eyes fixed on the jean-clad round rump sticking out from between the refrigerator door. Something unmistakable gripped him. Lust. Even in a state of utter despair, his sexual appetite was still as ferocious as ever.
Ms. Round Rump hummed a tune similar to something one might perform to lull a fussy baby. Who was she? And what was she doing here? When she came up with a bottle of his green tea, he scowled but remained silent. Apparently, a thief.
Growing up in foster care had taught him to be keenly aware of his surroundings at all times. A lesson Ms. Round Rump clearly hadn’t been taught. He could have been a serial killer readying to make her his next victim. Luckily for her, he would never dream of hurting a woman.
His eyes washed over her profile. She was...cute, in an average sort of way. Nothing about her really stood out to him. In fact, if they were in a room filled with a dozen other women, he doubted he would have even noticed her. Well, maybe from behind. His gaze flowed the curve of her butt. As an ass man, hers garnered his attention.
When she tilted her head back, her brownish-red hair—pulled into a ponytail—swayed back and forth. Again, while she was...cute—in an average sort of way—she wasn’t his type. Obviously, his body disagreed, because he stirred below the waist. Probably just a reaction to the fact that it had been over a month since he’d enjoyed his second favorite pastime. Sex.
If he was as good as he thought he was when it came to assessing a woman’s body, she was a curvy size sixteen. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been with a woman who wasn’t a size six or smaller. Despite the
lean dishes he’d grown accustomed to, this full plate was tempting as hell.
“That belongs to me,” he said, alerting her to his presence.
The scene that unfolded would have gone viral on the internet. Ms. Round Rump choked. The plastic bottle fell from her hand and made a thunk when it hit the floor. Liquid pooled at her feet. When she attempted to flee, she slipped and went down. Hard.
Apparently, her butt did more than just tempt because she practically sprung back up as if she had hydraulics attached to her behind. On her feet again, she stumbled backward and slammed against the refrigerator. A mix of fright and shock danced in her wide, dark brown eyes. She frantically scanned her surroundings, he assumed for a weapon.
Honestly, he would have laughed had he been in a humorous mood.
“Wh-who are you? Wh-what do you want? I don’t have any money,” she said.
Money? Her money was definitely the last thing he needed. He had far more than enough of his own. And he would trade every dime to go back in time to a point when he wasn’t considered public enemy number one through ten.
Gregor crossed his arms over his chest. “I think I should be asking the questions here. Seeing how you’re standing in my kitchen.”
Well, not exactly his kitchen, but she didn’t know that. Or at least he hoped she didn’t.
With a full-on, frontal view, Gregor got an opportunity to see the whole of Ms. Round Rump’s body. She had an hourglass shape, with a few extra minutes in the hip region. In addition to being an ass man, he was a breast man, too, and hers were magnificent. But were they real? Something told him yes. It had been a long time since he’d cupped breasts that weren’t man altered.
Finding her face again, his brow furrowed slightly. He was sure he’d never met her before, but oddly, she looked familiar. Then again, being an athlete, he encountered so many women that they eventually all started to resemble each other. But her... Her low, cautious tone drew him back to their confrontation.
Then Came You ; Written with Love Page 16