Captured for Love

by Ella Goode

  Contents

  Summary

  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

  Epilogue

  Also by Ella Goode

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  With no savings and a job with a bunch of handsy lawyers, Dove’s small apartment in a shabby neighborhood is her only retreat. Despite her sister’s advice to move out and marry up, Dove plans to be single forever. If she did hook up with someone, it would be a man in her neighborhood who was of modest means and kind temperament, a man who wouldn’t abandon his poor pregnant mistress, a man the exact opposite of her wealthy father.

  Pulitzer Prize winning photographer Jay has spent the last decade roaming around the world, shooting wolves in Siberia and lost cities in the desert. Back home, he prepares to put together a photo essay for his publisher but his plans are sidetracked when he spots curvy, gorgeous Dove outside of her apartment. The next thing he knows, he’s living across the hall from her in an apartment where nothing works. When he learns of her aversion to rich men, he knows he’ll have to hide his background or he’ll never be able to capture her love.

  One

  Jay

  “This place is a shithole.” David kicks the radiator. A pipe falls off and clangs to the floor. Sheepishly, he picks it up and lays it on top of the rusted piece of crap. “See?”

  “Maybe you should be more careful.” I walk over and pick up the pipe and jot a note down on the back of the envelope I’m using to keep track of all the repairs.

  David peers over my shoulder. “For Abel? Abel Underwood? You’re not seriously considering asking him to come fix this joint? Or wait…” My agent cocks his head. “Are you doing due diligence for a new purchase? Are they going to acquire this building? Let me in on the deal. I’ve got some money stashed away.”

  I look around at the cracked drywall and the peeling paint. In about thirty minutes, a train will speed by, shaking the foundation and making it impossible to hear anything but the roar of the engine. “They aren’t buying it.” It should be obvious.

  “But…” David trails off. “Why are you here? This is worse than some third world places you’ve been in. I thought you wanted to get some R&R while putting together your photo essay.”

  “I am and I will.” The photo essay is done. I finished it up last week, but I want to review it before sending it in for publication. There’s something that doesn’t look right, but I can’t put a finger on it. I’ve put it aside for now and will re-evaluate the project in a couple of weeks with a fresh pair of eyes. For now, though, I have other things to keep me occupied. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar brown head under my window walking toward the lobby. I grab David by the shoulder and push him toward the door. “Speaking of rest and relaxation, I’m going to need you to leave so I can get started on that.”

  At the doorway, I let him go. As I’m shutting the door in his face, I hear him yell, “Don’t forget your deadline!”

  I throw the deadbolt closed and hurry over to the table where my camera is sitting. The twenty thousand dollar piece of equipment is like my third eye. I can’t see clearly without it. I hold it up to the window and start snapping. Her head is down, and in the next frame I see it’s because she’s staring at her phone screen. There’s a message there that I can’t make out. She stops and types in a reply. Whatever she gets in return irritates her. Her shoulders tense and rise toward her ears. She exhales heavily, her ribs expanding and contracting under a thin shirt with strawberries dotted all over. I like it, but then I’ve liked everything she’s worn. She has a pretty girl style, almost a throwback to when my grandma was young and televisions were still black and white. I manage to get a few more shots before she disappears out of view. I set the camera down, grab the pot from the counter, and head for her apartment, which is conveniently across the hall. The timing is perfect. As she rounds the corner, I have my fist on her knocker.

  “Can I help you?” she says in her honeyed accent. I don’t know where it’s from. I’ve traveled all over the world and heard dozens of languages spoken, but I can’t place hers. It’s a mix of Southern and Eastern, I guess—a drawl with round vowels. I can’t wait until I hear my name fall from her lips, preferably when she’s naked and under me.

  I hold up my empty pot. “I’m trying to make some mac and cheese and forgot I ran out of milk. You don’t have any, do you?”

  A smile replaces her wary expression. “Oh, are you my new neighbor? I heard someone moved in this weekend.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Dove.”

  “I’m Jay Anderson. Nice to meet you. Yeah, I just moved in.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “If you have some problems, don’t wait for the landlord. Unfortunately, no one in management really cares about us, but we’ve got some handy people around.” She pulls her keys out of her purse and fits one into the lock. “Come on in. I’ve got whole milk. Is that okay?”

  “That’s great. I can do some basic carpentry stuff, but the plumbing and electrical is out of my comfort zone.” I look around her place. It’s a lot nicer than mine. It might be because she’s got rugs and curtains and the most I have so far is my mattress and a card table.

  “I’m not good at any of that either.” She sets her purse down and disappears into the small galley kitchen off the hall. I wander into the living area. She’s got a lot of pictures on the table, but the only man in them seems to be a much older one, presumably her grandfather. There are a few romance books scattered around. I try to remember a few titles to look them up on the Internet when I get back to my apartment.

  The door to her bedroom is slightly ajar. I crane my neck to see if I can catch a glimpse of the interior.

  “Here you are,” she announces, holding out a glass of milk. She smiles brightly. “I added a little extra because you can’t eat mac and cheese without a glass of milk, right?”

  If I didn’t love her before, I do now. I wrap my fingers around the glass and trap her hand. “Have you had lunch yet? I can’t offer you much, but I’ve heard this is the cheesiest mac and cheese around.”

  She chuckles. “I did have lunch with my sister, but thanks for offering.”

  It was a long shot. After all, who eats mac and cheese except kids under the age of ten and bachelors who can’t cook? “Then let me take you out to dinner. I’ll offer you some real food and not school cafeteria stuff. You can give me the insider scoop on this dump—damn place.”

  Dove looks down at our hands that are still joined around the glass and pulls gently but firmly away. “I have a lot of stuff to do, but I do appreciate the offer. Maybe some other time.”

  It’s a rejection, and if I were a lesser man, maybe that would sting, but since I know Dove is destined to be mine, I view it as a minor bump in the road. “I’ll see you later, then.” It’s a promise.

  Two

  Dove

  I stand over my kitchen sink eating my breakfast muffin. I know this will be the only food I have until I get back home tonight. I’m supposed to have a lunch break, but in the two months I’ve worked for Miller, Thomas, Dunn & Graham that has never happened. I’m sure today will be no different.

  I was only supposed to cover the mailroom, but I am always getting pulled into other tasks. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss working at the diner. But the diner couldn’t give me medical benefits or any
of the other small perks that I felt I might need.

  My phone vibrates on the counter as I shove the rest of the muffin into my mouth. My half-sister’s name pops up on the screen.

  Avery: Did you see the hottie next door again?

  I knew I shouldn't have mentioned him to her. She is never going to let this go. Yet I had to tell someone about him.

  Me: Nope.

  I text back, trying to keep it short so she doesn't keep going. When it comes to my dating life, Avery can be like a dog with a bone. She drives me nuts, but I love her to pieces. She’s the only real family I have left. Not counting the father that we share. I use the word father loosely.

  Her relationship with our father is night and day compared to mine. For one, he actually claims her as his child. I’m just the bastard child he had when he cheated on Avery’s mom. So he likes to pretend that I don’t exist, and that it never happened. I’m used to it at this point.

  Avery didn't give a shit about any of it when she finally found out about me three years ago. She pushed herself right into my life and has made it clear she’s not going anywhere. She said she always wanted a sister, and even though the circumstances of how it came to be weren’t great, we needed to make the best of it.

  Avery: I’m bringing dinner over tonight.

  Me: I have plans.

  Avery: Liar. I’ll be there at seven.

  I groan. I’d push to meet at her place, but I know she’s trying to sneak a peek at the hottie next door. As much as I love my sister, I always feel awkward when she comes over to my place. She doesn’t turn her nose down at me, but our lives are so different.

  She goes to an Ivy League college and has her own place right off campus. It’s shiny and new, along with everything inside of it. I don’t think she had ever been to the part of the city that I live in until I moved here. I could see the shock on her face the first time she came to visit.

  When I hear the train speed by shaking the building, I know it’s time to go. I’ll need to be on the next one if I want to make it to work on time. I send Avery a quick text back telling her that she better be bringing my favorite dish from the little Italian place by her house or not to even bother to come. Then I put my phone in my bag, grab my keys, and head for the door.

  When I open the door, I pause to see my new neighbor standing there. He has a gallon of milk in his hand. His short hair is a little messy, and he doesn't look like he’s shaved yet this morning. The thought of how it would feel against my skin hits me out of nowhere. I shake it off. Great, he went and got more handsome. I didn't know that was possible.

  What catches me off guard is the smile on his face. I was sure he was going to avoid me after yesterday when I turned down his offer for dinner. Yet here he is again at my door.

  “Thought you might need this for your morning coffee since I used all yours.”

  “You didn't have to do that.”

  “You wouldn't let me take you to dinner, so I had to do something.” My cheeks warm, feeling a little bad about turning him down, even though I know it was the right thing to do. I don't have room in my life to date.

  I’m barely keeping my head above water and thinking of taking on a second job at this point. Not to mention if it went terribly, he would still be my neighbor. This place might not be much, but it’s my home. The rent is affordable, and I can’t risk losing it because the guy across the way charmed me.

  I take the milk from him. “Let me put this away.” I turn back around, going back into my apartment to put the milk away. When I come back, he’s still standing there waiting for me. I maneuver my way into the hallway, but he doesn’t give me much room as I lock my door.

  “You look pretty today,” he says, making my face warm. I’m in a pair of wide-leg slacks and a pink silk blouse that is a little too snug. I’m wearing flats because of the amount of walking I do each day. I need to drop a few pounds because I am not shelling out money for new clothes. Money that I don’t have right now. I might have finally gotten all of my mom’s medical bills paid off, but I am still paying off her funeral.

  “Thanks, Jay.” I tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear, enjoying the compliment from him. He looked sincere when he said it.

  It was nothing like when one of the partners at the firm says it to me. They always make me feel uncomfortable. They think they can buy their way into your pants with a few nice words and a piece of jewelry. I hate men. Okay, not all men, but the rich ones are bad. At least from my experience. My father is number one on that list.

  We both stand there looking at each other. When the train flies by, rocking the building, it breaks me from the spell that his bright blue eyes had me under.

  “Oh no. My train.” I know I’ll never make it now. I’ll have to take the next and be late. Crap.

  “Shit, I’m sorry, honey.” The way the word honey rolls off his tongue you’d think he’s been calling me it for years. My stomach flutters. Does he call everyone honey? “Let me drive you.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I can get the next one.”

  “I insist. I held you up. Let me do this or I’ll feel guilty.” I look at my phone, checking the time. “It's not a big deal. I was going out to run some errands anyway.”

  “Okay,” I agree. He gives me a warm smile as he guides me down to a very nice SUV. I don’t know much about cars, but it doesn't fit with where he lives. I push the thought away. That’s his business, not mine. Even though I do want to know a touch more about him.

  It isn't until I’m getting out of his car twenty minutes later that I realize I hadn't given him directions. He’d kept me talking with all of his questions. I didn't get to ask him anything about himself. I must have told him the name of the law firm. It’s one of the most well-known firms in the city. The building it’s located in is a landmark. I’m sure that’s how he knew where it was.

  That has to be it. How else would he know?

  Three

  Jay

  My girl doesn’t have a lot of money. I suspected that was the case the first time I saw her walk into our apartment building because who lives in this dump if you have any amount of cash, which was Davis’s confusion. I do have cash and yet, here I am, driving my Land Rover over potholes and cracked asphalt. I throw the SUV into park and climb out.

  First thing is to get my place in decent enough condition that when Dove comes over, she doesn’t think I’m making skin suits in the bedroom. I’ve got to have some kind of functioning heat, too.

  I text Abel.

  Me: When’s the crew coming?

  Abel: ?

  Me: ?

  Abel: This isn’t April 1 is it?

  Me: ?

  Abel: I looked that place up on Google and it should be condemned not renovated. Are you shooting a documentary about low income housing?

  Me: No. I live here now, and it’s cold as a witch’s tit at night because the radiator is broken so I need someone here stat

  Abel: I’m calling you

  The phone rings seconds later.

  “My man, when did you even get back to the US? I thought you were shooting big cats in Siberia for Nat Geo?”

  “I finished that up a few months ago and decided to work on my photo essay on lost spaces. I took all my photos and now I’m back to put the thing together.” The folding chair creaks as I drop into it. I swing my legs up on the windowsill and settle into my favorite people-watching position. From here I can see the front walk, the entrance to the parking lot, and the corner of the street. Across the way, the green and white 7-11 sign flickers unevenly.

  “And you chose to do it at—” he pulls the phone from his ear to look at his screen—“Caring Acres? Is this an old folk’s home?”

  I sniff. Is that what that odd odor is? Decayed flesh? It explains so much. “Could’ve been.”

  “I didn’t realize you were desperate for a place to stay. You should have called me. I’ve got some sweet properties to rent. I just finished up this place in Bell Heights an
d—”

  “No. This is where I need to be. Just send me a crew because I think the floor might cave in near the refrigerator.”

  “Any other time I’d love to help you, but I’ve got a list of honey-dos longer than my dick.”

  “So only a couple of things, you’re saying?”

  “It’s a massive list.”

  “If lying makes you feel better about yourself, go on.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  It’s said fondly. I grin at the phone. “I’m not the one who brought up dick size.”

  “Fine, but I am busy.” He sounds genuinely apologetic, which means he might be backing out on me.

  “I heard you got married.”

  “Yeah! You need to meet her. Best woman ever. Hand to God. When are you free?”

  “After my apartment gets finished.”

  “Dude. Did you not just hear what I said?”

  “I heard, but I’m not interested in that answer.” I heard through the grapevine that not only had Abel tripped over his dick in love with some woman, but that he’s turned into a big romantic sap. I pull out the big guns. “How am I going to get my own woman if you make me live in a hovel?”

  “Oh? Tell me more.”

  “Don’t stand in the way of true love, Abel. That’s all I’m saying.” I hang up before Abel can interrogate me further. An old man with a walker appears on the walk. Beside him, a young girl is excitedly hopping up and down. Her pigtails bounce in rhythm. I grab my camera and start shooting. They must live together, and he’s taking her to the convenience store to buy a treat. Maybe ice cream. Maybe candy. She holds up a hand, and he stops immediately. She falls to her knees and reaches for his feet. I zoom in and see her tying his shoes. When she’s done, she gives the toes of his shoes a pat and then pushes to her feet. The old man rubs a hand over his granddaughter’s head. You can’t see either of their faces, but you can tell the whole story from the way his liver-speckled hand is curved around her small head. There’s a lot of tenderness there. Long-time care. I snap a few more frames, but none is as good as that one.