One King's Way

by Samantha Young

“Okay. I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  As I walked into the bar at number one King’s Way, where I was supposed to be meeting Henry Lawson, fashion buyer, I was calm and prepared. If I were perhaps more excited at the prospect of adding the items we sold at Darraign to a department store I might have been nervous, but as it was I was unsure about the whole thing, so I felt like I was attending the meeting to feel this guy out as much as he was interviewing me.

  The huge bar was positioned center of the room with tables and stools at the window and tables and bench seating along the right. There was no one on this side of the bar, so I smiled at the bartender, who nodded hello and began to walk around to the other side.

  I scanned the seating that ran along the outer wall and then flicked my gaze up toward the end of the bar.

  And I froze in place.

  My heart was pounding in my ears as I stared at the oh-so-familiar profile of the man sitting at the end of the bar, drinking a beer.

  A gorgeous profile.

  Beloved.

  That word always sounded so cheesy to me unless it was said at a wedding or a funeral, but it was the one perfect word right now for how I felt about him.

  As if he sensed my stare, he looked up and tensed. His intimate gaze burned through my clothes as he studied every inch of me. And then he unfolded his tall, beautiful body from the stool and started striding slowly toward me.

  Craig stopped a few feet from me and I almost moaned in distress.

  I wanted him in my arms.

  I wanted to breathe him in.

  And yet for some reason my feet wouldn’t move.

  “Looking for Henry Lawson?” He gave me a small smile with more than a hint of wicked mischief in it.

  Once I stopped shivering in pleasure at the sound of his deep voice I processed his words. My mouth fell open in surprise. “Darcy . . . She set this up?”

  Craig nodded, his expression suddenly serious. “She called me to tell me that you wanted to come home but you were afraid I wouldn’t want you anymore because you left.”

  I felt another jolt of surprise. Christ, my sister knew me much better than I realized.

  “I told her I understood why you left and I’ve never held it against you. For three weeks I wished for a reason to hate you, to make it easier, but there was none. I had nothing to hold on to but the sheer amount of love and agony I felt watching you walk through security at the airport.” The pain melted from his eyes. “Until now.”

  “So . . . wh-why are you here instead of letting me come to you?”

  “Because by the time Darcy called I’d already booked my flight. Mum, Mags, and Jeannie gave me their blessing to start a life here. With you. I called a mate of mine who works construction over here and arranged to stay with him for a while, and I’ve got an appointment with a financial officer at the bank to look over my business plans for opening my own bar. Australia appeals to me. I like the weather. I like the people. This is a good move for me. That we can be together just makes it perfect. Owning my own bar probably won’t happen right away, but I’m sure I can get work somewhere until I can get it up and running. Anyway, when Darcy heard all that she said she wanted to be in on surprising you, so she set this little scenario up.”

  I could barely breathe with the happiness that was flooding over me all of a sudden. I couldn’t even think what to say that would encapsulate all that I was feeling. Finally I decided on, “Get over here.”

  He flashed me a grin before closing the space between us and wrapping me up in his arms and off my feet. I buried my face in his neck as he held on tight.

  A few seconds later he lowered me to my feet. I pulled his head down with me and kissed him with all the longing that had built up inside of me these last few weeks.

  Was it only weeks? It had felt like years.

  “I love you,” I murmured against his mouth. “I’ve missed you more than anything.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” he groaned. “Fuck, I love you, lady.”

  I grinned at his declaration. It wasn’t the words of a poet but it was romantic as hell to me.

  Craig

  The low morning light was starting to fall into the room from a band of glass at the top of Rain’s window that wasn’t covered by a blind. He’d need to fix that for her.

  The light spilled across Rain’s face as she lay sleeping, and for the first time in weeks Craig’s soul was soothed.

  He should be asleep but jet lag was playing havoc with him. When he arrived in Sydney he’d crashed on his friend’s sofa bed for two hours before getting up to get ready to meet Rain. Now it was early in the morning but to him it was late afternoon and he was wide awake. Even after his energetic reunion with Rain.

  He trailed the back of his knuckles across the soft skin of her upper arm, tracing a familiar freckle with his thumb. Not too long ago he thought he’d never see that freckle again.

  A rush of affection for the freckle overcame him and he couldn’t help but lean over to press his lips to it. When he pulled back Rain’s sleepy gaze met his. She gave him a soft smile before reaching up to brush her fingers over his cheek. “Jet lag?”

  He nodded. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want to miss a thing.”

  Amusement flooded him. “I don’t want to close my eyes,” he sang. “I don’t want to fall asleep.”

  “Ugh.” She made a face and punched at him halfheartedly. “Ruin the moment, why don’t you.”

  Craig laughed and fell over her, making her giggle. He kissed her nose. “I take it Aerosmith won’t be on our wedding playlist, then?”

  She blinked sleepily, and fuck if it wasn’t adorable. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” He nudged her legs apart, deciding if she was awake then she was going to help him burn off the jet lag.

  “Wedding?”

  He nodded, pressing kisses along her elegant jaw. “One day.”

  He felt her smile. “One day,” she repeated.

  “Because,” he whispered in her ear. “This is forever.”

  Pulling back to see her expression, Craig was gratified to see the surprise in her eyes. “You really think so?” she whispered back.

  “Aye,” he told her as he kissed her sweet mouth. “I can’t lose you again. No matter what happens I will fight like fuck to keep you.”

  Rain gave him a slow, sweet, and slightly smug smile that made him laugh. “And so the realist becomes a romantic.”

  He grinned at her assessment because no one else who knew him would ever suggest such a thing. But then again, no one else knew him in the way that this woman did, and no one else ever would. “Only with you, darlin’, only with you.”

  Keep reading for an excerpt from HERO, the emotional and unforgettable standalone romance from New York Times bestselling author Samantha Young! Available now.

  Alexa Holland’s father was her hero—until her shocking discovery that her mother and she weren’t his only family. Ever since, Alexa has worked to turn her life in a different direction and forge her own identity outside of his terrible secrets. But when she meets a man who’s as damaged by her father’s mistakes as she is, Alexa must help him.

  Caine Carraway wants nothing to do with Alexa’s efforts at redemption, but it’s not so easy to push her away. Determined to make her hate him, he brings her to the edge of her patience and waits for her to walk away. But his actions only draw them together and, despite the odds, they begin an intense and explosive affair.

  Only Caine knows he can never be the white knight that Alexa has always longed for. And when they’re on the precipice of danger, he finds he’ll do anything to protect either one of them from being hurt again. . . .

  Boston, Massachusetts

  This wasn’t happening.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  I curled my hands into fists to stop them from shaking as I made my way through the hallway into the open-plan living area of the pent
house apartment. It had high cathedral ceilings and a wall of windows that led out onto a huge balcony. The water from the harbor glistened under the sun. It was a beautiful building with a gorgeous backdrop and I could not appreciate any of it because I was too focused on finding him there.

  My heart stopped at the sight of him standing outside on the balcony.

  Caine Carraway.

  “Alexa!”

  My head snapped around from Caine’s direction to the kitchen area where my boss, Benito, was surrounded by two laptops and various other equipment for the photo shoot. This was supposed to be the moment I smiled in greeting and told him to direct me where he needed me.

  Instead I looked back at Caine.

  The orange juice I had drunk that morning sloshed around unpleasantly in my stomach.

  “Alexa!”

  Benito was suddenly in front of me, frowning and glaring at me.

  “Hi,” I said, my voice flat. “Where do you want me?”

  Benito cocked his head to the side, looking up at me in a way that was almost comical. I was tall at five nine. He was only five six. But what he lacked in height he more than made up for in personality. “Please”—he gave me a long-suffering sigh—“tell me I’ve got my normal Alexa back. I cannot cope with the Mother’s Day disaster, Alexa. Today I’m shooting Caine Carraway for Mogul magazine’s Top Self-Made Men Under Forty. Caine is to grace the cover.” He shot a look over his shoulder at said cover model. “An obvious choice.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “Today’s an important shoot. In case you don’t know, Caine Carraway is one of Boston’s most eligible bachelors. He’s the CEO of Carraway—”

  “Financial Holdings,” I said softly. “I know.”

  “Good. You’ll also know he’s horrifically wealthy and incredibly influential. He’s also a very busy man and a hard man to please, so I have to get this shoot done right and done quickly.”

  My attention drifted over Benito’s head to the man who had successfully started a private bank immediately after graduating from college. From there he eventually expanded his company, building a diversified business portfolio involving everything from corporate banking to home mortgages, insurance companies, investment trusts, securities trading, asset management, and so forth. Now Caine himself was CEO of a major holdings company that was home to a board of directors of influential and wealthy businesspeople.

  According to reports, Caine had managed all this through ruthless determination, eagle-eyed attention to his organization, and power-hungry ambition.

  At the moment Caine was busy talking on his phone to someone as Marie, a beauty assistant, smoothed the lines of his tailored suit. The designer navy suit fit his body to perfection. Caine was tall, at least two, if not three, inches over six feet, broad-shouldered, and visibly fit. He had a strong profile, with sharp cheekbones and an aquiline nose, and the hair he was now impatiently batting Marie’s hand away from was thick and as dark as my own. Although it was pinched tight right now, I knew from photographs that he had a sensual brooding mouth.

  Definitely cover model material.

  And definitely not a man you crossed.

  I swallowed past the lump that had formed in my throat.

  How ironic that he should be standing there, right in front of me, after all the ugliness my mother’s recent and sudden death had brought to the fore . . . and he was a part of that ugliness.

  Six years I’d worked as a personal assistant for Benito—one of the city’s most successful and temperamental photographers. Of course, Benito was never melodramatic around clients, just his employees. Yet since I’d worked with him for a long time, I should have felt secure after all these years. I didn’t.

  Strictly speaking, I used to feel like I had job security.

  But losing my mother three months ago had caused my family issues to rear their ugly heads, and unveiled some harsh truths I often wished I didn’t know. I went on with work, putting on a brave face. However, it’s not possible to be that strong when you lose a parent, and unfortunately I’d had a bit of an emotional breakdown during a photo shoot for a major women’s magazine. It was a shoot for Mother’s Day.

  Benito had tried to be understanding, but I could tell he was pissed. Instead of firing me, though, he told me to take a much-needed vacation.

  Thus a few weeks later, here I was with a mighty fine tan courtesy of the Hawaiian sun, and upon my arrival this morning I’d had no clue what this photo shoot was about or for whom.

  I’d received a clipped e-mail from Benito when I’d returned from my trip with the address for the photo shoot but no other information. I was his PA and I had no clue what his latest job entailed—that didn’t sound good to me.

  So I was tan, yes, but I still hadn’t really sorted my head out about my mom, and was now seriously worried that the job I’d been busting my ass over for the last six years was seconds away from being flushed down a very expensive penthouse toilet. Today had to go well for me.

  My anxiety had increased tenfold when I strode out of the elevator and caught sight of the people buzzing around the hallway and in the open double doors of the apartment. There were way more people at the shoot than usual, suggesting we were shooting someone particularly important. I was panicked then when our intern, Sofie, relayed to me that the person we were shooting was none other than Caine Carraway.

  My whole body had jerked in reaction to the name and I’d started to tremble.

  I hadn’t stopped trembling since.

  Caine suddenly looked sharply at me as if he’d felt my gaze on him. We stared at each other, me struggling to hold on to my emotions, while he finally let go of my eyes so his could travel over my body.

  Benito believed that dressing casually around celebrities impressed upon them that he and his people were not intimidated because we were on the celebrity’s level talentwise. He believed that attitude made his clients respect him more. I thought that was superficial bullshit, but it meant I got to wear whatever I liked, so I didn’t air that opinion. On shoots I often opted for whatever was most comfortable. Today that was shorts and a T-shirt.

  The way Caine Carraway was looking at me right now . . . I might as well have been naked.

  Goose bumps prickled along my arms and a shiver ran down my back.

  “Alexa,” Benito snapped.

  “Sorry,” I apologized, attempting not to think about Caine’s heated gaze or the burning ache that was forming in my chest.

  My boss shook his head impatiently. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Just . . . here, take the BlackBerry back.” He slapped the device in my hand. I’d given it over to him before I left for vacation so he could give it to the temp. Benito’s world was in that BlackBerry. It had all his business contacts, e-mails, his work calendar . . . everything on it. I saw the e-mail icon already had fifteen unread e-mails this morning. “Get the crew organized first before you get to work. We’re shooting on the balcony with the harbor as a backdrop. Then inside in the sitting area. It’s a little darker there, so set it up.”

  From there I went into autopilot. I knew my job inside and out, and that was the only reason I managed to do anything competently, because my head was not on the work. It was on the man I could barely look at as I directed one of our guys to set up Benito’s camera and laptop out on the balcony and got the lighting crew to set up in the sitting room for later.

  Caine Carraway.

  I knew more about him than I should because for the last few months if I heard his name or saw it in print I paid attention. Call it morbid curiosity.

  Orphaned at thirteen and put into the system, Caine beat the odds and went onto graduate from high school as valedictorian and continued his education at Wharton Business School on a full ride. He’d barely graduated from college when he started up the bank that would lead to Carraway Financial Holdings. By the time he was twenty-nine he was one of the most successful businessmen in Boston. Now at thirty-three he was feared and respected by his peers, welcomed into the fold of Boston�
�s high society, and one of the city’s most eligible bachelors. Although he was immensely private, the society pages took snapshots of him whenever they could, mostly at glamorous events. He was seen with beautiful women all the time, but the same one was rarely pictured with him after a few months.

  All of that said alone, lonely, and ,closed off to me.

  That ache in my chest intensified.

  “Alexa, come meet Mr. Carraway.”

  I felt my breathing increase exponentially and turned from Scott, our lighting technician, to find Benito standing beside Caine.

  Trying to control my emotions, I walked slowly over to them both, my cheeks burning under the heat of Caine’s black gaze. On closer inspection, I could see his eyes were actually a deep, dark brown. His face was a perfectly blank mask, but his eyes were more expressive.

  I shivered again as they raked over me.

  “Mr. Carraway, this is my PA, Alexa—”

  “Nice to meet you.” I cut off my boss before he could say my last name. “If you need anything, give me a shout.” And before either Benito or Caine could respond, I quickly darted back across the room.

  Scott was staring over my shoulder, and when his eyes returned to me they informed me that Benito was not pleased by my behavior. “What’s with you?” Scott said.

  I shrugged at my colleague, not sure how to explain why I was acting like a teenager. It would be a long explanation. Too long. Too personal. Because what was with me was that only three short months ago I had discovered my father was to blame for destroying Caine’s childhood.

  Now he was right there in front of me.

  At Benito’s snap of my name, I spun around to find him scowling at me and gesturing me out onto the balcony. The shoot was starting.

  Standing behind Benito, looking at the photos on the laptop, and glancing up from those to the real man in front of me, I was able to safely study Caine. Not at any point did he smile. He stared broodingly into the camera and Benito didn’t dare to ask him to change his countenance. He directed him to turn his head and body this way and that, but that was as courageous as Benito got with the guy.