by Jordyn White
This investigative reporter is onto something, I can tell. But I don’t know what. “I was just done,” I say weakly. “Like I told you.”
“Uh huh. Who’s bullshitting who?”
“I’m not bullshitting you.”
Am I?
“No, you’re bullshitting yourself.”
“No, I—”
“You absolutely are. And I know why. But let’s talk about the job thing for a minute, all right?”
“Uh...”
“Are we really not allowed to apply for the same job? Especially a job that you yourself said you were lukewarm about.”
“Um...”
“It’s not the job,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s not what this is about. You didn’t even talk to me about it. Why?”
I want to pull away but he’s tearing down my resistance. Maybe I did just overreact. And I definitely wasn’t being fair not to at least talk to him.
But I was so hurt. So fucking hurt. And I’m not used to people having the ability to hurt me like that.
It’s terrifying, how tied into him I already am. After just one night.
And now?
Now I can’t even argue. He’s right. It wasn’t really about the job at all.
“What this is really about,” he says, coming closer and softening his voice, “is you being vulnerable and afraid to trust people.” I look up at him, tears welling up in my eyes. Tears. There is no part of me this guy can’t touch, and he’s right. That scares the shit out of me.
“Right?” he asks.
Maybe.
But maybe I can’t do this. Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe I can’t handle what he’s giving me, or maybe I can’t give him something so basic as a mature relationship where people talk about things instead of storming off and avoiding the other person for days after.
“I wasn’t trying to move in on your job,” he says gently. And I believe every word. “I understand what you thought you heard, but that wasn’t what happened.”
He’s sucking me right in. If he’s lying to me, he’s doing exactly what I’ve been wishing for. I wanted to fall back into that hole with him again. But now that it’s happening, I’m terrified.
What if I take off my armor only to get squashed again?
“I...” I say weakly. I blink back those tears. I want to throw up my barriers, tell him it’s nothing like he says and that I just got my fix. A one-night stand and no more.
But I also want to open all the way up again. No walls. No protection.
Nothing but trust.
And as if he knows exactly what kind of conflict is raging inside me, he’s giving me the most handsome, understanding, sympathetic look. How has this man figured me out so quickly?
“Come on.” He slowly pulls me into his arms. His forehead drops against mine. “Be brave with me, Rita.”
And as I look into his eyes, I soften in his arms.
“You scare me,” I whisper.
He smiles and brushes my cheek with the back of his fingers. “I know. But don’t be scared. I’m the Rita Whisperer remember? I’ve got you.”
My heart flutters in my chest.
He’s got me?
“I don’t think I’m good at this.”
He smiles. “You’re a fast learner. I’ll teach you.”
I slowly wrap my arms around his waist, still looking in his eyes. “I don’t want to screw this up.”
“Just relax. I’ve got you.”
“You’re not going to let me fall?” I whisper. “You promise?”
“Only in the good way,” he says, cupping my face with both hands. “If I’m lucky. If you’ll let us.”
Oh hell. What am I going to do. I mean, really. I guess I should follow my own advice. Sometimes you just have to see where life takes you.
“I’ll let us,” I say, slowly rising on tiptoe. “Just promise you’ll catch me.”
Then our lips meet and our embrace tightens and I truly am falling. Seventeen floors and more, but Dallas is right here.
He’s got me.
Epilogue
Dallas
Rita and I are walking along Eighth Avenue in Boise, headed to Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse for our one-year anniversary. She’s wearing a slim cocktail dress, like she did that night we fell into each other’s arms, but this one’s emerald green and is a lovely, striking compliment to her deep, auburn hair.
We go into the lobby of the Zion’s Bank building, where it all happened so long ago, and get on the escalator that goes to the second floor where the restaurants are.
“Avoiding the elevator?” I tease, even though no one takes the elevator to the second floor with this escalator right here.
She gently leans against my body, slipping her arm around my waist. “I handle elevators just fine now.”
“Because I cured you.”
“Something like that,” she says with a smile. Not to take credit or anything, but that isn’t the only thing I cured her of. Ever since I asked her to take a leap with me, she’s been all in.
And amazing.
The few misunderstandings we’ve had have been a breeze to handle, because we talk it out with love and trust.
I was right. She was afraid to get into a real relationship, but she was a fast learner, too.
She runs her fingers down my tie. “You look so good, all dressed up.”
“Not like a stuffed shirt?” I tease.
She shakes her head and gives me a sexy grin. “Not when I know exactly what’s stuffing that shirt.” She glances down. “And those pants.”
I smile and slide my hand around her waist, pulling her closer to me. “Come here, you.”
I give her a kiss that gets my heart thumping against my chest. I’m so ridiculously in love with this woman. Even though the last year has been full of firsts and adventures—new jobs, a new city, and Rita’s new books—the overriding theme of it has been one thing:
Falling deeper and deeper in love with the most amazing woman I’ve had the privilege to know.
We pull apart just in time to get off the escalator, and hold hands as we go into the restaurant and are led to our table.
We’re seated by a window, where we can look out over one of Boise’s most charming downtown streets and it’s here that we end up enjoying the best—and most expensive—steak in town.
We laugh and talk about memories we’ve shared so far: our trip to Yellowstone and the thigh-burning climb to the top of the white Mammoth hot springs, the crazy manager at one of the condos we were looking at before we found the one we’re in now, and the insanity of trying to clean spilled paint off the broad wooden floors.
It could’ve been a stressful mess, but thanks to her, it was flat hilarious.
I’ve seen Rita sick, angry, playful, stubborn, saucy, and downright swoony.
I love all of it. The whole package.
And my heart has been thumping against the little box in my breast pocket all night, just at the thought of making that whole package truly mine.
The waiter clears away our dinner plates, we place our dessert order, and I take Rita’s hand into mine.
“Happy anniversary,” she says, her blue eyes glittering at me.
“Happy anniversary. I have a gift for you.”
“We already exchanged gifts,” she says, simultaneously stern and pleased.
“This one is special.”
I release her hand, pull the velvet box out of my pocket, and carefully slide it in front of her.
Her eyes lock on it, her lips parting in surprise. She slowly reaches for the box, opens it, and I slide out of my seat.
“Dallas...” she whispers, the tips of her fingers on her lips.
I get to one knee and her eyes come to mine.
“Rita, life has been such a beautiful adventure with you. An adventure I never want to end. You are everything I’ve always needed, and more than I ever dared hoped for.”
Her face softens and her trembling hand squeezes m
ine.
“Will you make me the happiest man alive? Will you marry me?”
She bursts into that mix of crying and laughing only females are capable of. She slides off the seat and wraps her arms around my neck, kissing me over and over again.
She grabs the box and hands it to me, holding out her hand in happy anticipation.
“You haven’t said ‘yes’ yet,” I tease.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she says, laughing and hanging onto me and kissing my neck and crying all at the same time.
The highlight of my entire life. Easily.
The restaurant erupts in applause and I startle. I forgot all these people were even here. I look back into Rita’s eyes and nearly forget about them again.
I pull her into an embrace, and she tucks herself into my neck. I cradle the back of her head, my fingers wrapped in her soft hair. The most precious person in my world.
“Now I’ve got you,” she says, and I laugh.
“You do.”
And she does.
Forever.
Fall in Love with the Rivers Family...
Rita Becker is the intrepid, off-screen gossip columnist mentioned in the Beautiful Rivers series, a collection of steamy contemporary romance standalones ...
Begin with Connor and Whitney’s whirlwind romance. Can she capture the heart of this wandering Rivers brother? Find out in BEAUTIFUL MINE.
Let’s not forget the beautiful Rivers sister. When Lizzy crosses paths with “Brett Freaking Carmichael”, the son of her nemesis, she learns there’s more to this heart-stopping single dad than she first believed. Get swept away in their sexy, heartfelt love story, BEAUTIFUL FALL.
Not to be left out, the Rivers’ beloved cousin Corrine falls for the mysterious Mason Reeves, a man with tragic ties to the family clan. But family secrets aren’t the only things standing in the way of their happily ever after. Experience all the feels of their stunning love affair in BEAUTIFUL DARK.
Be sure to find out who tames the eldest Rivers brother. Fall in love with Rayce and Emma in BEAUTIFUL DEEP, a powerful tale of passion, love, and redemption.
Discover Heart of Glass...
Keep reading for an excerpt from Jordyn White’s secret crush, friends-to-lovers story, Heart of Glass.
I moved three thousand miles to get away from my best friend, Luke Fraser.
Gorgeous.
Funny.
Intelligent.
He was the whole package.
Did I mention he was married?
I couldn’t take the heartbreak of wanting something I couldn’t have, so I bailed.
I had convinced myself that I was over him, until he ended up in my town for a six-week art commission.
One look was all it took for my heart to break all over again. I wasn’t over him. Not one bit.
But things have changed, and not for the better.
Recently widowed, Luke is carrying darkness and secrets.
Everyone tells me to stay away. Even him. He’s a mess. Broken. Incapable of giving me what he says I deserve.
But regardless of what I deserve, there’s only one thing I need.
Him.
Excerpt from Heart of Glass
Mia
Such a stunningly beautiful place for one’s heart to be ripped out.
We’re gathered on the sprawling lawn of the new expansion of the Swan Pointe Botanical Gardens, at a reception hosted by the Rivers Paradise Resort. The area has been set up with high cocktail tables, a full bar, and buffet indicative of the resort’s five-star reputation.
The highlight of the expansion—for the moment—is a round platform in the middle of the huge pond. The platform’s circumference is about four car lengths. Its base is nothing but cement.
A blank canvas. Waiting for some magician to come along and make it something worthy of notice. The centerpiece of the entire space. The reason we’re all here.
The source of my current troubles.
“There you are,” my sister Cat says, approaching with her fiancé, Marcus. “You didn’t bail after all,”
“I considered it.” I give first her then Marcus a hug.
We look like sisters, except instead of keeping her hair dark like mine, she goes for the blonde hair, dark roots look. She has more edge than I do, so it totally works on her.
The two of them look amazing, actually. He’s in a dark suit, no tie, the top two buttons undone and she’s wearing a red dress with an uneven hem. Such a gorgeous couple.
Even though they’ve only been back together for six months, Marcus was such a constant presence in our lives when they were first together that it’s easy to feel like he never left.
Especially because they look at one another with an overflowing love that makes my heart melt, and maybe break a little.
It made me so happy to see things work out between Cat and Marcus, a couple I’ve always felt were meant to be together. But why can’t I have that for myself?
“You look beautiful,” Cat says pointedly.
“Thanks, so do you.” She does, too, as always. “Are you sure this dress doesn’t make things obvious?”
“Not at all. You’re a beautiful woman at a fancy event. Why wouldn’t you look amazing?”
Cat insisted I needed to look and feel my best tonight, and I guess I agreed even though there’s literally zero point.
I’m in a dress we picked out just for the occasion. A mulberry-colored form-fitting gown with two-inch wide straps and a swooping back.
When we went shopping for it, Cat declared it made me look, “Sexy as fuck.”
That should have made me put the dress back.
But it didn’t.
The dress really isn’t helping me feel any better about things. Because this dress is not going to change the fact that my dating life is a disaster.
The last guy I went out with, someone I met on a dating app, spent most of the evening talking about his ex-wife. No, make that ranting. It didn’t start out that way, but eventually that’s what it turned into.
I don’t know her and I don’t know him, and I don’t know what actually happened between them. Maybe she’s as horrible as he said, but he didn’t come off looking too good either.
The whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth.
It’s been a week and I’m still miffed about the whole thing, because I haven’t exactly been handling the ups and downs of single life very well recently. I know exactly why, too.
“Have you seen him yet?” my sister asks.
Him.
Both the reason I’m here and the reason I don’t want to be anywhere near here.
I shake my head. “I haven’t really looked though.”
“Are you nervous?”
I take a deep, steadying breath. “Well... yes. But it’ll be fine, right? I mean, it’s been two and a half years since I’ve seen him. It’s been so long, it won’t be like before, right? It should be fine. Right?”
“Riiight,” Cat says slowly, giving me a knowing look. “Let’s get you a drink.”
We head to the bar where I get a glass of Chardonnay. Cat is trying to distract me with talk of work—she wants me to meet one of her interior design clients because he’s a potential collector for my gallery.
This strategy to divert my attention wasn’t a bad idea. I love my work. And tonight is definitely about work; I have no small list of people I need to connect with while I’m here.
But right now I can’t focus on any of that because the crowd is starting to quiet and everyone’s attention is being drawn toward the stage. My heartbeat starts to pick up. I know what’s coming.
I look toward the stage too, and immediately feel I’m hovering above the ground somehow. I grip the delicate sphere of my glass and watch as two men cross the temporary platform set up at the far side of the lawn.
One of them is our evening’s host, Mr. Rayce Rivers. In addition to being one of the owners of our local, world-renowned resort, he likes to spend exorbitant amounts of mon
ey on the arts in his spare time.
Which leads me to the man next to him. Luke Fraser.
As I take him in, my pulse stutters and my legs start to tingle. Luke isn’t in the typical suit, like every other man here. He’s in a black dress jacket with a dark maroon collar and maroon pocket square. It’s the kind of thing that’s typical in the New York art scene or maybe the red carpet in Hollywood, but not so much in this central Californian tourist town.
It makes him stand out. It says he’s something unique and worthy of notice, though I highly doubt he was purposely trying to make that sort of statement.
Next to him, Mr. Rivers is a commanding presence, as he always is. But Luke holds his own. Maybe I’m already prejudiced because I know him, but it seems to me that he exudes the aura of artistic genius.
His hair is the same dark brown, shorter on the sides and back, and longer on top. He has a short, neat beard, almost just scruff. He’s strikingly handsome, at least to me. Impossibly gorgeous. Though I’m hopelessly biased.
Hopeless period.
Cat’s arm comes around my waist. “See? You’re doing fine.”
I huff. What a crock. I’m not even trying to hide my reaction to him.
It’s no different from before, not at all. Because all I want to do is plop down on the grass, rest my chin in my hands, and stare at that man all day. All damned day.
Luke.
Here.
Back in our shared hometown and not where I last saw him in the dusty bowels of his mentor’s glass studio on the outskirts of Manhattan—where he’d gotten me my first post-college job.
I’d already been secretly in love with him for some time. It happened when I was a senior in high school and my new friend introduced me to her brother visiting from college. Even then, I thought Luke had both the plans and the talent to take on the whole damned world.
He is almost the entire reason I left New York, along with my own failed attempts to conquer the world. After my grandfather’s passing, I returned home to lick my wounds instead.
I’ve been hoping and praying that it’s been long enough that it wouldn’t be so bad to see him again—knowing all along that I was hoping in vain.
I know perfectly well that time makes no difference. Every time I’ve seen Luke, it’s been after a long period apart. It never seems to matter. My heart has been unrelenting in its desire for him.