My relationships were much more important than career, money, success, or prestige. I’d give that all up if it meant I’d get my ‘happily ever after’ with a wife and children to go home to. That was our future. We both knew what would happen, and that gave Carly the comfort she was looking for. I just need to stay alive the next few years. I wasn’t going to get promoted only to retire soon after, and Carly supported that. We talked about giving me a few years to make the most out of my life as an undercover agent. When we started having kids? Well, then I’d petition for a desk job.
“Coffee anyone?” Carly then asked, noticing that I’d been silent for quite a while. “I’ll order for us, so you two can talk.”
“Talk about what?” This time, I shifted my head from Carly and Adam. Carly turned around on her heel, as Adam led me to a vacant table that sat four.
“You should have a look at these.” With that, Adam took out an envelope from his briefcase and pushed it to my side of the table. I reached for it, opened the flap, and drew in a breath.
I was staring at a multi-million-dollar property. Carly’s property. But it was my name on the deed. My name. And the date was the day before our showdown with Vlad.
“You’re my friend, but you’re going to have to personally answer to me if you do anything to hurt her,” Adam said. I knew he was both teasing and serious, but I just couldn’t bring myself to laugh out loud. I was still in shock. I knew Carly loved and trusted me, but to transfer ownership of the property to me? And before we settled things with Vlad? That was a whole new level.
“What? When?”
A familiar voice kept getting closer to us. I shifted my torso to the side and saw Carly balancing all our coffees and set them on the table. She took the seat beside me and I instantly wrapped my arm around her waist. “The day I handed it over to Adam, we met up, and he accompanied me to the bank and to meet my lawyer to have the deed changed.”
“But why?” I couldn’t help but ask. I couldn’t even think straight at the moment.
The look on her face softened, her eyes glazed over and her forehead calmed. “Because I love you, and either way, it’s going to be our home anyway when we’re married.”
“Well, can we have the wedding today?” When Adam and Carly looked at me like they were about to burst out laughing, I then said, “I’m not joking! Carly, you didn’t have to do this.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t have to risk your life and save me when I was kidnapped.”
“Yes, I did, baby. Yes, I did.” I was silent for a while after and pulled her flush against my side, closing the distance between us.
“So, the wedding… can we have it today?” She looked at me like I was out of my mind, and I couldn’t help but steer the conversation in a different direction as I lowered my hand to its new favorite resting place, just above the sweet curve of her ass. “Say yes or you’ll get a spanking.”
“And I’m out!” Adam said, standing up instantly. “Let’s meet later this week for beers, all right?”
Just like that, Adam was out of the coffee shop and he only slowed down his walk after he crossed the street. Finally, it was only the two of us left in our own little bubble, in this sacred space where we first met. We stared at each other for a while, and I found myself slowly curving my lips up into a smile.
“Yes.”
One word, and everything in me went to instant inferno for this woman.
My woman.
Forever.
Claire Conrad
Claire Conrad is a full time writer and chocolate enthusiast who knows just enough about a handful of topics to dabble in many and master none. She loves a good red wine, traveling just about anywhere, coffee (as long as it's dark), romance and never met a sci-fi story she didn't love - including comically horrible "B" movies - much to her husband's chagrin.
Claire writes sexy alpha male aliens, fantasy lovers and anything else her muse thinks might be fun (or a little naughty). All of her books take a wee little ride on the wild side, so hold on tight. Things are about to get panty-melting hot in here.
Join Claire's VIP Reader List HERE: http://bit.ly/ClaireConrad
Also by Claire Conrad
Mates of Zatari Series:
Claiming His Mate - Book 1
Conquering His Mate - Book 2
Anthologies
Hero Undercover
Uncharted Waters
By
Maisy Archer
©2017 by Blushing Books® and Maisy Archer
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Blushing Books®,
a subsidiary of
ABCD Graphics and Design
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
The trademark Blushing Books®
is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Maisy Archer
Uncharted Waters
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Chapter 1
“I know, I know, I’m the worst auntie in the history of Honorary Aunties,” Gretchen told her best friend, Elena, flopping on her hotel room bed in front of her laptop. “Seriously, girl, if there were any way that I could be back in Boston for Alessia’s first birthday shindig this weekend, I would.”
On the laptop screen, Elena Coleman gave an exaggerated pout as she cuddled her baby daughter, who seemed to be attempting to eat Elena’s keyboard or possibly Elena’s fingers. “But Alessia is going to miss seeing you, Auntie Gretch. You’re her favorite.”
Gretchen grinned and tucked a strand of her pin-straight black hair behind her ear. “I know, right? Only a year old and my favorite niece already has such discriminating taste!”
Elena’s husband, Blake, strolled into the frame and pressed a kiss to the top of his wife’s black hair before giving Gretchen a wink. “I think it could also have something to do with the over-the-top toys you bring her. FYI, that pink megaphone will stay at the top of the closet until forever,” he said sternly.
“Oh, hey now!” Gretchen tried to look upset but couldn’t help the grin that broke through. She’d known the megaphone would never make it into baby Alessia’s tiny hands—in fact, she’d bought the damn thing for the express purpose of teasing Blake.
Master Blake Coleman was a former soldier, full-time dominant, and owner of the BDSM empire so well-known in the local scene that its many locations were simply called The Club. He was an excellent father to Alessia and three-year-old Asher, and a loving, supportive husband to Elena.
He was also entirely too used to getting his way, in Gretchen’s opinion.
It was good for him to have someone to challenge him from time to time, and Gretchen felt this was her duty as Elena’s friend and the kids’ honorary auntie.
“Silent gifts only, from now on,” Blake decreed. He bent and scooped the baby from Elena’s arms. “Come on, princess. Tubby time. Say goodnight to your crazy auntie.”
The sight of the tiny black-haired baby cuddled against Blake’s enormous, muscled chest, her little hands clutching his black t-shirt, put a funny hitch in Gretchen’s breathing. The whole husband-and-family thing was so not on her radar right now, or maybe ever, and she was reconciled to that… mostly. Being an investigative reporter for an award-winning publication like The Boston Star was not compatible with having a family. And anyway, having a husband like Blake—all controlling, dominant, and protective—would be an absolute disaster for a free spirit like herself.
Still, something about the image of Blak
e and the baby made her heart squeeze in longing.
So stupid, she chided herself. People would kill to be in the position she was in right now! A lead investigative reporter, on track to be an associate editor at barely thirty years of age? She ought to be proud. Heck, she was proud. Obviously.
The moment Blake was out of camera range, she asked Elena in a stage whisper, “So, if, for example, I funnel all of Lessie’s toy money into a motorcycle fund for her sixteenth birthday instead, would that count as a silent gift?”
“I can still hear you,” Blake grumbled from elsewhere in the room, and Gretchen and Elena both burst into laughter.
“I love your husband,” Gretchen told her friend fondly. And it was true. She loved him for Elena, for the way that Elena’s eyes were always lit from within these days. No matter how tough Elena’s childhood back in New York had been, and no matter how many terrible things she witnessed each day at Centered, the women’s clinic where she worked, somehow her marriage and her family—including the kick-ass group of friends whom Blake and Elena considered family—kept her grounded and content.
“Me too,” Elena said with a wide smile. “But tell me more about this project that’s worth blowing off my daughter’s birthday party. Need I remind you that Tony is catering and John is making his banana cake with the Nutella frosting?”
“No! Don’t torture me!” Gretchen rolled to her side and put her hand on her stomach, which had started rumbling.
“Plus, all the hot guys from Slay’s crew and The Club are coming.”
Shit. Despite her best efforts, Gretchen’s heart began to beat faster and she worked to keep her face neutral, knowing that Elena would be watching for her reaction. Slay’s crew, the badass security team who worked with Elena’s brother, Alexander “Slay” Slater, were capable of anything and everything, from defusing a bomb to doing taxes. Plus, being tattooed, ripped, and hot-as-hell seemed to be a job requirement. All of that could have explained the flush that worked its way across Gretchen’s face, but Elena was well aware that only one member of Slay’s crew had ever really gotten under Gretchen’s skin.
Lucas Grant.
It had been years since the one and only time he’d kissed her, but she could still remember the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his whiskers against her cheek… the way she’d killed the smile in his eyes with just a few sharp words.
“Screw the guys! I want the food,” Gretchen lied, neatly returning the conversation back to safer ground. “I’ve eaten nothing but airplane pretzels for two days. Thirty-six hours ago, I was in Cyprus.”
“Oh, right! For the series on the refugees!” Elena exclaimed. “God, that was some amazing writing, girl. I swear, you made me cry into my laptop every morning last week. Every day, I’d tell myself my heart couldn’t take another one of those stories, but by the end of the article, you’d manage to restore my faith in humanity! Don’t tell him I told you, but I’m pretty sure Blake shed a tear, too, over the latest one about the widow who adopted the children. Gave me the chills.”
Gretchen gave her a small smile, loving her friend’s passionate response.
“It was a privilege to tell her story,” Gretchen said quietly. “That’s why I became a journalist, you know? To give a voice to the people who don’t have one.”
Elena nodded. “I know, hon. That’s what you’ve always done, search for the truth and broadcast it to the masses. You’re the best at it.”
“Yeah,” Gretchen agreed hollowly. “That’s what I’ve always tried to do.”
“Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good. What happened?” Elena prompted.
“Well, it turns out being the best isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Gretchen flopped back onto her stomach and stacked her fists beneath her chin. “You remember that The Star got bought out by Rieshach Media a few years back?”
“Vaguely.”
“Uh huh. Well, it turns out that there’s actually a guy named Manfred Rieshach who owns the whole shebang, and old Manfred has a problem with which he requires my assistance.”
“A problem?” Elena asked, frowning. “What kind of problem?”
Gretchen sighed and her stomach flipped with distaste… Okay, and probably hunger, she admitted to herself. My kingdom for banana cake!
“Hang on,” she told Elena, levering herself off the bed to grab a sad little pack of cookies from the minibar before coming back to sit cross-legged on the bed once more. “Okay, so Manny—and I know way too much about this dude’s private life right now, so I feel like I can call him that—is a seventy-five-year-old bajillionaire. And in the time-honored tradition of bajillionaires everywhere, Manny got himself a girlfriend, one Zelma Pickler.”
“Zelma?”
“Pickler. Yeah. Unfortunate name, but don’t feel too sad for Zelma. She’s built like a supermodel—young, blonde, vivacious, with a rack to die for.”
Elena snorted. “Wow. Okay. Not seeing Manny’s problem.”
“Well, getting the girl wasn’t the problem. The problem is that he also managed to lose the girl. Old Manny also happens to have himself a wife. She’s closer to seventy and built more like the Berlin Wall,” Gretchen said around a mouthful of cookie crumbs. “But what Ada Rieshach lacks in youth, she makes up for in brains. She threatened to clean Manny out if he didn’t get rid of Zelma.”
“Smart lady,” Elena agreed with a nod. “But what the hell does any of this have to do with you?”
“Patience, girl. I’m getting to that part,” Gretchen said, waving her cookie in the air. “So, anyway, Manny decides he’s not gonna let Ada spoil shit for him, nosiree. He essentially ships his ladylove from Europe to the States for a couple months with a bodyguard, on some pathetic sightseeing tour while he ‘waits for things to calm down.’ Pretty sure that’s code for hiding as much of his fortune in off-shore accounts as possible.”
She heard the revulsion in her own voice and saw it mirrored on Elena’s face. She rolled her eyes as she continued, “But finally, it’s time for these lovebirds to meet up again, right? So, Zelma boards this cruise ship, the Acheilus, in Tampa, as they’d planned, while Manny flies to Grand Cayman to meet up with her. But, when the ship docks on Grand Cayman…” She paused for dramatic effect. “They found that Zelma Pickler was missing.”
“Missing?” Elena blinked in confusion. “How’s it possible to go missing from a cruise ship? Did she swim off?”
“You’d be surprised at the number of people who go missing from cruise ships every year,” Gretchen informed her friend, rubbing her forehead tiredly. “People fall overboard or get pushed, some are suicides, but the rest… just never get solved.”
“Okay, you’re officially not telling Blake this,” Elena said, making Gretchen laugh. “I have plans involving a Disney cruise in the not-so-distant future. But, again… what the heck does this have to do with you?”
“Well, there was an investigation, but there’s no proof of foul play. And because there are international waters involved, jurisdiction is tricky. Not to mention the fact that Manny is technically still married.” Elena folded up the cookie wrapper and sighed. “He might have been willing to leave his wife for Zelma, but he’s not ready to go public with a huge scandal involving his girlfriend’s disappearance.” She rolled her eyes at the clusterfuck of it all. “So… enter yours truly.”
“You? Are supposed to find the girl?” Elena demanded. “That’s ludicrous! You’re a reporter, not a private investigator. Plus, if foul play was involved, it could be dangerous!”
“Yup. All good points.” All points that Gretchen had, in fact, mentioned to her editor, Benny, when he’d tracked her down in Lanarca and told her to get her ass on a plane to mother-lovin’ Florida.
“But Benny,” she’d said, trying to be all reasonable and professional. “I’m a reporter, not a detective. I have commitments in Cyprus. I have an obligation to my readers.”
“Sorry, kid,” he’d replied, making absolutely zero effort to sound sorry. “You can’t
punt this one. The big guy asked for you, personally, and he will not be pleased if you turn him down. Apparently, he’s a fan of yours. Besides, you’re the one who’s always carping about how you want that editor position with the international team when Brandon leaves. Well, this is the assignment that’s gonna make that happen. Tickets are already waiting for you at the airport.”
And dammit, the man knew her too well, because that was exactly the right tack to take. She’d dreamed of having Editor on her byline since she was old enough to know what a byline was.
“What if she’s in trouble somehow?” Gretchen had asked, valiantly pretending that her agreement wasn’t a foregone conclusion. “What if she fell overboard and washed up on an island? What if she was abducted from a port along the way? What if she needs help? How can I help her if I can’t call the authorities? Or what if I find her and I can’t convince her to come back? What if she’s got amnesia or some other traumatic injury, and I can’t…”
“Don’t worry about any of that,” Benny had told her, all smug because she’d caved just as he’d known she would. “Your partner will handle all the gritty details. It’s all arranged.”
“Your partner?” Elena asked, after Gretchen had relayed all the important details, leaving out a few of the never-ending what-ifs she was prone to dreaming up. “Who’s that?”
“Dunno. Some photographer, maybe? Couple of those guys are trained fighters, and they’ve held their own in the Middle East.”
Elena blew out a breath. “I don’t like this. But I know better than to tell you to rethink something once you’ve made up your mind.”
“Why? Just because it didn’t work the last three hundred times you tried?” Gretchen joked.
“Exactly. But before, when you’ve been on dangerous assignments, at least they’ve been ones that you’ve chosen! I don’t like that this guy is forcing your hand. Just remember, you have options. You could get a job anywhere, G. Or you could freelance! I just read somewhere that freelancing is becoming more popular, so…”
Hero Undercover: 25 Breathtaking Bad Boys Page 116