1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Nine

by Carrie Ann Ryan

  Maybe not.

  One by one, students finished their exam and dropped it off at her desk, gathered up their stuff and left. The end of the semester was always bittersweet. It reminded her of the passing of time, the growth of her students, and the hope she’d made a slight difference. Her love of literature was a part of her, and if she’d converted just one more person to recognize the beauty of the authors she taught, Ella considered it a life well lived.

  “Time’s up,” she announced. Four students remained. She waited while they trudged over, dropping their papers, saying good-bye, and then leaving.

  Connor remained behind.

  Ella prayed he’d let her be. She was still too raw, like an oozing, open wound refusing to scab. Slowly, he unfurled his length from the chair and walked to her desk. Laid the exam in front of her. Then handed her a stack of papers neatly bound in a folder.

  “I finished my extra credit project.”

  She nodded, her throat thick with emotion. “Congratulations. I’ll grade it quickly and make sure I send the Registrar your grade so you can prepare for graduation. I have no doubt you did well on the final. You’ve been working hard.”

  “Ella. There’s so much I want to say to you.”

  “Don’t.” Her voice broke and she let out a small laugh. “You don’t, you don’t need to say anything.”

  “I’m asking you to do one thing for me. Read my paper when you get home tonight. I need your feedback.”

  “Connor, I’m sure you did a great job.”

  “Read it. Tonight. Promise me?”

  She gave a jerky nod, unable to speak. Those ocean-blue eyes raked over her face and down her body in a caress, blazing with intensity that made her shake. Then he was gone.

  Ella buried her face in her hands. At least she didn’t have to see him in class any longer. That would help.

  She picked up the folder and skimmed through it. Neatly typed, with a full bibliography and references, it looked to be perfectly acceptable. She tossed it in the pile and got ready for her next class.

  Hours later, she drove home, made dinner, and climbed into her pajamas. Luke had been in a good mood, chattering about school and his two new friends, and she savored his happiness, allowing it to fill her up and soothe her pain. He went upstairs to shower and get ready for bed, and Ella decided to make a cup of tea and curl up on the sofa with a book.

  As she made her tea, her gaze fell on her briefcase. Why was Connor so insistent she read his paper tonight? Was he really worried she wouldn’t pass him? A tingle of awareness flowed through her. With a sigh, she retrieved his paper, a red pen, and sat down with her tea. Better to read it now and let him know or he’d worry.

  Time ticked. She flipped pages, jotting down notes and growing more impressed by the depth of the work. It was obvious he wasn’t crazy about To the Lighthouse, but he seemed to embrace Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice. A smile rested on her lips. He was a closet romantic and didn’t realize it. His overall insights to A Room of One’s Own startled her with depth. He’d stripped away his usual mockery of whining women and connected with the isolation and dedication a woman writer had to face; the solitude and willingness to dive deep in order to unearth the emotions needed to bleed on the page.

  A dull ache settled into her bones as she reached the end. God, she missed him. It was as if he was right here next to her while she read his voice on the page. Ella began to close the folder when her fingers skated over one last paper.

  A letter.

  She sucked in her breath. A letter handwritten to her, the personal scrawl filling up the page. She closed her eyes. Could she do this right now? Was she ready to hear things that would only hurt her deeper?

  Ella began to read.

  Dear Ella,

  You were right. When we first met, it was easy to resist you. Besides being a pain in the ass, failing me in class, and finding out you were my new next-door neighbor, I wasn’t truly prepared to think of you in any romantic way. When I bonded with Luke, I realized what a wonderful mother you were. When you insisted on pushing my limits in class, I realized what a wonderful teacher you were. When you challenged me to get real, I realized what a wonderful woman you were.

  But you were also wrong. It wasn’t your image, or clothes, or perfume that finally made me surrender to my need to touch you. I had been searching for you my entire life, but I didn’t know it yet. Unfortunately, what I had been searching for I was also terrified of finding. It was easier to hide with shallow relationships and believe in a stereotype I’d been taught my entire life.

  That I wasn’t worth loving.

  You taught me I am. You taught me to stop settling and relying on my surface qualities to skate through life without injury. You taught me there was something greater to fight for, but once again, my insecurities and fear allowed me to let you walk away.

  I love the way you scrunch up your nose when you’re irritated. I love the way you giggle when Luke tells those terrible knock-knock jokes, and I love your awful meatloaf you still insist on serving, and I love the way you defend the beauty of Virginia Woolf, and I love those ugly sweaters you wear, and the beautiful body and heart and soul that beats true beneath your clothes.

  I love you, Ella Blake. I love your son. You’re the only woman I want, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life convincing you I’m worth taking a second chance on.

  Open your door.

  Connor

  She didn’t hesitate. The decision had been made the moment his soul-stirring words lifted from the paper and arrowed straight through to her heart. She rose from the couch, walked across the room, and opened the door.

  He stood before her clutching a bouquet of red roses.

  “Will you be mine, Ella Blake?”

  She gazed at his beloved face and the way his eyes told her the truth, gleaming in the depths of a bottomless ocean blue.

  “I already was,” she said simply.

  She stepped into his arms and he kissed her, long and slow and sweet. When he lifted his head, Ella smiled.

  “You officially passed my class. Congratulations.”

  He laughed and swung her up high, holding her close, and Ella realized they’d both found what they were searching for and more.

  The End

  Also from 1001 Dark Nights and Jennifer Probst, discover Somehow, Some Way.

  About Jennifer Probst

  Jennifer Probst is the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of both sexy and erotic contemporary romance. She was thrilled her novel, The Marriage Bargain, was the #6 Bestselling Book on Amazon for 2012, and spent 26 weeks on the New York Times. Her work has been translated in over a dozen countries, sold over a million copies, and was dubbed a “romance phenom” by Kirkus Reviews. She makes her home in New York with her sons, husband, two rescue dogs, and a house that never seems to be clean. She loves hearing from all readers! Stop by her website at http://www.jenniferprobst.com for all her upcoming releases, news and street team information. Sign up for her newsletter at www.jenniferprobst.com/newsletter for a chance to win a gift card each month and receive exclusive material and giveaways.

  Also from Jennifer Probst

  Click to purchase

  The Billionaire Builders

  Everywhere and Every Way

  Searching for Series:

  Searching for Someday

  Searching for Perfect

  Searching for Beautiful

  Searching for Always

  Searching for You

  The Marriage to a Billionaire series:

  The Marriage Bargain

  The Marriage Trap

  The Marriage Mistake

  The Marriage Merger

  The Books of Spells

  Executive Seduction

  All the Way

  The Sex on the Beach Series:

  Beyond Me

  Chasing Me

  The Hot in the Hamptons Series:

  Summer Sins

 
The Steele Brother Series:

  Catch Me

  Play Me

  Dare Me

  Beg Me

  Dante's Fire

  Everywhere and Every Way

  The Billionaire Builders

  by Jennifer Probst

  May 31, 2016

  Click here to purchase.

  Hot on the heels of her beloved Marriage to a Billionaire novels, New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Probst nails it with the first in an all-new sexy romance series featuring red-hot contractor siblings who give the Property Brothers a run for their money!

  Ever the responsible eldest brother, Caleb Pierce started working for his father’s luxury contracting business at a young age, dreaming of one day sitting in the boss’s chair. But his father’s will throws a wrench in his plans by stipulating that Caleb share control of the family business with his two estranged brothers.

  Things only get more complicated when demanding high-end home designer Morgan hires Caleb to build her a customized dream house that matches her specifications to a T—or she’ll use her powerful connections to poison the Pierce brothers’ reputation. Not one to ignore a challenge, Caleb vows to get the job done—if only he can stop getting distracted by his new client’s perfect…amenities.

  But there’s more to icy Morgan than meets the eye. And Caleb’s not the only one who knows how to use a stud-finder. In fact, Morgan is pretty sure she’s found hers—and he looks quite enticing in a hard hat. As sparks fly between Morgan and Caleb despite his best intentions not to mix business and pleasure, will she finally warm up and help him lay the foundation for everlasting love?

  * * * *

  Prologue

  Caleb Pierce craved a cold beer, air-conditioning, his dogs, and maybe a pretty brunette to warm his bed.

  Instead, he got lukewarm water, choking heat, his head in an earsplitting vice, and a raging bitch testing his temper.

  And it was only eight a.m.

  “I told you a thousand times I wanted the bedroom for my mother off the garage.” Lucy Weatherspoon jabbed her French-manicured finger at the framing and back at the plans they’d changed twelve times. “I need her to have privacy and her own entrance. If this is the garage, why is the bedroom off the other side?”

  He reminded himself again that running your own company had its challenges. One of them was clients who thought building a house was like shopping at the mall. Sure, he was used to difficult clients, but Lucy tested even his patience. She spoke to him as if he was a bit dim-witted just because he wore jeans with holes in them and battered work boots and had dust covering every inch of his body. His gut had told him to turn down the damn job of building her dream house, but his stubborn father overruled him, calling her congressman husband and telling him Pierce Brothers would be fucking thrilled to take on the project. His father always did have a soft spot for power. Probably figured the politician would owe him a favor.

  Yeah, Cal would rather have a horse head in his bed than deal with Congressman Weatherspoon’s wife.

  He wiped the sweat off his brow, noting the slight wrinkle of her nose telling him he smelled. For fun, he deliberately took a step closer to her. “Mrs. Weatherspoon, we went over this several times, and I had you sign off. Remember? Your mother’s bedroom has to be on the other side of the house because you decided you wanted the billiard room to be accessed from the garage. Of course, I can add it to the second floor with a private entry, but we’d need to deal with a staircase or elevator.”

  “No. I want it on the ground floor. I don’t remember signing off on this. Are you telling me I need to choose between my mother and the pool table room?”

  He tried hard not to gnash his teeth. He’d already lost too much of the enamel, and they’d just broken ground on this job. “No. I’m saying if we put the bedroom on the other side of the house, it won’t break the architectural lines, and you can have everything you want. Just. Like. We. Discussed.”

  She tapped her nude high-heeled foot, studying him as if trying to decipher whether he was a sarcastic asshole or just didn’t understand how to talk to the natives. He gave his best dumb look, and finally she sighed. “Fine. I’ll bend on this.”

  Oh, goody.

  “But I changed my mind on the multilevel deck. I found this picture on Houzz and want you to recreate it.” She shoved a glossy printout of some Arizona-inspired massive patio that was surrounded by a desert. And yep, just as he figured, it was from a spa hotel, which looked nothing like the lake-view property he was currently building on. Knowing it would look ridiculous on the elegant colonial that rivaled a Southern plantation, he forced himself to nod and pretend to study the picture.

  “Yes, we can definitely discuss this. Since the deck won’t affect my current framing, let’s revisit when we begin designing the outside.”

  That placated her enough to get her to smile stiffly. “Very well. Oh, I’d better go. I’m late for the charity breakfast. I’ll check in with you later, Caleb.”

  “Great.” He nodded as she picked her way carefully over the building site and watched her pull away in her shiny black Mercedes. Cal shook his head and gulped down a long drink of water, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Next time, he’d get his architect Brady to deal with her. He was good at charming an endless array of women when they drew up plans, but was never around to handle the temper tantrums on the actual job.

  Then again, Brady had always been smarter than him.

  Cal did a walk-through to check on his team. The pounding sounds of classic Aerosmith blared from an ancient radio that had nothing on those fancy iPods. It had been on hundreds of jobs with him, covered in grime, soaked with water, battered by falls, and never stopped working. Sure, when he ran, he liked those wireless contraptions, but Cal always felt as if he was born a few decades too late. To him, simple was better. Simple worked just fine, but the more houses he built, the more he was surrounded by requests for fancier equipment, for endless rooms that would never be used, and for him to clear land better left alone.

  He nodded to Jason, who was currently finishing up the framing, and ran his hand over the wood, checking for stability and texture. His hands were an extension of all his senses, able to figure out weak spots hidden in rotted wood or irregular length. Of course, he wasn’t as gifted as his youngest brother, Dalton, who’d been dubbed the Wood Whisperer. His middle brother, Tristan, only laughed and suggested wood be changed to woody to be more accurate. He’d always been the wiseass out of all of them.

  Cal wiped the thought of his brothers out of his head, readjusted his hard hat, and continued his quick walk-through. In the past year, Pierce Brothers Construction had grown, but Cal refused to sacrifice quality over his father’s constant need to be the biggest firm in the Northeast.

  On cue, his phone shrieked, and he punched the button. “Yeah?”

  “Cal? Something happened.”

  The usually calm voice of his assistant, Sydney, broke over the line. In that moment, he knew deep in his gut that everything would change: like the flash of knowledge before a car crash, or the sharp cut of pain before a loss penetrated the brain. Cal tightened his grip on the phone and waited. The heat of the morning pressed over him. The bright blue sky, streaked with clouds, blurred his vision. The sounds of Aerosmith, drills, and hammers filled his ears.

  “Your father had a heart attack. He’s at Haddington Memorial.”

  “Is he okay?”

  Sydney paused. The silence told him everything he needed to know and dreaded to hear. “You need to get there quick.”

  “On my way.”

  Calling out quickly to his team, he ripped off his hat, jumped into his truck, and drove.

  * * * *

  A mass of machines beeped, and Cal tried not to focus on the tubes running into his father’s body in an attempt to keep him alive. They’d tried to keep him out by siccing security on him and making a scene, but he refused to leave until they allowed him to stand beside his bed while
they prepped him for surgery.

  Christian Pierce was a hard, fierce man with a force that pushed through both opposition and people like a tank. At seventy years old, he’d only grown more grizzled, in both body and spirit, leaving fear and respect in his wake but little tenderness. Cal stared into his pale face while the machines moved up and down to keep breath in his lungs and reached out tentatively to take his father’s hand.

  “Get off me, for God’s sake. I’m not dying. Not yet.”

  Cal jerked away. His father’s eyes flew open. The familiar coffee-brown eyes held a hint of disdain at his son’s weakness, even though they were red rimmed and weary. Cal shoved down the brief flare of pain and arranged his face to a neutral expression. “Good, because I want you to take over the Weatherspoons. They’re a pain in my ass.”

  His father grunted. “I need some future political favors. Handle it.” He practically spit at the nurse hovering and checking his vitals. “Stop poking me. When do I get out of here?”

  The pretty blonde hesitated. Uh-oh. His father was the worst patient in the world, and he bit faster than a rattlesnake when cornered. Already, he looked set to viciously tear her to verbal pieces while she seemed to be gathering the right words to say.

  Cal saved her by answering. “You’re not. Doctor said you need surgery to unblock some valves. They’re sending you now.”

  His father grunted. “Idiot doctor has been wanting me to go under the knife for years. He just wants to make money and shut me up. He’s still bitching I overcharged him on materials for his house.”