by Aria Ford
“All right, well, I’m gonna go. Thank you for hearing me out. I hope this works out for you both, and hopefully we can all go out sometime.”
Lindsey walked him to the door while I waited in the living room. I wasn’t sure if I totally believed this sudden change of heart. I would still be watching my back when he was around. She came back into the living room and sat down on my lap.
“That was a surprise, huh?” she said, her arms going around my neck.
I nodded. “Do you think he’s for real? I mean, is it a setup so he can get close to me, wait for my guard to drop before he tries to kick the shit out of me?”
She threw her head back and laughed. “I doubt it. I think he’s genuine. He’ll come around all the way eventually. Give him some time.”
“I will. I will do whatever it takes to make him like me again if that’s what you want, but I won’t give you up, Lindsey. You’re mine, and that isn’t going to change,” I said, squeezing her thigh.
She buried her face into my neck, kissing a trail up to my ear, her tongue brushed over it before she nibbled on my lobe. My dick sprang to life under her.
“I thought we were taking the night off,” she murmured in my ear.
I wrapped an arm around her, ripping her off my lap and dropping her onto the couch before coming over the top of her. “I never agreed to that.”
She giggled. “Thank God. But Tanner?”
“Hmm?” I said, kissing her collar bone while running my fingertip up the inside of her arm.
“You cannot break my furniture. And remember, I eat on that table and prepare food on those counters.”
I chuckled. “You can clean them, which gives me an idea.” I leaned back, pulled her up to straddle me again before standing and walking to said counters. “Perfect,” I breathed, spreading her legs and standing between her.
She put her hands on my face and kissed me with such passion, I nearly exploded in my jeans.
No matter how many times we had sex, it was always like the first time. I was always ready and willing. I had a feeling there were going to be many nights in like this for us.
Epilogue
Lindsey
I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. I had to pinch myself daily to ensure it was all real. It was. My life couldn’t be better. I had the man of my dreams literally by my side as I worked toward my goal of winning an Olympic medal. Of course I wanted to win the gold, but hell, I’d be just as happy with a silver or bronze. The very fact I get to represent my country was amazing.
“Hey,” Tanner said, coming up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist before dropping his head on my shoulder. “What are you doing out here? It’s early.”
I sighed. “I like watching the sun come up. I can’t believe we’re here. Like, we’re living here and training at the Olympic facility. Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about this?”
He chuckled. “I do, actually. I think I have been dreaming the same thing for just as long, although I never had any desire to be the one in the pool. I’m glad I get to be your trainer.”
“Me too. I think my parents are going to come out this weekend. They’ve been dying to see the training center out here. I can’t wait to show them around.”
He stepped away and went back inside the small apartment we had rented when we moved out here to Colorado Springs nearly six months ago. The climate was a little cooler than we were used to. Gone were the days he could walk around wearing shorts every day. He came back out, pulling on a sweater.
“It’s fucking cold out here. Thank God that pool is heated. You would freeze to death,” he grumbled.
“What are you and Brian doing today?” I asked, ignoring his comment about the cold. He always complained about the cold.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’m going to go by his office while you attend that nutrition class. We have to hook him up with somebody. I mean, he’s a lot better now that he’s moved out here, but the guy needs a woman.”
I laughed. It was good he was so happy with his relationship that he wanted to share the feeling with her brother, but Brian wasn’t quite ready. “One step at a time. Brian has always been more career orientated than the type who wants to settle down and get married.”
He nodded. “I guess. I’m glad your dad agreed to let him open a branch out here. When we move, do you think he’ll stay behind?”
“I don’t know. He seems to really like it here. Maybe he was simply not cut out for life in Southern California. He needs the mountains and the cold, fresh air.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me back inside, shutting the doors to the terrace. “I’m happy he’s here, and I’m happy he’s cool with us, but I hope it doesn’t change when it’s time to get back to the real world.”
“We’ll see. I need to get ready to head over to the center. Are we still on for that hike later today?” I asked.
“Yes!” he said with way more enthusiasm that I would have thought. We’d been hiking several times a week. It was one way for us to spend time together, alone, while I strengthened my legs and lungs.
“Okay, well, I better get moving.”
After a boring session about eating right and fueling our Olympian bodies, I was ready to get outside into the fresh air. I walked home, enjoying the cool, brisk air. I couldn’t wait to see Tanner. Granted, I had seen him this morning, but I missed him. I missed seeing those green eyes and that tousled blond hair. I couldn’t wait to run my hands through it and maybe squeeze in a quickie before we left for our hike.
When I walked into the apartment, Tanner was there—pacing.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, fine. Everything’s great. Are you ready? Do you want to change?” he asked, slightly out of breath.
“I think what I have on is okay.” I looked down at my jeans and tennis shoes. “I’ll grab a jacket in case it gets cold.”
He nodded. I could tell something had him worked up. I grabbed my jacket from the bedroom and returned to see him packing a bottle of champagne into the little picnic basket we had bought at a flea market.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked again. He was really starting to freak me out.
“Yes, I’m great. You ready?”
I nodded, still a little concerned for his mental health. Maybe he was going stir crazy from waiting cooped up inside all day. A walk would do him good.
We headed to his truck. The trailhead was a few miles up the mountain. Once there, Tanner grabbed the picnic basket from the back, and we started out. It was a trail we frequented. We had even made love on it one occasion. Thankfully, it was off the beaten path and few people bothered to come out this way.
He grabbed my hand, and we walked at a leisurely pace, taking in the sights, sounds and smells. I loved it up here.
“You think we could live out here one day? Like in the future,” I said clarifying.
He stopped walking. I stopped, too, and studied his face, worried I’d freaked him out with my talk about the future. We hadn’t really broached that subject in the past.
He carefully set down the picnic basket and dropped to one knee. I stared at him, not sure if what I was seeing was what I thought it was or maybe he was just going to tie his shoe.
“Tanner?” I said on an exhaled breath.
He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small, black velvet box. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest, and I could feel tears welling before he even spoke. Then he said the words.
“Lindsey Scott, will you please be my wife?” he said, holding out the opened box.
I looked down, my vision blurred with tears. Inside was a gorgeous teardrop-shaped diamond surrounded by vivid blue sapphires.
I was nodding my head, bobbing up and down, and I couldn’t speak. I wanted to say the word he was looking for, but my throat felt like it was closing over the giant lump that had appeared.
“Yes,” I squeaked out.
He stood up and slid the rin
g on my finger.
“You’re mine, Lindsey Scott. Now it’s official.”
I was still bobbing my head up and down like a fool.
He wrapped his arms around me, holding me while I wept tears of joy.
He stepped away and reached into the picnic basket, pulling out two plastic champagne glasses and the bottle of champagne I had seen him pack earlier. He popped the cork and filled the glasses before he handed one to me.
“To our future. We can live anywhere you want. Wherever you go, I go. I love you more than words can ever say,” he said, clinking his glass to mine.
We drank, and I finally managed to clear my throat. “Tanner, you are full of surprises. I can’t wait to call you my husband.”
We stayed at our special spot for a long while, talking about the future and making tentative plans for our wedding. When we noticed the sun was getting lower in the sky, we headed back to his truck.
“Let’s go tell Brian,” I said.
Tanner grimaced. “I don’t know. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“He has to find out at some point. May as well be now.”
“Okay, if he says anything stupid, I swear I’m going to hit him,” Tanner vowed.
I rolled my eyes but didn’t disagree. I would be the one who slapped my big brother if he had anything negative to say.
When we told Brian, his response surprised us both. “I’m the best man, right?”
We all had a good laugh and quickly dove into the wedding planning. Brian seemed to be very excited for the wedding. It made me unbelievably happy to see my two favorite guys getting along so well. Life was good. Just when I had thought it couldn’t get any better, it did. I was going to be Tanner Brown’s wife.
The End
MR. BIG SHOT
Chapter One
The Gulfstream IV touched down at the Las Vegas McCarran International Airport and came to a stop on a distant tarmac where a royal blue carpet and a silver Rolls Royce waited for the passenger. The jet rested, as if adjusting to the extreme heat, although its home base was commonly as hot and it was hardly a stranger to deserts.
Although the aircraft could accommodate up to eight people for sleeping, when the door rolled open, only two individuals came out; Sheikh Arran Muhalla and his loyal body guard, Alahan. Impeccably dressed in a custom-tailored silk suit, Sheikh Arran Muhalla’s tanned skin contrasted with the heavy golden Rolex he wore on his wrist and the gleaming white of his perfect teeth. Powerfully built, he walked with the grace of a cougar. Even those who didn’t know him could feel his lethal potential. Known to his American friends as Arran, he was comfortable in any environment; that of his birth, and that of his Yale education.
Arran stepped into the glittering silver Rolls. His guard, Alahan, took a front seat and the driver smoothly rolled out of the airport and headed for the Bellagio. Arran adjusted his tie and checked his hair, although there was never a hair out of place. Although there were no meetings planned, he was always concerned with his appearance. He patted the sound system and the vehicle filled with Puccini’s Tosca. He settled back against the upholstered cushions and closed his eyes, allowing the music to carry him to a different place where time was measured in the trappings of grace.
As the driver pulled up before the Bellagio, a doorman advanced to open Arran’s door. Alahan quickly blocked him and stood momentarily, surveying the people and surroundings before opening the limo door. Arran emerged and went into the hotel where he had reserved the Chairman’s Suite.
Arran was the eldest in an extremely successful Middle-Eastern family and the head of their businesses. His younger brothers, Sinhad and Farrah, dealt with various smaller enterprises, but Arran exercised final approval of every move that was made. He was in Vegas to handle the general business for one of the banks the family owned. His schedule provided for a short stay; no more than three weeks at most.
Alahan took care of the details of checking in while Arran waited in the nearby Russian Bar, sliding onto a stool at one end of the long bar where he might watch everything going on. It was his habit to keep his back to a wall; a lesson learned from a lifetime of caution. He ordered a whiskey sour and while he sipped, his posture staunchly erect and alert. He was bored and played with his tumbler, the thick gold ring on his middle finger tapping against the glass. Alahan took up a watch point just inside the door, checking out the room constantly. The bulk beneath his jacket revealed that he was carrying a weapon. While not blatantly obvious, anyone looking would know not to start trouble in his presence.
There were a handful of others in the bar, taking a break from the gaming or meeting before going on to dinner. Arran had an eye for unusual women but had tired of the shallow beauties who usually offered themselves to him. He’d been to Las Vegas many times and knew it was the land of smoke and mirrors. Women’s bodies were molded and augmented to their own ideas of beauty while their men merely paid the tab. Arran could have any female who interested him, but had grown bored with their readiness to fill his empty bed. For the time being, he would remain a confirmed bachelor.
The sound of shattered glass filled the room as a tray plummeted to the bar floor. A table of guests leapt out of the way to keep from being sprayed and one of the women cried out theatrically as liquor dripped down the front of her phony designer cocktail dress. She was outrageously made up and smelled of her profession; a very expensive whore. One of the men motioned toward the bar and the harried manager quickly came over, an angry look on his countenance.
The helpless waitress had her back to Arran. From his perspective, he could see shapely hips, endless legs, and a wealth of silver-blonde hair swept back from her face and wrapped into a barrette at her neck. She was poised there, frozen, looking at the woman with the liquor stain and then to the dropped tray on the carpet at her feet. The manager reappeared with white bar towels and the waitress instantly bent to retrieve the tray, and then turned to wipe the woman’s chest with the towels. She succeeded in making the stain worse, rubbing the sweet liquor more deeply into the fabric of the gown and the woman’s voice rose in intensity at the mess. The overly reactive manager was bowing and apologizing dramatically, motioning away the waitress who set her tray on the bar and left through doors into the kitchen area. A uniformed waiter immediately appeared with a broom and more towels to clean up the mess as the group at the table rose and left the bar after a few harsh expletives toward the manager.
The manager, obviously upset, pulled down his jacket to re-establish his dignity and turned toward the kitchen. Arran signaled the bartender and asked that the manager be directed toward him.
“Yes, sir, good evening Sheikh Muhalla,” the manager greeted him, a nervous grin upon his perspiring face.
“The waitress—you intend to fire her?” Arran asked simply.
“No need to worry, sir, she won’t be bothering anyone again,” the manager quickly assured him.
“You intend to fire her?” Arran repeated, and the manager realized it was a question and scrambled to answer it.
“Yes, sir, we will find someone more professional to take her job.”
“Keep her,” Arran said.
“Sir?”
“Leave the girl be. She needs the work and will not repeat her mistake, you may be assured. Ask the guest who was soiled to select a gown in any of the hotel shops and add it to my account,” Arran ordered.
“Sir, are you sure? After all, it was the waitresses’ fault and there’s no reason you should…”
Arran cut him off. “Shall I repeat my instructions?” His voice invited no argument; he was a man who was accustomed to giving orders—once.
“Of course, Sheikh Muhalla, immediately,” the manager bowed and scurried away.
Arran took another sip of his drink and as expected, the doors from the galley slammed open and the waitress came out, looking along the bar until she spotted him. She came toward him and as she approached, he took in her face. An elegant nose and rosy, prominent cheekbon
es framed what were huge, green eyes. These, combined with her hair gave her the appearance of being chiseled from a pale gray marble.
“Are you Sheikh Muhalla?” she asked politely. Her voice was slightly gravelly but articulate—giving her a cultured appeal.
“Yes,” he nodded, caught in those green eyes.
“I understand I owe you a debt of gratitude,” she prompted.
“No, you owe me nothing,” he returned, watching the light behind her eyes turn dark.
“I pay my debts…with money. If you’ll give me your address, I’ll see to it that I reimburse the cost of the woman’s dress to you,” she said in a businesslike voice.
“It’s not necessary,” he shook his head, wanting to hear her speak more but wishing she would change the subject.
“I must insist. I don’t accept charity,” her voice was stronger now, more official. In a way, she was almost arrogant except that it was pride that held her spine straight and her chin up.
“My dear Miss…?” he said, asking her to fill in the details.
“Standish, I’m Gabrielle Standish,” she obliged. “Look Sheikh, I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to address you; we don’t have sheikhs in the States, so excuse any ignorance, but I’d really rather that you allow me to pay for the woman’s dress. It will take me a while, but I will pay you for it. Your information, please?” she asked again and pulled out an order pad to write on the back of a slip.
“I’m staying here at the Bellagio,” he said in a quiet voice, wishing he could record hers for its sultry quality.
“I’ll do my best,” she said and nodded her head before she turned away and went toward another table of guests, carefully walking wide of the wet carpet. As she returned to have the drink order filled, he called her over.
“You may call me Arran,” he said.