Bold

by Nicola Marsh

  “He pulled out of the sponsorship because of me,” she said, her voice low and shaky. “Must hate me a lot to give up a business deal like that.”

  “Who gives a shit? His loss.” He raised her hands to his mouth, kissed the back of both. “I’m hanging in the wind here, babe. I pour my heart out and you still haven’t given me an answer.”

  She wanted to say yes. He could see it, her eyes shining with hope. Or maybe that was his wishful thinking, because when she blinked, it was like that spark had never been there at all.

  “Give me some time to think about it.”

  Zane knew what would happen. Chantal would mull and ponder at length, maybe even bounce off a girlfriend or two, before outlining every logical reason why they shouldn’t be together.

  Screw that.

  He didn’t get where he was in his career by taking a back seat and accepting indecision. He made things happen. He executed perfect game plans. He kicked the impossible goals. He held the premiership cup aloft three times.

  Simply, he didn’t give up.

  “No.” He released her hands, pushed back to give her space. “You don’t need to think with this.” He pointed to her head. “You need to feel with this.” He clasped his chest over his heart. “This isn’t rocket science, sweetheart. You either love me or you don’t. It’s that simple. And all the analyzing in the world won’t help you make a decision that is a no-brainer for me and should be for you too if you feel the same way.”

  She stared at him, stricken, her silence not instilling him with confidence.

  Fuck, he couldn’t handle it if she said no. “Is that your answer then?”

  After a few silent seconds that felt like an eternity, Zane knew he’d gambled and lost.

  When she finally spoke, it was so softly he wondered if he’d imagined it.

  “I’m afraid.” Her hands fluttered helplessly over her outfit. “This is the real me. No frills. Stripped bare. I’m not confident or ballsy or bold. I’m a woman terrified that a guy like you won’t love me enough when you see the real me, or you’ll get bored and stray, or you’ll leave anyway.” She huffed out a long breath. “I can’t handle that kind of pain. I saw what it did to my mom and it killed her.” Her head snapped up, a glint of her old defiance shining through. “I can’t be that woman. I won’t.”

  Buoyed by her honesty, Zane knelt in front of her, rested his forearms on her knees. “There are no guarantees in life but I promise you this, sweetheart. I won’t run when the going gets tough. I want to see you, all of you, not the front you present to the world. And I’m no cheater. I don’t know what happened with your folks, but I’m not like that. I want to love you for as long as you’ll let me.” Forever, if he had his way. “Can’t you trust me enough to take a chance?”

  The sheen in her eyes alerted him to more waterworks but this time, as tears trickled down her cheeks, she actually smiled.

  “You’re very persistent.”

  “I am when what I’m fighting for is worth it,” he said, surging to his feet and pulling her up. “You’re it for me, Chantal Kramer. The woman I love. So what do you say?”

  This time, her momentary hesitation was tempered with a radiant smile. “I love you, too.”

  She kissed him to prove it.

  A kiss to seal their love.

  A kiss filled with promises and hope.

  A kiss to build a future on.

  EPILOGUE

  Two days later, Chantal hosted her monthly cocktail party in the small function room at Burlesque Bombshells. She plied her employees with exquisite food and top-shelf alcohol to thank them for their loyalty. Everyone came, from the dancers to the bar staff, as a way of blowing off steam. They danced into the wee small hours to legendary eighties tracks and crawled home nursing hangovers. Nobody cared, because in four weeks time they’d be doing it all again.

  Chantal valued her workers. Alongside her friends, they were her family. With her biological dad in New York, her mom dead and her step-dad swanning through Europe with wife number four, she was pretty much alone.

  Not anymore.

  “Need a top up?” Zane held a champagne bottle above her glass and she nodded, amazed anew that this incredible guy was in love with her.

  “You trying to get me drunk?”

  “Nah,” he said, with a wink. “I can take advantage of you regardless.”

  She pinched his too-sexy-for-words ass. “The feeling’s mutual, sweet cheeks.”

  He groaned. “Did you just call me sweet cheeks?”

  “If the description fits.” This time, she patted his ass, and he dodged with a laugh.

  “You’re insatiable.” He wiped his brow in mock exhaustion. “You’re going to wear me out.”

  “That’s BS and you know it.” Chantal pouted and blew him a kiss. “Now that you’ve retired, you need to redirect that impressive stamina elsewhere.”

  His eyes darkened and she knew he was remembering exactly how they’d spent the last few days holed up in his hotel suite putting that stamina to the test.

  “How early can we ditch this party?”

  She laughed. “Your brothers haven’t arrived yet. Don’t you want to at least say hello?”

  “Those bozos can cope without me,” he said, his gaze drawn to the door, and Chantal wondered if he was still nervous.

  Tonight would be the first official meeting between Wyatt and Steele. Wyatt had been called away on an emergency IT project in New Orleans and had only flown in an hour ago.

  As for Steele, Chantal hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting him yet, considering Zane had kept her in his bed for the last forty-eight hours. She’d overheard a few phone conversations between Zane and Steele, their closeness evident in the typical male sniping and teasing.

  One thing she had observed during those phone conversations was the way Zane lit up when he spoke to his brother. He looked happy and she envied him that sibling bond. As for his American family, things may not be sweet with his father, but Wyatt obviously wanted to make an effort and apparently Kurt could be flying in by the weekend.

  She’d pay money to see the four hot Harrisons in the same room together.

  “Here comes Wyatt now.” Zane nudged her and she glanced at the door in time to see Ashlin approach Wyatt with two beers.

  “I think your brother’s about to get propositioned,” Chantal said, chuckling at Wyatt’s deer-in-the-headlights expression when Ashlin led him toward an empty table in the far corner of the room.

  “Hope she’s gentle with him,” Zane said, sliding his arm around her waist. “He’s a good guy.”

  “Just like you.” She kissed his cheek, her lips drifting lower where she nuzzled his neck, loving how close they’d become in two days and looking forward to many more together, for however long they had. “I’m so thankful you talked sense into me.”

  Zane hugged her closer. “I’ve got news.”

  Her heart stalled. If he said he’d had to bring forward his departure date, she’d be packing her passport and following him to Australia.

  “Tell me you’re not leaving already?”

  He shook his head, his grin mysterious. “I wanted to wait ‘til later to tell you this, but I may get waylaid by the guys, so I’ll just tell you now.”

  He paused and she elbowed him. “You’re killing me here.”

  Holding her at arms length so he could look her in the eye, he said, “I’ve accepted a job as CEO of the new Aussie Rules league in Nevada. And I’m co-sponsor alongside you.”

  Chantal stared at him in disbelief, his news sinking in but not computing. “You mean…you’re staying?”

  He nodded, incredibly smug. “I need to look into visas and stuff but yeah, I’m sticking around.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  The thought of having Zane around for longer than short term made Chantal want to bawl.

  “Believe it, sweetheart.” He kissed her, a long, hot, openmouthed kiss that left her breathless and wanting to say ‘
screw your brothers, let’s leave now’. “Though you do know if the visa thing doesn’t come through I’ll have to marry you for a green card.”

  “That’s illegal,” she said, with a fake frown, her heart pounding so hard she could barely hear herself speak.

  Zane was staying.

  With her.

  She’d never felt anything like the joy making her want to stand on a table and shout to the world how much she loved him.

  He shrugged, as if turning his life upside down for her was no big deal. “Oh well, maybe one day we’ll have to do it for real.”

  This time, she did cry a little, burying her face against his chest and hugging him tight.

  Zane kissed her temple as they eased apart. “I take it those tears mean you’re happy?”

  “You have no idea,” she said, fisting her hands in his shirt and tugging him closer.

  However, he stilled, his gaze wavering from her to the door. “Steele just walked in and he isn’t looking happy.”

  “Uh-oh.” Chantal glanced over her shoulder in time to see him in a heated discussion with Miranda.

  “Who’s the feisty brunette?”

  “Miranda Pirelli, our yoga instructor.”

  Zane chuckled. “Looks like the Italian pocket-rocket’s giving my brother what-for.”

  “Wonder what that’s all about?”

  Chantal knew Miranda was usually laid back. Unless she got riled or passionate about one of her causes; then, look out.

  “Guess we’ll find out later,” Zane said, his attention once again fixed on her. “Now, where were we?”

  “Discussing long term plans.” She traced his mouth with a fingertip, the contour of his lips, the slight dip in his chin, eager to get him alone later to explore the rest of him.

  “I like the sound of that.” Zane lowered his lips to hers. “We’re in it for the long haul, sweetheart. You and me. Forever.”

  As Chantal kissed the love of her life, she couldn’t agree more.

  Have you read the Bombshells series?

  BEFORE (new adult prequel, FREE!)

  BRASH

  BLUSH

  BOLD

  BAD (Wyatt’s story, releasing 2015)

  BEG (Steele’s story, releasing 2015)

  BURN (Kurt’s story, releasing early 2016)

  For sneak peeks, ARCs, giveaways & book fun, join NIC’S SUPER NOVAS: Where every reader is a star. facebook.com/groups/702029183208586/

  Ditto with Nicola’s newsletter: sign up by emailing nicola@nicolamarsh.com

  Here’s a snippet from BAD

  CHAPTER ONE

  Wyatt Harrison took one step into the function room filled with beautiful people and wished he hadn’t come.

  This so wasn’t his scene.

  Upgrading IT systems at Burlesque Bombshells he could handle. Socializing with the gorgeous women who worked at the dance revue establishment, not so much.

  Though tonight wasn’t about mingling with dancers he wouldn’t see again after this contract finished.

  The only reason he’d shown up was to meet Steele, his half-brother.

  Zane, the other Aussie half-sibling he’d known nothing about until a month ago, had said Steele would be here tonight. So he’d knocked back a few tequila shots to quell his anti-party phobia and rocked up.

  But he’d barely entered and spotted Zane, who he’d been hanging out with the last few weeks since the Aussie had come searching for his State-side family, when a woman bore down on him.

  Not just any woman. Ashlin O’Meara.

  She’d haunted his dreams for weeks since they’d briefly met in passing. His secret fantasy. Tall. Lithe. Long red hair. Big blue eyes. And full lips that made him hard just thinking about what they could do.

  “Glad you could make it,” she said, her beauty even more startling close up. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

  “Why?” he blurted, his characteristic social awkwardness making him wish he could turn and run.

  He didn’t understand women, not like metadata and motherboards and uploads. Women made him nervous, like looking at a giant jigsaw and being unable to decipher where all the pieces fit. And a woman like Ashlin? Made him wish he was back home on the outskirts of New Orleans, holed up with the latest app release, and not feeling so damned gauche.

  Ashlin smiled and leaned in close. Close enough he could smell some seductive floral fragrance he couldn’t label but wanted to brand on his receptors. “Because we’ve only met once, that time in Chantal’s office, and I want to get to know you better.”

  Wyatt stared at her like she’d lost her mind. Women didn’t come onto him. The only hook-ups he’d had were at IT conventions, with female fellow geeks who didn’t flirt or talk or articulate what they wanted. Women willing to come up to his room after a few drinks and conversation that consisted solely about computers. It suited him, the lack of emotional connection.

  Which begged the question, why was this stunning woman coming onto him? Not that he didn’t like it. Hell, his cock liked it just fine. But her proximity unnerved him. She unnerved him. And he felt awkward enough in social situations without adding her to the mix.

  “You want to get to know me better?” He sounded incredulous, like she’d asked him to strip naked on the spot. “Trust me, there’s not much to tell.”

  “I beg to differ.” She touched his arm and Wyatt could’ve sworn he’d just misconnected wires; the jolt was that powerful. Swift and sizzling and strong enough to fry his brain. “You’re an intelligent guy. I bet we could talk for hours.”

  If he had Ashlin alone for hours, talk would be the furthest thing from his mind.

  He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. Didn’t help. “So you’re into geeks?” As if.

  “I’m into you,” she said, her fingertips gliding down his forearm, slow and sensual, teasing his wrist with a tickle before she stepped back.

  In that moment, with his arm still tingling and her lips curved in an I’m-all-yours smile, he almost believed her.

  Curious to see how where Bombshells started?

  Read BRASH, out now from all e-retailers.

  Here’s a snippet:

  CHAPTER ONE

  Burlesque Bombshell Basics

  Sexy on the inside translates to sexy on the outside.

  Jess Harper was the first to admit, sex made her uncomfortable.

  Not the act itself, despite the lackluster efforts by her ex, but the paraphernalia that surrounded her every time she stepped into Burlesque Bombshell, her cousin’s Vegas dance venue.

  The nipple tassels and diamante thongs and shiny poles made her feel inadequate. Like all that overt sexiness screamed she was a failure in the boudoir. She wasn’t. It was the dorks she allowed in there that needed lessons: Getting It On 101.

  She pushed through a phalanx of fuchsia feather fans and slipped into the main dressing room, only to be confronted by nudity.

  “Jeez, put some clothes on,” she said, unable to resist brushing against the vermillion velvet walls as she entered. The plushness of this room never failed to bring out her inner vixen.

  “Don’t like the view? You know where the door is.” Zazz, Burlesque Bombshell’s premier dancer, leaned closer to the gilt edged, beveled mirror and puckered up, before slicking vivid crimson across her lips.

  “Not a problem. But then who’d plan your gargantuan wedding, huh?” Jess picked up an armful of feather boas and draped them over a mannequin before slouching on a plush peacock blue suede daybed. “Wedding of the century, babe. Your quote, not mine.”

  “Whatever.” Zazz batted her eyelash extensions and pouted. “Table arrangements finalized?”

  “Yep. Ruby linen tablecloths. Matching chairs tied with black bows. Elongated glass vases filled with ebony crystals and long feathers. Silverware. Black candles. And bling name holders—”

  “Whoa. Detail overload.” Zazz held up her hands. “As long as it matches the pics of that swank London Goth wedding you showed me in a brid
al mag, I’m happy.”

  “Easy to please.” Jess used her hand as a fake notebook and jotted with an imaginary pen. “Not.”

  “You’re snooty because I haven’t told you the venue yet.” Zazz sniggered. “Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

  Jess didn’t have to love it. In fact, she couldn’t give a flying fig if the venue had rope swings hanging from the roof and chains from the chandeliers. The faster she was done doing this favor for her mom, who’d coerced her into planning this wedding from her sickbed, the faster she could figure out what she’d do with the rest of her life.

  One thing Jess knew for sure; it wouldn’t be helping Pam, her flamboyant mom, plan any more crazy weddings.

  “And wait ‘til you hear about the food.” Zazz shrugged into an emerald satin kimono embroidered with topaz crystals. “Michelin starred. Exotic. To die for.”

  “Good. Faster I know about the cake, faster I can get onto the cake table decorations.”

  Zazz cinched the sash at her waist, accentuating her knockout hourglass figure. “The chef should be here shortly so you can sit down together and go over boring deets like which canapés go with which wines.”

  “Goody.” Jess clapped her hands in fake excitement. Last thing she felt like doing today was collaborating with some temperamental, egotistical chef. Visiting her mom first thing had been bad enough. “Getting back to the venue. You know I can’t finalize everything ‘til I see the room, get a feel for the layout—”

  “Relax. We’re flying you and the chef out to the island end of the week.”

  “Island?” Jess’s jaded soul couldn’t help but perk up at the idea of a free trip to some exotic island. “Where?”

  “Prince Island.”

  “Never heard of it.” Not that Jess cared. Any place with island in the title? She was there with flip-flops on.