She smiled, stroked the hair over his ears. ‘I had a lot to fight for, the best reason to stay alive. I love you so much, Arlo, you didn’t think a little thing like a bullet was going to keep me from you, did you?
He chuckled, but his eyes were sorrowful. ‘No way. There’s way too much sex still to be had.’
She laughed, wincing slightly as the motion pulled on her tender muscles. ‘Of course.’ She sighed and pulled his lips down to hers.
After a while, after they’d stared at each other, not quite believing they’d made it through another crisis then Arlo, his eye serious, spoke softly.
‘Sweetheart…do you remember anything about the shooting at all?’
Cosima’s face hardened ‘Oh Arlo…I remember everything. Everything.’
Jack’s chance came sooner than expected. He’d had the idea as he spent the previous evening, drinking beer in his hotel room. He’d laughed out loud. Of course. So simple. A hypodermic syringe full of nothing but air. Stick it into one of Cosima’s veins, cause an air embolism to her heart. Boom. Dead. Less bloody than he would have liked but he’d already had that pleasure.
He could be in South America before they discovered what killed her.
When he arrived at the hospital, he went straight to her room. Arlo was there, but the others were M.I.A.
‘Where is everyone?’ Jack looked at Arlo, who looked worn out.
‘Gone home for now. They’re exhausted.’
‘You look all done in, too. Look, man, I can sit with her for a couple of hours. Go grab some sleep.’
Arlo nodded slowly. ‘That would be great.’ He got up and smiled at the other man, but Jack noticed something in his eyes – wariness, doubt.
‘Everything okay?’
Arlo nodded. ‘Everything is fine. I’ll be back before six.’ He leaned over the sleeping Cosima and kissed her lips. ‘I love you, chicken.’
Chicken? Jack worked to hide the sneer; could this dude be more of a sap? When Arlo had left, he went to work. Pulling the syringe from his pocket, he drew the plunger back, filling it with air.
He reached for her arm – and Cosima moved, quickly, her left arm coming up and he felt a sharp pain across his arm. Blood welled, and with a yelp, he dropped the syringe, realized she was holding a scalpel.
‘You son of a bitch,’ she hissed at him, ‘did you think I wouldn’t remember?’
Jack lunged for her – then felt something pressing against the back of his head, heard the click of a safety catch being flicked off.
‘Don’t even think about moving, motherfucker.’ Arlo’s voice was granite hard. ‘Give me one reason to pull this trigger and I will.’
Jack, trained in combat, swerved around to try and knock the gun from Arlo’s hand but the bigger man was ready. He brought his fist up under Jack’s chin as Jack managed to knock the gun from his hand, and Jack screamed as he bit through his own tongue. The others were there then, Harpa darting in front of Cosima to protect her sister; Naveen, sleek and dangerous, his own gun back in his hand. Jack skittered to the far side of the room as Naveen took a shot, the bullet wide, smashing the large window behind him. Jack flinched down, outnumbered.
Arlo sneered at him. ‘Did you think we would find out about the contractor? The one you bribed to shot at us? Believe it or not, it was Sabine who saw you talking to him at the opening.'
Jack sneered at him and his gaze switched to Cosima, shielded by Harpa and Mikah. ‘I loved you, Cosima, for years. I worshiped you. When I fired that bullet into your belly, you were finally mine, do you understand? I would do it again and again…’
Arlo, enraged, struck him savagely across the jaw with the butt of his gun. ‘Shut your damn mouth, motherfucker.’
Jack laughed, spitting teeth and blood. ‘Fuck you, Forrester, she was mine, and you took her away from me.’
Arlo roared at him. ‘Cosima is not a possession for you to lay claim to, you asshole.’ He stepped forward and pressed the muzzle of the gun against Jack’s forehead.
‘Stop!’ Cosima screamed, and they all froze. Both Naveen and Arlo kept their guns trained on the cowering man. ‘Look at him,’ Cosima said, ‘look at him cower. Harpa, help me up.’
Harpa looked concerned but then as Cosima began to get up, Arlo rushed to help her too.
On unsteady legs, Cosima walked to Jack and looked down at him. ‘You bastard,’ she began quietly. ‘You filthy, despicable coward. Did you think you had any right to decide who I loved? It would have made any difference. Even if I didn’t love Arlo as much as I do, I could never love a coward like you. You’re pathetic.’
Jack, smirking, got to his feet. ‘I should have cut your throat the day I fucked you, little girl.’
Arlo growled, but Cosima stopped him. ‘You’re mistaken, Jack. Fucking is a wonderful, magical, thing between two people who love each other. You raped me, Jack. Rape. After you drugged me because that would mean I couldn’t fight you off. You were scared I would fight you because that’s the filthy coward you are.’
He lunged for her again but this time, Arlo was ready. With an almighty shove, he knocked Jack backward, jabbing him again and again, hard until Jack was backed against the open window.
With just one mighty push, Arlo could end this now…forever. He stepped towards Jack, who gave him a bloody grin.
‘Do it, Forrester. Kill me. Because if you don’t, I’ll keep coming back and I swear, she will die.’
Arlo lunged but Naveen pulled him back.
‘Arlo,’ said Naveen, ‘Let the police have him. He does not deserve a quick punishment. Let him rot in jail.’
Arlo, quivering with rage, didn’t move, staring Jack down. It wasn’t until he heard the police behind them, moving into the room, and felt Cosima’s hand on his arm.
‘Arlo, come to me. Leave this scum to get what he deserves.’
He turned and saw she was struggling to stand up; all the adrenaline had left her body. In one swift movement, he swept her into his arms and carried her out of the room and took her to the new room they’d arranged for her.
They had all set it up, of course. After Naveen and Mikah had talked to Arlo, he hadn’t needed much persuasion to believe that Jack was Cosima’s shooter. When she woke, after the tube was taken out, she’d confirmed it, telling him exactly what had happened. The horrific truth shocked him with its cruelty.
So cold blooded, so merciless. But Arlo finally felt there was something he could do – he’d arranged the police guard but used his influence to delay their arrival until they had dealt with Jack themselves. He wanted to kill Jack, rip him limb from limb but knew they would never allow that.
But now, as they saw Jack being dragged past her room by the police, Arlo knew Cosima had been right to stop him pushing Jack out that window.
‘You’re not a killer,’ she said, as if she could read his mind, ‘There was no need to change who we are to beat him. It’s over, Arlo.’
She winced as she shifted on the bed, and now the horror and trauma were over, she looked exhausted. Arlo sat on the side of the bed and touched her cheek.
‘The minute,’ he smiled at her, ‘the minute you get out of here, we’re getting married.’
Cosima smiled. ‘That sounds good to me.’
He leaned in to kiss her, brushing his lips against hers ‘Now I can believe you’re safe at last.’
She wound her arms around his neck. ‘You and me, Arlo Forrester, that’s the only thing that matters. You, me, and our children…Turner and Hooch.’
Arlo burst out laughing and gathered her to him. ‘To our family,’ he said, kissing her passionately.
‘To us, forever,’ she whispered back and they kissed until they could no longer breathe…
Epilogue
The Maldives, Indian Ocean
Two years later…
He watched as the waiter led the woman to her table, saw her thank him. A beautiful smile. He couldn’t take his eyes from her; the luscious curves of her, her dark skin
glowing against the dark gold of her sun dress. Her dark waves fell past her shoulder, and he watched as she pulled her hair over one shoulder. She glanced up and smiled at him.
He got up and walked towards her. She sat up when he approached. The night was sultry, sensual and her skin had a faint sheen of dewy moisture.
‘Excuse me, ma’am, I’m going to the bar,’ he said, ‘If you’d like to join me, I’d be pleased to buy you whatever is your poison.’
She smiled that radiant smile. ‘I’m sorry; I’m waiting for my husband.’ She ran a hand over her belly, swollen and blooming with pregnancy. ‘As you can see, I’m not alone.’
Arlo grinned down at Cosima, his gorgeous, healthy, wife and she laughed back at him.
‘Well, now, he’s one lucky son-of-a-gun.’
He leaned down and kissed her thoroughly to the amusement of the other diners.
‘Yes,’ she said breathlessly as they broke apart, ‘yes, he is.’
He held out his hand to her. ‘Screw the drinks?’
Cosima laughed, got to her feet and took his hand, gazing up at her beloved husband.
‘Screw the drinks.’
And they walked back to their villa on the water, knowing that they were walking into forever…
The End.
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No Promises
A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance
English grad student Anoushka ‘Noosh’ Taylor is working as a junior reporter for a successful New York City radio network under the mentorship of her heroine, Allison Monroe. On the cusp of producing her first big story, an exposé of New York’s BDSM club scene, Noosh is issued a challenge to go the extra mile and attend a club to see for herself. Summoning her courage, she finds herself caught up in a moment she can’t escape with a devastatingly handsome man, and after being humiliated by him, she leaves in tears, vowing never to return.
Angry and hurt, Noosh drops the piece but cannot stop thinking about her almost lover.
When they decide to do a piece on the most eligible bachelor in New York, Noosh is thrown into the path of Christofalo Montecito, playboy and son of organized crime boss, Fogliano Montecito. Christo is gorgeous, brooding, sensual – and the man who humiliated her at the BDSM club.
Noosh reacts badly, but when Christo apologizes, she begins to see a different side of him. Soon, their mutual attraction grows, and Noosh finds herself falling for Christo – but can a son of a crime boss ever be reliable, trustworthy?
When dark secrets from both of their pasts reveal themselves, Noosh and Christo have to decide whether their attraction is more than just a casual thing, and discover just how far they will go to save it.
Can Noosh give him the trust he has yet to earn? Or will Christo reveal himself to be his father’s son?
Chapter One
Long Island, New York
Christofalo Montecito stared at his father in astonishment. He couldn’t be taking Christo’s news this easily. Nuh-uh, no way. “Dad, you understand what I’m telling you?”
Fogliano Montecito gazed back at his son with the same brilliant green eyes he had bestowed on his only child. “Christo, do I look like an idiot? You want out of my business, that’s the crux of the matter, right?”
Christo hesitated. “Right. Look, Dad, it’s not as if I haven’t mentioned this before, and I’m almost forty now, and it’s time. I’ve given you the last seventeen years, all my time after college.”
“College that my business paid for.”
Here we go. “Yes, Dad, and I’m grateful for it, don’t get me wrong. But I need to make my own way…and some aspects of the family business don’t sit easily with me.”
Fogliano held up his hands. “Enough. Christo, you must do what you think is right, what is appropriate.” He sighed and pushed back from his desk, standing and clapping his son on the back. “Now, you’ll still be coming to the meal tonight?”
Christo, still stunned, nodded. “Sure, Dad.”
“Good. Now, I have to get back to work. You can see yourself out?”
“Of course. See you later.”
Christo nodded to his father’s personal assistant, Mandy, who simpered at him. Christo tried not to roll his eyes and instead gave her a polite smile. At thirty-eight, with his father’s Italian good looks and devastating smile, Christofalo Montecito had turned heads since he was a teenager. Wild dark curls, long, long legs and a body to die for meant that Christo had the pick of any women he wanted. And he took full advantage.
Lately, though, the constant stream of ready women was tiresome. Where was the challenge, where was the fight? Christo was feeling jaded by his entire lifestyle. Rich beyond imagination, he had begun to crave a simpler life, with a partner he could settle down with. Someone who would challenge him hold her own against the shattering weight of his family’s reputation.
The Montecitos were well known in New York as one of the biggest family businesses – and that business was crime. Corruption, drugs, murder – Fogliano Montecito’s reputation was feared by everyone, even his son. Christo had lost his mother to Fogliano’s devotion to his corporation. Ornella Montecito had leaped to her death from the roof of the family’s eighteen million dollar home in Sands Point, Long Island when Christo was seven years old, leaving her only son bewildered and broken. Christo had become an expert at shutting off his feelings after that, and after graduating summa cum laude from Harvard Law, he had passively gone straight to work for his father.
Over the years, Christo had told himself that at least he, personally, was on the right side of the law, that he himself never oversaw anything that was technically illegal…but as he’d reached his late thirties, his conscience began to nag at him.
And there was something else. Christo, like his mother, had an artist’s soul, and the more mired he got into practicing law, the more that side of him – and therefore his connection to his mother – faded. For the last couple of years he had been living a double life, and now that other life was the one he wanted to live. Hence the conversation with his father this morning.
Christo took the glass elevator from the top of his father’s building down to the basement parking garage, and then slid into his Mercedes. He sighed, blowing out his cheeks, and dialed his best friend’s number.
Bertie Franklin-Hart answered on the first ring. “Hey, dude, how’d it go?”
“It went…well.” Christo knew Bertie would hear the astonishment in his voice, and by Bertie’s silence, he knew Bertie was feeling it too.
“Well?” Total disbelief. Christo’s mouth hitched up in a smile.
“Yup. Can you believe it?”
Bertie let out a long breath. “Well, no, to be honest. What’s his game?”
Bertie, who had been Christo’s roommate at Harvard, had no time for Christo’s father or his associates, and was the only one of Christo’s friends to say as much to his face. Bertie came from old money, older and even more powerful than the infamous Five Families and their successors. Bertie’s money dated all the way back to the signing of the Declaration of Independence – and no one fucked with Bertie’s family. No one.
Bertie sighed. “Well, I guess you’re clear. Just, for me, take Fogliano’s word at face value for now, but don’t trust him, Christo.”
“I know. But it’s the first step.”
“I know you, Christo. You’ve got a glimpse of freedom, and you’ll run at it full tilt. I love that about you, brother, but as your best friend…well…I got your back.”
“Don’t trust to hope.” Christo’s smile faded, although he knew Bertie was right. Fogliano wasn’t someone people left behind without consequence, not even his own son.
“That’s what I’m saying, but at the same time, go for it.”
Christo mulled over his words. “Okay. Look, the dinner tonight?”
“I’ll come, of course I’ll come. I don’t supp
ose there will be any chance of some beautiful women to distract us?”
Christo laughed. “No, it’s one of Dad’s sausage parties. But after…drinks at La Forge?”
“Deal.”
New York City
Anoushka ‘Noosh’ Taylor shifted in her chair nervously as her boss, Allison, read through her proposal. Yes, it was her first big story, and yes, it was out there – even for a late-night radio talk show known for tackling dangerous subjects – but in her bones, Noosh knew Ally would go for it. It was the kind of story Allison Monroe had built her fearsome reputation on; a look into the BDSM clubs of New York’s subculture. Noosh had spent months researching and talking to people who worked the clubs, and now she had put together a fifteen-minute segment for the show – her first chance to be on air.
Noosh had come to New York from London a year ago, straight from a doctorate in creative writing, and now she had cultivated an honest and friendly working relationship with one of New York’s major radio stars.
Allison Monroe was known for her exacting methods, razor-sharp intellect, and her ability to convey her natural warmth and vivacity with her interviewees. She set the proposal down now and looked at Noosh over her spectacles. Noosh’s heart was pounding hard against her ribs; she couldn’t read her boss’s expression.
Allison studied her young friend for a minute then took her spectacles off, laying them gently down on her desk. “Noosh…how old are you again?”
Noosh felt her face redden. “Twenty-four.”
“And I’m assuming you’re not a virgin?”
The blush deepened. “No.”
Allison sighed. “Sweetheart, while this proposal is well-written, obviously researched, and full of good intentions, it sounds like it was written by a virgin.”
Noosh felt a lump settle on her chest. “Oh.”
Allison smiled kindly at her. “I don’t mean to be rude, darling, but here’s my thing – there’s a sense of ‘Gosh, golly’ about it. And by that, I mean you’re painting this world as some kind of otherworldly experience that ordinary people don’t subscribe to. The people you’ve interviewed here – hookers, security guards, club owners…what about the clientele? And I have one more major question which overrides all that.”
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