Sexy Bachelor

by Maggie Monroe

  There was a copy of a rental agreement signed by Marci P. and a few pictures James found on a neighbor’s social media account.

  “The email from James says the pictures are three months old. He flew into Portland yesterday and interviewed the neighbors.”

  “But she’s not there.” Her voice quieted.

  “No, but he’s close, Aly. Closer than he’s ever been. My hope is that when we get back from France we’ll know where Kendal is.”

  Her eyes glistened with tears. “We’re really going to find them.”

  “Yes. And make them safe. I swear to you. No one will go near your sister or Cami.”

  She leaned against my chest, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and I couldn’t help but pull her into my lap. I needed to hold her, touch her, protect her.

  “I’m glad you told me.”

  I ran my fingers over her head and down her arm. “I promised you I would.”

  She sat forward. “All these things you’ve done are because of me.”

  “Yes. And I’d do them over again. No question.”

  “You don’t regret any of it?” she asked, toying with the collar of my shirt.

  I reacted to her fingertips on my skin. “No. My only regret right now is that we aren’t headed straight to France.”

  She squirmed under my hands. “And miss the wedding?”

  “We can go to others.” My hands massaged her lower back.

  “I’m not missing it, or the chance to see you and Caleb in tuxes at the same time. It’s like a unicorn sighting. That’s probably only going to happen once…” She stopped, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

  I brushed my mouth over hers. “Or twice,” I growled. I kissed her hard. I wanted her to know I wouldn’t let her down. I would be there for her. I would love her. Make love to her. Fight with her. Make up with her. Kiss her when she needed to be kissed. Hold her when she had one of those days. Laugh with her. Cry with her when she couldn’t hold it together anymore. Share secrets. Share life. Damn it, I wanted her to know I loved her every way I knew how to love.

  I smiled, folding her into my arms. Yes, there was only one way this was going to go from the beginning. Somewhere between the Cove and that sandy stretch of beach to the Escape, I had landed the deal of my life. An unexpected, earth-shattering deal.

  The car deposited us on the tarmac next to the jet. I helped Alyson out of the car and led her up the staircase.

  She looked around. “This is going to be amazing. I can’t believe we have our own plane.”

  “You have no idea.” I ordered two glasses of champagne.

  The flight attendant placed them on the table in front of us. We waited for the pilot to finish his pre-flight checks before we could leave Texas.

  “I bet Lea is crazy nervous right now,” Alyson tilted the glass to her lips.

  “Yeah, probably so.” I didn’t know what brides did the day before their weddings.

  “What time do we land?” she asked.

  “We’ll be there by two. Plenty of time before the rehearsal dinner.”

  Her smile changed. I saw the way her eyes shifted to the door behind us. “Didn’t you promise me a proper introduction to private flying?” Her lips parted, her teeth edging over her lip enough to drive me crazy.

  I looked around for the flight attendant. “Right now? Before we take off?”

  She unbuckled her seat belt, crossing in front of me. Her hand trailing over my legs. “Let’s see if we can time it just right.” She winked. “Coming?”

  And I knew then.

  God help me, I was going to marry this woman.

  ###

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  Bucking Wild

  Published By Maggie Monroe

  Copyright © 2017 Maggie Monroe

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places or events are entirely the work of the author. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or places is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in piracy of copyrighted materials.

  BUCKING WILD

  PROLOGUE

  What do you do when the lies catch up to you? When the truth blows in like a hurricane and destroys everything you tried to protect?

  I fucking lost her. And there’s no one else to blame. The escape I built on bricks of lies became my reality. She was never supposed to be a part of it. She wasn’t supposed to be trapped inside those walls.

  I wasn’t looking for salvation, but it found me anyway the day I met her. My hope. My redemption. She was the most perfect part of my life, and I let her be torn apart in the wreckage.

  I’d always been too cocky. And this time it finally caught up to me. It cornered me. Imprisoned me.

  She could have saved me. If only I had told the truth. Started with honesty instead of lies.

  I fucked it up and I don’t know if there’s any way to go back to the beginning. Back to the place where I could make it right. The place where I could be a better man.

  I might be too arrogant for my own good—even hers—but my arrogance is what I need to fight for her. Because I never lose. I don’t give up. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove this time, I’m right.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ben

  I grabbed the first thing I could find in the mini-bar. Tequila. It burned going down. I sputtered, but finished two bottles, tossing them on the floor.

  My phone buzzed. I ignored it every time it rang. The calls and texts were all the same. Had I seen the story on Becs?

  Who the fuck hadn’t seen the story? It was everywhere. I couldn’t avoid it. No one could.

  I looked at the empty bottle in my hand. Wasn’t that what we drank in Cabo? Straight tequila after we started on a few rounds of margaritas?

  I remembered watching her dance that night. She was free and wild. Her dark hair swirled around her, while she kept one eye on me. She shook her hips with promises of what was to come. That’s what she did. She teased. She tempted. And fuck, did she deliver.

  I knew what I was getting into with Rebecca Campbell. And somehow, I couldn’t stop myself. She was gorgeous, but in that way most actresses were.

  We drank more margaritas while the mariachi played. She even coaxed me onto the dance floor. My hands wrapped around her tiny waist, pulling her to me. She smiled sweetly, placing her palm over my heart. We swayed back and forth at that cantina, pretending we were both different people. I imagined she was an angel and she convinced herself I could love her.

  We worked together on one movie. I swore she soaked her lips in honey before our scenes, just to lure me in. I couldn’t shake the taste of her kiss.

  I could see the green glitter in her eyes when we stumbled into that Cabo suite. She was drunk. We both were. But damn it, if she wasn’t fun. Becs could party.

  I peeled the sundress from her arms, watching her perky breasts bounce before I descended on them. She had perfect tits. Every part of her was designed without flaw. Even the way she purred when she came. Dripping with sweat, reeling in one orgasm after another, and Becs looked like a damn movie star underneath me. A sex goddess with the glow of a model.

  “Don’t stop fucking me, Ben,” she begged as I slammed into her. “You feel so good. I love it. God, I love it. Don’t stop.”

  “Oh, I won’t, darlin’.” I grinned.

  Her ankles hooked around my neck and I angled deeper, driving home. She grabbed the headboard, breathing erratically as I pum
ped in and out, taking us to the peak.

  We didn’t care that the windows were open and the curtains fluttered on the balcony. Sex like this was raw and electric. Sex with Rebecca was always wild and spontaneous.

  “Fuck, baby,” I groaned, looking into her bright eyes.

  She wore a cat-like smile. She had me where she wanted me, but there was no denying I liked where I was—so did my cock. The margaritas erased any inhibitions we had left and we clung to each other, riding harder and faster.

  We stayed in the suite all weekend. I knew everything about her body. How to make her come harder than any man ever had. Where the birthmark was on her inner thigh. How she cooed when she sucked my dick. The way she liked being taken from behind more than any other position. Hell, I memorized everything about that girl.

  But that was Cabo. Months ago—basically a lifetime in Hollywood relationships. I emptied another bottle of tequila. Becs and I hadn’t seen each other in weeks. I couldn’t remember if we talked yesterday. I hadn’t been very good at checking in. I was a shitty boyfriend.

  I fell back on the empty bed, picking up my phone to scroll through the latest headlines. I was wrapping a shoot in Atlanta, and she was supposed to be extending a shoot in Hawaii with a girls’ weekend. I told myself that’s why I hadn’t called her—I tried to respect her girl time.

  Girls’ weekend my ass.

  She had screwed me. Fucked another man on vacation. And the entire world knew it.

  I exhaled. I wasn’t taking the blame for this.

  I didn’t think I could stay here. I couldn’t face the press. The questions. The looks of pity and embarrassment. Flying back to Hollywood wasn’t going to give me what I wanted either. The press would camp out at my Texas ranch. There was no escape from being tied to her. Her headline was now mine. I owned that decision the first time I fucked her.

  I had been warned. But I didn’t want anything more than fun and fucking, so I ignored the cautionary tales. My star was bigger than hers. What did it matter? I liked having a good time. I misread her. We were never on the same page.

  But now she had a way to drag me through the mud. To throw me into a scandal I wanted nothing to do with. I didn’t have to be in a room with her right now to know she loved this attention. She didn’t love anything as much as she loved a headline.

  I felt the walls closing in. I dropped my phone.

  I needed to sober up if I was getting out of here. I started the coffee and turned the shower on.

  ***

  New Bern. It was only one exit ahead. The burning sensation had crept to both eyes. Eight hours of driving had that effect. There had only been one stop since I set off this morning, and I had made that as quickly as possible—enough time to stretch my legs and convince myself heading north was the right direction.

  I rubbed my eyes before reaching for the cell phone.

  There were ten missed calls and too many texts to count. I gripped the phone in my fist. The tightening in my chest wrapped under my ribs and pressed against my sternum, forcing the clamped breath I was holding to escape through my mouth.

  When I saw the city’s name splayed across the sign in front of me, my hand relaxed its hold on the phone. Clara wouldn’t expect my call, much less expect me to be only miles from her hometown. She always talked about New Bern as if it was the most idyllic place in the world to grow up and live.

  The entire time we dated, I never visited. Maybe that was part of the problem. She had tried. She had invited me. It was another reminder I couldn’t hold a relationship together. What kind of man didn’t go to this girlfriend’s hometown? This one. The selfish one. The one who would rather party and have a good time than deal with something serious.

  And what was I doing now? Dragging Clara into this like a complete asshole. Was she really the one who could help me escape?

  Pausing before making the call, I debated whether this was such a good idea. Clara would help. She would want to help, but she didn’t deserve this fucked up mess. I tossed the phone into the open passenger’s seat, and twisted the knob on the radio. Clara would forgive me. She had to be the most laid-back girl I’d ever dated. It was the reason we had ended things as friends. Hell, she might not ever know I had driven by without stopping.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see her. She might be the only person who could understand why I had to make a run for it. She dealt with the same kind of shit I did. She was the most famous person in her town. Novelists-turned-screen writers weren’t exactly common in North Carolina. She’d get why I had to run. Let’s be honest, that’s what this was—an escape plan—a full-blown sprint to find freedom.

  Later.

  I would call her later. With the New Bern exit two miles behind me, I eased into the next convenient store I spotted on the side of the road. My legs could use another stretch.

  A woman selling peaches at a makeshift produce stand smiled as I pulled the brim of my baseball cap firmly over my eyes and popped the cover on the gas tank. I didn’t think she recognized me. At least, she hadn’t reached for a cell phone. Her attention was on restacking a basket of peaches that had fallen too far forward.

  The tension eased out of my shoulders. I leaned against the blue Jeep that had become my travel companion only ten hours ago. It didn’t matter that I paid too much for it. Fifteen thousand dollars cash in exchange for freedom was a bargain. Hopefully, the extra money would be enough to keep the seller from calling the tabloids.

  “What can I get you?” she asked.

  I eyed the rows of blueberries, peaches, and a carton of okra. “What do you recommend?”

  She adjusted her visor. “You don’t sound like you’re from here.” She cocked her head.

  “No, ma’am, I’m not.” I swallowed hard, waiting for the inevitable—an autograph and a selfie shot request. I would have to work on camouflaging my accent. It wouldn’t be the first time I had disguised my deep Texas drawl.

  She leaned over the table separating us, and placed the side of her hand against her cheek to shield the words from any eavesdroppers. “If you won’t say anything, I won’t say anything.” Her forehead furrowed. “These peaches are from South Carolina. We say everything’s local, but it’s not.”

  I feigned shock and winked at the lady. “Your secret is safe with me.” I reached for one and tossed it in the air. “So, I guess I’ll take some of those illegal South Carolina peaches.”

  “Good choice.” She placed a basket on the scale and scribbled the weight and price on a receipt. “That will be six dollars.” She picked up each peach and placed it inside a paper bag.

  My wallet was halfway around my hip when I remembered all I had was one hundred dollar bills. Damn it.

  “I—uh—do you take hundreds?” I pulled one of the crisp bills from the wallet. The plan was to use only cash, that way no one would see my name on credit cards or ask for my ID. Total anonymity was the game.

  “For a basket of peaches?” The woman looked at the currency as if I had tried to pay with yen.

  I smiled, realizing the predicament we were both in. I hadn’t bothered to bring anything with me other than a duffle bag and my phone. The longer I stood there, the more I wanted to try one of those infamous peaches. Sure, I was only twenty yards from the convenient store, but I wasn’t about to undo all of the hard work that had gone into perfecting these sculpted abs with a bag of greasy chips.

  “How ‘bout this, darlin’? You keep the change, and I’ll take two baskets of peaches.” I placed the bill next to the register.

  “Oh, I can’t take that.” The pitch in her voice climbed an octave.

  I didn’t give her a second chance to argue. I grabbed another basket, dumped the fruit into the paper bag, and strolled back to the Jeep. I cranked the ignition and maneuvered onto the highway.

  The Jeep was headed east. I wasn’t sure where the road would take me. Eventually, I would run out of road—the ocean was just hours in front of me. I reached into the paper sack and seiz
ed the first peach. As I bit into the soft, fuzzy fruit, a trickle of juice ran down my chin. I wiped the nectar from my face with the back of my hand.

  I smiled. Something about not having a destination felt better than having one.

  ***

  The darkness wrapped the air and sank into every open space. Other than a few blinking lights on the horizon, it was black. I rolled my shoulders up and back. All the muscles in my arms were tight from twelve hours of driving. The ferry ride was advertised as fifty-five minutes long, so I stepped from the Jeep and strolled to the side of the vessel loaded with cars.

  I had made the last one of the night. The ferry service stopped at midnight. I intended to stay in the last coastal village I found at the southern tip of the Outer Banks, but when the road ran out, the waterway could take me one more leg. The extra distance was like the last drink I couldn’t turn down. I needed it.

  The salt air whipped past me as I leaned against the railing. How had my life come to this? I was running. Running from everyone, everything. I shoved my hands in my front pockets and rocked back on my heels. There had to be a way to get back in control.

  It had never been this bad before. I had convinced myself that eventually the novelty of Ben Baldwin would wear off. Following the once college quarterback now movie star would become boring and mundane as soon as the next big star was discovered. But five years later, it still hadn’t happened.

  I glanced over my shoulder, a regular habit whenever I was in public. The couple in the next car was trying to soothe a fussy baby. They hadn’t reached for their phones, yet.

  In the beginning, it was fun, even exciting when I made the cover of a magazine. It was the same kind of rush when I threw a winning touchdown. I didn’t want to admit to anyone now that at the time I got a kick out of being named the World’s Sexiest Bachelor. All of that seemed stupid, ridiculous, and shallow. I kicked the side of the railing with my boot.