Up in Smoke (Kisses and Crimes Book 2)

by Natalie E. Wrye

  And then I saw it. The fear.

  It had seeped into Shelley Price’s irises like a slow poisoning, darkening her hazelnut eyes, turning them a hue that was shaded with hatred.

  If she could, she would have killed me right then…

  I snorted when I saw the effect.

  “I mean, everyone knew that your office ties were close to Robert Fletcher’s, but not this close.” I scoffed. “Thirty semi-odd years of secrets, and you wanted to keep it that way, huh, Shelley?”

  I leaned in, letting my breath blow into her face.

  “So, thank you, governor. Thank you for showing Pea and I what not to do. It was a true awakening…”

  Her bottom lip fell from the top, and as Shelley Price stared at me, gaping, I turned my back to her, walking without a backwards glance.

  Suddenly, a voice called out.

  “I—It was all for Christian,” she stammered at my back. “Everything I did, I did it for my son.”

  I glanced back at her, my eyes slanting into angry slits.

  “And I’m sure Christian Bischetti would want to believe that. But your child isn’t Christian Donovan Bischetti. Not anymore…” I trailed off. “I know who he is. I know him. He’s Donovan Bishop, my best friend. And if you really gave a shit, Mrs. Price, if you really cared… you would sure as hell know him, too.”

  And then I left her.

  Without another word, without a reprieve, without a shot in hell of seeing either Penelope or me again.

  And I could feel the governor’s panic bubbling at the surface. A petition turned into a plea. A plea turned into a shout, and before I turned the corner into the foyer, she was screaming at my back, her voice rising above the crackling of the contained flame in her elegant fireplace, the soft silence of the polished home broken by the bellows echoing down her decorated halls.

  I left her—and everything Pea and I were—behind in that house, letting the rain beat at my back as I exited the large home, my shoulders hunched under the heavy waterfall that came pouring from the skies.

  I ducked under the cover inside of my Audi’s driver seat door. I shook off a sheet of water as I slipped behind the wheel.

  Out of the cold, from inside the governor’s house and out, she was the only source of warmth for miles.

  Penelope.

  Smiling at me. Giving me a hope I had no right to feel.

  This was my fairytale… and she—she was my beginning, my middle and my beautiful fucking end.

  The story of us was wrapped up in her gaze, and this was Chapter One: Letting all the bullshit—and everything that wasn’t about us and our unborn baby—all go.

  I turned the ignition, thinking.

  It hadn’t been age that had been slowing me down. It was maturity.

  Learning to compromise saved my relationship with Penelope. Opening up to trust had saved our lives.

  But hope—hope had saved my soul.

  Hope made me want to do better, to be better—want better. I thought I had better… with my business, my life, my selfish existence and everything wrapped up in it.

  Bishop and Dani showed me that hope was possible, that the emptiness that had been filled with business, money and women could be made whole by something more powerful—like the love of a damned good woman.

  And I had hope for that.

  Hope moved mountains, changed stories—re-wrote epic poems of love and life and everything in-between.

  I finally had a piece of that fucking hope.

  Hope for a different Jackson and Penelope. Hope for justice.

  Hope for getting away from this world of politics and power, of separating ourselves from this sphere of scandal, sex and lies…

  It was one hell of a wish, and hell, maybe we were reaching for the goddamned stars…

  Maybe hope would help us get there. I had a feeling it would.

  And hey, at least I could say I didn’t hate Pea’s anymore…

  EPILOGUE

  SIENNA

  The wager I’d just made would prove to the best decision I’d made in a long time… or a death sentence.

  I had yet to distinguish between the two.

  But the hour was late.

  The drink prices on the menu were high, my red pumps were even higher, and as I sat at the bar at Tino’s with a cold, dirty martini at my fingertips, a line of sweat formed beneath my skirt, making me anxious.

  Two minutes.

  This guy had two minutes to show, or I was fucking out of there.

  I had already perused the face of every man walking through the bar.

  A few caught my attention. One even smiled, but they all came and went quickly, catching my eye before they joined their parties… or left the front doors where fun could only have been waiting.

  I should have never offered to meet after-hours at my job.

  It was a recipe for disaster, but I needed a place that I was familiar with—a place that was crowded.

  I glanced at my tiny gold watch for the thirtieth time since I sat in my seat, touching my glass to the tip of my lips.

  Draining it, I placed it back on the bar and before my first aching arch could even touch the floor, a man touched the edge of my martini stem.

  I heard his voice before I even saw his face.

  “I think I owe you another one of these,” he said.

  Disembodied, the voice was like liquid fire.

  My fingers still glued to the edge of my glass, I pried my eyes off the foreign hand near mine… and pointed them in the direction of the deepest set of green eyes I’d ever seen.

  The owner of the hand was a tall man—well-built and tailored to perfection from the looks of his dark navy suit.

  He wore a black hat—wide-brimmed. He grinned with uncertainty, and the second the words left his mouth, I’d known they were more than a statement.

  They were a question.

  He was wondering the same thing that I was wondering at that very same moment.

  Was he the one? Did he come to the right place?

  I took a chance.

  “Parker Daniels?”

  My small voice sounded strange even to my own ears.

  “Yes,” the man then laughed, smiling widely. “You must be Serena.”

  “I am.” I lied easily, ungluing my hand from the glass—at last—shaking his. You couldn’t be too careful in this city. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “And it’s nice to meet you,” he returned. “A full thirty minutes late.” He turned sheepish. “I am so sorry… I got caught up at work and…”

  “It’s ok.” I reveled in the feel of his hand, hesitant to let it go.

  “We both work in this city,” I commiserated. “It’s hard to pry yourself from the desk… or, in my case, bar.”

  “Boy, is it ever,” he exhaled loudly, taking a seat, and the moment he motioned to my friend, Javi, the bartender for another drink, I finally relaxed.

  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all…

  I settled in.

  Blind dates were hard enough as it was. But this was new.

  I desperately missed my old job. My favorite gal-pal and employer popped up pregnant on me, and I had to take cheap bartending gigs just to make ends meet.

  I was in a slump.

  When the only calls to your personal cell were from the creditors…

  When the hair on your legs rivaled Sasquatch’s, and your bikini waxer was the only person getting to see your “Hello Kitty” these days…

  You knew you were in for a change.

  So, I’d done it.

  I’d made a wager with a fellow bartender, Angie, that Ang couldn’t pick a date that I’d ever be interested in—a wager that if she couldn’t pick a guy that could draw my attention for just an hour that that was it.

  She’d stop pressuring me to find a man in my life… and I would never let her talk me into another date again.

  It was worth a shot.

  And so far Parker Daniels—with his
dark hair and green eyes and magnetic smile and funny wit—was hitting an absolute homerun.

  He’d scored early points for the instant martini order alone. He’d scored more if he just played his cards right…

  I was hooked.

  “I gotta admit,” he laughed sheepishly, thirty minutes in to the date. “I once read that Latin women were crazy.”

  “What…?” I dropped my glass on the bar, gaping. “Did the voices in my head tell you that or something?”

  He laughed. The sound was rich.

  He drummed his fingertips on the edge of the wooden table, and somehow I imagined them beneath my skirt, playing along its edges, his large hands sweeping the suddenly damp places I was currently pressing together.

  I coughed dryly, taking another sip of my drink. He leaned in.

  “Serena, you’re something else, you know that? And I should know… I’ve met many women in this city. Many women. And few are like you. You seem to be truly one of a kind.”

  I snorted softly. “The crazy kind, right?”

  “No.” He reached over, touching me. “The perfect kind…” He trailed off suddenly. “You’re a loyal person. Your friends think highly of you. And your employers have nothing but glowing things to say. I should know… I checked.”

  I froze, feeling strange. What an odd joke to make. There was something off about the seriousness of his face, but his tone was light.

  He was smiling. In fact, he seemed to be grinning so hard that it was almost if he was laughing at an inside joke that was his and his alone.

  I got the distinct feeling that the inside joke was aimed right at me. I shifted in my seat, feeling squirmy for the first time all night.

  I started to stand when he grabbed my wrist.

  “The restroom’s empty,” he declared. His voice was even. “If you tried to go in there, I’d just follow you, and Javi at the bar couldn’t help you if he tried. The second you reached him, I’d disappear. But I didn’t come back to New York just to disappear again, Sienna.” He said my name, and my heart dropped. “I came here to offer you a job. The biggest one you’ll ever know.”

  His tone had deepened. The levity in his laughter had turned molten, and when he spoke to me, it was with the power of a thousand suns.

  His voice was frying my brain. There was a familiarity to it, an intimacy within its depths that both terrified me and tethered me to the floor like nothing I’d ever known.

  I’d known that voice. And even though it was a thousand times silkier now, its underlying intonation hit me like a ton of bricks, sending my sensibilities swinging.

  It was the way he said my name.

  The pleasing way he’d said it before. I couldn’t believe what my ears were even hearing.

  My voice quivered on a whisper.

  “Jeff?”

  He smiled beneath his dark, low-brimmed hat—his full lips spreading.

  “Nice to see you again, Sienna…”

  To the Reader

  This was #RoundTwo of the Kisses and Crimes series (comprised of several additional individual Sexy Thriller Stand-alones to come)

  The series will follow the other characters you love (or hate) and the trials and tribulations each go through to solve the mysteries that plague our main characters.

  Fool’s Gold (#KissesandCrimesONE) is AVAILABLE NOW on Amazon.

  Sienna and Giovanni’s story (#KissesandCrimesTHREE) is coming SOON…

  * * *

  Interested in learning more about FOOL’S GOLD?

  The FIRST in the sexy and suspenseful series, Kisses and Crimes, begins on the next page!

  ABOUT FOOL’S GOLD

  Say hello to Dani.

  Is this your first time meeting her?

  Good. This is Dani’s first time meeting her, too.

  * * *

  Daniela Bishop has everything to live for.

  A beautiful loft in the south of France. A gorgeous albeit brooding husband who looks at her as if she’s his last meal.

  Too bad she doesn’t remember any of it.

  A life she never knew with a lover she doesn’t recognize?

  It couldn’t get any worse… until it does.

  Married to a man with secrets darker than his Greek god-like features, Daniela will do anything to piece together the life of her husband, Bishop (no first name), and subsequently her own.

  But when memories masquerading as nightmares come back to show her the real truth about her life, her family and her love, Dani must come to grips with a past that is nothing like it seems… and an unknown life she may end up dying for.

  FOOL’S GOLD PROLOGUE

  BISHOP

  I’ve fucked up royally.

  Releasing a ragged breath, I dial Jax’s number in the dead of night. It’s late. The sun hasn’t cracked on the horizon, and I should have been asleep hours ago.

  But I can’t sleep.

  The events of the day have played over and over in my head like a bad re-run, and I call one of the only friends I seem to have left.

  I know what time it is here in Annecy. I don’t think to give a fuck what time it is in London.

  And his voice is rightfully gruff when he answers.

  “Jackson fucking Reed.”

  “Now, is that any way for a ‘round-the-clock’ private investigator to answer the phone when a potential client calls?”

  “When it’s three-thirty in the goddamned morning, it is.” I can hear the growing smile in his voice. “What’s up, Bish?”

  “I’ve fucked up royally, Jax,” I say, sitting on the couch.

  “Yeah? What else is new?”

  “I’m serious,” I grunt. “It’s bad. Really bad.”

  I light a cigarette in the pitch-black living room, leaning over.

  “You know how much I hate asking for favors…”

  “I know, man,” Jax commiserates. “Anything I can do?”

  I flick the cig between my fingers, thinking: Is there anything he can’t do?

  Was it really only six weeks ago that we’d eaten, drank and been merry? Only a month and a half since she’d been shot… and nearly rendered dead on the operating table?

  Couldn’t have been.

  It was strange, really.

  How a beautiful night could have turned out so wrong, how a happy occasion could have turned to horror so quickly.

  It was only an hour before the shots rang out that I had admired her from afar, pictured every inch of her pretty bared legs wrapped entirely around my head.

  I’d been a fool. Sloppy at my job. And karma had wound up kicking my ass in ways I couldn’t even have imagined.

  I puff on my cigarette, making a decision.

  “Yeah,” I finally answer Jax. “There is something you can do.”

  I lean into my phone, nearly whispering.

  “How soon can you get to Annecy?”

  “France? Bish… most of my work is done here in London.”

  “I know.”

  “I hope you know it’s going to cost ya.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ll owe me for the rest of your fucking life…”

  I sigh, blowing out smoke. Yeah… I know.

  He hesitates on the line, and I imagine Jax is thinking about all of the shit he knows I’ll get him into.

  I already know what his answer will be before he says it.

  “I’m in,” he exhales.

  “Great,” I say, dragging on the cig. I put it out on the coffee table. “How soon can you get here?”

  “Noon, at least. I’ll need a cup of coffee when I land.”

  He pauses.

  “And I’ll need to know what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into…”

  BLINDSIDED

  DANI

  I’d never seen a body more rock solid than his.

  Even under a suit darker than his raven hair, the man at the bar could hardly hide the pure muscle lurking beneath the fabric.

  Luxurious, tailored to a T, that jacket was a
ll that kept my sanity in tact, my one-track mind committing the look of it to memory so that my imagination could take it home later that night, peel back the layers and have fun with it in the sanctity of my own room.

  Jesus Christ, why did life have to be so unfair?

  With the exception of fantasizing about the man with the dark hair and golden eyes, I’d virtually been a fucking saint.

  Despite my obvious frustration, I’d been a good girl all goddamned night.

  I’d shaken hands when I was supposed to and nodded at people I normally wouldn’t have given the time of day. I’d traded in my brassieres and black leather for a gold cocktail dress to match my straightened hair, and when the “business” men and women approached my table at the center of the ballroom, I’d been polite.

  Well, at the least, I’d been cordial.

  And I’d paid for it with a throb between my legs that felt like a galloping pulse.

  Even the wine couldn’t do much to temper it.

  If I could just get his attention…

  I knew the moment I did, he’d have no choice but to take me home. And once we stepped through the threshold of my front door, nothing would ever quite be the same.

  So what if my father wanted me to stay behind at his dull party? Chit-chat with the dumb, dumber and dimwitted?

  He didn’t know what I needed, and he didn’t care.

  Tonight was all about his needs.

  But I was determined to make it about mine.

  Finally.

  And my one need was currently standing at the bar, looking like sex in a suit.

  What would happen to our longtime relationship, our bond? Would it be shattered into a million pieces and put back together completely unrecognizable?