“I love you,” he said between clenched teeth as his own passion rose up to take him. She stared into his eyes, and she pressed her palm against his cheek as he spun off into pleasure, his body shuddering into hers powerfully.
They lay in the dappled sunlight not speaking for a long time afterward, hands soothing each other’s bodies, lips meeting for frequent, lingering kisses full of unspoken tenderness and promises.
“I knew the moment I met you that you were trouble,” he finally said, pressing a kiss into the nape of her neck.
“Oh yeah? I thought you were trouble, too—my kind of trouble,” she said.
When he looked into her eyes, he saw so much love and vulnerability and hope there that it nearly slew him.
“Definitely. The kind of trouble I could handle a lifetime of,” he said.
“Deal,” she said. She offered him her hand, her mouth quirked into a lopsided smile.
“I think we can do better than that,” he said.
And he proceeded to show her how much better.
EPILOGUE
TAKING a deep breath, Claudia stared at the rustic door in front of her. She felt rather than saw Sadie and Grace join her on the stoop, and knowing they were there for her gave her the courage to knock.
The Safe Ground Residential Treatment Center was situated in Monte Nido in the Hidden Hills area of Calabasas, and the house before them was a rambling mountain home, the sort of house that had been added on to a dozen times over the years. Claudia knew that it accommodated forty patients, all of them alcohol or drug addicts. Her brothers had described the rooms inside to her—the big hall with a Ping-Pong table, old couches and shelves of books, the industrial-sized kitchen staffed by the residents, the rambling backyard full of outdoor seating for visitation day. They hadn’t seen the dorms where their mother was sleeping, since those areas of the house were for residents only, but Claudia felt she had a good idea of what to expect from the center itself.
It was her mother she was unsure about.
The door opened, and a slight middle-aged woman gave them an inquisitive smile.
“I’m Claudia Dostis. I’m here to see Talia Dostis,” Claudia said.
“You’re on our list. Please come in,” she said.
It took a few moments for them all to sign in and be taken through the rules. Finally, the woman led them through a series of cool, dim rooms until they reached a door to an outside porch. Stretching out behind the house was a broad expanse of lawn, already littered with other family groupings on visitation.
“Talia, someone to see you,” the woman called.
Behind her, Sadie and Grace placed a hand each on her shoulders, silently reassuring her that they were there for her. Leandro had wanted to come, but Claudia didn’t want him to meet her mother like this. For the first time in years, she’d allowed herself to believe that her mother might stand a chance at beating her demons, and she wanted Leandro to meet the woman Talia Dostis could have been, should have been.
And, somehow, it felt fitting that Sadie and Grace should be here with her. They’d been through so much together over the years. They were her conscience, her courage, her compassion.
A woman was walking toward them, her steps slow but determined. Claudia stared at the healthy glow of Talia’s makeupless skin, noted the clarity of her dark brown eyes, and the fact that her mother no longer had bones poking angles in her skin.
“Claudia,” she said.
It had been so long, Claudia didn’t know whether to embrace her or not. Her mother seemed equally uncertain. They settled for touching each other’s arms, the contact fleeting but genuine.
“I’ve saved us a table,” Talia said.
“We’ll wait here,” Sadie said quietly as Claudia began to follow her mother.
“You’re very welcome to join us,” Talia said warmly.
Sadie and Grace just smiled and shook their heads, waving them off. Claudia followed her mother to a rustic picnic bench and chairs in the shade of an old oak tree.
They sat opposite each other and simply stared at each other in silence for a long time, each cataloguing the other’s precious features.
“You look well, Mama,” Claudia said.
“I feel well, but there’s a long way to go,” Talia said. “Thank you so much for coming, Claudia. I know how hard I’ve made it for you to believe in me.”
Claudia shrugged uncomfortably. Her mother had been in treatment for nearly eight weeks now. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to buy into the fantasy of her mother’s recovery, but having Leandro in her life had made her brave. If her mother slipped again…Claudia would deal with it.
“I want to believe,” she said now.
Talia nodded, blinking away sudden tears.
“I wanted you to come because I wanted to tell you something. You were right to do what you did, to pull away from me. I know I didn’t respond at the time, but I thought about what you’d said, about what you’d done every single day. I wondered how you were, I asked your brothers all the time, I watched your show. When I saw you accepting that award on television, I was so proud of you. But I knew I had no right to be. What have I ever contributed to your success, after all? You have thrived despite me.”
“That’s not true. There were many, many good times,” Claudia said.
Talia reached across the table, and Claudia met her halfway. Their hands met, their fingers meshing tightly.
“My children are my greatest achievement, and I failed you terribly. But I’m not going to let the past defeat me anymore. I want you to know that. And I want to thank you for having the courage to do what you did. Without you, my brave girl, I wouldn’t be here today.”
Afterward, she wasn’t sure who stood first, her or her mother. It didn’t matter; within seconds they were in each other’s arms.
They talked some more, Talia explaining the ins-and-outs of rehab life, the rules, the problems, the triumphs. Sadie and Grace came to join them, and all too soon their two hours were up.
Claudia was silent on the drive home, simply listening to Sadie and Grace talking softly about work, Sadie’s baby, the renovation plans Mac and Grace had in mind.
Leandro exited the house as they pulled up, and she stepped into his arms and pressed her head against his big, broad chest.
She was home. And she had a family of her own at last—a fresh start, a chance to do things right.
Leandro tilted her chin up and kissed her, and she felt the old passion roar to life. This man…this man had saved her from herself.
“Thank you,” she whispered to him.
Then she followed him inside to begin the rest of their lives.
* * * * *
Read on for a sneak peak of the sizzling book, A WEEK TO BE WILD by JC Harroway, from Harlequin Dare—you won’t want to miss this thrillingly sexy romance!
OLIVIA NOBLE WALKED behind the elderly professor, passing through the chrome and glass doors etched with the name of the swanky restaurant on the thirty-first floor of The Shard, London’s tallest building. Her belly, jittery enough from the long, hair-raising elevator ride, flipped at the panoramic views dotted with the city’s iconic landmarks. As a native New Yorker she accepted gravity-defying skyscrapers as part of life, but she avoided ones of this magnitude wherever possible.
‘Ah, the others are still at the bar.’
Professor McBride gestured Libby ahead of him towards the party of suits. Libby’s legs wobbled on her four-inch heels as she crossed the plush carpet, trying to master the hold adrenaline had on her body. Her poor adrenal glands were wrung dry, and the sophistication and elegance of this stunning restaurant was completely wasted on her.
Head of her own marketing business in New York, she was used to public speaking. That didn’t mean she enjoyed it, or that nerves hadn’t gripped her for the whole forty-minute presentation she’d given this morning at the London Business School. In fact she’d been blown away when invited to speak at such a prestigious seminar,
unaware that anyone across the pond had even heard of her small up-and-coming company.
The rest of the morning’s speakers were clustered at the bar, forming small huddles, deep in conversation. Several glanced up as Libby and Professor McBride approached—faces she recognised from the seminar, and one face in particular that demanded more than a fair share of her attention. A face it was hard to ignore.
Alex Lancaster.
His stare lifted from the conversation taking place before him, settling on her over the tops of the heads separating them and practically stripping her bare. A shiver originated in her ovaries and snaked south to join the wobble in her legs. Those eyes… The intensity with which they pierced the recipient of his undivided attention…
Wow. Close up he was…wow.
He looked like a movie star bad-boy, a gentleman rogue and a geeky surfer dude all rolled into one mouthwatering package. Not that he had much of the surfer dude on display at the moment, attired as he was in a tailored three-piece suit that had probably cost more than the annual mortgage repayment on her modest six-hundred-square-foot apartment. The only nod to his wilder side was the slightly dishevelled flop of dark hair, which looked as if it refused to be tamed, no matter what he did.
Libby clenched her thighs together, her twitchy fingers gripping her handbag.
‘Glass of wine, my dear?’ Professor McBride asked.
Libby nodded, her eyes hot as she stared back at Alex Lancaster for longer than was polite or wise. Likely she was not the only woman in the room who found that staring at this disarmingly attractive specimen of manhood pushed semi-pornographic visions into her head.
She rolled her shoulders and looked away, blinking the burn from her eyes. A snort gusted over her top lip. Who was she kidding? Her thoughts veered firmly towards the absolutely pornographic where he was concerned. She tugged at the hem of her tailored jacket. Time to get her head back in the game.
She was a professional, a well-respected member of the business community who owned her own successful marketing business—credentials that had prompted her invitation to London to speak at the ‘Inspiring Business Leaders of the Future’ seminar.
She darted her attention back to Professor McBride, who was making lengthy introductions to those closest, all the while willing her greedy eyes to stay away from the lure of Mr Lancaster, the only other person close to her age in the group.
Libby zoned out of the tedious conversation, discreetly blowing through pursed lips and lifting wisps of escaped hair from her too-warm face. How could that man have such a profound effect on her? Perhaps her PA was right, and she did need a ‘good seeing-to’. She’d have to give the perceptive Scotsman a raise, or finally sign up to that dating app he kept shoving in front of her.
Mmm…maybe not.
Fickle thoughts drifted back to the smokin’ billionaire across the restaurant. Forget swiping left or right. She could just swipe him out of that suit, tangle her fingers in that too-long hair while she directed his smart, arrogant head south… The dark scruff covering his angular face scraping across her sensitive inner thighs…
Whew! Potent stuff. There must be something in the English water—it was the only explanation for her train of thought.
She cleared her perilously tight throat, yanking her mind out of the gutter, her gaze from the toes of her favourite shoes and her attention back to the drone of Professor McBride’s voice.
‘…and this is Alex Lancaster, one of our former golden boys, university benefactor and the major sponsor of today’s seminar—although I’m sure he needs no introduction.’
Professor McBride’s ass-kissing drawled to a close as his attention was requested by a university faculty member with a penchant for purple highlights and matching purple accessories.
Before she could mentally prepare herself for the close-up impact of his dazzling good looks Alex had enclosed Libby’s hand in his larger one, setting off a cascade of tingles; little flicks of flame dancing along her wrist and raising the hairs on her arm.
Damn… Smokin’ was an insult. Brains, business acumen and indecent levels of sex appeal—Alex Lancaster had certainly won the genetic lottery.
And of course she knew of him. Everyone knew of him. Besides, she’d done her research prior to flying in yesterday. One of Britain’s youngest billionaires, he wasn’t the richest, but his reputation for intuitive, if not somewhat reckless business decisions was surpassed only by his brooding charisma and the dazzling smile that somehow managed to appeal to women of all ages.
Perhaps it was the single dimple in his cheek—simultaneously boyish and wicked. Or the incredible expressive eyes the colour of burnt sugar that regularly stared out from the glossy magazine covers he graced. Either way, he was utterly disarming. So much so that her voice completely deserted her—no doubt it was attending the ‘Get Alex Lancaster Naked’ rally being hosted by her libido and sponsored by her erogenous zones.
‘Ms Noble. Great talk.’
His mouth kicked up, unleashing the full force of that dimple. Damn, that smile could melt the underwear clean off her body. And his voice: smoky…rich bourbon in a cut-glass tumbler.
Her sharp, tight-fitting suit—her signature outfit—had been transformed into a straitjacket. It was the only explanation for the hot flush misting her skin and the prickle of every tiny hair covering her body.
‘Nice to meet you, Mr Lancaster.’
Libby pulled her hand from his. Not that she felt any relief from the inferno engulfing her. He was too close. Too virile. Too everything.
Get a grip, Libby. He’s just another suit.
Right—if by ‘suit’ she meant a walking advertisement for ‘Hot Boardroom Dudes’. Perhaps he could start an internet craze. She’d be the first to sign up.
‘You deserve every scrap of your reputation.’ He rubbed his knuckles over one lightly stubbled cheek, his dark gaze sparkling.
Libby’s missing-in-action tongue returned to her mouth. ‘Well, that’s a rare talent, Mr Lancaster—one that the gossip rags and business pages fail to credit you with.’
Libby wiped her palm along the length of her skirt, her body half turned away from him so he wouldn’t see the gesture that gave away the effect he was having on her. The thought of this man’s focus honed on her, even simply her online business profile, shunted heat to the most inconvenient places.
At his small frown, she continued. ‘Perfectly disguising an insult within a compliment.’
She glanced over his shoulder, raising her eyebrows in acknowledgement of someone she recognised as she made to bypass him.
‘Excuse me.’
Arrogant, sexy…
He laughed. A head thrown back bellow that forced more gold flecks into the burnt caramel of his irises.
A waiter blocked Libby’s escape route with the delivery of her Pinot Gris, the elegant wine glass glistening with condensation. She bestowed her politest smile on the handsome waiter, still preparing to walk away from the charismatic jerk before her. Even if he was pleasing on the eye and the six-foot-three embodiment of most women’s filthiest fantasises. Fantasies she’d never imagined until she’d slid her eyes over Mr Testosterone there.
‘Forgive me…’ His hand on her arm stilled her. ‘What I should have said is that yours was by far the most entertaining of the lectures given this morning. I’ve heard of your work. I’m a businessman and I keep abreast of international business news.’
His mouth caressed the lip of his own wine glass and he held her gaze over the rim, a mix of devilment and challenge warring for control in his slightly narrowed, sinfully provocative stare.
His hand, still on her arm, burned a hole through the fine wool of her favourite jacket. Large, tanned, with a sprinkling of dark hair smattering the wrist that poked from the cuff of his expensive linen shirt. Slight calluses marred the perfection of his long, elegant fingers and she glimpsed clean square nails before he withdrew.
She had the absurd urge to ask him if he had a daily
manicure. Was that how pampered British billionaires filled their days? Of course it was dwarfed by other urges that involved those large callused hands and her nipples.
It really had been too long…
Free from his touch, she regained her composure, her intellect wrestling it free from the clutches of her hormone-riddled body.
‘I see. I’m sorry I can’t return the compliment. I missed your talk.’
And she’d never worked for any IT giant. Why would she have crossed his radar?
Still looking at her as if his X-ray vision had burned holes through her clothing down to her lacy underwear, he shrugged one large shoulder.
His charcoal-grey suit encased his frame like a glove. She’d bet her beloved cat, Dumbledore, that it was cashmere—probably bespoke Savile Row. A copper-coloured tie brought out those ridiculous sparks of fire in his eyes and highlighted his decadent, cry-worthy black lashes.
Libby curled her fingers into her palms to stop herself fanning her flushed face.
Back to her escape plan.
As if anticipating her, he stepped sideways, facing her full-on, his broad chest eclipsing her vision. ‘I’m glad I met you today. I’d like your professional advice, actually.’
He took another sip of wine, his bold stare raking her face and dipping to her throat. If he’d gone any lower this conversation would be over, regardless of his pretty face and intriguing request.
‘Perhaps we could sit together…discuss it over lunch?’ Then came the eyebrow lift. Perfectly executed, devastatingly tempting.
Had her body not reacted so overwhelmingly towards him she might have agreed. The company he’d founded in his late teens, Lancaster IT, had gone global in recent years, with sales of its software to the Asian healthcare market shunting its drool-worthy founder and CEO from wealthy to obscene. Any business association her marketing company might have with the new IT kid on the block who was making international waves would surely provide her with the kudos she needed to take her own business to the next level.
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