by Brynley Bush
“You were preparing me to be yours for the night,” I whisper.
“No,” he says, the word hoarse. “I was preparing you to be mine forever. Take off the blindfold, Mila.”
I slowly remove the blindfold and my eyes focus on him. He is on one knee before me on the beach, looking impossibly handsome in a suit, with an open black velvet box in his hand. Inside it, a beautiful diamond solitaire set in platinum flashes in the firelight. My eyes fly to his. They are mesmerizing and filled with a love that humbles me.
“I love you with the timelessness of the stars that we fell asleep under our first night together and with the depth of the ocean that calls to my soul as surely as my soul calls to yours,” he says.
“I have somehow been given a second chance at this life not once but twice, but it’s pointless if I can’t share it with you. I want to fall asleep each night with you in my arms and wake up every morning with your head on my chest and your body molded to mine. I want your face to be the first thing I see when I wake up and the last thing I see before I fall asleep. I want to taste your tears when you’re sad and feast on your whimpers when you’re wild with need. I want to be the one who makes you laugh, the one who runs his hands through your hair when you’re tired, the one who makes your eyes darken in passion. I want all of you, Mila—your heart, your soul, your mind, your body. You belong to me.”
I am powerless to stop the tears of happiness that are welling up in my eyes as my gaze locks on his.
“Will you marry me? Will you be mine forever?”
“Yes!” I say happily as I launch myself into his arms. He catches me, his arms banding around me tightly as our lips meet. His tongue takes me with abandon, exploring me as if I was untraveled land, and I know there is nowhere I would rather spend the rest of my life than by his side.
Later—after we have had dinner and he has confessed to asking for my father’s permission when we were in Chicago, after he has demanded more from me that I have ever imagined I could give, after I have lost count of the orgasms he has exacted and left me with no doubt as to what it is like to be owned—he traces the lines of the henna tattoos on my wrists.
“What do they mean?” I ask languidly, deliciously exhausted.
“Together, they mean soul mate.” He presses his lips to my left wrist. “Because you are mine,” he adds simply.
“Are you serious?” I ask in mock outrage, although my heart is swelling in my chest. Griffin. My soul mate. My forever love. “You let me believe all this time that they were symbols of me being your slave.”
“Does it matter?” he asks, capturing my wrists in one hand and pinning them over my head as he nips my ear.
“No,” I breathe as my body arches up to meet his. “It doesn’t matter what is inked on my skin. Your name is branded on my heart.”
“And yours on mine,” he says gruffly.
His hand closes over my throat with just enough pressure that I feel the unspoken words as he seals his lips to mine.
Given.
Claimed.
Possessed.
Owned.
But most of all, loved.
Excerpt from Shameless
Chapter One
“Drinks tonight at SoHo to celebrate your first assignment!” my friend Kate announces as she pops her head into my office. “Seven o’clock. My treat. No arguments.”
I can’t help but laugh at her quick-fire volley of orders. Although I’ve known Kate exactly one month, the same amount of time I’ve been assigned to the San Antonio branch office of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, I’ve already learned that she doesn’t take no for an answer. It’s easier to just give in when Kate’s on a mission. Although she’s probably one hundred pounds soaking wet and all of five feet four inches in the killer heels she loves to wear, Kate McMillan is a force to be reckoned with. I’m pretty sure even our boss, who earned the FBI Medal of Valor for his service in Afghanistan, is a little intimidated by her.
Kate’s friendship, which has been given freely and genuinely since she inadvertently walked in on me having a panic attack in the bathroom on my first official day on the job, has been one of the unexpected perks of my new job.
“Are you okay?” she’d asked with concern when she’d stumbled in on me assuring myself in the mirror that I wasn’t going to puke.
I had just completed five months of intensive training at the FBI Academy, graduated with honors in both academics and physical fitness despite my long-standing personal motto to never run unless I was being chased by a zombie, and was the proud new owner of a Bureau-issued handgun. I was unequivocally supposed to be okay.
“Sure,” I’d said with false bravado. Secretly, I was convinced I was going to be the first FBI agent to die on the floor of the office bathroom.
“I’m Kate,” she’d said nonchalantly, joining me at the mirror as she swiped red lipstick across her mouth expertly. “First days are tough. My first day here I accidentally spilled a glass of water on my computer, smashed the screen trying to catch the glass, and fried the entire machine. I went home and cried myself to sleep.” She’d shot me a sidelong glance filled with humor. “Of course if you tell anyone I told you that I’ll categorically deny it and then kill you in your sleep.”
I’d smiled back. “Of course,” I agreed.
“It’s okay to be human. It’s what makes women good agents—the ability to be vulnerable and still kick ass. Sometimes in the same day.” She’d given me a wink and left but made it a point to drop by my office later that afternoon and invite me to happy hour with her and a few other agents. A month later, she’s my closest friend in San Antonio and my unofficial mentor despite being only four years older than me.
Whenever I’ve second guessed my decision to give up my career in public relations, move halfway across the country, and jeopardize my two year relationship with my boyfriend Kyle to pursue my dream job, Kate’s chutzpah—just the thought of her unwavering bold self-confidence—makes me feel stronger.
“Are you sure?” I ask now, scrutinizing her pixie face. “I feel bad that I got the assignment instead of you.” I know Kate has been waiting a long time for an undercover assignment, and she’s been here a lot longer than I have.
“No apologies, Tori,” she reprimands me good-naturedly. “The last time I checked an agent’s job responsibilities didn’t include making sure everyone is whistling zip-a-dee-doo-dah out of their asses.” She glances down the hallway. “Here comes Miles. I’ll pick you up at seven. Can’t wait to hear about it.”
She’s out of my office and halfway down the hall by the time my boss walks in.
“I’ve got the details of your assignment,” he says seriously. I’ve never seen the renowned Miles Carter be anything but serious, but I guess that’s how you become the Special Agent in Charge of a large branch office of the FBI. “Meet me in the conference room in five.”
I nod, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’ve been selected for a field assignment, and an undercover one at that. My fluency in Spanish—thanks to being raised by an Hispanic nanny—had landed me a job in the San Antonio, Texas field office, much to the surprise and disappointment of both my father and my boyfriend, Kyle, who had both assumed I’d get assigned to DC, New York, or somewhere else close to home.
Although I’m technically trained as a special agent, I was primarily hired to work as an intelligence analyst, leveraging my Spanish fluency to help the FBI bring down the Mexican drug cartel, not going undercover. But I couldn’t help but feel a tendril of excitement when my name had been announced at the morning staff meeting. It was the same spark I’d felt when I’d filled out the FBI application, and I feel it again as I walk into the conference room—that undeniable feeling that something is about to happen, something that will make me feel alive, like the precise black and white lines that have illustrated my life up to this point are about to be suffused with color.
Miles is already there, his ever-present cup of coffee in front o
f him along with one for me. He gestures to the seat next to him and I sit down.
“These are unusual circumstances,” he begins. “I know you weren’t hired as a special agent per se and you’ve only been active for a month, but you’re a perfect fit for this assignment. However, if you feel unable to do it, please let me know.”
“I won’t!” I exclaim. “I mean I will. I mean, I won’t not want it.” I stop and take a breath. “What I’m trying to say is I really want the assignment.”
Miles pins me with a cool stare. I feel like a babbling idiot and remind myself to play it cool. Then again, maybe that’s why I’m perfect for this job. Every agent I’ve met so far has been calm and totally pulled together, so maybe there’s an actual need for an agent who’s a babbling idiot and that’s why I got this assignment. Belatedly I realize Miles has spoken.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” I say.
“Your assignment will be to go undercover as the girlfriend of Drake Maddox,” Miles says, looking at me expectantly.
I look at him blankly.
He shakes his head in wonder. “Drake Maddox? Country music superstar? Three platinum albums…CMA artist of the year?” He sighs. “You’ve never heard of him.”
“No, I’m sorry, sir,” I say. “I grew up in New York City. We didn’t even have a country music radio station until a few years ago.”
Miles steeples his fingers and looks at me thoughtfully. “Hmmm.” Shaking his head once more he continues, “Never mind. Here are the basics of the case. Maddox received a few crazy fan letters during the last part of his tour last summer, pretty typical stuff for a star of his magnitude. Nothing threatening or too out of the ordinary except for an incident in San Diego on Labor Day when someone—most likely the person sending the letters—paid a stage hand to manhandle a woman who’d been hanging out backstage with the band before the show and whom Maddox had singled out and pulled up on stage during the concert. Investigators believe whoever it was thought she was Maddox’s girlfriend. Turns out she was actually the girlfriend—and now the fiancée—of his Navy SEAL brother.”
Miles’ smile reminds me of a shark. “You can imagine how that went,” he says drily. “When the guy finally came around, he couldn’t provide much information on who hired him and since the letters stopped after that, the case was considered inactive.
“Maddox finished up the West Coast part of his tour and took some time off for the holidays and his oldest brother’s wedding. He kicked off his spring tour, which encompasses a dozen cities across the East Coast, a month ago. Another letter appeared in his dressing room at the third show of the tour in Oklahoma City. This one was a bit different.”
Miles slides an envelope across the table to me. I open it and read, It’s time to pay.
I look at Miles questioningly.
“Security was beefed up. Another letter followed when he played New Orleans. Then girls started disappearing. In Birmingham, a twenty-one year old fan went missing after the show. Another young woman in her twenties disappeared after the Charlotte show. Both women had been singled out by Drake and brought on stage.
“The FBI was called in. Maddox hired extra security. He played his next three shows over a three-day period in Georgia and Florida and nothing happened. Then, a young woman from Nashville disappeared last Friday. According to her family, she had not been at one of Maddox’s concerts, but she was a model and actress who had been in one of his music videos and her name had been recently linked in the press with Maddox. Apparently they had dated casually a few times.”
He slides a photo across the table to me. “This photo, along with coordinates to where her body was found, was left in his dressing room last Saturday night in Bristow, Virginia. No one saw anything out of the ordinary.”
I glance down at the photo and my stomach lurches. I wonder if I will get more used to this part of the job.
“The model from Nashville?” I guess.
Miles nods. “There’s a definite connection between Maddox and the women who are disappearing. Our initial guess is that the suspect is most likely a Drake Maddox fan who has psychopathic tendencies and is personally affronted when Maddox exhibits any sort of interest in a woman.
“Our profiler believes it’s possible the unknown suspect is a female, or even a male, with an unhealthy crush on Drake. They may think they are destined to be with Drake, or may have the delusional belief that they are already together with him and see him singling out other women as cheating. Of course, it could just as easily be some psychopath whose girlfriend or mother left him for a country music artist or half a dozen other things.” He runs his hand over his crew cut hair distractedly. “We really don’t have shit to go on.” His frustration is evident.
“Forensics is working on it, but so far there’s no DNA evidence. The letters were clear of fingerprints. We have agents talking to the friends and families of the victims, but so far we have no real leads. Our goals at this point are to flush out the suspect, stop the disappearance of any other women, and find the women who have disappeared, hopefully still alive.”
Miles looks at me grimly. “That’s where you come in. Drake Maddox is about to fall in love. Our plan is to incite the suspect into acting by having an agent pose as his girlfriend. If the perp is provoked by a few dates or a woman singled out on stage, a serious girlfriend should trigger a more significant reaction. If our psychologists are correct, he or she will make a move against the agent and we’ll be able to apprehend them.”
“And I’m the girlfriend?” I confirm, excitement and nervousness battling with each other at the thought of the assignment.
“Your age, your appearance, even the fact that you’ve barely worked for the agency, all make you the perfect candidate,” Miles says. “Maddox is thirty and only dates extremely attractive women, so whoever we assign has to be young enough and pretty enough to believably pass as his girlfriend.”
I blink at the implied compliment. Although I suppose I’m pretty enough, I’ve certainly never thought of myself as extremely attractive. My lips are too full, my butt is too big and I feel forever cheated that I got brown eyes to go with my dark blond hair instead of blue. Slightly discomfited, I take a sip of coffee.
“He gets a lot of media coverage as it is since he’s famous, charismatic, talented, and attractive. Since he tends to be a bit of a ladies man and doesn’t typically date anyone seriously, we anticipate that the fact that he has a serious girlfriend will definitely intrigue the media. You can bet they will leave no rock unturned when trying to find out who Maddox’s arm candy is.”
I accidentally snort coffee through my nose at the thought of being anyone’s arm candy. Miles waits patiently while I recover my composure.
“We can easily censor your brief ties to the agency. Here’s your dossier. You relocated to Austin, where Maddox lives, six months ago. I understand you come from some money?”
I nod uncomfortably. My father owns a well-known public relations firm in Manhattan and is well off even by New York standards, but I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove myself based on my own merit instead of riding on my dad’s coattails. It was one of the main reasons I refused to work for my dad’s company when I graduated from Columbia and instead took a job working for a non-profit in Washington. I hate to take advantage of what was essentially luck of the draw, but I try to rationalize that it’s for the better good. It seems petty to care about my personal pride and independence when the lives of young women are at stake.
“Good. It would be hard to fake a job for you for the last six months, so the fact that you have family money to float you will make your alibi more believable. You wanted a change and liked Austin’s vibe. You moved there and started doing some freelance PR work while you looked for something steady and tried to establish yourself. Maddox’s label hired you to do publicity for the tour a few weeks ago, which is how the two of you met.”
“Okay,” I say. It sounds well thought out and legit.
&n
bsp; “You dating anyone?”
“Um, no.” I don’t mention Kyle since he and I had officially decided to take a break when I refused to turn down the assignment in Texas and get my dad to pull strings to get me a position in Washington.
“I’m announcing my candidacy for the US Senate in May!” Kyle had protested. “We were going to get engaged.” I’d looked at him in surprise. We’d never talked about marriage. “I need a woman…you…by my side during this time in my career. If you cared about me and our future, you’d stay.”
In a moment of anger at his assumption that his career was more important than mine, I’d suggested that we take a break. He’d quickly agreed, saying that he’d have to have dates to the numerous social functions he’s constantly invited to while I was gone anyway.
“Good,” Miles says now with satisfaction. “For the sake of the girls who are missing, we don’t have a lot of time. You’ll have about a week and a half to meet Drake and be seen with him as much as possible to establish your relationship before his next tour date in Philadelphia. That is, if you’re still sure you want the assignment.”
Excitement has officially trumped nervousness. This is the chance I’ve been waiting for my whole life—the chance to make a difference, to do something real and exciting, to break out of the glass box my father spent his whole life building around me. I’m ready.
“Absolutely sure,” I say definitively.
Miles eyes me approvingly. “You’re going to do alright, Agent Raine.” He pushes the file across the table to me. “Welcome to the team. Remember you have the entire agency behind you. You won’t be on your own on this case. The satellite office in Austin is fully informed and instructed to help you as needed, and Agent Meadors will be placed on Maddox’s crew as a stage hand. He’ll be in Austin as well and can provide back up as needed.”
I nod. I’m familiar with the beefy Texas agent whom I’m pretty sure Kate has a secret crush on. He seems like a nice guy, and I’m grateful to have another more experienced agent working with me.