by Jess Bentley
“Janie Hall,” Jake breathes, just as nervous as I am, “I stand by what I said two months ago. I don’t deserve you. But I promise that I will always work, hard, to be the best man that I can possibly be. I will love you and keep you in my heart—you and our daughter—first and foremost above all other things and all other people. You have made me a better man, and I will spend the rest of my life repaying that debt.”
I can barely speak, and it takes me a moment to catch my breath.
You can do this, Janie Hall.
“Jacob Ferry,” I begin, my hands shaking in his. “I promise you that I will be… difficult, at the best of times.” The assembled guests chuckle at that, and I wait for it to pass. Jake is smiling. “I’m used to charting my own course in life, alone. I thought that I had it all planned out, too. And then… well, things got a little derailed. I know that we will have more ups and downs. I know that we will have to work hard. But I promise you that I will never stop working, never stop trying. I love you, Jake Ferry. And I will love only you, from this day until my last.”
There isn’t a dry eye in the place. I feel my attention being pulled back to the audience and my mother is looking at me, with something akin to real pride in her eyes. She’s not only proud of me, but there’s something else there. Is she proud of herself? Relieved? I just want my mother to be all right. She’s flanked by my twin brothers, and holding one of their hands each. It’s only then that I realize that her plus one is a minus one: George isn’t here. Could that mean he’s gone?
“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant says, and I’m thrown back into the moment and subsumed in Jake’s eyes, as he leans in to me and his lips meet mine for one slow, electric moment. It’s not a deep kiss, it’s very chaste compared to our kisses in the past, but the feeling behind it is stronger and more loving than ever. It says so many things: I’m going to do my best for you. I’m not changing for you, but I am healing for you. Your love is bringing me back to the person that I was before life took me and changed me.
When we walk back down the aisle hand in hand, the congregation standing, their hearts joining us, I’m as excited as I’ve ever been. But I want to be sure my mother is all right. Sure, she had pride in her eyes, but the pride was fragile. New. Why is George gone? Is he gone for good? Or just sitting out the wedding?
As we lay in bed together for the first time as husband and wife, Jake looks at me, and again it seems like his eyes open up, that layers of pain have been washed away somehow. His body melts into mine, and one strong arm holds me while the other traces circles on my eager skin. He kisses me, tenderly, but with fire this time, and it threatens to consume me. I feel it building inside me too and soon we are sitting up, hands clinging, grasping, touching. Our mouths are voracious, tasting, licking, kissing whatever part we can reach.
As he kisses my neck, and my shoulder, it feels as if my neck and shoulder are kissing him, just as my mouth is. His lips trail down to my breasts and he takes each hard nipple in between his teeth and runs his tongue over them, and the fire burns hotter. One hand snakes its way between my legs to my slit, and easily slides in between my slippery folds. I groan as he moves his fingers inside me as the heel of his hand presses against my throbbing clit. I reach for him as well, eager to wrap my fingers around that rigid, thick, heavy cock. The warmth and softness of the stretched skin is matched only by the hardness of him, and I gratefully squeeze the proof of his desire as he moans deeply.
“Janie,” he grunts. “Fuck me now. I have to be inside you.”
“Yes,” I whisper, and climb on top of him. I lower myself onto his hard shaft, each inch stretching and filling me until I’m whole with him. “I love you,” I breathe as he bucks softly inside me. Our eyes meet and he quickens his pace until we’re both sweating, contorted, crying out. When he’s ready to come, he lifts me with his hands and slides me down his cock slowly and tantalizingly until he shoots inside, and the warm wetness fills me over and over and I come around his cock.
It’s as close as I’ve felt to another human being.
”I love you, Janie, you know that?” His eyes search mine, intent and grave. “Never forget that. And I’m going to do everything I can to earn your love for keeps.”
“You have it,” I say, and slide off him to occupy the space beside him on the bed. “You’re my husband now.”
His eyes close and he touches my skin softly, running his hand along my arm and side. My skin gathers to his touch, goosebumps rising as he strokes me.
As we lay there in the afterglow I wonder about my mother again.
“I wonder where George was?” I say. “I didn’t want to ask mom at the wedding.”
“Yeah he didn’t make it, did he?” He turns his head to look at me.
“You didn’t do anything, did you?” I ask suddenly.
He laughs. “No. But it’s still a good thing, right? In fact, maybe we should offer your mother one of the guest houses so she’s not so dependent on George in the first place.”
My heart leaps. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course!” he says. “I want you to be happy, and when you worry about her, you’re not. If we have her close, with a good security system—”
“And a support system,” I interrupt.
“Yes, and a support system,” he says, “she’ll know that she’s not at the mercy of a guy like George. And she can get all the care she needs.”
I snuggle close to him. “I knew deep down you were the man for me,” I say. I breathe in his scent, filling my nose with him, and let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for making my life complete,” he answers softly, and I feel ready to take on the world.
A HARD MAN: SAVING DAVID — Never before published!
Copyright © 2017 by Jess Bentley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 77
Carrie
I straighten my dress for what feels like the hundredth time since I arrived at the venue. A tingle runs up my spine as I take it all in: the glamor, the riches and the twinkling lights surrounding us.
What am I even doing here?
Max’s hand touches the small of my back, guiding me toward our table.
“Every damn gala, I see the same old faces,” he says under his breath. “Nothing ever changes in LA.”
I look around to try and share in Max’s disapproval but all I see are faces from magazine covers.
“Look, there’s Christopher Alexander,” I point discreetly as I sit down at the table.
“Don’t point, sweetheart,” Max cautions, then continues. “That poor old bastard. I bet he waits all year long for this day.”
“Well, he is doing noble work. Why shouldn’t he?” I wonder aloud.
“Sending books to needy kids?” Max snorts. “They need clothes, food, not books. No kid likes reading books.”
“That’s not true! I loved reading when I was a child.”
“You, sweetheart, are an exception.” He reaches out and kisses my hand. I feel those tingles again. He is so charming and the last two months with him in my life have been absolute bliss.
“Stop it! You’re making me blush,” I laugh. Max always makes me laugh. A year ago, I couldn’t even imagine that I would meet a perfect gentleman like him. Someone who makes me laugh, who spoils me and someone who opens a whole new world for me.
Most of all, I still can’t believe that I’m dating my boss.
“Max Jefferson. I’m glad you could take time out of your busy schedule to be a part of our little shindig here,” Christopher Alexander says, clasping Max’s hand.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Chris,” Max smiles. “This is Carrie.”
“Mr. Alexander. So nice to meet you,” I off
er. My voice trembles.
“Nice to meet you too, young lady,” Christopher answers, his tone grandfatherly.
“Carrie, here, is one of the brightest young talents at our magazine.” Max gleams with pride and looks at me, expecting me to speak. I gulp nervously and clear my throat.
“Mr. Alexander. I'm a huge fan. I've read all your books, some even twice. It's an honor to meet you, sir.” Don’t fangirl, Carrie!
“Thank you, my dear. It's always nice to receive compliments from my fans.” Shit. Too late.
He smiles and then turns to Max. “Ready for the bachelor auction, hotshot? I just might have a surprise in store for you.”
“A surprise? What kind of surprise?”
Max doesn't like surprises.
“You’ll see,” the old man laughs as he makes his exit. “Nice to meet you, young lady.”
“Oh, God! Did I scare him off? Did I sound like some obsessive fan girl?” I ask Max, cringing.
“A little bit,” he chuckles.
“Stop it, Max. You're making me more nervous than I already am.” I pull at my hair, an old habit.
“Oh, come on. This is just a stupid bachelor auction. Have a few glasses of wine and you’ll be all right,” he says, winking.
“I don’t like the idea of some rich old woman bidding on you and taking you home for the night,” I complain, but Max just laughs.
“It’s just a dinner and dance. Unless you want to bid on me—in that case, I'm willing to offer other services as well,” he grins his killer grin, the one that makes my knees weak. Luckily I’m sitting down.
“I wish,” I sigh. “But if I could, I would bid on Christopher Alexander. I’d love to pick his brain on how to become a better writer.”
“That old bag. Please! He’d bore you to death by the time the entrees arrive,” he sneers.
“Come on Max, don’t be mean. You know he’s one of the greatest writers of our generation. I've read Waking Sea a zillion times!”
I think back to my college days as a student of English Lit, when I had all the time in the world to devour books by the dozen.
“He has done some good work, I’ll give him that,” Max says thoughtfully. “But he stopped being relevant half a decade ago. If it weren’t for his radio show and this charity gala he organizes every year, people wouldn’t remember him at all. I feel bad for him. Poor guy, trying so hard to be relevant.”
“That’s harsh,” I answer with a hurt look, but Max just smirks.
“I'm just telling it like it is. Don’t shoot the messenger. “ He holds his large hands up in defense.
As the editor and a partner at Coyote, one of the biggest magazines in the country, Max’s idea of relevance is directly proportional to how much media attention he gets. He’s not one for dreams and emotions. He tells it how it is and rarely minces words. But that’s one of the things I like about him.
Besides he has the weight of the world on his shoulders as he attempts to make Coyote successful again. Coyote has been slow to catch up with the popularity of the internet and with hardly any online presence whatsoever, has had a huge decline in sales. Max is doing his best to turn the deficit around, even resorting to putting a celebrity gossip column in their once-serious publication.
“You look incredible tonight,” Max says. I feel the urge to touch his face, kiss his full lips and get lost in his embrace.
“And you look as handsome as ever,” I reach under the table to grab his thigh.
“Looks like somebody is feeling a little hot,” he whispers in my ear, tickling it. “Save that for later, babe…”
Then our attention is distracted by the voice of Christopher Alexander, who’s onstage, about to get things started.
“... And as you know, I'm once again thankful to all of you for turning up in support of this noble cause.” Christopher is in the middle of a speech.
“This is why I don't like authors. The one day of the year they're allowed to speak, they can’t keep their traps shut,” Max grumbles.
“…with that being said, it's time we get to the main event, the bachelor auction,” Christopher continues, eliciting cheers from the female audience in the crowd.
“I've been advised that it’d be a good idea to start the auction with myself, though I'm not sure why anyone would want to bid on this serious, old man,” he says humbly, as the crowd eggs him on.
I’m contemplating placing a bid on him. Picking his brain in order to become a better writer is not an opportunity that comes by every day, but my hopes are dashed as someone puts in the first bid.
“Seven hundred dollars from the lovely lady in the green gown. That, indeed, is flattering,” Christopher levels a winning smile at the crowd.
“Well, there go my hopes of bidding on him,” I sigh.
“You were serious about that? I thought you were joking,” Max chuckles.
“Well, you worry about yourself, mister. I bet you'll spend the evening with some old housewife who will bore you to tears,” I retort.
“We’ll see, we’ll see,” Max laughs. “All right, I should head backstage. See you later, sweetheart.” With a quick kiss on the cheek, Max is off.
With him gone, my nerves creep up a little bit. I'm probably the poorest person here. The dresses that some of these women are wearing could pay for a year of my rent. It’s intimidating to be in the middle of a huge crowd of rich, successful people. Without Max as my shield, I’m even more vulnerable.
A pair of eyes on me grabs my attention, coming from the table to the right. But as I turn, no one’s looking at me. A dashing, well built man is sat at the table, with a thick swath of brown hair and a strong jaw. Some really good looking men here today. But of course, this is a bachelor auction. I wouldn’t mind betting on this guy. The naughty thought crosses my mind, but then I reprimand myself for thinking such things. I’m here with Max, my charming prince on the white horse.
I turn as I hear sounds of muffled talking coming from the back. A tall, gorgeous woman with long blonde hair enters the party and immediately people start fawning over her. The whole spotlight in the room shifts to her. She is the definition of graceful. I wonder who she is.
“Next up we have a man who has been the shining light of the Los Angeles social scene for many years now. All of us have, one time or another, been victim of his witty charm. Ladies and gents, let’s have a round of applause for Mr. Max Jefferson!”
I applaud with the audience as Max’s name is called and he strolls out in his slow, confident manner. He must be really popular with these people, the way they're cheering for him. A sudden pride fills my chest.
“Max, are you ready for your surprise?” Christopher turns his microphone toward Max.
“As long as the surprise isn’t you bidding on me,” Max winks. The crowd breaks into a huge laugh. There is that charm that swept me off my feet.
“All right, let’s start the bidding,” Christopher barely says the words when a bid comes from somewhere behind me.
“Twenty-thousand dollars.” A collective gasp rises from the crowd as everyone turns to identify the person who made the bid. It’s the blonde woman who arrived late to the auction. Who is she? And why is she betting so much on my date?
“I promised you a surprise, and here she is. She’s been away from us for far too long, but now she is back. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome on stage, the future Mrs. Max Jefferson. Katherine Griswold, everyone!”
My hand flies to my chest, trying to stop my heart from beating a million miles a minute. A silent gasp sticks in my mouth as I watch the tall blonde woman gracefully make her way to the stage. Future Mrs. Max Jefferson? The phrase echoes in my head repeatedly. The existence of our relationship becomes a lie, reality shattered.
Max flinches for a second at first, but recovers instantly and quickly puts on the public persona that I am well accustomed to. Katherine climbs on stage and kisses Max on the lips. On the lips. My heart sinks; a physical pain shoots through my chest. A few
hours ago, I thought his kisses belonged to me alone, but now...
Katherine takes the microphone and starts talking about the charity work she was busy doing in New York, but I can’t make sense of her words. I just want the ground to open up and eat me. A sea of anxiety overwhelms me. My head spins, as if I am drunk. My stomach’s in knots and my heart’s in my mouth.
The last thing I see is Max exiting the stage with the tall blonde in tow. A blackness swims in front of my eyes soon after and I fall off of my chair, into nothingness.
Chapter 78
David
“We’ve booked a suite for you at the hotel. You'll find a change of clothes there.” Shauna’s words come out in a fast barrage.
“A change of clothes? Aren’t I dressed up enough already?” I’m grumbling but I can’t help it. It’s annoying.
“Don’t be silly, David, you’re not in England anymore. This is Los Angeles. No one wears the same clothes to two parties. Get used to the American way already! You've been here for months,” she admonishes me.
“Right after I get used to driving on the wrong side of the road. Do I really have to go to this event?”
“Not unless you want them to cancel their sponsorship?” she answers with a glare. She doesn’t take any shit. Not even from her clients, unfortunate as it is for me. “Look, it’s not so bad. You stay there for an hour, meet the important people, smile for a bunch of pictures and then you quietly slip out.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Look David. You're the biggest soccer star in the world and finally you're playing in the American League. People want a piece of you! You’re hot stuff.” She’s clearly trying to cheer me up with flattery, but I’m not having it.
“Ironic, since I came here from England to avoid all the fucking media attention,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my mouth.
“Okay, enough! The more you delay it the worse it’ll be. Get going now, I gotta get back in there.” She nods her head back to the bachelor auction.