by Aubrey Irons
René Van Der Haus jokingly scolds me for taking her to a “cheap motel” and then gives Ana a big squeeze, thanking her for “reining me in.”
Mrs. Tottingham hugs me, a lot, and tells me how proud of me she is.
I tell her I love her.
The truth is, I’m scared to fucking death of what’s going to happen now. I’m scared of failure, and of letting Ana down. I’m scared that all of this is a dream, and that any second now I’ll wake up alone, broken, and bitter.
I startle at the feel of her hand slipping into mine, and I turn to see her smiling at me as she leans her head on my shoulder. Carl switches to David Bowie’s “Heroes”, and as it starts blasting at full volume, Ana sways against me to the backing beat. Friends and family dance, and the love fills the room.
Her hand squeezes mine.
The electricity sparks through me right to my heart.
The fear fades.
Is this a fairytale? Probably not quite. But - to quote my favorite Anastasia Bell song - life’s a kick in the teeth, and love’s a beautiful beast.
I got the girl, and I’m never letting her go.
How’s that for a happy ever fucking after?
The End.
Acknowledgments
Taming this beast of a book - not to mention Bastian, the beautiful beast himself - would not have been remotely possible without the following people. I truly hope I haven’t forgotten anyone, but if I have, you have my permission to send strongly worded letters telling me so.
First, a huge thank you to my beta readers - Cheryl, Brenda, and Belinda - for diving into the murky depths on this one without a life-line. Your feedback was amazing, and made this book - particularly the beginning - what it is today.
As always, an enormous thank you to my fearless and fierce editing and proofing team. To Ellie McLove - the queen herself - for giving my monster of a manuscript the love it needed. Also, for the crazy hot cover photo. To Sennah Tate for being a rock star, always. And to Cassie Hess-Dean for having the eyes of a damn hawk. The book in your hands would not be nearly as pretty without these amazing ladies.
To Lara from Coverlüv Design for the amazing cover, and for keeping her cool and not flat-out firing me for my insanity on a number of occasions. You’re the best.
A big thanks to the truly incredible Stuart Reardon - even if you turned down my marriage proposal, you are Bastian Crown, and you made him more real than I ever could have hoped for.
To Tracy from Be My Book Boyfriend, Kylie, Jo, and Jeanna from Give Me Books, and Jen from Just One More Page for blasting this book into outer-space with your kick-ass release blitzs. And a huge thank you to all the bloggers and reviewers who helped in screaming this book from the mountaintops. I honestly love you all.
To the authors I am beyond lucky to be able to call friends and peers: Willow Winters, Tabatha Kiss, Jade West, Isabella Starling, Roxie Noir, Amelia Wilde, Bella Love-Wins, Vivian Wood, Lauren Landish, Madison Faye, Joanna Blake, Eddie Cleveland, Jo Raven, Vivian Lux, and anyone else who I am so sorry to have neglected to add here. Thanks for being the best tribe I could’ve asked for.
To my husband, for the endless support. But also, for listening to me whine, and for telling me to shut up and just keep writing when I freak out and cry that “this book is the worst thing ever and everything is awful”. Also, for still swatting my ass and calling me sexy even after day three of no shower, no shaved legs, and the same pair of sweatpants.
For real, you’re the best.
Most of all though, this book wouldn’t be here without you, the reader. Well, I supposed it might still be here, technically. But trust me, it would be very lonely without you, your love, your support, and your willingness to keep reading my stories.
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
Now, if you’ve somehow made it all the way to this point, well, you’re the real hero of this tale. And honestly, positive or negative, your feedback is always appreciated. Please consider leaving a review and letting me know what you thought.
xoxo,
Aubrey
P.S. I’ve included another book of mine - Thief - as a special extra in this new-release edition of this book. Please enjoy, with my compliments.
Thief
Shelter Harbor: Book 1
This bad boy thinks he can steal me away. He might be right.
He’s a thief. Always has been, always will be. When we were kids, he taught me how to pick locks and pockets.
And then we got older, and we learned to open doors to places we never should have gone.
Eight years ago, he stole the kisses from my lips, and I gave him everything. And then my thief stole my heart.
But he also stole a lot of money for some very bad people, and then the boy I knew disappeared.
Now we’re both back in Shelter Harbor, but Silas is no boy.
He’s a man. A hardened, cocky, demanding, very grown-up man.
A man who looks at me like he wants to steal me away again. Like he wants to take me, like he wants to make me lose my mind and scream his name. Just like I used to.
But I’m not that wide-eyed girl anymore. He left nearly a decade ago, and I don’t give a damn what Silas Hart thinks.
There’s just one problem...
Did I mention we’re still married?
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Copyright © 2017 Aubrey Irons
Cover Design: CoverLuv
Photographer: Anetta, Tolikm, Nejron
Editor: Ellie McLove, Love N Books
Formatting: Vellum
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.
This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please do not continue reading this book of you are under the age of 18 or are offended by content of this nature.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older and are in no way blood relations. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.
To my daughter. We can’t wait to meet you…
Prologue
Silas
There’s blood on my hands.
They’re twisting in my lap as I sit there breathing heavily in the dark of my uncle’s truck. Rain drums like bullets across the roof, pouring in sheets across the windshield.
“Fuck,” Declan mutters in the driver’s seat, dropping his phone into his lap. “They’re onto the hit, kid. It’s all over the police scanners.”
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My heart’s hammering, the pain throbbing in my side from the crash.
“Don’t worry, kid, I’m gonna help you outta this.”
I look up through the rainy windshield, through the glass front doors of the hospital. I can see her crying, her family around her. Huddled, hurt, and broken.
Because of me.
Because of the job gone wrong - the one her brother never should’ve been on. I can still feel the sting of her words from twenty minutes ago, slicing right through me. Slicing me in half.
; “Why did you go?” Her eyes are pleading as she looks up into my face, tears running down hers. “Why’d you do the job?”
I have no real answer, because I don’t know. Maybe because I’m young and stupid, and I wanted to be able to give her the kind of life she’d want - that kind of life she deserves.
“I don’t know.”
“I asked you not to, Silas,” she’s crying now. “I begged you not to do it.”
It doesn’t matter that I was there to stop her brother - my best friend - from making the mistake of his life. Because he was only there because of me in the first place.
This is my fault.
“Ivy-”
Jacob steps forward, moving between me and his daughter. “You need to get away from her, right now.”
“Sir-”
The reverend’s jaw tightens beneath his thick beard, his eyes twitching with rage. “You aren’t welcome here, Silas.”
Irene steps forward, her hand on her husband’s arm as she dabs tears from her face. “Jacob-”
“No.” He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “Get out.”
I’m reeling, the world rocking beneath my feet. I’m face-to-face with the only family I’ve ever really known, and I can see the pain and the hurt I’ve caused across every single one of their faces.
I turn to Ivy, but she shakes her head.
“You should go,” she says softly.
It’s the last words we speak to each other.
And now I’m watching the aftermath of paths taken and choices made. I’m living with the outcome of going on the fucking job for Declan I never should’ve gone on - the job I only did go on because I found out Rowan had taken my place when I’d backed out the first time.
I couldn’t have that.
I’m already lost, but my best friend has his whole life ahead of him.
Or did, until I just wrapped our car around a guardrail fleeing the scene of a crime I helped commit. Until I dragged him out of that wreck and carried him on my back to the hospital, his leg bloodied and raw, mumbling that he was sorry.
Declan pats my shoulder. “Uncle Declan’s got your back, kid.” He shoves an envelope into my hands.
It’s an Irish passport.
I look up at him, my face caving. “What?”
“All expense paid trip to the old country, kid. Ireland.” He chuckles as he pulls a cigarette from the pack on the dash.
“Well, not all expenses.” He grins at me as he lights the smoke. “Nothing in this world is free unless you take it, ain’t that right, nephew?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Got some people we’re friendly with over in Dublin.” He gives me a hard look. “You’re going to be working for them now.”
“I’m leaving?” I shake my head, my eyes narrowing at him. “No. No fucking way.”
Declan cocks his head. “Kid, you robbed an armored truck.”
“You set up the job!”
He shrugs. “Yeah, well nobody told you to pop a bullet in the driver’s arm, did they?”
I can feel my blood pumping like fire, my breath coming raw. “I told you, that was Sean.” I swallow. “Dec, I was just the getaway driver.”
“Just the driver.” Declan snorts. “Oh, yeah, they’ll love that.” He gives me a hard look. “Sean just got picked up, by the way.”
Oh, fuck.
“You shot a guard, kid.” He holds his hand up. “Doesn’t matter who pulled the trigger, you were there, and every fucking cop in the state’s going to be out for your balls.”
His eyes narrow at me. “You got one chance to dodge the heat, Silas. You get to Dublin, you sit tight with my people, and you let this simmer down.”
Holy shit. I’m going to Ireland. I’m leaving Shelter Harbor.
“What about-” I look at the front door of the hospital. She’s still crying inside, rocking in her older sister Stella’s arms.
“You stick ‘round, you’re going to jail for a very long time my friend.”
“I didn’t shoot that guard,” I say quietly, still staring straight ahead through the rain at the one good thing in this world that I’ve ever known.
“Don’t matter. Leave town, go to Dublin, and we’ll put those talents of yours to good use until this dies down.”
“When.”
“Tonight.”
My head jerks around, my jaw dropping.
“There’s a ship of mine leaving from the Dorchester docks down in Boston in about five hours.” He cracks the window an inch and flicks his cigarette out.
“You gotta go now. I’ll get one of my guys to drive you.”
I turn back, my heart shattering in my chest as I lock eyes on her - the only thing that’s ever mattered.
The thing I’m about to walk away from.
“But what about-”
“Forget her, forget that family.”
Declan turns the truck on.
“Believe me kid, they’re already forgetting you.”
Chapter 1
Ivy
The boat rocks with the motion of the waves, heaving slightly in the current as we motor around the breakers at the mouth of the harbor.
I smile as I breathe in the sea air - the smell of salt brine and the cool edge of the Atlantic breezing across the bow of the ferry where I stand. You don’t get this kind air in New York City, which is fine in a way, because there’s a reason I left all this years ago.
There’s a reason I left Shelter Harbor.
I take another big lungful of New England air as I crack open the little nip of vodka I picked up at Logan International. I dump it into the tiny plastic cup of ice I got from the booze-free snack bar below deck and bring it to my lips, regardless of the late-morning hour.
Sometimes going home requires a little fortification.
I turn at movement, seeing the grizzled ferry captain grinning at me from the wheelhouse next to me. He adjusts the Red Sox cap on his head, scratching his silvered hair as he raises an eyebrow at the little bottle in my hand.
“I’m on vacation,” I lie, smiling.
“No judgment here, sweethawt,” he says, the thick, familiar Boston accent of home washing over me as he chuckles. “If I weren’t on the clock, I’d join ya.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” I mutter as he turns back to the wheel, taking another quick sip. We’re almost there.
“Are we there yet?”
Ainsley looks green as she comes up from below deck, her mouth a thin white line as she grips the railing tightly.
I raise the second little nip out of my shoulder bag at my assistant, which brings on a whole new color of chartreuse to her face as she quickly shakes her head.
“God, no.” She swallows queasily. “Remind me why we couldn’t take the train, or drive in like normal people?”
“Because this is way more fun.”
The boat crests another small wave, and Ainsley almost loses it.
“Thanks for coming, by the way.”
“I mean, it’s my job, Ivy.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, yeah, but coming back here is always….” I wave my hand distractedly.
I’m home for a week this visit, which is about three times longer than I’m ever home. And it’s not that I don’t like coming back here - I do, and I love my family - it’s just that I left the small town and all the baggage that came with it years ago. College in New York City, the fashion blog I’d started sophomore year took off, and then the age of Instagram launched me into the face of lifestyle and “fitspiration” that I am today.
“What’s our shoot schedule look like, by the way?”
It’s the other reason I’m home, aside from my dad’s dedication ceremony. All those Instagram stars with half a million followers who are always telling you about their favorite new cotton t-shirt, or sunscreen, or brand of sneaker?
Yeah, we get paid for that. And when Lori, my management liaison heard I was coming back to Shelter Harbor, she opted to turn my three
-day visit into a week long “product exposure and brand expansion” business trip.
This really is what I do for work.
Ainsley pales. “There is no way I can look at my phone right now,” she croaks out.
I wink at her. “Yeah, but I’m sure you’ve got it all in your head. That’s why you’re the best assistant ever.”
She grins wryly. “Nike and Under Armour want ‘active’ shoots by the beach, so we could do those whenever. Bliss wants the new skin line on display somewhere ‘shady but quaint’, as they put it.” She frowns. “I guess like, a picnic table by the water or something would work.”
“I know a place.”
I know all the places. Even being away, I know nothing changes in Shelter Harbor. The same New England beach town north of Boston. The same tourist-filled summers, the same cold, snowy, empty winters. The same active harbor, the same lobster boats. The same knick-knack shops, lobster take-out places, and “dive” bars for tourists. The same actual dive bars for locals. The same historic house where George Washington allegedly camped, the same Congregationalists church up on the hill where my dad’s been giving sermons every Sunday since before my siblings and I were born.
“Oh, and Active wants the nail polish displayed by the water too, actually.” Ainsley frowns. “They actually all want that ‘New England chic’ look, come to think of it.”
“Well, Shelter Harbor has that by the shit-load,” I say, belting down the rest of the vodka.
“You sure?” I raise the second nip, and Ainsley goes green all over again.
She takes a shaky breath. “And then of course, management wants your new line in as many shots as we can get.”