BENTLEY

by Olivia Chase

“You are my love and my life. Please say yes.” I hope that the rawness I’m feeling right now comes through in my words .

  Her eyes fill with tears, and she nods. “ Yes . Yes .”

  And we’re kissing, and my family is exploding with applause, but I don’t care, because my fiancée is in my arms. My world is becoming right, bit by bit .

  Epilogue

  Bentley

  “A re you sure about that?” Samantha says as she walks around our penthouse suite. “I know you love this place. It’s okay if you want to stay here .”

  “It’s not conducive to a family,” I repeat, stepping behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist. I press a kiss to her neck. The sweet spot she loves the most. “I don’t care where we live as long as you’re with me and we can start our family .”

  She whirls in my arms and kisses me, passionately, full on. I taste her, my beloved, my soon-to-be wife. Her enthusiasm is contagious. I drink up her passion, live on her fire. I’ve never known a woman like her, and I’m so honored she’s going to marry me .

  Samantha pulls back. “We have to wait until I finish school,” she says with a smile. “I shouldn’t be knocked up at graduation .”

  I reach down and cup her belly. “Why not? I’d love to see you round with our baby as you accept your degree.” The image of her pregnant with my child…holy fuck, I can’t explain what it does to me. It makes me feel a possessiveness I’ve never experienced before. Maybe there is something wrong with me, but the idea alone gets me hard, my cock slamming against the zipper of my jeans .

  We move to peer out the window at the snowflakes falling. It’s February, almost Valentine’s Day. Samantha is full on in her classes, and we’re moving forward on our wedding date, which will be during the summer break between her semesters. To her credit, she hasn’t complained about the stress of planning the wedding .

  Of course, my mom and aunt and her mom have been diving head-first into helping, which alleviates some of her stress. Or so I hope. I imagine three women offering their varied opinions has to be complicated .

  Sometimes I’m lucky I’m a guy. I don’t give a fuck how we marry. Just that we do. We could hit the justice of the peace for all I care. But Samantha wants this to be an event to unify our families, and I understand. That’s how she is—thoughtful, caring .

  Not to mention she should feel like a fucking princess .

  I can’t wait to see her on our wedding day. She’s going to be gorgeous .

  “Let’s do something at home for Valentine’s Day,” she declares. “Like a picnic. We can cuddle up near your fireplace and eat cheese and crackers and drink wine and make love all night long .”

  I don’t want to burst her bubble, but I already planned an entire night out of spoiling her. “Maybe,” I hedge .

  She quirks a knowing brow. “You already have shit lined up, don’t you .”

  I flush. “You need to stop knowing me so well .”

  “And yet I thought you liked that.” She laughs. “Okay, we can do the indoor picnic for my birthday .”

  I decline to mention the hot air balloon I’ve lined up for that event .

  Samantha stretches and yawns. “God, I’m so tired. School is more draining than I remember.” Not to mention the job she insists on working on campus, assisting one of the math professors. I know it makes her feel like she’s contributing, and I respect that. But I hate seeing her so fatigued all the time .

  “You need to sleep,” I say, pressing a kiss to her brow. “Let’s tuck you in .”

  Samantha lets me lead her to the bedroom. I tuck her into bed .

  “I’ll be in soon,” I tell her. “Just gotta finish some work email first .”

  Her smile is lethargic. “Okay.” She kisses me and curls onto her side. “Don’t be long .”

  As if I’m going to pass up on a chance to lay with my love .

  I leave her there and head back to the living room. Go to my computer and pull up the news. Two days ago, I came clean to the press about my past—the unsolved murder and my adoption. It was scary as fuck, but I feel liberated, owning my past and not hiding from it .

  The news has been a story locally and nationally. I scroll through to see what reporters have been writing. Most have been empathetic actually, hoping that this might help police find the killer. It’s a cold case, so I don’t hold out much hope, but I appreciate their concern .

  It’s more than I expected, especially given that it’s a secret I hid for over two decades .

  I see that my email has a notification. I click on it. It’s an unrecognizable address, with the subject line, the past .

  My stomach lurches. Part of me doesn’t want to click on it, but I feel like I should. Maybe it’s just another reporter wanting an interview. I’ve gotten a lot of those messages lately. And they don’t all know how to contact people properly .

  When I click on the email, the message inside is short and to the point .

  I have something to tell you about what really happened to your mother .

  My breath stops .

  Everything stops .

  And somehow, deep inside, I know that whatever this is…whoever this is…it’s going to lead me to the truth about my mother, and the man who killed her .

  The End

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  And now continue reading to find an excerpt from Hannah Ford’s What He Wants series !

  Excerpt: What he Wants (What He Wants, Book One) by Hannah Ford

  N OAH

  I wanted to fuck her as soon as I saw her. That curvy little body was all tarted up in a tight little black dress, and those nice round tits were practically spilling out the top. Her dark hair fell in loose curls around her shoulders, and she sipped on a drink, her full pink lips pretty and pouty and just made for sucking my dick .

  I sat at the bar and watched her for a while, biding my time. She was at some kind of party – bachelorette from what I could tell, and it was almost enough to put me off the whole idea. Women at bachelorette parties were a particular kind of crazy, one I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with .

  A couple of blond women at the other end of the bar were staring at me, and I tried not to encourage them by making eye contact. Not that it was difficult. I couldn’t stop staring at that shapely little vixen on the other side of the room. Her dress hit just below the knee, and when she turned around, giving me a view of that gorgeous round ass, my cock got hard .

  I was so transfixed that I didn’t realize one of the blondes had made her way over to me .

  “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she tried. I almost sighed out of boredom, but that was too rude, even for me .

  “I doubt it,” I said, although it was entirely possible that she did know me from somewhere. Thankfully, I knew I probably hadn’t slept with her. She wasn’t my type – too blonde, too skinny, too much like a Barbie .

  “No, I know I recognize you.” She motioned to her friend, another bottled blonde, to come over. “Alexa, isn’t this Noah Cutler ?”

  Apparently she didn’t think it would make more sense to just ask me if I was Noah Cutler. I took a sip of my drink and resisted the urge to roll my eyes .

  From across the room, I watched as the curvy bombshell made her way to a table all by herself, peeling herself off from the rest of the party .

  “Yes!” the blonde’s friend said. “You gave that speech at my graduation last year. I absolutely loved it .”

  “I’m glad,” I lied. I didn’t give a shit if she loved my speech or not. College was bullshit, the kind of thing people thought they needed, when really, I hadn’t learned anything in college that I couldn’t have learned on my own .

  I drained the rest of my drink and concentrated on the brunette. She turned toward me, pu
shing her hair back from her face, and I was struck again by her beauty. She happened to look up just at that moment, and our eyes met .

  She turned away quickly, embarrassed .

  I had to have her .

  And then, just like that, I saw my opening .

  Some dickhead guy was making his way over to her. Jealousy and possessiveness flooded me. She was mine. And I was going to make sure I had her tonight .

  “Excuse me,” I said to the blondes .

  And then I went to go claim my prize .

  C HARLOTTE

  I saw the sexy stranger before he saw me .

  He was standing in the corner of the bar, two beautiful blond women draped on his arm. One of the women was bent over, whispering something in his ear, and when she threw her head back and laughed, he glanced up and met my eye .

  I quickly looked away, embarrassed that he’d caught me staring. Men like him – tall, dark hair, full lips, sexy stubble on his ruggedly handsome face –weren’t interested in women like me. Besides, I wasn’t here to meet a man. I was here for a bachelorette party .

  Not that the party was anything to get too excited about. I hated parties as a rule, and bachelorette parties were a particularly heinous form of torture. Especially one where I didn’t know anyone but the bride, who was a fellow law student at Middleton University .

  I thought coming to this party might help me meet some of my classmates – Cora seemed to know everyone in our class -- but all it was doing so far was reminding me how much I hated to socialize. Oh, and making me realize that Cora, even though she was engaged, apparently subscribed to the theory that whatever happened at bachelorette parties stayed at bachelorette parties, because she’d been throwing herself at different men all night. Right now she was out on the dance floor, grinding on a man wearing plaid dress pants .

  I took a sip of my drink – ginger ale with cranberry, my usual, because it made me seem like I was drinking alcohol even when I wasn’t– and tried to look busy. The last thing I wanted was one of the party-goers to come over and try to drag me into their dance frenzy .

  And then, suddenly, he was by my side .

  No, not the sexy stranger I’d been trying to avoid staring at, but another man .

  This one was paunchy, slightly balding, and had hairy knuckles .

  “Let me buy you a drink, sweetheart,” he slurred. I sighed. Men like him always tried to hit on me. They thought that since I was considered a “bigger girl” they’d have more of a chance with me. What they didn’t understand was that just because I was carrying a few extra pounds didn’t mean I was desperate .

  “No, that’s okay,” I said politely. I indicated the drink I was holding. “I already have one .”

  He frowned, like he was trying to work out a particularly hard math problem. Then, brightening, he reached out, took the drink from my hand and poured it onto the floor. “There!” he exclaimed, proud of himself. “Now you need another one .”

  I was so shocked, I wasn’t sure what the appropriate response was. The man leaned in and slung his arm over my shoulder. “Come on,” he said, his breath smelling of alcohol and garlic. “Lemme buy you a drink .”

  “Leave her alone,” someone growled, and before I knew what was happening, the sexy man from across the bar had grabbed the back of the pudgy man’s shirt and had tossed him to the side .

  “Hey!” the man protested. He stumbled for a few steps, almost hitting the table behind us, then readjusted his suit coat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing ?”

  But my knight in shining armor gave him a menacing look, and after thinking about it, the man slunk away, back to his to group of friends .

  “You okay?” the gorgeous stranger asked. Up close, he was just as sexy, although less polished than I’d first thought. He wore an expensive suit, but his white shirt was unbuttoned at the top and rumpled, like he’d spent the day getting into fights instead of behind a desk .

  “I’m fine.” My throat had gone dry. This man was big – tall, at least six foot three, with broad shoulders and huge hands. I was five ten and carried more weight than I probably should have – most men made me feel big and oafish around them, but this man made me feel tiny. I imagined him grabbing me with those big hands of his, and heat flooded my core .

  “What were you drinking ?”

  I was way too embarrassed to tell him I was drinking cranberry and ginger ale. “Um, vodka and cranberry .”

  He frowned, like this was unacceptable. He reached his hand up and motioned for the cocktail waitress. His sleeve slid back for a moment, revealing a beautiful silver watch and a strong-looking forearm. Not that I was surprised –Cora had chosen this bar precisely because it was supposed to be height of sophistication. But she must have gotten something wrong, because even though the clientele did seem sophisticated – mostly young professionals, out after work on a Friday night –a lot of them were already sloppy drunk. Not this man, though – this man was completely in control of himself and his surroundings .

  The cocktail waitress appeared as if out of nowhere. “What can I getcha ?”

  “Two Manhattans,” the man said. He set his empty glass down on the waitress’s tray. I didn’t know what a Manhattan was, but I was pretty sure it had whiskey in it. Whiskey sounded dangerous and scary, the kind of thing you shouldn’t be drinking unless you had sophisticated tastes and a high tolerance for alcohol .

  “Oh, no,” I tried. “I’ll just have a – ”

  But the suited stranger flicked his wrist, sending the waitress away before I could finish .

  He turned around and gave me a smile. “It’s good to try new things .”

  “I try new things.” My tone was more defensive than I’d meant, but it was kind of a sore spot for me. I wasn’t known for being adventurous – in fact, the most adventurous thing I’d done lately was taken a hot yoga class – but this man didn’t know that. He didn’t know anything about me. And yet he was surveying me with a certain familiarity, like he could tell I was the kind of person who didn’t try new things. It was unnerving .

  The man’s eyes raked up my body, like he was trying to decide what, if anything, he should do with me. Instantly, I felt self-conscious, and I shifted on my chair. “You here by yourself?” he asked .

  “No.” I swallowed. “Bachelorette party .”

  “Fun,” he said, sounding like he knew it was anything but. He gestured to the candy bracelet I was wearing, another one of Cora’s bright ideas. “What’s with that ?”

  “Oh,” I said, fingering it. “It’s … it’s kind of game. You know, for the party.” I gestured to the dance floor, where most of the party guests had morphed from dancing to completely over-the-top, crazy gyrating. Men, sensing their chance to possibly get lucky, had jumped into the mix, creating a colorful blur of sweaty bodies .

  My companion didn’t even turn to look . “And ?”

  “ And what ?”

  “And what are you supposed to do with it?” He reached out and tugged on the bracelet. His fingers against my skin sent an electric current flying up my spine. The elastic bracelet zinged back and hit my wrist .

  “It’s too embarrassing to mention .”

  “ Try me .”

  The waitress returned with our drinks, and the man grabbed them off the tray in one fluid motion and handed one to me. I hesitated. I didn’t usually drink. In fact, I’d just turned twenty -one .

  “Well,” I said, taking the glass he was offering. “We’re supposed to get different men to bite one of the candies off, and then have them sign our arms .”

  He laughed. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard .”

  “I know.” I shrugged. “But how could I really say no? Everyone else was doing it .”

  “Do you always do things just because everyone else is doing them?” A brief look of amusement crossed his face, like he couldn’t imagine doing something just because everyone else was. Then he reached out and took my arm, turning it over to
inspect my wrist. “You don’t have any signatures.” His finger slid over my pulse point, then moved slowly up my elbow before he finally let go. His hands weren’t what I would expect from someone wearing such an expensive watch – his fingers betrayed something else, a hard past or maybe manual labor. They were manly and slightly rough, not the kind that came from typing briefs all day and dialing an Iphone .

  I took a sip of my drink. It was definitely whiskey. Or, at least, what I imagined whiskey to taste like since I’d never actually had whiskey before. It burned going down, but I was glad. The sensation kept my mind off what was happening .

  The stranger reached out and took my arm again, turning it over gently in his hand before raising it to his mouth. Then he reached down and slowly, deliciously, bit one of the candies off my bracelet. His lips were hot and soft, and I felt the quick flick of his tongue against my skin as he took the candy into his mouth .

  Then, with a flourish, he picked the pen up off the table where the waitress had left our bill, and put a big X on my arm. It was like he was marking me, taking ownership of me, and the thought filled me with a weird little thrill .

  “There,” he said .

  “You’re supposed to sign your name .”

  “But that would ruin the mystery.” He grinned, and I felt myself melt. I’d never understood how women could end up hooking up with guys they’d met in bars, but I was shocked to realize that if this man had asked me to go home with him right now, I would have done it .

  “Charlotte! What are you doing over here all by yourself!” Cora’s voice came trilling through the crowd, and then she appeared at our table. The strapless dress she was wearing was hanging down over her chest, and you could see the outline of her strapless bra. Cora had a great body – tiny waist, long legs, perfectly proportioned – but somehow, her clothes never seemed to fit quite right .

  “Oh,” she said when she saw the man standing next to me. “I didn’t realize you had company.” She held her hand out. “ I’m Cora .”