Capital Risk

by Lana Grayson

  Max lowered his gaze. “I thought it was time.”

  Silence.

  We stared at each other. Reunited after what felt like a lifetime of pain, recovery, joy.

  Reed slapped a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “I still haven’t seen that new game room.”

  Nicholas’s gaze stayed on me and the baby. “Sarah?”

  “It’s okay.”

  Nicholas and Reed granted us privacy. I snuggled Hannah close.

  Max still hadn’t met my gaze. He hadn’t expected to talk to me alone. He hadn’t talked to me at all.

  And that hurt more than anything.

  “A year and half, Max,” I whispered. “You didn’t call. You didn’t try to see us. You didn’t even text.”

  “Yeah.”

  That was it? That was all he would say? Hannah squirmed, but I adjusted her against my hip.

  “You didn’t come to see your niece when she was born.”

  That was the greatest insult, but I wasn’t done listing the wounds he caused me.

  “You didn’t come to the wedding. You didn’t come to the house. You didn’t even try.”

  “I tried.”

  “You did a horrible job.”

  “I didn’t think you wanted me here, baby.” He rubbed his face. “Not after what I did.”

  So much had happened since then. So many questions and problems and pain, and so many good things. The baby. The marriage.

  It was so easy to love when we had no secrets, no hidden motives.

  “You haven’t forgiven me yet,” he said.

  I stared at the cornfields, the back field where my entire family buried. Josiah and Mike. Dad. Mom, who’d held on long enough to meet her granddaughter. I’d needed everyone in my family to rebuild my life after it crashed down. That included Max.

  And he had refused to come.

  “It’s hard to forgive you if you aren’t here to forgive, Max.”

  He tensed, meeting my eyes.

  “We’re a family now,” I said. “We’re all we have. Nicholas and me and…” I shrugged with Bumper. “And Reed. We’re supposed to be a family. I wanted that more than anything. And you weren’t there.”

  “You wanted me here?”

  Not at first. It took time. But it wouldn’t have taken nearly as much if we had been together.

  “I thought you were dead,” I said. “We all did. And then you call a week later only to disappear again. Max, I didn’t want you here, but I needed you. I still do.”

  He didn’t believe me. He didn’t want to believe me. He surveyed the farm, pretending to care an ounce about the corn and dirt. He turned. His attention rested on the baby.

  “That her?” he asked.

  “No, I stable a whole flock of kids now.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I edged her close to Max. Now she decided to play it coy and hid her face in my shoulder.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Hannah Rain Atwood-Bennett.” I kissed her cheek to earn her giggle. “Still call her Bumper though. It grew on us.”

  His words lowered. “She looks like Nick.”

  “She should.”

  “Is…is she…”

  “His? Yes.”

  “Are…are you sure?”

  I hated speaking of it. It wouldn’t have made a difference. Nicholas and I loved Hannah unconditionally.

  “I’m a geneticist. She’s Nick’s.”

  A man as big as Max would fall the hardest if he let it happen. He didn’t though. He composed himself with a breath and nodded.

  “Good,” he said. “That’s…the way it should be.”

  Yes. It was. “Do you want to hold her?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Max.” I shifted her. Hannah hid her face, but she smiled, baiting him to reach for her.

  “I have no idea how to hold a baby.”

  “It’s easy.” I passed her into his arms. Max’s muscles swallowed her, cradling her within ink and strength. Hannah looked at Max with a goofy grin and babbled.

  He instantly fell in love.

  “What’d she say?” His words wavered. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t breathed.

  “Hi, Hamlet, banana, and tor-tor. We think that’s her word for tractor. She’s giving you a tour of the farm.”

  “She’s amazing.”

  “She is.” I brushed her chubby little arm. “She could use another uncle.”

  “Not me.”

  “Yes you. Max, this family isn’t a normal family. But we’ve been through too much together to separate. We can’t heal on our own. It isn’t fair to punish ourselves for what happened in the past. It’s not fair to Hannah.”

  He hadn’t stopped staring at her. I didn’t blame him. Most times I couldn’t help but watch her too. And I caught Nick studying the baby monitor at night if only because I told him she had to learn to sleep in the crib, not cradled against his chest.

  “I graduate college tomorrow,” I said. “The new Bennett seed division is finally doing research. My farm is thriving. Nick posted record profits. Hannah started walking. Reed’s got this new girlfriend and—honest to God—it’s one crazy story about where he got her. Max, you have to be here for some of this. Promise me this isn’t another goodbye.”

  “That’s up to you, baby.”

  I herded him to the table. He walked better now, without the bad leg. I doubted he wanted to talk about the amputation. He hadn’t even told Nicholas it was done until he was healed and in the prosthetic.

  “We do have to talk,” I said.

  He clenched his jaw, bracing for a war I wasn’t planning to reignite.

  “You have a year and a half of photo albums to get through,” I said. “You missed everything. I have thousands of pictures of Hannah you have to see.”

  “I’m holding her. I see her.”

  “Thousands, Max. She was a flower girl in the wedding. It was adorable. You have to see it.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  I touched his cheek, bending down to kiss his forehead.

  “I just want her to know she has a family. That’s she’s safe and loved and wanted.”

  I wanted the same for him.

  “Then I’ll look at as many pictures as you want.”

  “I’m glad you’re back.”

  He held Hannah closer. “Yeah. Me too.”

  ***

  The party lasted too long, and Hannah decided to rock out longer in the middle of the night. I cradled her to sleep, warm and fed and peaceful. She crashed without a peep, and I backed out of a nursery blended with so much pink and farm and princess decorations the kid would grow up adjusting a tiara with a pitchfork.

  Nicholas waited for me in our bedroom, capturing me in a kiss worth waking up in the middle of the night to receive.

  “Bumper sleeping?” he asked.

  “Like a baby.”

  “How convenient.”

  I grinned at him, shivering in all the right ways as his hand brushed against my cheek. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Just like her mother.”

  “And perfect.”

  “Now you’re fishing for compliments.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Nicholas smirked.

  “Perfect like her mother.”

  “Thank you.”

  He led me to the bed, teasing another kiss from my lips. “No, thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Everything?” His caramel voice threaded over me. “Or do you need specifics?”

  I shook my head. No one needed specifics anymore. That part of our lives, the memories and hate and nightmares, those were over. I leaned in close.

  “You saved me, Sarah,” he said. “From myself. From a future that would have damned me to the same darkness as…”

  “Nick, I wouldn’t change what happened. It gave me you and Bumper. Anything else was just paying our dues until we reached right now.”

  “And what’s now?”

  “Everyday
, for the rest of our lives.”

  Nicholas’s smile turned devilish. I braced for it, but the masculine possession wasn’t something I ever wanted to lose. He cupped my cheek. I melted into his grasp.

  “You are everything I’ve ever wanted,” he said. “Every power I thought I deserved, and everything a family is supposed to be…”

  His voice trailed off. I shrugged. “Is there a but in that statement?”

  He pulled me close, tasting my lip, my chin, my neck. I rolled with a heated shiver, a prelude to our promised honeymoon.

  “But, Ms. Atwood…Mrs. Bennett—”

  I knew what he was after, and the tease would conquer me again and again.

  “Don’t you dare, Nicholas Bennett.”

  I flushed with a terrible excitement as he pushed me on the bed, his kisses tracing a path over my heating skin. Nicholas growled, a hungry, perfect baritone that promised every love, every desire, every pleasure he had yet to give me.

  “I’m still owed a male heir.”

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  This has been one crazy journey.

  I want to thank so many people. To all my readers out there who encouraged this series, loved this series, and helped this series—thank you. I know the subject matter is a little crazy, but I am forever grateful so many of you shared the same triumphs and dark moments and recovery with my characters. Seriously, hearing how much you all hate Darius Bennett has been the best experience of my life. I love it.

  I am so going to miss these books, but…you know what they say. When one door closes…there’s two Bennetts who need spin off novels. ;)

  And to Kelley and Jess—my betas, my friends, and the two gals who do so much for me—thank you for dropping everything, answering questions, and helping to get this book ready for me. I love you both so much, and I am absolutely thrilled to have found two amazingly gifted authors who are willing to do so much for me. Thank you guys.

  And my husband—he has no only supported me with this writing career; he’s been taking care of me when I don’t exactly leave time to make myself dinner or run to the store. He knows how much I love him, but Imma say it again. I love you.

  So, this ride isn’t over yet, and my novels are just warming up. So much is planned. We’ve got motorcycle gangs. BDSM clubs. Spinoffs. Cultists. Priests. So much stuff is coming, and I can’t wait to share it with you all! Thank you all for giving me the support and encouragement to make this dream a reality.

  Lana

  Other Works By Lana Grayson

  Legacy Series

  Takeover – The Legacy Series #1

  Controlling Interests – The Legacy Series #2

  Anathema Series

  Warlord – Anathema MC Series #1

  Exiled – Anathema MC Series #2

  Knight – Anathema MC Series #3

  Coming November 4rd, 2015!

  Keep tabs on me through Facebook or

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  Join my mailing list to receive updates, news, special sales, and opportunities for advanced reader copies of upcoming novels!

  And you can email me at lana.grayson.writes@gmail.com.

  Sneak Peek

  While They Watch

  Book #1 of the Concerto Trilogy

  Coming Early 2016

  Innocence meets Dominance in this sexy three novel BDSM trilogy.

  His pet wants out of the spotlight.

  Her Master performs best with an audience.

  Sometimes the most honest submission is learned While They Watch…

  Chapter One

  Morgan

  “You don’t belong here.”

  His voice cut against the thrumming cello of the jazz quartet. The warning pulled me from the music and pinned me to my seat. What might have been an unwelcomed distraction instead syncopated my heart into a spikey, unsteady rhythm.

  The stranger spoke with a resonating authority and, for whatever reason, he focused on me.

  I had finally worked up enough courage to order a drink, but his warning rekindled my panic. Fleeing the club was a good option. Grabbing my ID for the third time to prove my age to the security obsessed bartender was the rational thing to do. Instead, my gaze darted to the white LED decorated stairs leading to the guarded door of the infamous second floor. A threaded curtain separated the VIPs from the general public.

  I had no idea what to say, but nodding didn’t take much social skill. I could do it without embarrassing myself.

  Hell, I agreed with him.

  I didn’t belong in a lot of places. Duchess, an exclusive fetish night-club, lingered at the top of the list, followed closely by places like Fallujah and my mother’s house in Columbus. My peachtini was too light on the -tini to consider the happenings on that second floor. Even the curtain’s material looked too ritzy for my wallet. I was as out of place in Duchess as I was in Pottery Barn.

  The stranger claimed the stool to my left. His shoulder grazed against mine, and I reached for my drink, teeth clamping down on the straw before I said something idiotic.

  Belong there? Of course I didn’t belong there. And the one who did was forty-five-freaking-minutes late. No calls. No texts.

  Leave it to Suzi to trap me in the one bar that served leather conditioner alongside thirty dollar mixed drinks.

  His long legs stretched out under the bar—black shoes, black slacks tailor fitted to his build. He was much taller than me, but that was no surprise. I got carded at the door, and I expected a “you must be this tall to enter” speech from the bouncer.

  Though, in a place like Duchess, it’d be a “this tall to ride” warning.

  And that did it.

  I blushed at the precise instant my eyes drifted over the crest of his legs. He noticed. Figured. The last thing I wanted was to look like some crazy crotch-wench in this kind of club.

  His shirt was a much safer place for my gaze, except the crimson material stretched neatly over a chest harder than the rock sitting in my stomach. I thought the guys in these places were supposed to be decrepit? An early retiree in the midst of his mid-life crisis brandishing a clearance-rack leash from PetSmart.

  My sources were dead wrong.

  “Having fun?” He said.

  My heel slipped off the stool. I caught myself before my chin collided with the bar. He steadied me, grasping my elbow within his large hand.

  He expected an answer. And a voice like that—a melody more appealing than anything the jazz ensemble played—deserved an answer. He hadn’t released my arm, but I wasn’t going anywhere. My bones melted and puddled on the imported floor tile the instant he spoke.

  Unfortunately, my throat closed over a chunk of sticky peach lodged somewhere between my tongue and the last shred of my dignity. A sexy half-cough, half chortle might have sounded great, but I decided silence was the best recourse for the only girl in a cotton sundress in the ocean of second-skin leather skirts. A demure nod. A quick clearing of my throat. A guzzle of the peach-tini.

  And there was the -tini. Great.

  “Are you meeting someone?” he asked.

  And now he laughed at me. A dozen responses flitted though my mind. The first was an honest God, I hope so. The second was a recurring—I really need my arm back. I raised my eyes to his.

  He was older than I thought. Maybe early to mid-thirties, but no gray touched his dark hair. He wore it long, almost chin length, pulled back into a half pony-tail framing his stubble-dusted jaw into strong edges.

  His complexion was darker, and his nose a sculpted angle. Mediterranean? I always wanted to take a trip to Europe. And there was my instant-vacation, leaning toward me, without even a cursory pat down from the TSA.

  He released my arm with a light brush over my skin. A million goose bumps followed.

  My glass tinked back onto the bar. I swallowed any frilly vibrato in my voice. His eyes fixed over me.

  Wasn’t it rude to stare?

  Wasn’t it equally rude to linger in
silence like a tongue-twisted invalid who enjoyed the umbrella in her drink more than the liquor?

  He spoke only to tease me. “This isn’t your normal night out.”

  “No,” I said.

  His lips mocked me with a dire smile. “No, you don’t belong here. No, you aren’t meeting anyone. Or no, this isn’t your normal night out?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh, Christ. I sipped the last few golden drops of my drink while hiding my flushing cheeks. Might as well trip out of the bar and let my skirt fly over my head. If I found some spinach to stuff between my front teeth my every nightmare would play out in the middle of a fetish bar.

  And yet, my mysterious stranger smiled. Just a hint, but infinitely more controlled than my humble freak out. Better to have him think I was playing coy than deliver the actual truth.

  I had no idea how to talk to a man like this.

  We—well, wherever Suzi and Leah happened to be—planned to come to Duchess for a laugh. He was here legitimately. He belonged here. And he was talking to me. Leaning over with biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt and shoulders that formed a barrier between me and the safety of the exit.

  The bartender set a drink before him. A gin and tonic. He hadn’t ordered it and he still got the drink a hell of a lot quicker than I was given mine.

  “What’s your name?” His dark eyes blended with the effortless baritone of his voice.

  We planned to be Polly, Dolly, and Molly, but I suffered enough.

  “Morgan.”

  “Good evening, Morgan.”

  His eyes dipped over me again. I straightened my shoulders, but I remained a speck of blonde on the bar next to him.

  He didn’t say anything else. His evening washed over me. I had nothing in my arsenal as smooth. Not even a did you know that’s not really a trumpet in the band? It’s a cornet, and I think it sounds snazzy. As if on cue, the sadistic quartet switched to a different song. Something tragically mellow that fostered the silence.