by Kira Blakely
Andrew was still being evaluated—that blow with the lamp had given him a minor concussion—when my cell phone began to vibrate, and I glanced down, genuinely expecting another invasion alert. But I guessed those were probably over.
Even worse.
Incoming call: Mom...
I swiped over the screen and pressed the phone to my ear. “Hey, Mom,” I said, hoping that I sounded composed and responsible and—
“I’m going to tell you something, and you tell me if it’s true,” she shrilled. “Are you at the hospital right now?”
“Mom,” I chastised. “Are you tracking my phone again? You know I hate that.”
“So you are at the hospital!”
I dropped my forehead into my hand and gave it a gentle massage. “Mom, look, I just didn’t have the time to—”
“Are you all right?” she shrieked, and my heart warmed. Did she actually care about me? Did she just suck at showing her emotions?
“Yes, Mom,” I said. “I’m fine, actually. There was really scary break-in at my house again, but my boyfriend swooped in and saved the day. And then I saved the day again.”
“Your boyfriend?”
Shit.
“We’ve been on a few dates,” I lied. Andrew and I had only been on one date together in our entire lives, but we’d fucked enough to fill a memoir. “You would like him.” What’s one more lie? “I think he might be the one,” I added.
“I guess I can’t convince you to come back to Ohio, then,” she grumbled. “Where Allison and I can keep a close eye on you.”
Normally, the mention of Allison’s name—the favorite daughter, I always thought—would bring a twinge to my chest. But tonight, I felt warm and soft at the sound of her name. It felt good to be surrounded by family in a time of need. Mom wanted to protect me.
“I have someone here who is keeping a very close eye on me,” I promised her. “Everything will be fine, Mom. I promise.”
And for the first time, maybe ever, I actually believed it.
Epilogue:
I’m Not This Kind of Guy
It still ached when I moved my arm in certain ways, even though my body had been mending for months. The summer heat was finally draining away and leaving us with the moderate temperatures of early September, and I hoped that my injury wouldn’t come back to bite me every time it got chilly outside.
Michelle moved in with me.
All it took was being attacked by her next-door-neighbor to get her to agree to live with me.
Not bad.
I gazed across the field of white candles I had lit throughout the entryway and living room of my house. Michelle was due home at any moment.
It may have been moving a little swiftly, but I’d never been married before, and these past two months were the best of my whole life. I’d never been with someone like Michelle. I’d never been so satisfied. I wanted it to last forever. Or, at least, until these little meat machines we were driving finally popped their tires and rusted out.
The front door opened and the tell-tale tinkle of little high heels moved over the floorboards. She didn’t know yet. She didn’t know what was about to happen. She was about to become mine.
I haven’t been able to shake the image of her in a wedding veil since that fever dream I had after getting hit with Chet’s Taser.
The high heels slowed to a stop and I looked up from where I was waiting, in the center of the living room, on one knee.
Michelle stood in front of me in knee-length suede boots, dressed in a conservative, knee-length khaki skirt and a black turtleneck. There was something different about her since she’d moved in here. It started slowly, and then she had coalesced into a new—or perhaps only inner—version of herself. She warmed. She matured. She wasn’t the only one who was happier, I guess.
Her eyes beamed wetly from behind square-framed glasses and she slowly picked her way across the den, lit by the warm orange light of about fifty fucking tea candles. That was a fun trip to Dollar General.
“Michelle,” I greeted her somberly.
Tears of joy were already slipping down her cheeks as she approached, and I knew she was going to say yes.
“Andrew,” her voice warbled sweetly. My heart ached for her. She was too sweet for this world. Too sweet for me.
“You’re—uh—you’re the only woman who finally let me believe in the goodness of the heart,” I told her, trying to remember all the corny, poetic things I’d brewed in my noodle over the past few hours. Maybe I hadn’t thought this all the way through, but damn it, it felt right. I had to say it. “You make me believe in magic. In fairy tales. In the triumph of good over evil.”
I reached out and collected her hand in mine.
“Me, too,” she whispered back.
“You’ve only been in my life for three short months—unless you count that quickie we had in January—” Michelle swatted my shoulder and I winced. She knew exactly where that goddamn Taser gun hit me, and she wasn’t always sweet. “—but either way, it hasn’t been long. But it doesn’t need to be. You know my heart, and I know yours. We’ve laughed. We’ve cried. We’ve made huge, dramatic scenes and walked all the way home from the Baptist church on Route 11.”
Michelle scoffed but didn’t hit me again, even though I braced for it.
I swallowed. “Michelle Clara Harper, will you marry me?”
As she gazed down at me, sparkling tears slipping down her cheeks, I was certain she would say yes. Who cries like that at a marriage proposal and then doesn’t say yes? She was definitely saying—
“No,” Michelle answered, her sinuses becoming clotted from her tears.
“Uh,” I said. “What?”
Michelle sniffled and pursed her lips together. “We’ve only known each other for three short months,” she reminded me. In spite of her tears, she wasn’t as overcome with emotion as I thought. What the hell was going on? “You’re right, I don’t count that quickie in January, jerk.”
“So?” I said. “We’re living together! And every night, I’m excited to come home from work, just so I can come crush you on the couch.”
“I know,” Michelle said. “But we can’t get married, Ace.”
My brow dented with frustration and I staggered up from my knees. “Because why?” I demanded. “You know I love you. You know it! If I don’t marry you, I’m not marrying any-fucking-one. I can promise you that.”
“There’s no reason to rush,” Michelle asserted. “We’ve been living together for eight weeks, Andrew. We can wait another year or two.”
“Or two?” I shrilled. “I’m thirty-two!”
Michelle cocked her head to one side. “Do men have biological clocks?” she wondered.
“You do!” I snapped without thinking.
A half-smile kinked at Michelle’s lip. When we first moved in together, this might have actually spiraled into a fight, but it’s harder to get her to go than it used to be. Now she knows that I just snap sometimes, and it doesn’t mean anything, except that I’m basically a Neanderthal.
“You know that’s not the issue,” she reminded me meaningfully, and a blush actually darkened my cheeks.
I did still come inside her every night. If we were fertile at all, it was only a matter of time. And it wasn’t that we thought it was the best idea in the world, an uptight attorney and her ragged mechanic trying to raise kids together...
But we couldn’t stop.
I knew I couldn’t, and I thanked God that she couldn’t, either.
“Just give me some more time,” Michelle whispered, reaching a palm to lightly kiss against my cheek.
My eyelashes kissed closed and I breathed more easily. If anyone knew how to calm this beast, it was Michelle.
“I do love you,” she reminded me.
I nodded and kept my eyes closed. “I love you, too,” I said. My arms traced over hers and slithered around the back, pulling her to settle into my arms. I lowered my head and nuzzled her neck, relishing the clea
n aroma of coconut and vanilla and sugar. My baby. I could pick her out of a crowd of ten thousand, blindfolded.
One of my hands fanned into an open palm and skated down to her ass, giving her buttock a tender squeeze. She murmured her appreciation and tilted her face up to mine. Our lips bumped and cracked apart, tongues tangling, and I forgot the candles. I forgot the marriage proposal. None of it mattered, as long as we had this.
“I just want this,” I rumbled over her skin, making all the little hairs stand on edge. I felt her fingernails creep under my shirt and rake my bare abdomen, relishing the muscles there. Her palm flattened and snaked down into my pants, and my member sprang immediately to attention, like he was her puppy dog. I broke our tongues apart and whispered into her mouth, “I just want this forever.”
Michelle exhaled shakily and her fingers wrapped around me, squeezing affectionately. I swallowed thickly. Didn’t she feel this? Did she really think her or I would find it again?
Michelle nudged at my ear with her lips and blessed a lobe with one delicate kiss. “Ask again later,” she whispered. “Don’t forget.”
Beauty and the Billionaire
BY KIRA BLAKELY
This isn’t your kid’s fairy tale, and I’m no ordinary beast.
Years of killing in the military have hardened me, scarred me, making it impossible to give a shit about relationships.
Then comes along Belle Fontaine. The innocent virgin daughter of the man whose company I want to buy. She’s twenty-four and drop dead fucking gorgeous.
I always say love at first sight is for pansies, but she has me second guessing that.
My cock stands to salute her the moment she walks into my office.Purchasing her father’s company is more of a mercy buy for me, but she tries to get more than it’s worth.
Wrong move.
Now, I will make it… hard… for her.
The only way I will buy the company is if she agrees to come to my private island for one month.
I’m sure she’s heard the rumors about my secret room. I can sense her fear and desire.
Whips and chains aren’t the only secrets she’ll discover.
This steamy fairy tale contains some light BDSM, and the beast will surely win over the beauty.
Chapter One
Drake
I sauntered into the room expecting another bullshit merger discussion, but instead saw the most gorgeous woman I’d ever laid eyes on. My cock instantly jerked to attention.
Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t wanted for women in my life. But I’d never seen one as enticing as the brunette sitting beside Maurice Fontaine at the head of the table. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with both intelligence and intensity, her pert breasts filled out her blazer nicely, and her soft, cream-colored skin looked like it would feel like satin under my touch.
I was the head of the most successful PR firm in Los Angeles. There was no one from Brad Pitt to Emma Stone who didn’t come to me when they needed to take control of a story. If your career was going down in flames, I was the guy to fix it with the right public relations massaging. With my public relations and multimedia talent came billions by the time I was thirty, especially after the company’s IPO. It was how I’d become known as the Sultan of Spin. And it was how I had every woman in L.A. and some far beyond it ready and waiting for me.
I strode to my seat at the opposing end of the table and sat down. Shaking hands was customary, but that wasn’t the tone I wanted to set. This was a mercy killing. Fontaine Media Relations had once been the premiere public relations firm in Hollywood, but it’d been over two decades since they could make that claim. Maurice was once a legend in the business, someone who’d navigated the sharks swimming in La La Land long before I’d started high school, let alone enlisted. But that was then. The old man hadn’t kept up with the times and had bungled the social media age badly. Now they were bleeding out, and I could buy them out, dismantle what I needed, and move on.
Easy, simple.
Calling this a merger meeting was truly too kind.
“Maurice,” I said, then nodded to my lawyer, who promptly delivered the papers to the older man. It was then that I realized a second woman sat beside the aging, balding former PR wizard. She had the same figure as the girl with the bright blue eyes and shared the same long, brown hair. The resemblance was uncanny. Were they sisters? I just wasn’t sure which of the two women was Belle and which was Carol. I’d read all the dossiers on Maurice’s firm. I always knew who I was doing business with, but the sisters were similar enough that in person, it was a toss-up as to who was who.
Except those eyes. Only the girl on Maurice’s left had those blue eyes that hadn’t left mine since I’d walked in. My dick was straining against the fabric of my slacks, and I was glad for the wooden conference table between us. I needed some way to obscure everything. Something about her caught my attention, something I wanted to explore far more than over a conference table.
What is it about you?
Maurice threw the folder down in front of him. The girl on the right scooped it up and scanned it as well. She pursed her lips back at me, and a dull grimace spread over her face.
“This offer isn’t enough,” she said
I cracked my knuckles and eyed her. Oh, so was that the game? Was this daughter Daddy’s Little Ball Buster? Maurice would take the first volley but the girl with the green eyes would play bad cop? They must have made blue-eyes the good cop.
“Your company is dead. Forty cents on the dollar is generous. No other firm in L.A. will touch you, and if one was crazy enough to try, they’d offer fifteen cents.” I leaned forward, going in for the kill. “You need me far more than I need you. If you sign this deal, you get to keep a few things, and Maurice, you and your daughters can stay on as executives at the combined entity after the merger. This is the best you’re going to get. Sign.”
“My dad built this company with his blood, sweat, and tears for over thirty years,” Blue Eyes said in a voice so quiet that it could have been a whisper.
“And you are?” I asked.
“Belle,” she supplied.
“I can see why,” I countered. “You’re certainly beautiful.”
Her blue eyes shone like sapphires back at me. “Mr. McManus, let’s keep this professional.”
Highly unlikely.
I steepled my hands in front of me. “I am being professional, Belle. This is the best offer your family will get. Your father… your family’s entire company needs this. You just sign, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“It’s an insult to everything he’s built, and you know it. He has name recognition still, and that’s why you’re buying us to begin with. To only offer forty percent of what it’s worth… we were thinking around eighty,” Belle replied.
I snorted. “And perhaps you’d like ponies and a new Maserati and who knows what all else? Seriously, this is reality, Belle. You might be great at putting out press releases, but you have nothing to negotiate with. Even sitting down with your family at all was a courtesy. Your firm is dead in the water. So sign.”
The other girl shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. Daddy’s pit bull, indeed. “I can think of other things to do with the deal. Certain places to shove it.”
“Carol!” her dad shouted.
I had to chuckle at that. Neither of Maurice’s daughters was over thirty, both so naïve, but one was all about fairness and the other was threatening to shove my deal up my ass. That inability to accept change and reality as it was certainly hadn’t served Maurice well, had it? Pity to see it in the younger generation. Then I watched Belle’s frown, those downcast eyes of hers.
Something pinged in a heart that had felt long dead, something I couldn’t explain.
“Well, I can see we’re at an impasse. However, I’m not completely heartless. There might be something I could do,” I said.
Carol glared at me and arched an eyebrow, but she at least had the sense to stay silent.
Maurice leaned forward. “What would that be?”
I could see the beads of sweat dotting his lined forehead. The old man hardly had a poker face, but he was in dire straits. Then again, that was the time you had to dig deep and show the bastards no mercy. He’d never make it on the front lines, just like he hadn’t made it in business.
“I want to offer a month of extended negotiations. We have a long way to go to meet at what we need. I’d like to have Belle come with me to my estate in the Bahamas—I already had a vacation set up there—and we can go through all the details there.”
Her head shot up, and I loved her flushed cheeks, the way her eyes darted out like a panicked rabbit in a trap. Smart girl, you know how dangerous I am already, don’t you?
“What?” Belle asked.
I shrugged. “I walk now, and you get nothing, or Belle comes to negotiate with me in the Bahamas. That’s hardly a chore.” I stood then and nodded to my lawyer to recollect the contracts Maurice had perused. “You have forty-eight hours to call me back about this. If I hear nothing by Friday, then I’ll assume you’re passing on everything.”
Maurice stood and shook his head, his cheeks turning an ugly purple shade. Old man needed to watch his blood pressure, that much was obvious. “You can’t just… I know the things you do, Drake. I’m not sending any daughter of mine to your private island.”
I held up my hands to feign my innocence, but I couldn’t keep from smirking. He was right about one thing. There were favors I wanted from Belle, bonuses that would sweeten the negotiations, none of which would make her father happy. After all, there was a reason I didn’t invite Maurice for the extended talks.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Maurice.”
Carol narrowed her eyes. “How dumb do you think we are? No way. Belle stays here.”