by Kira Blakely
Table of Contents
Saving the Bride
Copyright
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
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Faking It
Beauty and the Billionaire
Untouchable
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Copyright © 2018 by AG Media, LLC, a representative of Kira Blakely.
All rights reserved.
AG Media, LLC owns exclusive rights to all content herein. 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 AG Media, LLC, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
I caught them trying to spike her drink.
Wrong move.
It was a simple negotiation until they took her from me.
In my line of business, you sometimes deal with dangerous men.
I’ve found dangerous women are where the real trouble is.
I came to this island paradise to save my business from the mob.
Instead I found Katie.
She’s sexy. She’s sassy. And somehow, we woke up married.
She’s trouble, the kind of trouble that can change a man.
The kind of trouble I want to claim.
And now she’s a damsel in distress.
The mob has taken her from me. They’ll hurt her to hurt me.
They don’t know how far I’ll go for what I love.
No matter what happens, I’ll save her.
I’ll make her my bride, forever.
Make this Mother's Day special with a baby filled happily ever after. Danger and protection galore in this action-packed full-length romance novel. Exclusive never before published 40,000-word fake fiancé romance and two additional stories inside this book.
Chapter 1
Logan
I’d never been nervous in my entire goddamned life.
My nerves were iron. My resolve steel. My bank card platinum.
Shit, it didn’t matter who was at this meeting, or what type of weapon he had strapped to his side. Fucker could have a twelve-gauge shoved down the leg of his pants and it wouldn’t make a difference to me.
“Where is he?” I asked into my phone, voice calm, as I stepped through the front door of the El Toro Bar. A rustic affair, lights swinging low over pool tables, booths in dark corners, and a dusty TV flickering images above the bar. “I’m here.”
Jessica, my assistant, stammered wordlessly for a second. “Just a moment, Mr. Wright.”
“Take your time,” I replied, softly. “It’s not like the fate of my business hangs in the balance here.” Or my life.
Jess managed a tense giggle in reply, followed by the frantic shuffling of papers, the click of keys. “Outside on the balcony. He’ll be wearing a poncho and a peak cap.”
There was an image.
I strode across the creaky boards, the gazes of alcohol-soaked patrons, men, and women in various states of undress, following me.
This was the last place I wanted to be – on the ‘wrong’ side of a tiny paradise island out in the Caribbean, known for its resorts and white sands ringed by turquoise waters. I belonged in New York, making deals, selling luxury jets or hotels. But desperate times called for walking into darkened, rundown bars, apparently.
I halted in the doorway to the balcony, placed my hand on the jamb and surveyed the place.
An outdoor bar overlooked a set of sticky tables and chairs of dark wood to disguise the stains. The place was just about empty. Three men hovered near the bar, all wearing dirty jeans and shirts that were either beige or hadn’t been washed in an eternity.
I kept a scowl from my lips – hated grime – and continued my study.
“Where? At the bar?”
“The bar, yes, sir,” Jessica said.
Except there was no one in a poncho at the bar. What there was, was a young woman, blonde hair falling in waves to her bare shoulders, sapphire eyes focused on the TV overhead as she idly swished a straw through a fruity pink drink.
She didn’t fit in.
She shouldn’t have been here.
Christ, she shouldn’t have existed in this universe, let alone this shitty bar on Nowhere Island. The woman had dropped right out of the sky, in a strapless cocktail dress which matched the color of her eyes. She was slender with a tattoo etched delicately on her ankle beneath the strap of her high heel.
Fuck, I was a sucker for ink – hearkened back to those rebellious teenage years. The ones I never thought about.
“Mr. Wright?” Jessica’s voice screeched in my ear. “Are you all right? Oh my god, are you okay? Is he there? Mr. Wright, do you need me to make the call?”
“I’m fine, Jessica,” I said, slowly, still wrapped up in her. What a woman. What a distraction. I tugged my gaze from her collarbones, her milky white throat, the curve of her delicate chin. “The emissary isn’t here, so this is what we’re gonna do. You’re going to call Marino’s people and inform them that I am done playing games. He’ll come to meet me himself, and we’ll settle this issue once and for all. He has seven days. You got that? Seven days and he meets me on this island.”
Jessica whimpered. “Mr. Wright—”
“Write it down and repeat it over the phone word for word.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Jessica? Call me the minute you’ve spoken to them. I want this handled. I’m done playing nice, now. If Marino doesn’t—” I cut off, and zeroed in on the woman at the bar again. No, not her, someone else. One of the jeans and dirty sweatshirt gang had sidled over and leaned on the worn surface.
He grinned at her, showing off two rows of yellowing teeth, and murmured something.
She shook her head once, firmly, and formed the word “no.”
“Sir? Sir, are you there?”
“Do it,” I said, and hung up. I slipped the cell into my pocket and focused on the scene in front of me, side-stepped into the shadows next to the end of the bar. The skin on the back of my neck prickled.
Another of the men approached, and as he did, the bartender backed away. It was subtle, him moving to the other side of the space and turning his back, but it was enough. My muscles tensed up, but I didn’t move just yet.
I waited it out.
The guy chatting up Dream Girl leaned in and brushed her hair back from her cheek. She stiffened and steadied herself on the bar, narrowed her eyes, and opened her mouth to berate him. That was when the second asswipe stepped up and dropped a small, white pill into her drink.
“Fuck,” I muttered. Come to the bar for a meeting with death—find a woman in trouble instead. Sounds about right.
The second man stepped back, the first did too, shrugging as if he’d finally given up the gam
e and the bartender cast a cautious glance over his shoulder at them. What was his deal in this? Money? Or something worse?
I strode across the space just as the woman lifted her drink from the bar top.
Blood rushed in my ears, heat, anger mixing with adrenaline.
She raised those blue eyes and met mine, lips touched the rim, pink fluid tipped toward her mouth.
“Sorry,” I said, then knocked the drink out of her hand. The glass shattered on the boards, ice cubes rolled under the stool.
“– the hell?!” She jerked off her stool, crunching glass underfoot.
“Logan Wright,” I said, and took her hand, dragged her closer to me, quick about it.
The jackals at the end of the bar eyed us, weighed whether they could take me now, while I was distracted. Did they work for Marino? Probably not. He wasn’t that connected.
I held her close, gripped her by the wrists and studied those features.
Her full lips parted ever so slightly, the red gloss on them shimmering. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, and jerked against my grip. I tightened it.
“Saving your ass,” I replied. “And it’s customary to offer your name when one’s given to you.”
“Customary where?”
“Earth,” I replied. “Forget it. We’ve gotta move.”
She searched my face, licked her bottom lip and sent my thoughts to a place I hardly ever let them go. Too many distractions. Too little time. “Why?” She asked.
“Because if we don’t, those fucks are going to try something, and this time, I don’t think it will be spiking your drink.” I nodded toward the men who’d now pushed off from their seats and leered at us, spoke under their breaths in Spanish. “Let’s go.”
We made it to the archway. “I don’t even know you,” she said and tugged at my grip again.
“Take your chances, them or me,” I replied, though I had no intention of waiting for the answer. I guided her out of the door and toward the exit, ignoring the scrape of chairs across the room. Christ, how many of them were there? How much had they seen? Whether this was a setup or not, I couldn’t risk pissing off any of the locals.
If it got back to the authorities on this island, I’d be extradited before I could say ‘money talks.’ Didn’t matter how much I owned here. I’d already called in too many favors. I was under watch, which was why this woman and breaking that glass, was the opposite of what I needed.
But maybe it’s what you want.
I barreled her out into the street and she wrenched herself free of me. She spun on the spot, poked a finger to my chest and wrinkled up her nose in a manner which could only be described as adorable. “Look, mister, I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t go around dragging people out of their chairs. I had an appointment in there.”
“Yeah, with the undertaker. Come on, those dicks aren’t going to give up easy.”
“What? Why?”
“With all due respect, ma’am, have you seen yourself?” I blocked the entrance in case they came out, spread my arms to stop her from going back in. “You’re not exactly a wallflower.”
“I’m not exactly patient, either,” she replied. “Look, I was supposed to meet a—” She broke off and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “What did you say your name was?”
“Logan Wright,” I replied. Fuck it, here we go. She’d recognize it and the illusion of her strength and confidence would be broken. I’d learned too many times, the hard way, that the type of women I drew to me were the ones interested in anything but who I was and rather what I could do for them.
“Logan,” she said and gulped as if I’d just handed down her death sentence. “I’m Katie,” she said. “But you can call me Jinx.”
“Why the hell would I call you Jinx?”
“I dunno, I was trying something,” she said and crossed her arms beneath ample breasts. They swelled and threatened to fall out of that dress. I tore my gaze from them, shook images of nakedness and sweat from my mind.
“Trying something? Try running, how about that?” I glanced back at the bar. Those men slunk down the stairs toward us.
“You ever tried running in heels?” Katie asked.
“We can discuss kink later,” I replied, and instantly regretted my sense of humor. “Right now, we gotta get lost.”
Katie didn’t complain this time – her eyes had gone round at the sight of the trio approaching. She tottered off toward the end of the road and I followed her. “Where to?” she asked, jogging admirably in heels in spite of the complaints.
“I know a place, but look, this will be quicker if I carry you,” I replied, and swept her off her feet before she could protest.
I carried her into the night, away from the bar, toward safety, and closer to my doom.
Chapter 2
Katie
This was bad.
This was so damn bad and there wasn’t a thing I could do to get away from it. From the situation, from this gorgeous resort and restaurant, and from him.
Logan Wright sat across from me, larger than life, and looking even more handsome in person than he had in the photographs. I’d been so shocked by his sudden appearance at the bar, by the spiked drink and the shattered glass, that the little lightbulb in my brain hadn’t clicked on until after we’d left that dive.
“Patatas bravas?”
I blinked and refocused on the scenario.
There was Logan, with that jaw that could cut granite and eyes the same color as it, hard and cold with that spark of power. He was alive, as if what was in him wanted to get out, but didn’t at the same time.
This was a man who had the potential to unseat everything I knew about myself. That had never happened before. I’d never believed it could. He made my skin prickle.
“Miss?”
I tore myself from his stare and found the waiter at my side, holding a tray with a collection of bowls on top. He flashed a smile at me. “Your tapas,” he said. “Patatas Bravas?”
“Right, yeah, sure,” I said and shifted back.
He placed the bowls between us on the white tablecloth, one by one by one. It took an eternity, and all through that forever, Logan’s gaze was stuck on me, undressing me—not physically, but in character.
Can he tell? Does he know?
The man had said to wear the dress, to meet Mr. Wright at the bar at the specific time, and that was what I’d done, much to my chagrin. He was a target in a loose sense, but the gun was aimed at me. I was in his sights.
“—else?” The waiter’s voice interrupted my thoughts again.
“Sorry, could you repeat that?” I asked.
He twirled his little mustache and kept on smiling like he made his money this way. He opened his mouth to reply.
“Nothing,” Logan said, before he could speak. “We don’t need anything else except peace. Thank you.”
The waiter’s smile vanished, but he dipped into a bow that would’ve been fit for a king. “As you say, Mr. Wright.” He scuttled off without a backward glance, and I did my best not to focus on the pit of nerves in my stomach, or the heat of Logan’s gaze tracking down my face and over my lips.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “I’m sorry you had to go through that tonight.”
“I’m fine,” I replied and managed a grin. It was nowhere near as impressive as that waiter’s had been. Instead, it sloshed around on my face, refusing to take hold. “I’m from New York, Long Island to be exact,” I continued, “It’s not the first time some jackass has tried to cop a feel. Or spike my drink. You ever been to New Jersey? You won’t believe the shit that goes on there.” Of course, he hadn’t been to New Jersey. He was a billionaire, not one of the cast from the Jersey Shore.
“That doesn’t improve my mood.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wright, but improving your mood wasn’t on my agenda.”
“Then what is on your agenda?” he asked.
“The truth.”
“
Not what I meant,” he said and lifted a glass of scotch. He sipped it and placed it neatly back on the table. So in control of his movements, each one as powerful as the last.
“Then what did you mean?” I asked, leaning into the question. Maybe if I moved my body with it, I’d banish my fear. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. This is wrong. I need to get out of here. Make the phone call.
“I mean, what’s a gorgeous woman like you doing sitting in a rundown bar on Isla Santa Maria at ten p.m. at night?”
Now, there was a truth I wasn’t particularly keen to discuss. “My business is private,” I replied and swallowed hard. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a bitch. Let’s just say that tonight was a wakeup call.”
“You were stood up for a date?” he asked.
“How do you figure that?”
“The dress, the face, the look in your eyes. The man who stood you up will kick himself for centuries. Then again, any man who wants to meet you in El Toro Bar isn’t worth your time.”
“I met you in El Toro,” I replied, easily, and managed a genuine smile this time.
His reputation was fabled in New York, this billionaire, this recluse, and I’d expected silence and coldness, not the charm which oozed from him. Equal parts power and politeness. Not a white knight, but a man with a purpose—to turn my insides into jelly, at this rate.
“And I’m not worth your time,” Logan said.
I picked up my fork and speared a wedge of what looked to be potato, swimming in a vibrant red sauce. Anything to distract me from him, and the heat creeping up my throat. He’d saved me for real, the spiked drink hadn’t been a part of the plan, as far as I knew, and every cell in my body screamed for me to back out of the deal before I fell into it too deep.
But there was too much at stake.
I inserted the fork between my lips and ate. “Oh fuck,” I said. “Oh my god.”
“Hot?”
“Like you won’t believe.” I flushed and fanned myself. Fire spread across my tongue and saliva filled my mouth. I made a grab for my water and glugged it down – some spilled from the glass and onto my chest, trickled down between my breasts.
Logan traced the droplets’ journey with his gaze.