Chip held out a length of rope. “Sit.”
Monica scanned the room. A rolling pin sat on the work table. If she got it, she could hit Chip, but what about Alexsey? It didn’t matter. She had to try.
She lunged forward, but Chip caught her. His thick fingers wrapped around her arms.
He pulled her in close, and his eyes burned with a sick cruelty. He licked his lips. “This one’s a fighter, Lex. We could have some real fun with her.”
“Chip, tie her up,” Alexsey said, gaze trained on his cell phone. “We have a private jet to catch. There will be plenty of pussy in Monte Carlo.”
Chip pushed her to the ground and tied her wrists to the work table’s metal leg. He ran a finger down her cheek. “I wish I had time to show you what you missed.”
Monica lifted her chin. “Just go! Get out of here! You’ve got what you want.”
“We’re not done tying up loose ends quite yet,” Chip cooed. “You don’t think you get to live, do you?”
“Chip, no!” Monica cried. “I won’t say anything. You have what you want.”
Alexsey went to the cooktop and flipped on the gas. A hot, orange flame engulfed the range.
“Accidents happen,” the man said, words dripping with mock concern.
Chip nodded. “It wouldn’t be the first time there was a fire here. Court said the old lady almost burned the place down.”
Monica twisted her wrists, desperate to free herself.
Alexsey held the black sports coat over the flame. “I don’t think this is my style anymore.” He dropped the coat onto the burner, and the fire engulfed the fabric.
Chip crouched down. “How about a kiss before I go?”
The fire crackled. Monica struggled with the rope. It cut into her wrists leaving jagged red gashes. She met Chip’s gaze, lifted her chin, and spit in his face. “Go to hell!”
The man’s expression contorted with disgust. “You bitch!” He grabbed her jaw and slammed her head into the table leg.
Pain ricocheted through her brain, pulsing and popping in waves of piercing light. She tried to focus as the orange glow of the fire faded into darkness.
Gabe’s breaths came in sharp gasps. His feet pounded against the pavement. He could see Park Tavern. He was almost to the bakery. The streets were empty. It was like running through a ghost town until a black SUV sped past him. It turned on to Mulberry Drive and stopped. Gabe pushed himself harder and rounded the corner.
Fire flickered orange-red in the bakery window. Puffs of smoke escaped the door as two men emerged. A tangle of fear, anger, and adrenaline coursed through his body.
Chip Wilkes and a man with dark, chin-length hair strode toward the parked SUV. Gabe ran up behind them and grabbed Chip’s shoulder. The man spun around. A sadistic smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“Where’s Monica? I know she’s with you,” Gabe growled.
Chip glanced into the bakery. “You can’t save her this time.”
“Chip,” called the other man. He’d opened the door to the SUV. “We have to go.”
Gabe punched Chip in the jaw. The man reared back. Blood trickled from his lip.
“Is she inside? Is Monica in there?” Gabe roared.
Chip wiped the blood from his face. “Like I said, you can’t save her.”
Sirens filled the air as a firetruck barreled down Mulberry Drive.
“Chip, now!” cried the man. “The police will be here any minute.”
He wanted to beat Chip Wilkes to a pulp. But if there was even a chance Monica was inside the bakery, he didn’t have a minute to lose. He ran to the door. The sirens were getting closer. Help was on the way, but he couldn’t wait. He touched the door. It was hot, but not scalding. He swung it open and was engulfed in thick smoke.
“Monica!” he called, waving the air.
The flames lapped at the side of the bakery. Gabe ran around the display toward the back where the smoke was the thickest. The black air burned his lungs. He dropped to knees where the smoke wasn’t quite as stifling. Crawling, he extended his hand. The smooth floorboards slid past his touch until he felt something small and round. His thumb brushed over the etched surface.
Monica’s locket!
He pocketed the necklace and kept crawling. He’d almost made it to the end of the work table when his hand touched skin.
“I’m here!” he called, running his hands down her body.
She didn’t respond.
He tried to move her, but Monica wouldn’t budge. The fire grew closer. Orange flames consumed the cooktop. His hands worked furiously, trying to free her as she slumped against the table leg. He ran his fingertips down the length of her arms and stopped. Course and rough, rope bound her wrists around the table leg.
He grit his teeth.
Chip Wilkes had left her here to burn to death.
“Monica, can you hear me? I’m going to cut you free.”
He pulled the chef’s knife from his belt and cut the rope loose, but she didn’t move. He felt her neck and found the faint thrum of her pulse. He pulled off his apron and covered her with it. The air grew thicker by the second. His head buzzed. His muscles twitched. He had to get them out of there. With his last surge of energy, he lifted Monica into his arms and carried her to the back door. He turned the knob and stumbled out into the alley.
He fell to his knees. “Monica!” he cried, voice cracked and strained from the smoke. “Breathe, you’ve got to breathe. I can’t lose you.” He brushed her bangs away from her eyes. His tears dropped on her soot-covered cheeks.
“Help,” he called, but his voice was little more than a whisper.
He pressed his forehead to hers, clutching her body in his arms, when he felt her chest heave.
She was alive.
“Breathe, Mon. Help is on the way.”
She blinked. “You’re here?”
“I’m here, and I am never leaving you. Never! Not for New York. Not for some television show. I love you. You’re all I want. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. We’re home, Mon. Now, breathe. I can’t lose you!”
She raised her hand and brushed a tear from his cheek. “My paperboy.”
“Always,” he said as the sound of raised voices and the glow of flashing lights descended upon them.
Epilogue
“I’m Monica Brandt, and I’m Chef Gabe Sinclair. You’re watching, The Measure of Home.”
“How many times are you going to play that?” Monica asked.
Gabe pulled her onto his lap. “It’s you. You’re mesmerizing. I can’t stop watching.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “The real me is right here, chef.”
He closed the viewer and shut his laptop. “Better?”
She licked her lips. “You’re getting there.”
He ran his hands down her back and gripped her buttocks.
Sweet Christ, he loved her ass.
They’d just wrapped up shooting the first episode of their cooking and lifestyle show. Corbyn wasn’t wrong. The sponsors were salivating. When they learned that he and Monica were a package deal, the offers tripled. The network wanted more episodes, but they agreed to shoot twelve—all in the Kansas City area.
Their life was here now, and it was moving at light-speed.
After the fire, he and Monica had spent the night in the hospital. The next morning, Agent Glenn had come with news. Thanks to Monica’s call, he was able to hear everything. Courtney’s murder confession. Chip’s attempt at ending Monica’s life. Alexsey’s disclosure that he was the architect behind the ransomware. FBI agents had descended on the Kansas City Downtown Airport, and the three of them were taken into custody. The children, Glenn shared, were placed with Bryson’s parents.
Monica shifted in his lap and straddled him. “I like staying in Em and Michael’s carriage house. It reminds me of that little bed and breakfast in France.”
“The place in Marseille?”
She nodded and rocked her hips. Her core rubb
ed against his cock, the friction between them building at a sinfully delicious pace.
Monica Brandt knew how to tease.
It was mid-morning. She was still in her sexy as fuck sleep shirt and black lace panties. He reached under the silky shirt and ran his thumb over her nipple. It hardened into a tight peak at his touch.
He kissed her neck. “I remember fucking you against the wall in that little bed and breakfast.”
She looked around the room. “I see four perfectly good walls here.”
Three days after they were released from the hospital, a media shitstorm hit Langley Park. News of his involvement in the arrest of one of the FBI’s most wanted cybercriminals made waves across the country. To escape it, he and Monica had made waves in the Mediterranean Sea.
The fire had damaged the bakery, but not everything was lost. The firefighters had worked swiftly. None of their important keepsakes were destroyed, and the structural integrity of the building was still intact. They spent a whirlwind day meeting with the local police and their insurance adjuster getting all the necessary paperwork in order. That evening, they’d had dinner with Zoe, Sam, Ben, and Jenna. Ben, a respected Langley Park architect, offered to redesign the space and oversee the renovations.
Twenty-four hours later, thanks to Nick Kincade who was the Director of Aviation at the Kansas City Downtown Airport, they’d escaped the media madness on a chartered jet and landed in Paris. A driver met them at the airport—picnic basket in hand.
They’d spent the last three weeks eating, laughing, and fucking their brains out all over the Mediterranean. Corbyn had negotiated the contract for their show, and they’d returned a few days ago to start filming.
The first location: Park Tavern, Langley Park, Kansas.
Gabe stood up with Monica’s legs wrapped around his waist. “Do you have a favorite wall?” he asked.
She gazed at him from under those jet-black bangs. “Any wall you’re fucking me against is my favorite wall.”
Christ, he loved her!
She tightened her grip around his neck. The charms they’d added to her bracelet from each stop of the trip jingled as he pressed her back to the wall. The renovations on the bakery wouldn’t be completed for another few weeks, and Em and Michael had offered to let them stay in their carriage house. He’d need to buy them new sheets, a bucket of paint for all the scuffs on the walls, and another shower head after what was supposed to be a quick rinse turned naughty when Monica joined him under the spray.
He held her against the wall with one strong arm and shrugged out of his boxers with the other.
“Dammit,” he said, cock weeping to be inside of her. “Your panties.”
She smiled that sexy smile that made him think of very filthy things. “These are the panties from Paris. The special panties.”
Split crotch heaven. God bless the French.
He thrust his cock and lace flaps gave way to her delicious heat. He gripped her ass, shifting her torso to allow her sweet bundle of nerves to grind against him as he fucked her hard against the wall.
“Is this how you like it?” he growled into her ear.
Her words came in breathy gasps. “Gabe, yes! Yes!”
The slap of skin on skin and the tang of sex in the air fed their desire, taking them higher and higher. She was so close. He knew her body. He knew when she liked it tender and slow, and he knew when she wanted it rough and wild. He shifted a hand and pressed his index finger between her buttocks. The extra pressure pushed her over the edge. Writhing in his arms, she came hard, arching her body against him. He could watch her come all day, but when she pulled the hair at the nape of his neck, he couldn’t hold back. He found his release, lost in the sky-blue eyes of the only woman he’d ever loved.
Monica leaned her head against the wall. She trailed her fingertips down his neck, past his shoulders, and stopped on his chest at his mise en place tattoo. She traced the M. Her touch blazed into his soul. He gazed at her sunflower locket and then at his tattoo. How many hours, how many days, how many years, had he stared at that M in the mirror? He couldn’t even count. But he wasn’t worried about measuring up anymore. Her love was the only measure that mattered.
He closed his eyes as she traced his M, over and over. “I love you, Mon.”
“I love…” she began but paused.
He cracked open one eye. “You love my French country omelets?”
She glanced at the clock. “Oh Gabe, we’re going to be late!”
They were meeting their friends and family at Park Tavern for brunch. It was his last day playing hooky before he started cooking at Park Tavern.
“Will you wear these panties to brunch?”
“You’re terrible,” she said, laughing and shaking her head.
“How about the Sacred Heart skirt?”
“Nope.”
“Knee socks?”
“You, chef, never stop.”
“I’ll never stop loving you.”
She gazed into his eyes. “My paperboy.”
He patted the M of his tattoo. “And you’ll always be my mise.”
Lindsey Kincade waved from a long table along the back wall. “Monica! Gabe! We’re back here!”
Brunch at Park Tavern was humming along at full speed. Family and friends laughed and conversed over mimosas, fresh fruit, crispy bacon, and as many French country omelets a person could eat.
A runner glided past them with a pan of scrambled eggs.
Gabe glanced at the tray. “A little dry. Maybe I should go back.”
She grabbed his arm. “You are not putting on your chef’s coat today, mister. We’re here to have fun! No work!”
They made their way past the buffet and joined the group. Monica took a seat next to her grandmother. Mr. Collier was on Oma’s other side. He was holding her hand.
“How’s your cottage, Oma?” she asked, settling into her seat.
Her grandmother wrinkled her nose. “The stove is electric, but it will do.”
After Oma’s rehabilitation ended, she’d decided she liked watercolor painting and weekly movie nights. She used the insurance money from the fire to purchase a cottage in the Langley Park Senior Living Campus. A cottage that just happened to be right next door to Mr. Collier.
“When will I get to see you and Gabriel on TV?” Oma asked. “All the ladies in the crochet group are very fond of him.”
Monica bit back a grin. “Soon, Oma! I’ll be sure to let you know the exact date and time the minute they tell us.”
She looked across the table and caught Gabe’s gaze. He was crouched down low next to Em and Michael, making funny faces at little Billy MacCaslin MacCarron. Gabe blushed, gave her a wink, then went back to entertaining the baby.
Monica scanned the group and reached for her locket. Lindsey held Skylar while Nick pricked a strawberry with his fork and fed it to her. Ben had his arm around his wife, Jenna. Their daughter, Kate, sat at the end of the table with her nose in a book.
Monica rubbed her thumb across the etched sunflower. This was her life. These were her dearest friends. She and Gabe were home.
A gentle tap on her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up and saw her favorite strudel-making teenager.
“Jonah!” Monica said. She came to her feet and embraced the boy.
After the fire, she and Gabe wanted to make crystal clear that Jonah was in no way at fault for what had happened. They’d met with him and his mother before they’d left for France. During their meeting, they’d learned that Jackie, Jonah’s mother, had a degree in accounting, but hadn’t worked in many years due to her abusive ex-husband. The Rose Brooks Women’s Shelter had helped Jackie find a job, but it wasn’t in her field.
As a group, she, Gabe, and Sam had agreed to merge Park Tavern and The Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive, and for that, they needed someone with bookkeeping experience. They hired Jackie that day. Jonah had been working part-time at Park Tavern after school, but the plan was for him to return to t
he bakery once the renovations were complete.
“My mom wanted me to tell you that she’s got everything organized with both the bakery and Park Tavern.”
“I never doubted she would,” Monica answered.
“Jonah,” Sam said, walking up to them. “What did I say about talking to the pretty ladies?”
“Sorry, Sam,” the kid said. “I’ll go check the hash browns.”
Sam patted the boy on his shoulder then glanced around the restaurant. “Good call, kid.”
Monica met Sam’s gaze. The usual spark in his eye grew dim. “Are you looking for someone?”
“Did Zoe come in with you and Gabe?”
She shook her head. “No, she didn’t. But you know she’s working a story. She’s been chasing a lead for quite some time.”
“Has she told you anything about it?” Sam asked.
She stared at him. Zoe and Sam were close. At least, she thought they were. Why would he be asking her this question? She looked past his shoulder when the door to Park Tavern opened.
She patted Sam’s arm. “No need to worry. I see her now. She’s coming this way.”
Sam whirled around, almost colliding with Zoe.
“Glad you made it, Z,” Em called. “Now, come hold my child. I think Gabe’s face is starting to scare him.”
Zoe, usually quick with a snarky comment or hilarious barb, stood still and gazed silently at the table.
“What is it, Zoe?” Sam asked, but she didn’t seem to hear him.
She crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, everyone. I can’t stay.”
“Not even for one mimosa?” Jenna asked.
Zoe shook her head. “No, not even for one. I have to go. I’m leaving Langley Park.”
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The Complete Langley Park Series (Books 1-5) Page 105