by J. Kenner
"What the hell?" I say to Hunter as soon as I arrive.
"I told him to keep the fuck away," he says, then takes a sip of his Scotch. "I got you a Cosmopolitan. It seemed like a fun treat."
I, however, am not interested in the drink. "You just sent him away?"
"Yes," Ryan says.
I shake my head, a little bit baffled, a little bit angry. Honestly, I'm not sure what I'm feeling other than a little pissed off. Hadn't I already taken care of the asshole myself?
"I don't need you to step in to play guard dog for me," I say. "I dealt with the guy myself, didn't I? I'm not one of your job responsibilities."
"You're right," he says, and his tone is clipped enough that I can tell he's irritated, too. "You're not a job responsibility. You're the woman I love."
I freeze, his words hitting me with the force of a slap. Automatically, I shake my head. The woman I love.
I want to believe it--god, how I want to believe it. But it can't be true. And even if it is...
I run my fingers through my hair. "Hunter," I say. "Hunter, don't."
"I love you, Jamie. Stay. Don't go to Texas. Stay with me."
I am shaking my head, fighting to make reason take over, because if I run solely on emotion, I know I will be lost. That's the old Jamie, after all. The one who fucks up. The one who gets all twisted around and makes a mess of her life and has to run home to Mom and Dad to get her head back on straight.
The new Jamie thinks.
But damned if the new Jamie knows what to think about this.
He looks blurry, and I realize that I am crying. Brutally, I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. How can I be so miserable, I wonder. This man loves me. And yet...
"You can't possibly," I whisper. "You barely know me."
True. Yet wasn't I falling in love with him, too? Hadn't I told myself that already? Wasn't I already trying to hide from reality?
"We barely know each other," I add, this time speaking to the both of us.
"Why does it have to take time to fall in love?" Ryan asks. "If the push is hard enough, the fall is going to be fast."
I only look at him, wanting to believe.
"And has it really been that fast, Jamie?"
"We haven't even dated," I protest.
"I'm not the least bit interested in dating you. Dating suggests an exploration. A process of discovery. But I already know you, Jamie. I know you, and I want you. And I love you."
He takes my hand, and for a moment all is right with the world. But then I glance across the bar, across the lobby. I see Bryan Raine arguing with a bellman, and my stomach twists as I am reminded what a mess I am.
Raine is the epitome of what I am running from--bad decisions.
But how the hell do I know if Ryan Hunter is a good decision or a bad one?
"I'm sorry," I say as I tug my hand free. I want to say he is everything I have ever hoped for. I want to say that I love him.
Instead, I say, "I have to think. I'm sorry, Ryan. I have to go."
Chapter Twelve
The highway stretches out in front of me, and I keep driving, thinking that if I can just get a little farther, maybe to that next mile marker, I will figure it out. But the highway always stays ahead of me, and there is always another mile marker, and I fear that I am thinking too hard.
What am I doing?
I know the answer, of course. I'm running.
What I can't figure out is why.
I tell myself that I am right to leave him. Maybe not forever, but for a while. While I get my head together. While I stick with The Plan.
Because isn't the point of The Plan to keep me from doing exactly what has happened with Ryan--to keep me from getting twisted up with a guy?
That's true--except it's not.
Because Ryan hasn't twisted me up. If anything, he's untangled me.
I reach into my pocket and close my hand around the lock as tears sting my eyes. What am I doing? Who in their right mind runs from love?
Because I do love him. More important, I know that he truly loves me.
I lift my foot off the accelerator, cringing a bit when I realize that I've pushed the Ferrari past one hundred. But she really is a sweet ride.
I slow, planning to turn the car around and head back, but something isn't right.
Once again, the car is making an odd noise, although this time when I listen more closely, I realize that the thwump-thwump isn't coming from the Ferrari, but from somewhere outside the car.
Frowning, I glance at the land off the shoulder. It is mostly dirt, but that dirt is billowing now, blowing and blustering, forming small dirt devils that spin and spin.
A shadow passes over. And I slam on the brakes as a sleek black helicopter with Stark International emblazoned on the side lands on the shoulder ahead of me.
I kill the engine and race out of the car. I don't see him, not yet, but I don't slow. I know he is there. I know he came for me.
And then there he is, jumping from the helicopter to the asphalt below. He ducks to avoid the wind that the still-spinning blades are kicking up, and when he is clear, he makes a twirling motion and the helicopter ascends once again.
I throw myself in his arms. "You came for me," I say, my voice soft with wonder.
"I will always come for you." He kisses me. A hard, deep kiss that claims me as his own, and that I feel profoundly all the way down to my toes.
Even after we break the kiss, I cling to him, wanting to reassure myself that he is real. "I was about to turn around and come back." I tilt my head up at him. "I needed to get to you. To tell you. I love you, too, Ryan Hunter."
His smile lights his eyes. "I know."
"And I found the answer," I add.
"Who is Jamie?"
I nod. "She's yours," I say, and though I expect his answering smile, his words come as a surprise.
"No," he says. "She is her own. But I am the man who loves her."
His words move me, and I pull him close and kiss him again.
"Do you still want me to take you to Texas?" he asks when we reach the car.
I shake my head. "I'm going to call Georgia. I'm not going to take the job."
He has opened the passenger door for me, but now he pauses and takes my chin in his hand. "You're sure?"
"It's a great opportunity," I say. "But only if I want to be in Texas. But I don't want to be there. I want to be in Los Angeles. I want to be with you."
I meet his eyes as I say it, and he looks back at me with so much love and tenderness I think my heart will burst.
"Ever since she made the offer," I continue, "I've been looking at it as a way to get back into the LA market. Looking past the job itself and to the future. But you're my future, Ryan. You're what I want. And so long as I'm with you, I can wait for the right job to come along. I can--"
"Shhh," he says, and then crushes his mouth to mine once again.
"Mmm," I say. "I can get used to that."
"Then we'll have to be sure to mix things up, won't we? Wouldn't want life to become predictable."
"No, we wouldn't. You know," I add, still thinking about the job. "Maybe I'll suggest that I be their LA correspondent. I'm pretty kick ass, you know. They'd be lucky to have me."
"They would," he says. "I know I am."
Across the highway there is a billboard advertising a Vegas wedding chapel. Ryan nods toward it, then gazes down at me. "I'm going to marry you someday," he says softly. The words and his voice send shivers of anticipation through me. And not even the slightest bit of fear.
"Yes," I say, "you are." And despite the fact that ours has been such a whirlwind romance it makes my head spin, I know that it is true. "But not like that," I say, nodding to the sign.
"No," he agrees. "Our wedding will be an event. A party."
"A celebration," I say, and then kiss him again simply because I have to. "I hope Damien pays you well," I add with a laugh. "Because I just spent the last few weeks doing all sorts
of wedding planning with Nikki, and that means I have lots of ideas."
His mouth quirks into a smile. "Whatever you want, Ms. Archer."
"All I want is you."
"That works out well, then, because you have me. For now, for always."
I sigh and slide into his arms, feeling loved and safe and centered.
Behind us, the highway stretches on, but I don't need it. I know exactly where I'm going.
"I'm going to make you very happy," I say.
"Kitten," he says. "You already do."
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FOREVER WICKED
A Wicked Lovers Novella
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A MacKenzie Family Novella
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SILENT BITE: A SCANGUARDS WEDDING
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by Christopher Rice
CARESS OF DARKNESS
A Phoenix Brotherhood Novella by Julie Kenner
Also from Evil Eye Concepts TAME ME
A Stark International Novella by J. Kenner
Acknowledgments from the Author
I am grateful every day to all of the wonderful, incredible, amazing fans of the Stark Trilogy. Thanks so much for joining me on the journey. And a special thanks to Liz and MJ for helping me to bring Jamie's story to all of you!
About J. Kenner
Julie Kenner (aka J. Kenner and J.K. Beck) is the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of over forty novels, novellas and short stories in a variety of genres.
Praised by Publishers Weekly as an author with a "flair for dialogue and eccentric characterizations," JK writes a range of stories including super sexy romances, paranormal romance, chick lit suspense and paranormal mommy lit. Her foray into the latter, Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom by Julie Kenner, is in development as a feature film with 1492 Pictures.
Her recent trilogy of erotic romances, The Stark Trilogy (as J. Kenner), reached as high as #2 on the New York Times list, is published in over twenty countries, and is an international bestseller.
JK lives in Central Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and several cats. She loves hearing from readers, hangs out far too much on social media, and is easily bribed with coffee.
HEATED
by J. Kenner
Most Wanted, Book 2
Coming June 3, 2014!
"Shall I tell you?" he asked. "Shall I tell you exactly what I want? Exactly what I will have from you?"
His mouth was beside my ear, so close I could feel the brush of his lips as his words teased me. I didn't want to be entranced--didn't want to feel my body go soft with longing. But dammit, he was drawing me under, and soon I was going to drown in the swell of his words.
"Shall I go over in intimate detail how I will touch you? The way my fingertips will tease your nipples. How my tongue will dance over the curve of your ear. Will it make you wet to know how hard I am? How much I want to sink deep inside of you."
I made a little sound. I think I meant it to be a yes.
His hands eased lower, sliding down to my waist, then behind to cup my rear. He drew me in, nestling my sex against his thigh, and pressing so tight against me I could feel the hard bulge of his erection against my lower belly. I reached out to steady myself, and found the edges of two serving tables. I clutched at them, desperate to hold on, because I knew damn well that if I let go, I'd melt into a puddle on the floor.
"I imagine you taste like honey," Tyler murmured. "And when I slide my tongue between your legs, I'll lose myself in the sweetness of you. I want to watch your face as the orgasm builds inside you. I want to feel you tremble beneath me. And when you finally explode, I want to hold you in my arms and let my kisses pull you back together."
I trembled, my body hot and sizzling. I was aroused, my breasts heavy, my sex aching. I wanted his touch--wanted him to do all the things he was saying.
Hell, I simply wanted.
I breathed in. Once, twice. I needed to gather myself, my thoughts. I needed to maintain at least some illusion that he hadn't completely destroyed me with nothing more than words.
"Wow," I finally managed. "You don't waste time, do you?"
His smile was slow and lazy. "As far as I'm concerned, time is the one thing too precious to waste."
He stroked my cheek, my hair. His fingers twined in my curls as he played and stroked. Tighter and tighter, not enough to hurt, but enough so that I gasped in surprise when he tugged my head back and met my eyes. There was ice in the blue now. A cold, winter storm, the chill of which laced his voice as well. "Tell me the truth, Sloane. Are you wasting my time?"
I felt the blood pump through me, the rush filling my head. Not fear--not really. This was excitement. Challenge. And, yes, a bit of frustration, too, because the victory I'd so greedily claimed had apparently been premature.
"Let go of me," I said, my voice matching the ice of his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He released his grip on my hair and took a step back. I used the motion of standing up straight to shake off my nerves. Despite my desperately pounding heart, right then, this was all about playing it cool. Just like in a suspect interrogation, I wasn't about to let him see that he'd shaken me.
"I know what my game is," he said. "I'm trying to figure out yours."
"I'm not playing a game."
"Everyone's playing a game." There was no humor in his voice.
I said nothing. I'd already denied. Repeating myself would get me nowhere.
"A lot of people want a piece of me, Sloane. What do you want? An introduction? A loan? I want to know why you're here. I want to know what you want."
Slowly, I shook my head. "I'm not gold-digging, if that's what you think. And I already told you what I want. Hell, you've already told me what I want." I took a single step forward, then pressed my hand over his cock, hard inside his tailored slacks.
I watched his face as I touched him, not moving, simply touching. "'I want to feel you tremble beneath me.' That's what you said. That's what I want, too. Christ, Tyler, isn't it obvious what I want? Why I came here? I want you."
Beneath my hand, I felt his cock stiffen. He glanced down, then back at me. His face was all hard lines and angles, as if he was fighting for control. "Don't move," he said. "Don't even breathe."
"I--"
"No." His finger pressed against my lip before skimming downward. Over my chin, down my neck until he delicately traced my collar bone. Then lower, teasing my nipple with slow circles as I sucked in air and bit my lip in defense against the sounds of pleasure that wanted so desperately to escape.
The bodice was a halter, with two triangles of material attached to the waist, then rising up to tie behind my neck. He followed the material up, his
finger skimming under the bow at the base of my neck.
"Shall I untie it? Let it fall? Shall I close my mouth over your bare breast right now, tease your nipple between my teeth? Tell me the truth, Sloane, would that make you hot?"
I swallowed. My mouth was so dry. I thought of the waitstaff. Of camera phones. Of the internet and the image of us, his mouth on my breast, my head back, my lips parted in pleasure. I thought of it, and I felt the quickening in my belly. The clenching in my sex.
I thought--and I whispered the only answer I could. "Yes."
"Good girl," he said, as his hand sneaked down, leaving my dress intact. I breathed a sigh of relief, then gasped as he traced his way down my cleavage, his hand slipping beneath the material just long enough for his fingers to tease and for the heat of his palm to cup my breast.
"Tyler," I moaned when he withdrew his hand, leaving me clutching the tables on either side of me, because if I let go, I would surely fall.
"Hush," he said, as he moved closer. His hand snaked around my waist to find the zipper at the back of the dress, then slowly eased it down. "Now spread your legs," he ordered as he slid his palm inside my dress, over my lower back, and then down to the curve of my ass.
I wore a stretchy lace thong, and he stroked my bare skin before finding the thin, damp strip of material between my legs and tugging it aside. I heard the desperate sound of my own whimper as he teased me, then sucked in a gasp as he slid a finger easily inside me and my body clenched tight around him.
He groaned in satisfaction. "Christ, you're wet," he said, his voice raw. "I don't doubt you want me, Sloane. And god knows I want you, too." He stroked my sex once, twice, then withdrew his hand, and I had to bite my lower lip in order to silence my protest. "But there's something else going on in that pretty head of yours," he added, as he zipped up my skirt, leaving me wanting and confused and frustrated. "And I will find out your secret."
He stepped back from me, then paused to look me up and down. I could only imagine what he saw. Clothes askew. Skin flushed. But I lifted my head, determined to hold my own.
He moved to the door, and pulled it part of the way open. The sounds of the party wafted in, echoing in the service hall. His eyes locked on mine, and for a moment I saw the true depth and power of this man who held so much of Chicago in his hand.