Wrapped in Love

by Lexi Ryan

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Other Books by Lexi Ryan

  About Wrapped in Love

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Contact

  Copyright Notice

  The Boys of Jackson Harbor

  The Wrong Kind of Love (Ethan’s story)

  Straight Up Love (Jake’s story)

  Dirty, Reckless Love (Levi’s story)

  Wrapped in Love (Brayden’s story)

  Crazy for Your Love (Carter’s story) – coming spring 2019

  If It’s Only Love (Shay’s story) – coming summer 2019

  The Blackhawk Boys

  Spinning Out (Arrow’s story)

  Rushing In (Chris’s story)

  Going Under (Sebastian’s story)

  Falling Hard (Keegan’s story)

  In Too Deep (Mason’s story)

  LOVE UNBOUND: Four series, one small town, lots of happy endings

  Splintered Hearts (A Love Unbound Series)

  Unbreak Me (Maggie’s story)

  Stolen Wishes: A Wish I May Prequel Novella (Will and Cally’s prequel)

  Wish I May (Will and Cally’s novel)

  Or read them together in the omnibus edition, Splintered Hearts: The New Hope Trilogy

  Here and Now (A Love Unbound Series)

  Lost in Me (Hanna’s story begins)

  Fall to You (Hanna’s story continues)

  All for This (Hanna’s story concludes)

  Or read them together in the omnibus edition, Here and Now: The Complete Series

  Reckless and Real (A Love Unbound Series)

  Something Wild (Liz and Sam’s story begins)

  Something Reckless (Liz and Sam’s story continues)

  Something Real (Liz and Sam’s story concludes)

  Or read them together in the omnibus edition, Reckless and Real: The Complete Series

  Mended Hearts (A Love Unbound Series)

  Playing with Fire (Nix’s story)

  Holding Her Close (Janelle and Cade’s story)

  OTHER TITLES

  Hot Contemporary Romance

  Text Appeal

  Accidental Sex Goddess

  Decadence Creek (Short and Sexy Romance)

  Just One Night

  Just the Way You Are

  A one-night stand with the boss was never in her plans. Neither was falling in love . . .

  The rumors are true. I’m a hot mess with an awful track record at love. Single mom. Down on her luck. Yeah, I’m bad news.

  If the hardest part of moving back home to Jackson Harbor was going to be people talking, I’d be fine. I’ve kept my chin up through worse than their decade-old gossip.

  I was wrong. The hardest part is resisting my boss. Brayden Jackson is the very picture of tall, dark, and handsome. And thanks to an ill-advised one-night stand we had seven months ago, I know exactly what I’m missing when I turn him down. Every. Single. Delicious. Inch.

  But I have my son to care for and my job to keep, so I’ll keep on saying no.

  Until my string of bad luck continues, and suddenly my precious four-year-old and I find ourselves with nowhere to live. At Christmas, no less. It’s for my son that I accept Brayden’s offer to stay at his place. One by one, my defenses are falling, as fast as I am. If Brayden was smart, he’d run, because it’s only a matter of time before he realizes he deserves better than what a girl like me can offer.

  Unless, for once, my bad luck is leading me exactly where I need to be.

  For Miss Mary. To the moon and back, baby girl.

  Molly

  I open my eyes and find myself in a warm tangle of limbs and sheets.

  When can I see you again?

  He asked the question as I was falling into a deep sleep. In my state of postcoital bliss, the words made me smile. I hummed a non-answer and let him hold me in his arms as sleep pulled me under.

  I feel so secure and comforted by the heat of him wrapped around me. I don’t want to move, but I can’t stay. Those words echo in my head. When can I see you again?

  Now that I’m no longer drunk on pleasure or delirious from multiple orgasms, the question thrills and terrifies me. I wish I were someone else. I wish I could make promises and take chances. But I’m not. I have secrets and priorities that have everything to do with the little boy sleeping at my best friend’s house. Brayden can’t know about Noah. No one can. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want this night to end. Not yet.

  The light slanting out from the bathroom door casts the hotel room in a warm glow just bright enough to allow me to see his face—the shadow of his thick stubble, the slight parting of his soft lips. His muscled arm is wrapped around me, his calloused hand on my hip, and the feel of his breath on my neck is so sweet that I want to close my eyes and savor this moment. But I can’t. Because last night was a mistake. A terrible, rash, foolish, delicious mistake that I’ll be thinking about for many lonely nights to come.

  I slip out of his embrace and out of the king-size bed that sits in the middle of his swanky New York hotel room. My hands shake as I snatch my bra from the floor and slide it back on.

  Slowly, cautiously, I turn to look at him one more time. His face is so soft—as if sleep vanquished the typical hard lines and stern face I always associate with Brayden Jackson. His cold demeanor never made an appearance tonight. We did a little official business, made a few of the introductions he came to make. But then we started drinking, and I caught him looking at my mouth. Suddenly, all-business Brayden was a thing of the past, a memory of a man I could have easily resisted as too serious, too uptight. But this sleeping Brayden? And the two-beers-in Brayden, whose mouth crooked into a lopsided smile when the bartender thought we were a couple? This Brayden Jackson would have taken a will of steel to resist—a will I hadn’t known I’d need.

  Tearing my eyes away from him, I scan the floor for my panties.

  I swipe my foot along the side of the bed to see if I can feel them hiding under there. Where did I take them off? Images slam into me. His thumbs hooking into the black lace. His hands dragging them down my hips. His mouth . . .

  I squeeze my eyes shut and turn toward the door, toward where I know I took off my dress. I slink into it and zip it without allowing myself to turn back. I need to walk out that door. If I look at his sculpted chest or the strong legs outlined under the sheets, I’m not sure I will. I know the delicious weight of that body on mine, how the faint stubble on his cheeks felt scraping against my neck, my breasts . . . lower. I know how those dark eyes made me melt a little inside.

  I find my purse by the minibar and sling it over my shoulder. Pausing a beat with my hand on the doorknob, I pray he’ll forgive me, pray he’ll understand that I need this job
and that last night was a mistake. As quietly as possible, I open the door, duck out into the hallway, and quickly walk away from my new boss and the hottest night of my life.

  Brayden

  I reach for her in my sleep and find the bed empty beside me. I sit up. “Molly?” I click on the bedside light and scan the room. Her clothes are gone. So is her purse.

  I rub my eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Snatching my jeans from the floor, I search the pockets for my phone. She’s sent me a text.

  Molly: Thank you for last night. You’re a nice guy, but I want this job. I NEED this job. And that means it can’t happen again.

  The clock by the bed says it’s two a.m., but I text her back anyway.

  Me: Your job is safe, whatever you decide. Last night doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to mean.

  Putting the phone down, I drag a hand over my face and climb back into bed. Shit. I can’t believe I didn’t hear her leave. Did I say something to scare her off? Does she really think I’ll fire her because of what happened?

  My phone buzzes, and I lunge for it.

  Molly: It was a mistake. I’m so sorry.

  I put my phone down and sit on the side of the bed, cradling my head in my hands. A mistake. If she was a mistake, she’s the only mistake I’ve ever wanted to make.

  Molly

  Seven months later . . .

  Top Three Reasons Not to Sleep with Your Boss:

  Reason 1: Because no matter how good he looks in his business suit, you will always—always—be thinking about how good he looked sprawled out in the middle of that massive bed in his fancy hotel, one strong leg tangled in the sheets, his hot eyes never leaving you as you unhooked your bra.

  Reason 2: When he’s all serious about business and gets that intense look in his eyes, you’ll imagine he’s recounting that ill-advised night or brooding about how much he wants you. In reality, you killed that opportunity the minute you snuck out of his hotel room, and drove another nail into the coffin of your would-be affair when, in a desperate attempt to keep him at a distance, you accused him of only hiring you to get you in bed. Real smooth.

  Reason 3 (as if there needs to be another): You’re around him a lot, and though you’re absolutely strong enough to resist the intense pull of sexual attraction, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to resist him. The way he values family above everything else. The way he rarely smiles, but when he does, it lights up his face first, then the whole damn room. The way he treats your little boy as if he’s the most precious thing in the world. The way he makes you want things you believed you were okay with never having.

  “Are you even listening to me?” Brayden asks, but I’m so hung up on Reason 1 and memories of his tanned skin against white sheets that I’m really not listening. At all.

  I chew on the inside of my cheek and nod, digging through my mind to recall what made him approach my table at the back of Jackson Brews. “You don’t like the shirts,” I say, but I’m still so sucked in by the memory of his mouth on my neck that the words come out like a purr.

  Brayden frowns. “You’re not in trouble, Molly.”

  I shake my head, trying to snap out of it and more than a little grateful that he mistook my turned-on voice for insecurity. Reluctantly, I pull my gaze off Brayden and to the new Jackson Brews shirts on display at the far end of the bar—or what’s left of them. They’ve been selling fast. “Levi approved them.”

  “Why did I think it was a good idea to let him do the marketing?” He glances around the bar, his eyes landing on each of the half-dozen staff members in their brand-new T-shirts. The Jackson Brews logo is on the front, and on the back, the new tagline my friends and I came up with while drinking on our last girls’ night.

  Jackson Brews

  The bar. The beer. And . . . oh, Lord . . . the BROTHERS.

  Levi thought it was hilarious. Jake just smirked and shrugged. Ethan rolled his eyes, and Carter grinned and gave me a little once-over that seemed to say, “You know it.” I didn’t think Brayden would love the design, but he tends to stay out of it when he disagrees with my executive decisions. Not this time.

  “How do you think that shirt is going to make Nic and Ava feel?” he asks.

  I snort. It’s almost adorable that he thinks his brothers’ significant others wouldn’t like the shirts. As if they aren’t proud as fuck of their hot Jackson men. “Who do you think helped me come up with the idea? They claimed the first shirts. Even Ellie got one.” Ellie, who’s currently not with Levi Jackson but is clearly in love with him. We all know they’ll be back together for good any day now.

  Brayden scowls. “You’re kidding me.”

  I laugh. “It’ll be okay.” Then I make a rookie mistake—I reach out and squeeze his arm.

  Christ. His biceps bunch beneath my hand. My life would be so much easier if this man weren’t so dedicated to his morning workouts. It’s just not fair. He runs a brewery, for heaven’s sake.

  When I worked for Brayden as his northeast territory sales manager, I put on ten pounds in the first two months. Everyone thinks it’s the coolest job in the world—working for a growing craft brewery—but the reality is driving around to bars, drinking beer, and subsisting on greasy bar food while you try to get buyers to put Jackson Brews beer on their tap lists.

  Somehow the Jackson brothers defy all odds. I think they have a genetic mutation that transforms beer into muscle mass. It’s the only explanation.

  Brayden should be soft and have a beer belly that hangs over the waistband of his pants. Instead, he’s all hard lines and corded muscle. The only soft thing about Brayden is the look in his eyes when he talks about his family. And his face, the night we slept together.

  A shiver races down my spine at the memory of dark eyes fixed on mine, hands stroking my curves with reverence, and his body, hot and attentive as he moved over me.

  I bite back a moan. This is why you don’t sleep with your boss.

  “Is everything set for the Yuseki luncheon Thursday?”

  I nod and pull my hand away. I should probably enforce a don’t touch the boss rule. “Yep. Everything’s good to go.”

  “Staffing’s covered? The food’s ordered? The hiccup with the linens is all resolved, and you’ve confirmed the headcount?”

  I fold my arms. “I’m trying not to be insulted.”

  He rolls his shoulders back and exhales slowly. “Sorry. Old habits.”

  “You hired me so I could do this. Not so you could have another pile of tasks on your plate.”

  “I know. And I trust you.”

  “Then act like it,” I say, my tone gentle. Giving up control doesn’t come naturally to him, and despite what I said, I don’t take it personally. His family’s always giving him a hard time about how much trouble he has letting go, and he’s nagged Levi as much about the taproom grand opening as he’s nagged me about the banquet center. Hell, Levi probably has it way worse as the little brother.

  From the moment I interviewed to work for Jackson Brews last spring, I’ve noticed how Brayden’s siblings are always trying to get him to delegate more. His impulse to micromanage wasn’t all that noticeable when I was working as a sales manager eight hundred miles away, but up close and personal, it’s impossible to miss.

  “You’re as territorial with your business as Noah is with his Pokémon cards,” I say.

  Brayden’s eyes warm at the mention of my son. “Where is the little rascal tonight?”

  “Mom wanted to take him to the movies.” Which means I have a kid-free night off work—a once-rare occasion that has become more commonplace now that I live in the same town as my mother. I put in another ten-hour day at the banquet center today, so I have every intention of using my free evening to drink a very tall beer and gorge myself on Jake Jackson’s fried delicacies.

  “How’s everything working out with Veronica?”

  I grin at the mention of my son’s nanny, a woman with a newborn son of her own. “Noah loves he
r so much. And baby Jackson . . .” I shake my head. “Noah’s newest mission is to convince me he needs a little brother of his own.”

  Brayden’s brows shoot up into his hairline.

  I roll my eyes. “Relax. This uterus is closed for business.”

  Of course, Brayden’s brother Jake chooses that exact moment to appear at my table with my beer and food. His gaze shifts back and forth between me and his brother. “Is there a reason the two of you are discussing Molly’s uterus?”

  “Noah wants a baby brother.” I snag the plate of fried goat cheese from his hands, unwilling to wait another minute for those sinful bits of honey-coated heaven. “It’s not happening.” I pop a piece into my mouth and moan. “How do you make these so damn good? Did you sell your soul to the devil, or what?”

  Jake sighs. “Do you really want to know my secret to good food?”

  “Here we go.” Brayden groans, crossing his arms.

  “No, seriously,” Jake says.

  I tilt my head to the side, considering the cost of this information. “Why do I feel like Eve being offered an apple?”

  Jake wags a finger at me. “I don’t try to make food low-fat or low-carb or low-sodium or low-anything. I just make food with fresh ingredients and let it be what it’ll be.”

  “I’m proof of the consequences of that attitude.” I frown down at my black skirt. Half of my other skirts don’t fit, and this one has become my new favorite, since it’s stretchy enough to make room for the added pounds. “At this point, I either have to give up bar food or buy a new wardrobe. And since I have a pathetic bank balance and expensive tastes”—I pop another piece into my mouth and close my eyes—“my diet starts tomorrow.”