Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “I. Am. So. Happy. For. You.” Pru stabbed the air with her finger to emphasize every word.

  “Again, one-time thing,” Frankie pointed out. “But let’s talk about how happy I am for you, Mrs. Stockton-Randolph.”

  “Did you see my ring?” Pru asked.

  Frankie had seen it approximately nineteen times since the ceremony.

  “I would love to see your ring.”

  “What kind of ring do you think Aiden will get you?” Pru asked, closing one eye. She slid down to lay on the marble floor, her dress puffing up around her.

  “No ring. No more sex either.”

  “But he’s good enough for you, Frankie.”

  “Okay, you’re clearly all heart-eyes and alcohol-ed because you’re telling me to marry the guy whose brother kidnapped your fiancé on the eve of your wedding.”

  “I forgot about that. But still, Aiden is amazing.”

  “He’s also a perennial bachelor who likes to swap out his women every month. And again, brother kidnapped Chip.”

  Pru waved a dismissive hand. “Details, details.”

  * * *

  Frankie found herself in the middle seat of the plane wedged between a tiny Asian lady with very nice headphones and a guy whose chest hair was woven around the thick gold chain visible because he had the first four buttons of his shirt open.

  The lady smelled like vanilla. The man like half a bottle of Drakkar Noir. It was going to be a very long flight. But at least she’d escaped Barbados without facing Aiden. She wondered if he’d been pissed or relieved when he woke up to find her gone.

  She plugged her earbuds into the seatback entertainment and randomly selected a music station. So maybe she was running away. And maybe she was a coward, but had she spent one extra second next to Aiden’s perfect, naked body, she would have literally died. Could one die from perfection? She’d come close. Or maybe it had been too many orgasms.

  Frankie knew that had Aiden woken up and brought up the subject of a temporary relationship, she would have sat up and begged like her parent’s cocker spaniel. Out of sight, out of her sore yet satisfied pussy. Mind. She meant mind.

  A hasty exit was for the best. Aiden would forget about her and their few hours of mind-boggling, flesh-searing, soul-shattering pleasure.

  Chest Hair gave her the side-eye, and Frankie realized she’d moaned out loud. If this is what five orgasms skillfully doled out by Aiden Kilbourn did to her, she couldn’t imagine what a temporary dalliance would do.

  Her phone was off, and she had to work tomorrow. It was back to normal… with a few erotic memories that she could relive for the rest of her life.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Aiden took the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding. He’d been revved since waking up that morning. And all those hours in between, he’d been ready to snap.

  She’d left him. He’d woken up to an empty bed with no trace of her in his room. And by the time he’d pulled on a pair of shorts and stormed down the hall to bang on her door and drag her back to bed, the maids were already cleaning it. Checked out. Sorry sir.

  Franchesca had a thing or two to learn about just how he did business.

  This place smelled like mothballs and dust. The stairs creaked ominously under his feet. There was no security on the door, and half the streetlights on the block were dark. And it had taken no more than a “please” to get Mrs. Gurgevich in 2A to buzz him in.

  Everything pissed him off.

  And that translated loud and clear when his closed fist met the door that stood between him and the source of his annoyance.

  “Jesus, break down the door, why don’t you, Gio?”

  Frankie’s eyes widened in surprise and, very possibly, fear. She probably would have slammed the door in his face had Aiden not shoved his way inside.

  The apartment was small, on the shabby side, but clean. There was a kitchen, a living/dining room, and what Aiden assumed was a bedroom. Her TV, a pathetic thirty-inch, was on, and there was an open beer on the coffee table. The couch was deep and cushioned.

  He turned to face her, and he felt it, that magnetic connection. It hadn’t been the tropical setting or the adrenaline. It was the way she reacted to him. He was used to attraction. He used it as a snare when necessary. But what echoed between them? It was elemental. It was the primitive lust of one body desperately needing the other. She didn’t want his money or his family name. She wanted him and how he made her feel. And that was more potent to him than any aphrodisiac.

  “What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” She stood, hands on hips, wearing leggings and a thick sweater that draped over one shoulder. She had her hair pulled up in a thick tail.

  He fisted his hands at his sides so he didn’t reach for her and strip the tie out of her hair. “Why did you run?”

  “I didn’t run. I had a flight.” She was cocky, self-righteous, and lying.

  “Why didn’t you wake me or say goodbye?”

  He saw the shadow of guilt in those big eyes. “It was a one-time thing, Aiden. That’s all.”

  “Bullshit.” His voice rang out sharply. He was tired, angry. And despite that, he wanted to touch her. Punish her. Please her.

  “Oh, come on, Kilbourn. We had a good time. Now it’s back to the real world.”

  “We are not done, Franchesca.”

  “I think once was more than enough,” she snapped back, eyes flashing.

  “Twice,” he corrected. “And do you really?”

  “Go the hell home, Aiden.”

  He closed the distance between them and forced himself to take a gentle hold on her shoulders. She was melting into him even as she swore. Aiden felt relief, swift and sharp, knowing that she still felt that need. Even if it was only pure biology, body-recognizing body. It was enough, and somehow more.

  “Last night?” he began. “That doesn’t just happen. And running away from it is cowardly.”

  “Are you suggesting that I’m afraid of you?” Frankie’s voice was low.

  “I’m suggesting that what we shared was a first for me. That… connection. I don’t want to walk away. And I don’t think you do either.” If she wanted honest and real, then that is what he’d give her. Aiden only hoped the price wouldn’t be too high.

  “I don’t want to be some guy’s plaything. I deserve more than that,” Frankie shot back.

  “You do,” he agreed. “You’re the one who labeled it as such. Just because I’m not interested in marriage doesn’t mean I’d be disrespectful or callous toward you.”

  She chewed on her lower lip, staring intently at the top button of his shirt. “So how exactly would this kind of arrangement work?”

  He scented victory, knew it was within his grasp. “We spend time together. I give you anything you want.”

  “Temporarily,” she added.

  “It’s not like there’s an expiration date, Franchesca.”

  “But you always lose interest.”

  “I might point out that you happen to be single, too. Is that because you’ve always lost interest?” He let his fingers roam up to the back of her neck, toying with the curls there.

  She sighed and finally, finally raised her gaze to his.

  “Look, I’m not looking for forever either. I don’t know where I want to be in five years. I’d rather figure that out before I have to take someone else’s wants and needs into consideration. And God help the woman who wants it with you.”

  He ran his hands around her tight shoulders. He turned her slowly in his arms, kneading her tense muscles. She sagged back against him.

  “Then why aren’t you saying yes?” he whispered darkly in her ear. “Are you making me work for it?” He didn’t know why that made him hard. A Kilbourn never willingly relinquished control.

  “Whoa! Am I interrupting?”

  The man lounging in Frankie’s doorway looked more interested than angry to find her wrapped up in another man’s arms. He was broad shouldered and muscled. He wore a tight H
enley that showed off that fact and ignored the thirty-degree weather outside. He was holding a bag of food that smelled better than any five-star meal in Manhattan.

  “Gio,” Frankie greeted the man as she tried to shrug out of Aiden’s grasp. He didn’t care for that. “Are you early?” she asked, shooting a panicked look in Aiden’s direction. He really didn’t like that.

  “Huh?” Gio asked, fishing a phone out of the pocket of his track pants.

  He held up the phone and snapped a picture.

  “Don’t you fucking dare!” Frankie wasn’t nervous anymore. She was a snarling lioness.

  “Oops. Too late,” he shrugged. “You wanna introduce me to your friend?”

  Aiden went from trying to keep Frankie in his grasp to holding her back as she took a swipe at the smugly grinning man.

  “You are such an asshole!”

  Gio’s phone dinged, and he grinned, glancing at the screen. “Ma’s looking forward to meeting your friend Sunday.”

  Aiden had to grab Frankie around the waist when she lunged for him. He picked her up and spun her around while Gio laughed.

  “I’m Gio,” the man said, extending a hand well out of Frankie’s reach. “This hellion’s brother.”

  Aiden shook with his free hand.

  “Aiden,” he said.

  “So, you two dating?” Gio asked.

  “Yes,” Aiden said.

  “No,” Frankie countered.

  “Well, either way, you just got me out of awkward fix up attempt number sixteen. Mary Lou Dumbrowski.”

  “Mary Lou’s single again?” Frankie said, ceasing her attempts to kill her brother.

  Gio crossed to the tiny table and dumped the bag of food on it. “Yeah. Husband number three keeled over last month at the dry cleaners. Bam. Dead before he hit the floor.”

  “Ma must be getting desperate if she’s moving on to fresh widows for you,” Frankie pointed out.

  Aiden squeezed her hand and then released her. She didn’t seem murderous anymore.

  “Ma don’t like having a 36-year-old bachelor son,” Gio explained. “She also doesn’t like being the only one of her sisters without grandbabies.”

  “Marco knocked up Rachel,” Frankie reminded him. “Marco’s our other brother and Rachel’s his wife,” she explained for Aiden’s benefit.

  “Well, don’t worry because you just gave her even more grandmotherly hope,” Gio teased, unpacking the bags.

  Frankie shook her head. “I hate you. What did you bring?”

  Gio unpacked four deli sandwiches, pickles wrapped in wax paper, and a large bag of barbeque chips. “The usual. You hangin’ out, Aide?”

  No one in his entire life had called him Aide before Franchesca. It appeared that the Baranski family enjoyed assigning nicknames.

  “We taped the UFC fight from last night,” Gio said, wiggling a sandwich at him.

  “Mixed martial arts?” Aiden asked, eyeing the glorious stacked sandwiches.

  “Ugh,” Frankie rolled her eyes. “Fine. You can stay. But I call dibs on the roast beef.”

  “You got beer?” Gio asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. Keep your pants on.” Frankie headed into the kitchen, and Aiden followed her.

  “We still need to talk,” he told her, reaching out to grip her slim wrist.

  “Yeah, we do,” she sighed. “But not around the big mouth singing bass out there.”

  “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”

  She eyed him for a moment, and he thought she might be trying to come up with an excuse. “Fine,” she said. “But I’m picking the place.”

  “Done.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek. “See how easy this is? You tell me what you want, and I give it to you.”

  He had the pleasure of seeing goose bumps raise on her neck and arms. Aiden grabbed the beers she pulled from the fridge and wandered back to the living room.

  They settled on her couch with Gio in the ratty armchair and ate sandwiches built by a master while watching men and women pummel each other into bloody submission. Frankie and Gio had action on nearly every match and enjoyed ribbing each other throughout. Aiden tried to imagine doing the same with his half-brother. It was unfathomable. They’d never had an easy relationship like this.

  “So, how’d you two meet?” Gio asked, biting into a pastrami on rye.

  Franchesca took a quick swallow of beer. “Well, Aide here called me a stripper five seconds after we were introduced. I told him he was an asshole. And then his brother kidnapped Chip the night before his wedding, and we had to track him down.”

  Gio’s sandwich fell out of his hands into the wrapper in his lap.

  “You serious?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Aiden admitted. “But I didn’t really mean the stripper thing.”

  “Good,” Gio said good-naturedly. “I’d hate to have to beat you down on a full stomach.”

  “I’d hate to be beaten down,” Aiden agreed.

  Frankie picked up her beer and watched until Gio took another bite of his sandwich.

  “Oh, and we had awesome sex last night. Crazy awesome.”

  Gio choked on his sandwich, coughing until Frankie got up to slap him on the back.

  “Goddammit. I hate when you do that shit.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The restaurant Frankie chose was a hole-in-the-wall Portuguese place sandwiched between an empty storefront and a hot yoga studio on a quiet street in Brooklyn. The tables had no cloths, and the menus looked as though they’d been printed from a back-office printer. But the smells coming from the kitchen were nothing short of heavenly.

  Aiden silenced his phone and slipped it inside his jacket pocket. He didn’t want anything trying to steal his attention from the woman across the table. Frankie had worn her hair down and, in keeping with the casual atmosphere of the restaurant, she was wearing tight jeans, a sweater with a neckline that kept drawing his eye to her delectable cleavage, and soft suede boots.

  She seemed… comfortable, perusing her menu, resting her chin in her hand. He tried to remember the last woman he saw who didn’t maintain perfect posture and actually asked for and remembered the names of the waitstaff.

  “What?” Frankie asked, frowning at him over her menu.

  “I was just…”

  “If you say admiring the view, I’m going to throw up on the table.”

  Aiden shook his head. The words that came out of her mouth… “Well, we can’t have that now.”

  “Then why were you staring at me?”

  “Because I like looking at you. You’re interesting to watch.”

  “I’m going to assume that’s a compliment so we don’t have to start our first date with a fight,” Frankie decided.

  “It was very much meant as a compliment. You’re different than—”

  “What you’re used to.” She closed the menu. “Which brings me to my first point in what I hope will be a civil discussion.”

  “You’re not going to threaten to rip my face off and feed it to me like you did your brother last night, are you?” Aiden asked.

  “Har har, smart guy. Let’s put this on the table. We have literally nothing but pretty spectacular orgasms in common.”

  The word “orgasms” had his cock stirring. “I find it hard to believe there’s nothing else. How do you feel about puppies and apple pie?”

  Her lips quirked. “Okay, let’s try this. What’s your goal this week? What do you plan to accomplish by Friday?”

  The waiter returned with their glasses. It was a BYOB place so Aiden had raided his collection and settled on a decent bottle of cabernet. They placed their orders and handed over the menus.

  “By Friday?” Aiden asked, filling her glass and then moving on to his own. “The board vote is this week. I plan to make sure it goes my way. Elliot needs to be reminded of his place in the family and the business. And I have a new acquisition that is experiencing some, shall we say, growing pains that need my attention.”


  “Uh-huh,” Frankie said smugly. “You know what I’m doing this week?”

  “I’d love to know.”

  “I’m trying to ace my Corporate Social Responsibility exam on Thursday.”

  “Exam?”

  “I’m getting my MBA. Should have it by May if I can focus hard enough. The catering thing was a side gig so I wouldn’t go broke on Pru’s wedding. I work part-time for a small business development center.”

  “You’re interested in business?” he ventured. Common ground that didn’t involve orgasms.

  “Very. It’s what happens when your parents run a business. I’m sure you get that.”

  He nodded. “Of course. At times, it can seem as if it’s in the blood.”

  “Yeah, well maybe the business part for me but not the lunchmeat.”

  At his questioning glance, Frankie laughed. “My parents own a deli in Brooklyn just down the street from their house. My brother Marco runs it now. I grew up in that shop. I can slice a pound of corned beef better than Marco or Gio.”

  “But you didn’t want to take over a deli?”

  Frankie shook her head. “I like the numbers side of it. The accounting, the planning, the tracking.”

  “What will you do with your MBA?”

  She shrugged. “I really like what I do at the small business development center. Some people think that big business, huge corporations, are where America works. But it’s not. It’s the second-generation plumbing company or the ice cream shop that’s been open for forty years or the machine shop start-up or the florist. I help those businesses do business.”

  Fascinated, Aiden leaned forward and rested his elbow on the table.

  “And you think we have nothing in common,” he pointed out.

  “How much does this bottle cost?” she asked, lifting her glass to study the wine.

  He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Well, I do because I Googled it when you were in the restroom. My rent is cheaper than this bottle.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that money is going to be an area of contention with you? I don’t care what you have or how much you make or owe. Why should you care about my financials?”