by V. L. Silva
To the extent that the images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
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Copyright © 2021 PRETTY BOOKED PUBLICATIONS
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Contents
Synopsis
1. Hope
2. Hope
3. Hope
4. Axel
5. Hope
6. Axel
7. Hope
8. Hope
9. Axel
10. Hope
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About the Author
HOPE
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It should have been an easy sell.
He was just another client, a wealthy target.
I offered him what I had.
He stole the rest.
Beautiful. Confident.
His Viking blood made him a conqueror.
He dominated my senses.
He planned to rule my body as well.
I didn’t have a chance at keeping my heart.
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AXEL
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Her name said it all.
Hope.
She came to me in my darkness.
The compass that would guide me out of the storm.
The goddess, Freyja.
She’s with me as I fight Hel, the enemy that took everything from me.
I am at war now, but the moment the dust settles I’m taking Hope as my prize.
She’s a challenge. Resistant.
Catching her will be like catching the wind.
But my people were sea wolves. We know how to tame the wind.
And I’m a patient man.
Victory is my only option.
1
Hope
Hustle and heart will set you apart.
—Some Boss Babe
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I blamed the venti vanilla frappuccino with the extra shot for what I was doing.
Crouching low behind a bush, I made a crazy dash for the security booth and made it just as another car pulled up to his window. My heart jackhammering in my chest, the rhythm spread to my fingertips. I loomed low in the shadows, closed my eyes, and listened to the deep gritty voice of the security officer.
He talked to the woman in the car. Headlights flared and my pulse flared with them as another car came up behind the woman.
If I was caught my mom would be pissed.
I inched farther away, waiting for my moment.
The world was washed orange by the California sunset, but June sunsets were often endless so I knew I had time before the sky went black.
Finally, the gate opened and I waited for the woman to pull away before I made a dash towards the lines of pine trees, through a manicured lawn with a bed of blue fescue and willow purple-tipped pride of Madeira before rushing toward the sidewalk and slowing my steps. My heels clicked against the concrete. The sound, undisturbed by anything more than passing cars, calmed my racing heart.
I straightened my spine, shifted my heavy tote bag to my other shoulder, and told myself to act natural even as every house in my vicinity left me reverential. The hills of La Jolla were some of the most coveted properties in San Diego. The view of Shell Beach’s crashing waves against the sea cliffs was envied by everyone who saw it.
The homes transported me to the paintings I’d seen of centenarian jagged roads of Italy. The terra-cotta tiled roofs and honey warm sandstone walls were something straight out of a Tuscan dream. I was trapped in a time capsule of a great architect’s vision. I’d never been to Italy, but it was on my to-do list, as was one day being able to afford one of the homes on this road.
Not that I’d resigned myself to staying in California. While I loved everything about it, I was open to moving. New York. Chicago. London. Wherever I was needed I would go.
But first things first. I had a quota of sales to make before the end of the day. Technically, the workday had ended but I wasn’t going to go home until I made one more sale. There was a competition at the office.
The higher ups were giving extra bonuses to the top three sellers of the month, bonuses that could pay for my entire third year of college.
I was number one, but one wouldn’t stay number one by living by a clock. I’d learned that lesson along with many other tips and tricks of the business from my dad before he died, and the various feminine business blogs I followed.
The air was thick, but the weather was cool enough to encourage a stroll. There were a few people out and I stopped a pair of women with golden retrievers on the street to ask them a question. Twenty minutes later, I’d sold both of them a subscription of Laved Cleaner all-purpose solution and was ready to head out.
It would take me an hour train ride to get back to my mother’s small apartment in Del Mar. I had to take a Lyft to the train station before that, but the last train was hours from now and I was already here so I decided to explore a little more.
At the end of the puckish street was a cul-de-sac with a grand house that seemed more old world than the others. It had the rustic roofing as the others but white walls with towers that looked like they’d naturally shot up from the ground. The boulders at the base made it appear like it sat on a cliff of its own.
Cars were parked around the boulder wall, each vehicle more extravagant than the next. I watched two girls who looked to be around my age, college students, climb out of a red corvette. Their swim cover ups fixed, they started up the long stairway that led to the front door.
There was a party going on. The music was dulled by the distance. Another girl waved the other two in before shutting the door behind them.
I watched another car arrive, this one an old Toyota. It drove up a curved driveway and stopped in front of the garage. A woman got out. She was wearing jeans and a polo with a business emblem over her left breast. She pulled out a black tote of cleaning supplies and a windfall went on in the back of my mind. My dreams of swimming in the crystal blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea were closer to being a reality.
If I could get this woman from a cleaning company to use my products, then perhaps I could sell it to her coworkers and her employer. I’d have enough to pay for junior year of college and so much more.
I rushed towards the house, but the woman slipped through the door before I was even halfway up the long stairway to the front door.
My thighs were burning by the time I got to the top. I took a moment to collect myself and knocked on the door.
I waited but no one came.
I knocked again.
The door was yanked open.
I looked up.
And up.
And into a pair of the most provocative blue eyes I’d ever seen. The color had walked out of my dreams of the charming seasides and into my reality. Boundless summer skies met oceans that glittered like falling stars.
My thoughts lost all basis. I fought to find my words. I’d rehearsed speeches for every situation, but with a single look he’d ripped my words up and threw them to the wind like little more than confetti.
My music faded as time seemed to stop to pay homage to this male.
It wasn’t every day I was convinced someone should be a model, but this guy could sell anything with just a look.
His jaw was sharper than any man’s had the right to be and his short hair was mahogany dark and glowed like freshly polished wood.
He opened his mouth and my gaze went there. His lips had been hinged into a firm line when he’d opened the door, but
they relaxed as he propped his hand against the frame and let go of the doorknob entirely.
He took a moment to peruse me and I let him. It was only fair since I’d ogled him first.
The skin of my neck was stinging by the time he finally lifted his gaze.
I knew the moment the results came in. Humans had the terrible habit of scoring each other based on looks and I knew I was a ten. People complimented me often, especially my clients, and while I was a pretty clever thinker and a master of my craft—when I wasn’t staring at gorgeous men like the one in front of me—I was not above using my fairer assets to make a sale.
I’d inherited my Irish father’s hazel eyes. The corners tilted up so that I always looked like I was hiding a smile. My hair was yet another gift from my Celtic heritage. It was thick, long, and a red so deep that people often asked if I dyed it.
I didn’t.
My mother had bestowed her ample cleavage and pair of hips that had her beating back predators since I was fifteen.
His eyes narrowed slightly, just enough for me to know he was interested. “Can I help you?”
In my pencil skirt, heels, and sleeveless, pink silk blouse I was clearly not here for the party.
I looked down at where my fingers were clenching the strap of my canvas bag.
The bag.
My products.
I snapped my chin up and spoke the lines I’d memorized since I’d started selling Laved Cleaner. “I’m Hope and I’m here to change your life.” I gave him my smile, the one that was a little bit more than courteous.
He wasn’t immune. I heard the wood whine underneath his hands. His body was toned. His sleeveless black shirt exposed his sinewy arms.
“Are you selling cookies?” He bit his lip and I imagined those gorgeous teeth sinking elsewhere.
God, I had to stop reading romance books. What was wrong with me? I never had amorous thoughts of actual guys I’d met. Book boyfriends were the best, yet here I was getting hot over a guy whose name I didn’t know. I decided to pull myself together.
I laughed and hoped it didn’t sound as flighty as I felt. “Uh, no. I’m not selling cookies. Actually, I wanted to talk to the housekeeper.” I needed to get away from this guy like yesterday. Though I’d be the first to admit that my thoughts could get a little dirty, I was still a virgin and hated that I was giving him mixed signals. It was time to pull all the way back.
“What do you need to speak to the housekeeper for?”
“I want to see if she’s interested in my cleaning products.” I looked past him.
“What does it clean?”
I didn’t like giving people part of my pitch without starting from the top. It was critical that they listened to my entire spiel before I gave them details. Mistakes like that were the easiest way to lose a potential customer. Marketing had a formula. If you stuck with it, eventually you’d win.
But I wasn’t really trying to sell anything to this guy. He was just curious, probably about me more than the cleaner. There was nothing wrong with answering his questions so long as he let me in.
“It cleans everything.”
“Everything?”
“Glass, granite, carpet, wood, and tile. Can I speak to the housekeeper? I believe she came through this door.”
“Side door.” He jerked his head to the right. “Go there.”
My brow pulled together. Why did I have to use the side door when the housekeeper had gone through the front? I didn’t get a chance to ask my question. The stranger closed the door on me. The silence was loud as I contemplated doing as he’d asked or going home.
I didn’t need the sale. I was winning the office challenge. Second and third place were far behind me. Most of the people working for Laved Cleaner were my age, teens or young adults desperate for money and willing to take any job offered to them.
That was me. I couldn’t count the number of jobs I’d worked since I turned fourteen and I wasn’t proud of all of them. Working in sales wasn’t easy but it was the most exciting. You had to build a tough shell to survive the constant rejection. I’d had to learn not to take everything personally and honestly, I still struggled with the last one.
Anger twinged my chest, but I found myself following a flagstone pathway around the house that was lit up by ground lanterns. I heard more than saw a camera move. Was it motion detected or was the guy who’d answered the door watching me?
What was his name? He hadn’t told me, which was fine since I wasn’t likely to see him again.
If his housekeeper was nice, I would still make the sale. It was the only thing that mattered to me.
The landscaping was elaborate with large stones asymmetrically stacked on one another around a bed of color cacti, aloe, and lantana vines. The path curved against the foliage that was lit up with lamps that grew brighter as the sun sank behind the hills.
I’d barely raised my hand to knock on the door before he opened it.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the house and into a dark alcove and up a wooden stairway.
I was on the third step when I asked, “Is this the way to the housekeeper?”
He didn’t answer. I went up two more steps and stopped. “Where are you taking me?”
His body shifted as it came to a halt and loomed over me. I was aware of the nuisance of the air. I was sure respect was automatic for him. People naturally respected the tallest person in the room. His authority was communicated nonverbally. I knew this because I was considered a tall girl myself. People often assumed I was older than I was—thus my mother having to beat men back. When they learned my age they assumed I was on a sports team. Basketball or volleyball. If they stuck around long enough they realized that my hand-eye coordination was terrible.
But I knew what it was like to have people look up to me. Very rarely was I humbled by statues alone.
And I wasn’t now.
Being tall was one thing. Being unbearably handsome was another.
He loosened his grip even as he pulled me closer.
I walked without thought and stopped when we were on the same step.
“I’m going to show you something.” He slipped his hand up my arm.
A shiver passed through me. My muscles deadlocked. He took my bag and switched it to his shoulder before he continued up the staircase that curved. It was only after he’d disappeared with my bag that I realized he hadn’t asked me before he diverted my original plans, he’d simply assumed I’d want to see whatever it was he wanted to show me and follow.
And of course, I’d follow.
He had my stuff. Taking it had been a clever move. Usually, I didn’t follow strange guys anywhere, especially one I knew could overpower me. I knew what kinds of things happened at parties. I was approaching my junior year of college and I remembered all the trouble my best friend Amanda and I escaped. How many times had a neighbor called the cops on a party we’d attended? Too many to count.
But if I was going to get out of my current situation, I needed my bag. Not only did it have fifty bucks worth of cleaner, but my wallet and keys were in the small pocket on the side.
I rushed after him and winced. My tolerance of my heels had expired before I navigated over the stone path around his house.
The light in the stairway was muted under antique brass domes on the ceiling.
I heard him move past the second floor, which was mostly a bridge to the other side of the house. I slipped off my shoes and bit back the groan of relief at being barefoot. My toes stretched and sought freedom. I decided I’d put my shoes back on before I got to the final step.
He’d never know how unprofessional I looked.
At least, that had been the plan.
He was there when I reached the top floor.
He dominated the entrance here just like he had the front door. This level was a single room.
I put my shoes on the dark wooden floor and balanced myself on the door frame as I lifted my foot.
“Keep them off.”
My hackles rose. His tone made his offer sound like a command. In fact, I was sure he was forbidding me from putting my shoes back on, which was odd unless he had a foot fetish. He glanced down at my pale-pink-painted toes, but his roaming eyes didn’t linger for longer than natural curiosity allowed.
I almost wanted to ask if my toes met his approval, but I didn’t. Not only did I not need his approval, but the words would have been too close to flirting.
I needed to be as clinical as possible now.
I gave his words the benefit of doubt. Maybe the homeowner had a rule about shoes in the house. His feet were bare, after all.
He snatched my polyester black heels from the ground and walked backwards into the room.
“What are you doing?”
He placed my shoes on a row of other shoes against the wall. The heels stood out amongst the masculine sneakers and loafers like a sore thumb.
I remained where I was and looked around. I wasn’t ready to give in so I took my time examining what was clearly a bedroom. The floors looked freshly buffed. The walls were a cool gray and I really liked the Edison lights that lent the room a historic feel. It was like standing at the gates of exploration and wonder.
In another life, this hall—because it was far too big for the designer to have envisioned it as a bedroom —could have been a game room or something meant for entertainment, but someone had converted it into a private virile chasm.
The room smelled like him.
The aroma was deep and expressive in a way that made me think of money. It was one of those scents you inquired about the name of, thinking you’d buy it for a loved one, a Father’s Day gift, etcetera. Until you looked up the obscene price, wondered if the elixir had been crafted with the blood of newborns and the tears of angels, only to reason it still wasn’t worth the damage to your bank account.
