by Leigh, T. K.
Morning dew covers the grass as I head toward the front door, bringing my key up to the lock. It’s a little bittersweet, knowing this is the last time I’ll be able to use this key to let myself in. The last time I’ll enter the house and breathe in the aroma that is uniquely home. The last time I’ll bask in the security these four walls have always provided me.
Blinking back my tears, I insert my key, turning the knob, letting myself into the small house I grew up in. Now, the place is barely recognizable. Much of the furniture has been sold and no longer clutters the tiny living space. Boxes are stacked almost to the ceiling, all labeled with the room they belong in. The walls are barren, devoid of the multitude of family photos my father displayed with pride.
I shift my eyes out the front window, a lump building in my throat when I see the swing blowing slightly. That swing brings back so many memories, ones I wish I could keep with me forever. It feels like it was just yesterday when Drew pushed me on that very swing, then almost kissed me. I can almost see the ghosts of our past out there, laughing nervously as we realized we weren’t just the friends we thought we were.
“Morning, Brooklyn,” Dad says in a chipper voice. Wiping my cheeks, I whirl around, forcing a smile.
“Hey, Dad.” I walk into the small kitchen as he pours two cups of coffee. “How ya doing?”
He places the pot back on the burner, contemplating my question for a moment. “Surprisingly okay. It may be a different story once this stuff is out of the house and all I see are the walls full of memories, but this is the right thing. Ana’s already said goodbye to her house and her memories. It’s time I do the same.”
He pours some milk into my mug, then adds a packet of sweetener before handing me my coffee. He takes his black. I wonder if it’s a firefighter thing. Every single one of the guys at the station seems to take it that way.
“Well, what can I do to help?” I ask after we’ve both had a few sips, the silence thick.
“My bedroom’s still a disaster. Let’s start there.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He heads down the corridor and I follow, stealing a glance at my old bedroom that’s now completely empty. I slow my steps, staring at the barren walls. This space is full of so many memories, some bad, most good. The more I think about it, even the memories I considered bad aren’t, now that I’ve found my happiness, now that Drew and I found our way back to each other.
“Brook?” Dad’s voice catches my attention.
“Sorry. Coming.”
I continue into the master bedroom, where my dad puts me to work boxing up his bookshelves while he works in the bathroom.
As I’m wrapping up a few of the awards my father’s received during his career, the doorbell rings.
“Brooklyn, sweetie,” he calls out. “Do you mind getting that? I’m in the middle of something.”
“Sure thing,” I answer, raising myself to my feet and padding down the hallway.
Without looking through the peephole, I open the door, then inhale a sharp breath when I see Drew standing on the front stoop. But that’s not what takes me by surprise. It’s the fact that he’s clean-shaven, dressed in a suit, his hair groomed. His girls stand on either side of him, smiling a toothy grin, dressed in identical sundresses.
“Drew?” I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s going on?”
“Remember how I promised months ago that I’d do everything to make you think I’m deserving of your love?”
“Yes…,” I answer in a drawn-out voice, my gaze nervously darting around.
“Well, that’s what this is. I’m here to fulfill the first promise I made to you.” He brings his wrist up, studying his watch. “Although I’m seventeen years late.”
I shoot my eyes to my own watch. 7:01 a.m. I spy the date, August 26th. My hand flies to my mouth, my breath catching. When he drops to one knee, I lose the little composure I have left, tears spilling over.
“My beautiful Brooklyn Rose, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my lifetime. And I’d like to say I regret them. I suppose I do to some extent, but every single horrible choice I made led me here, to this moment…to you.” His eyes remain locked on mine. It’s the only thing keeping me upright, my knees weak, my heart hammering in my chest. “Truthfully, I never thought this moment would come, that I’d ever have this chance. I’ve imagined this more times than I care to admit, but now that I’m here, now that we’re here, I’m afraid what I planned to say is woefully inadequate.”
It doesn’t matter it’s just after seven in the morning on a Sunday. The neighborhood is full of activity, and many of the neighbors have stopped their morning routine, congregating at the foot of the hill to watch this moment. A moment that’s been seventeen years in the making. Regardless, I don’t care that they’re witnessing this. I want them here, want to give people hope that they can find the happiness they’re looking for, just like we did.
“When I kissed you all those years ago, I was convinced you were my once in a lifetime. Now, as I kneel before you, I am absolutely certain I was right. I don’t want to go another minute of my life without you being mine in every sense of the word. I don’t want to fall asleep another night without you in my arms. And I don’t want to wake up another day without feeling your love radiating for me and me alone.”
He reaches into his pocket and brings out a velvet box, flipping it open to reveal a stunning round cut solitaire. The sun hits it, making it reflect in my eyes. He looks to his girls, nodding at them. They also open a velvet box each, a pair of tanzanite earrings from Alyssa, amethyst from Charlotte. The girls’ birthstones.
“Brooklyn Rose Tanner, will you marry us? Be part of our family? Build a new life with us? Complete us?”
Tears obscure my vision as I look from Drew to his girls. Charlotte and Alyssa grin wide, their eyes filled with excitement as they bounce on their feet. In the past half-year, I’ve now been proposed to three times. But this one is filled with so much more meaning, so much more emotion, so much more heart. I sense a presence approach and glance behind me to see my father standing there, smiling in approval.
“Say yes,” Charlotte whispers. “Daddy says we can go to Disney World again if we get you to say yes.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. My eyes returning to Drew’s, which are warm with affection, I nod enthusiastically. “Yes, Drew. And Alyssa and Charlotte. I’ll marry you. All of you.”
Drew blows out a relieved breath as the girls squeal. In an instant, he’s on his feet, pulling me into his arms as he slides the ring onto my finger. Unlike when Wes did the same thing, this no longer feels like a chain shackling me to a life I’m unsure I want. When Drew’s ring locks into place, it’s like the piece I’ve been searching for all my life has been found.
He brings his lips toward mine, kissing me sweetly, reverently, thoughtfully. It’s fitting he proposed on the date and time he broke the promise that seemed to impact our relationship for years. Drew was my first love, my first kiss. And now he’ll be my last.
“Now do you believe me?” he murmurs against my mouth.
“What’s that?”
“You were never just my sister’s best friend.”
I run my hands through his hair, arching into him. “I do now.”
* * *
Thank you so much for reading REDEMPTION! I hope you’ve enjoyed Brooklyn and Drew’s story!
If you enjoyed Dating Games, check out WRITING MR. RIGHT, another fun, sexy poignant tale about a romance author who doesn't believe real love is real life. Keep reading for an excerpt!
She's a romance author who's always resisted serious relationships... But she can't resist him.
Want to know if Wes finds his happily ever after? Stay tuned! POSSESSION is coming soon!
A wealthy member of Southern society finds himself falling for a woman he fears will never be accepted in his social circles. Can he convince them to put aside their centuries-old prejudices? Or will they only ever see the color of her skin?
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A runaway bride who escapes to Rome. A handsome, mysterious Italian man. A proposition for one night of passion. Will one night be enough? Find out today!
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Writing Mr. Right Excerpt
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Chapter One
Seducing My Boss
“Hurry up. Hurry up. Hurry up.” I rocked on my heels in the packed elevator as I watched the numbers ascend at a languid pace. Carefully balancing two coffees, one on top of the other, I checked the time on my cell phone. 9:02 Monday morning. I would love to have a job where it wasn’t a big deal if I ran a few minutes behind, particularly on a Monday.
Particularly after having to stop at Starbucks every day to get my boss his expected triple venti soy no foam latte, the lamest drink known to man.
Particularly after having to leave my apartment an hour earlier than normal, without pay, to stand in line at the Starbucks closest to the literary agency in Rockefeller Center where I worked to get said lame excuse for a coffee.
Particularly because I had to start ordering the same coffee for myself in case I dropped it, as happened one time. The fallout was something I’d like to avoid in the future.
I preferred a basic Americano with milk from an actual cow, not this fake bullshit. I knew all about my boss’ allergies. He didn’t have any sort of intolerance to dairy. He was just an asshole, and his choice in drink proved it.
Finally, the ding of the elevator snapped me out of my vengeful thoughts and I barreled through the doors into a large, modern reception area.
“9:03,” the receptionist sang after me, her voice almost smug.
“I know. I know.” I dashed past the desk with Bartlett, Derringer, and Price in big bold letters on the wall behind it, not letting anyone who exited that elevator forget where they were. I wondered if the partners were trying to overcompensate for something.
“And he’s in a mood,” she added in warning.
“And that’s different how?” I mumbled, my voice almost inaudible.
Running past cubicle after cubicle, I prayed today wouldn’t be the day I slipped on the slick marble tile and fell ass over tea kettle. Since I’d started here more than six months ago, I had that vision in my head daily.
When my desk came into view, I breathed a sigh of relief. My gaze shot past it to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows separating the big bad wolf from the rest of us sheep. I observed him on the phone, pacing his office, a fierce expression on his face. At least he was preoccupied. Perhaps he wouldn’t even notice I was four minutes late.
As I set my heavy messenger bag on the ground with a thump, my shoulder screaming with reprieve from the welcome lack of weight, I realized my wish wouldn’t come true.
“Avery!” his powerful voice bellowed. “Get in here!”
“Shit.” Subtly rolling my eyes, I opened my desk drawer to retrieve a small notepad, shoving it into the pocket of my suit jacket. Running my hands over my cream-colored sheath top and gray pencil skirt to straighten the lines, I grabbed his sorry excuse for a morning beverage. I paused just outside his office door, took a deep breath, then entered the devil’s lair.
“You’re late,” he barked at me the instant my foot crossed the threshold.
“I apologize, Mr. Price.” I met his hardened gaze. All my other friends could saunter into work five, ten, maybe even twenty minutes late. When they did arrive, it wasn’t expected they get straight to work. They were able to ease into the day, talk about their weekends, which bars they went to, what movies they saw. But not me.
I’d considered quitting at least once a week, but reminded myself that I had a rare opportunity to get my foot in the door of an industry that typically shut people out. This was my chance to have a say in who could be the next Stephen King, Nora Roberts, or J.K. Rowling. I just needed to put in my time and learn the industry. Then I could start my own firm and, hopefully, family.
“What’s the excuse this time, Miss Rollins?” He ripped the coffee out of my hand.
“No excuse, sir. I should have planned better and left my apartment earlier,” I responded, all too familiar with what he liked to hear. It would have been useless to tell him the real reason — that the barista at Starbucks messed up my order twice. He would simply say I should have prepared for that to happen.
“And where is it you live exactly?” He came around from behind his desk and sat on the corner, his expression and voice softening. I glanced behind me, wondering if we weren’t alone.
With his booming voice, broad shoulders, tall height, and impeccable good looks, Mr. Jackson Price had a commanding and intimidating presence. In the half-year since I began working as his assistant, a position that had been like a revolving door before I came around, he’d never exhibited anything but his egomaniacal side. Not only did he get off on being in charge, I had a sneaking suspicion he took pleasure in everyone else knowing that fact, as well.
“Miss Rollins?” He raised his eyebrows at me when I didn’t immediately answer, caught slightly off guard by his change in demeanor.
“Umm… Queens, sir.”
“Do you have a roommate?” He sauntered away from his desk, roaming his office. He shut the door, closing the blinds. I remained firmly planted in place, his interest in me unsettling, to say the least.
“I wouldn’t be able to afford an apartment in Queens on this salary without one,” I quipped, then cringed, bracing for his response. Despite months of practice, I still had trouble controlling my innate sarcastic nature around him at times.
His presence loomed behind me, towering over my five-foot, three-inch frame. A shiver rolled down my spine, my skin prickling with goosebumps. His coffee-laden breath heated my neck, my entire being on high alert. My reaction to him took me by surprise, confusing me. It certainly wasn’t the first time we had been alone together. But today, my body buzzed with anticipation and hunger.
Perhaps it was because I’d spent my weekend reading a trashy insta-love romance where the main characters probably spent more time naked than they did clothed. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t had an orgasm at the hand of another person in what seemed like an eternity. Perhaps it was because I missed the touch of a man, my boyfriend of nearly four years having recently broken up with me because I was always working. Regardless of the reason, I found myself inexplicably turned on by this complete asshole.
I continued staring at Mr. Price’s immaculate desk. Fantasies of his rippling body bending me over it as he had his way with me seeped into my subconscious. I imagined he would be as demanding and assertive as he was in his professional life. He would take what he wanted and teach me things I never thought possible.
“Pity.” His deep, sensual voice broke through my perverse thoughts. I tried to shove them deep down and forget they ever crossed my mind. This man was my boss.
His hand swept aside my blonde hair, exposing the back of my neck. I swallowed hard, a delicious tremor overtaking me as his breath drew closer and closer to my skin. When his heated lips landed with delicate ease on my flesh, fireworks erupted in my core. It was confusing, wrong, and desperately wanted all at the same time.
My desire for him grew with each flick of his tongue on my milky skin. A voice in my head whispered this was a bad idea. I knew it was, but damn, it felt good, as if he had an Avery Rollins instruction manual and knew precisely what to do to drive me insane with lu
st.
His strong hand skimmed the front of my blouse. The sensation of the silky material against my bare flesh heightened my awareness. He clutched my hips, forcing me against his hard stomach. His cock pushed against my back, the reality of the situation snapping me out of my erotic daydream.
I spun around, meeting his blue eyes, my mouth agape. “Wha—”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t fantasized about this,” he said coolly. He ran his fingers through my hair, tugging, forcing my head back. “I have been since the day I hired you. You had everything I was looking for in an assistant. Beautiful. Smart. Sarcastic. But most of all, subservient.”
“I’m not—”
“You are, Avery. You may think you’re a strong woman, and I’d be inclined to agree, but you have a submissive side to you. A side I’m interested in exploring deeper.”
Did he have a point? Did I have a submissive side? I didn’t know, but the image of this man tying me up, blindfolding me, leaving me completely at his mercy didn’t turn me cold. In fact, it excited me.
He ran his tongue from my ear to my collarbone, leaving a trail of fire across my flesh. I whimpered, my eyes nearly rolling into the back of my head. The forbidden nature of what we were doing made my hunger for him grow with each nip of his teeth on my skin.
His hands found their way back to my hips. With incredible ease, he picked me up and pinned me against the wall. Hiking up my skirt, he forced my legs around his waist. I closed my eyes, an unexpected moan leaving my throat when I felt what could only be his enormous erection pushing against me. A slave to my libido, I no longer cared that this man was my boss. That this was wrong on every level. That this could jeopardize everything I had worked hard for since my freshman year at NYU. All I knew was we were both wearing far too much clothing than necessary.
