Ensnared: A Love Letters Novel

by Kristen Blakely

  Turn the page and continue Love Letters with this excerpt from FLAWED!

  Flawed

  I’m out of dreams. He’s full of them.

  I wanted to be an actress. I got as far as waiting on tables while waiting for the call backs that never came. Disillusioned and burned-out, I head out on a lavish, all-expense-paid vacation before facing up to the fact that life has dealt me a big flat zero.

  And then I meet him, and our mutual attraction is immediate and scorching. Jake Hunter is a professional beach volleyball player with gold in his sights. Olympic gold.

  And perhaps another kind of gold. He thinks I’m something I’m not.

  Rich.

  No amount of attraction is going to survive those false impressions and clashing expectations. I’m not going to make it out of this summer fling with my heart intact.

  And neither will he.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I need an Irish Car Bomb, a Coors, and a kick-ass smile for table twenty-seven.”

  Ariel Falconer glanced over her shoulder and flashed a smile at the two men seated in a corner booth. For added effect, she tossed her head and winked at them through the stray lock of black wavy hair that fell across her face.

  “Super.” Noelle laughed. The diminutive waitress tugged down on the tiny white shirt that left her midriff exposed. Her shorts barely covered the curve of her buttocks.

  Not for the first time, Ariel was glad to be behind the bar instead of working tables. “I want a portion of your tips for pimping me out,” Ariel told Noelle as she reached for the bottle of Baileys Irish Cream. Because she knew the men were watching, she flipped the bottle behind her back and caught it with her other hand. “Weren’t they here last week?” she asked Noelle as she floated whiskey on top of the Irish cream in a shot glass, and then dropped the shot glass into a pub glass of Guinness stout.

  “Yup.” Noelle grinned. She brushed a hand through her short blond hair. “I hope they’ll be regulars. They’re big tippers.”

  “Good luck.” Ariel set the Irish Car Bomb and a glass of Coors on Noelle’s tray before turning to fill another order. She was mixing a Long Island Iced Tea for table twelve, when Mark Tague, the owner of Escapades, looked out of the office tucked behind the bar.

  “When you get a minute, can we talk?” Mark asked.

  His brow was furrowed—not a good sign, Ariel thought. She glanced around. The traffic in the club was still light at 10 p.m. on a Thursday and would not pick up for another hour. “Sure. Give me five.”

  She got the order for table twelve on its way, gestured to the other bartender that she would be stepping away for a few minutes, and walked into the back office.

  Mark’s tall and lean frame cramped behind a desk. His shoulders hunched over a tiny computer notebook. He looked up at her, and a worried frown crossed his face. “I’ve heard rumors that you’re planning to quit. Is it true?”

  “I’m…” She shrugged. “I know I should have told you first instead of letting you find out from someone else.” Noelle, probably. For a little person, she had a big mouth.

  He gestured to the chair across from him.

  Ariel slumped into it. “Escapades has been like a home these past seven years, and you’ve been very kind—”

  He waved her remark away. “The kindness voucher expired about a month after I hired you. You learned fast, and you’ve more than carried your weight around here.”

  “Well, you did put up with all my requests for flexible hours.”

  “It’s Hollywood. Half my staff is aspiring actors; the other half just doesn’t know it yet. Flexible is the name of the game here,” Mark said drily. “I know the big spenders come in the nights you work just to chat you up—”

  Her jaw dropped. “I never—”

  “And you always go home alone,” Mark continued. “I know that. I’m not accusing you of running an escort service out of Escapades. What I’m saying is that customers like you and come because of you. I don’t know how much you rake in in tips, but I’m sure it’s solid, maybe even substantial. So why are you quitting?”

  She shrugged again. “I’m just…done.”

  Mark’s eyebrows shot up, giving his homely face a comical look. “Done with…what?”

  “Acting.”

  “But you haven’t even started.”

  “Exactly.” Ariel snapped out the word. “Seven years.” She held up her fingers for emphasis. “Seven years of acting classes. Seven years of attending every audition I could. Seven years of bartending through the nights to pursue my dreams here in L.A. Seven years of nothing.”

  He blinked hard. “Well, I wouldn’t say—”

  “I’m twenty-five. What do I have to show for it? A high school diploma and a job I couldn’t possibly put on a résumé.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say—”

  “What should I write? ‘I can make every mixed drink in the world with my eyes closed.’”

  “You can do that,” he agreed, admiration in his voice.

  “‘And do neat acrobatic tricks with bottles.’”

  “Although you haven’t done that flaming breath trick in a while.”

  Ariel shot Mark an exasperated look. “If that’s the highlight of my experience, I’m in trouble.”

  “Why do you need a résumé? What’s wrong with staying on and working here even if you are done with acting, as you say?”

  “Because there’s got to be something more, right?”

  Mark stared at her. “More…what?”

  How dense could he be? “More to life than saying that the only two things I can do is tend bar and smile for bigger tips. I mean my brother just got married—”

  “Ah ha.” Mark leaned back in his chair. “So that’s what it is.”

  Ariel shook her head, but moments later, conceded with a sigh. “Maybe. I mean, he’s twenty-five, married to his childhood sweetheart, their kid’s a champ, and he’s doing what he loves for a living.”

  “Which is?”

  “He coaches high school and college swim teams.”

  “Completely respectable, where bartending isn’t?”

  Ariel narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be snide. You know what I mean. It’s hard to shop around for a new job when my only work experience comes down to bartending.”

  Mark pushed to his feet. “I’m just not following you. You’ve thanked me for employing you. Financially, this job is meeting your needs. The customers like you, and the wait staff respect you. You’ve decided to quit acting, but you’ve said nothing about leaving L.A., so I assume you’re sticking around.” He checked off the points on his fingertips. “None of those facts equals quitting this particular job.”

  “This job was just something to tide me over when I wanted to act—you know, something flexible. But now that it’s time to grow up, I need to do something else, something more…”

  “Respectable?” Mark’s voice had a cynical bite.

  “Résumé-able,” Ariel corrected.

  Mark shook his head and reclaimed his seat with a sigh. “This isn’t a good time for me to lose you. I’m two weeks away from opening Escapades in San Diego. All my attention is going to be focused on that baby for a while. I can’t afford to lose seasoned employees at my L.A. location.”

  “Well, I’m just one of the bartenders. It’s not like I do anything special. I’m sure you can find someone to mind the shop here.”

  “Would you like to?”

  Her mind spluttered. “What?”

  “If you think running a nightclub might be slightly more respectable than tending a bar, I’d like you to be the acting manager here in L.A. while I get San Diego up and running.”

  “Me? I don’t know the first thing about running a club.”

  “You’ve been watching me and asking questions for seven years.”

  True, they had chatted regularly about all the issues related to running a bustling nightclub in Los Angeles—everything from inventory to marketing, from hiring to firing—
but it had been no more than Ariel’s idle interest in how things worked.

  Sometimes, her mouth was as big as Noelle’s.

  Ariel sighed. “I don’t know, Mark. I really want a fresh start.”

  “Say you’ll think about it. Take the week off, like you wanted. If you want the manager’s job after that, let me know. You’ll have to double as bartender when it gets busy, but you’ll get a manager’s pay, and you’ll get to keep your tips.”

  She frowned at him. “Are you trying to bribe me into staying?”

  He looked her in the eye. “You bet the hell I am. Not going to lose a great employee without a fight.” He turned his attention back to his computer. “You let me know, okay?”

  Stifling a sigh, Ariel left Mark’s office and was immediately waylaid by Noelle. Her friend grabbed her arm. “What did he want?”

  “You told him I was quitting.”

  “Yup.” Noelle did not look apologetic.

  “Big mouth.”

  Noelle shrugged. “What did he say?”

  “Offered me a week off and a promotion, if I wanted it.”

  Noelle’s smile broadened. “That’s awesome! You’re taking it, right?”

  Ariel stared at the petite blonde. She had always suspected Noelle didn’t have a jealous bone in her body; now she knew she was right. “I’m definitely taking the vacation. I’m long overdue. The promotion, though…I’m still thinking about it.”

  Noelle’s face fell.

  “You talked Mark into it, didn’t you?” Ariel said.

  “He would have eventually figured out how awesome you are, just too late. Oh, I need a Rusty Nail, a Sazerac, and the cheapest beer you have on tap. A Coke, too, on the house.”

  Ariel began working on the order. “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?” she asked Noelle.

  A deep male voice cut in. “Of course I do, but that’s why I’m here most nights. Can’t wait to see what you’ll do next.”

  Noelle sidled away as Ariel glanced over her shoulder with a smile. “Paul, how are you doing?”

  “Wonderful.” Paul Gordon, a sales manager in a fast-growing social media company and a regular customer at Escapades, loosened his tie before grabbing the empty bar stool across from her. “So what’s this I hear about you going away?”

  “Just a holiday.”

  “Will you be back?”

  She gave him an impish grin. “I’m still debating it.”

  His mouth twisted into a half-smile. “You’ll be back in time for me to work up the courage to propose, won’t you?”

  She laughed. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. What can I get for you today?”

  “Surprise me.”

  Ariel chuckled. Her gaze moved over the collection of liquors behind the bar. A dash of tequila. A splash of pineapple juice over rum. Curaçao, for color and flavor. She topped off the drink with a sprig of mint leaves and a strawberry, and slid the glass across the bar.

  Paul’s hesitant sip gave way to an astonished smile. “This is great. What is it?”

  “The Gordon special, just as you ordered. Never existed before, probably never will again.”

  “You’re marvelous behind the bar, Ariel.” He ran his hand along the smooth wood grain. “Will you come out from behind it and let me take you to dinner one night?”

  “Someday, Paul,” she promised.

  Noelle’s surprisingly strong grip closed around Ariel’s upper arm. Ariel flashed Paul a smile. “Just a moment. Be right back.” She let Noelle pull her into a quiet corner of the bar.

  Noelle hissed. “What are you doing?”

  “Uh, my job?”

  “This is the fourth time Paul has asked you out.”

  “You’ve been keeping track?”

  “You should be too.”

  Ariel glanced at Paul. Blond. Good-looking. Respectable. Polite. Nothing in the least bit wrong with him, except that he didn’t set off the delicious flutter of nerves in her stomach. She sighed.

  “You’re depressed,” Noelle announced.

  Tell me something I don’t know. Not that Ariel wanted to admit it. She was a third of the way through her life, and she had nothing to show for it. She didn’t have the dream job she had spent her life pursuing, and she didn’t have anything else either.

  Her friend eyed her. “What you need to get out of your funk is an affair.”

  “A what?”

  “An affair. Find a gorgeous, hunky stranger and screw him until your brains and his turn to mush.”

  “And how exactly is this supposed to help me?”

  “You’ll live in the present as opposed to in the future.”

  “The present’s not that great.”

  Noelle smirked. “It’s better than you think, and at least for now, it’s better than your future.” She sauntered back to her section.

  Ariel stared at her friend’s back. Noelle’s big mouth wasn’t her worst feature.

  Noelle’s worst feature was that she was usually right.

  Stifling yet another sigh, Ariel reached for her cell phone and called her sister-in-law.

  Lily Herald Falconer picked up on the second ring. “Ariel, I’m so glad to hear from you.”

  “How’s the baby?”

  “Which one?” Lily asked. “The one I’m carrying, the one I gave birth to, or the one I married?”

  Ariel laughed.

  “I’m wondering whether it was a blessing after all that he wasn’t around when I was pregnant with Miki. He’s driving me crazy with his hovering. Just like an old woman.”

  In the background, Ariel heard her brother, Michael, say, “I heard that, Lily!”

  Lily laughed, love and affection in her voice. “What about you? How are things in L.A.?”

  “Well, I think I may need a break. The holiday package—the one in Fort Lauderdale—is the offer still open?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Ariel hesitated. Lily had purchased the holiday package for her and Michael’s honeymoon, but their plans had been derailed by Lily’s severe morning sickness. “Can I pay you for it?”

  “Absolutely not. We told you; it’s a gift.”

  “Well, I’m really grateful.” The vacation was bound to be spectacular, befitting Lily’s expectations as the sole heiress of the massive Herald fortune.

  “Let me know your dates, and I’ll have my assistant make the changes to the reservations.”

  “Thank you, Lily. This means a lot to me.”

  “You are most welcome. I hope you have a wonderful time.”

  Michael’s voice shouted across the phone. “And tell her to behave!”

  Continue your journey through Love Letters with FLAWED.

  Love Letters

  ADORED

  Gratefully divorced and not looking.

  Well, okay, maybe just peeking.

  Single parenthood to a two-year old toddler and a full-time job doesn’t leave me with any time to find Mr. Right. Not that he exists. But when a sexy male escort walks into my volunteer clinic for his annual checkup, I’m startled—okay, fine, tempted—into accepting his invitation.

  Rowan Forrester’s model-gorgeous looks are the least of his attributes; he’s like no other man I’ve ever known. His single-minded attentiveness boosts my shaky confidence. I know better than to believe his interest is genuine, but his easy sincerity is irresistible. his fantasy can’t last—after all, he’s an escort—but I can’t turn away from someone who adores my daughter and makes me believe in love again.

  But when the truth of his past finally catches up with him…with us…it crushes my fragile hope for a future together. And it’s entirely up to me if I’m going to allow it to destroy our love...

  BETRAYED

  I can turn every man’s head…except his.

  I command attention on the haute couture catwalks of Milan, Paris, and New York, but whenever I’m face-to-face with Drew Jackson, I feel like a gawky thirteen-year-old again—in love with a superstar who will never see
me as anything more than his younger brother’s ex-girlfriend.

  I tell myself Drew’s no longer a superstar. A long-ago car accident shattered his knee and destroyed his football career. What is he compared to the celebrities who whirl me through one-night stands or Tyler, the brilliant and witty social media maverick who is determined to win my love?

  Drew’s just…Drew. All logic and rationality aside, I want him.

  When betrayal knocks me off my supermodel pedestal, it’s a long way to the bottom. Will my tenuous friendship with Drew survive my career, my fame, and the rocky transition to love?

  CRUSHED

  I need a hero…but not him.

  Losing my job wouldn’t have fazed me.

  Losing my brother and then my job almost broke me. I’m down to my last hundred dollars and ready to accept help in any shape or form when Cody turns up on my doorstep with a job offer. And not just any job offer.

  My dream job.

  I can’t accept. I’m not that desperate.

  Because I know Cody.

  He’s the daredevil black sheep of the esteemed Hart clan, and should never have made it to his twenty-fifth birthday. What he probably hadn’t counted on, though, was his best friend dying instead of him.

  His best friend. My brother.

  I’m out of options, but nothing on Earth could possibly entice me into the arms of the man who killed my brother.

  DESIRED

  I want a divorce. And I don’t know why.

  “The Plan” we made twenty years ago as naive seventeen-year-olds is on track. Married. House with a white picket fence. Two matching BMWs. Two kids. And Gabriel is on track to becoming a partner in his law firm.

  How can one have everything and still need something more…something different? How do I tell the man I married that he’s practically a stranger to me now?

  “The Plan” is about to go completely off track. Far worse, I’m not sure if it’s his fault…or mine.