My jaw drops as my heart begins to soar out of my chest; “WHAT?”
“I finally called them back,” He says, grinning at me; “I need to fit two years of undergraduate courses into three fucking semesters first, but apparently, they still want me.”
“Knox! That’s- thats-!”
“Good?”
“Yes!”
I throw my arms around him, and I’m leaning up towards that perfect mouth of his before he smirks and leans away from me; “Uh-uh, first you. What were you going to tell me?”
The grin spreads quickly across my face; “Well, it’s good that you’re going to business school, because I think I’m going to need a manager.” He raises an eyebrow at me curiously; “A woman from Little House Records may have just called me and asked me to come in to talk next week.”
Knox starts to laugh, and I’m falling right into him before he holds a hand out, stopping me; “Hey, not so fast.”
I roll my eyes at him, my body aching to be close to him; “Now what?”
He shakes his head, an exaggeratedly serious look on his face. He gestures at the burning lawn next to us before he shrugs; “You never asked.” He leans closer, holding me tight against him and looking me right in the eye; “You gotta ask first, Paige.”
I step towards him, the heat of the fire washing over us, and knowing for the first time in my life, I’m going to be the master of my own decisions; “Knox?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you come to New York with me?”
“One condition.”
I drop my jaw and stare at him; “Oh my God you’re terrible! There are conditions?”
I roll my eyes as he laughs and pulls me close; “Only one,” He murmurs into my ear; “You just have to let me say one thing.”
“Yeah?” I wrap my arms around his waist and look up into his eyes; “And what’s that?”
“Just that I love you.”
And I’m falling. I’m melting as I press my lips to his, this boy who’s shattered everything I knew and shown me how to build it back up. And I’m crying as I slip against him, searing my lips to his like words across a summer lawn.
“I love you too.”
There’s a roaring that’s not just the blood in my ears as I stand in the backstage area.
It’s the crowd that I’m hearing; the very, very big crowd.
This time, I’m not even nervous for it; this time, I’m excited. Because after two years of this, I’m finally at the first show of my first headline tour.
And it’s sold out.
The show is in Dallas, obviously, because where else could I start this next chapter except the place it stated? Plus, I know my dad and Amanda are psyched that we’re back in town for the visit. Oh, not to mention, I think my dad might literally be my biggest fan, and I know he’s loving the VIP seats I got them.
I know what you’re thinking; what, my dad was just suddenly cool with the whole Knox thing after everything that happened? Well, it didn’t go down exactly like a fairytale, I’ll say that.
I mean here was the boy who broke every rule he laid down for him, and then quit the job he set up for him; the boy who defiled his poor virgin daughter.
…The boy who lit his backyard on fire.
Honestly, in the aftermath of that night with all the tensions and tempers and emotions running as high as they were, it was Amanda who’s stepped in and defused everyone; she’s pretty damn awesome, actually.
Really, I think my dad’s biggest worry was me ditching an ivy league education to hit the road like some sort of rock star. But it turns out that Laura and everyone else at Little House Records had the same worry, and actually wrote a graduation and GPA level clause into my contract. Apparently, smart kids dropping out of school to go play rock shows doesn’t look great to them either. And so I did both. I’m still doing both - the school full time and the rock star on the side. Ok, maybe not star, but I’m working at
We’re wrecking at it. Because I couldn’t do this alone, of course. But I’ve got one hell of a manger.
And the fact that he’s a demon in the sack doesn’t hurt.
Remember when I said Knox was “kind of a genius”? Yeah, well it turns out he’s literally one. He plowed through junior and then senior level classes at Columbia in three straight semesters before I even finished sophomore year, before moving up to their business school, where he of course blew people away. Turns out he just needed a little help focusing.
I’d like to think I at least had a teeny bit to do with that, thank you very much.
And now? Now we’re going to see what happens, because we’re still young and we’re still looking to see where this all goes. My second record just dropped though, and it’s picking up some really major coverage, and the tour is almost entirely sold out for the rest of it. And hey, if music doesn’t end up panning out? Well, a certain manager of mine is coaching me through the pre-graduate business school classes at Columbia, so I there’s always that.
Or anything really, because above all else, we’ve got each other. I mean honestly, he’s sort of stuck with me at this point, what with the binding vows and all that.
Oh, right, sorry. I guess I missed that part. We’re got married five hours ago in a small civil ceremony at my dad and Amanda’s house. On a nice little patch of grass that looks just a bit greener than the rest of the backyard…
So yeah, I married my stepbrother. And you know who cares?
No one.
“You ready?”
I turn, grinning as I feel Knox come up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist; “For the show?” I shrug in a very Mrs. Shepherd way that I’ve picked up from him; “Of course.”
“Oh, no, I meant for…” His voice trails off in my ear as his hands move up to slide across my belly, and I grin as I snuggle back into him.
Ok, no, we’re not pregnant; not yet. I mean please, we’ve both got at least two or three very busy years of school and touring to get to first. But after that? It turns out my authority-bucking, bad-boy of a husband can’t wait to be the kind of dad his never was.
I start to open my mouth, but he laughs, kissing my neck; “I know, I know; later. For now, you ready for this?” He nods at the steps that’ll take me up to the stage, the roar of the crowd already crescendoing.
I turn in his arms, kissing him; “You know it.”
The announcer is shouting my name then, and the crowd just erupts. Knox nods at the stage and grins at me; “Then get out there and play the fuckin hits, princess.”
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Other Books By Aubrey Irons
Soldiers of Fortune: A Military Bad-Boy Billionaire Series
"For every shadow in the world, there's a light somewhere else..."
Four men.
Four broken pasts.
Four chances at love and redemption...
Author’s Note:
All books in the Soldiers of Fortune series are standalone, HEA titles. That said, your enjoyment of this story may be even more enriched by reading them in the order shown above.
Click the book covers above, or the links below to read now!
Heat
Burn
Scorch
Roar
Aubrey Irons enjoys writing about bold, sassy, and intelligent women and the dominant, cocky, and quite typically forbidden alpha males who love and lust for them; gripping stories, happy endings, and enough heat to keep things extra steamy! In the real world, Aubrey is kept plenty entertained by her own tattooed Marine husband, their precocious and adorable three year old, and one very ill-
behaved puppy.
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Heat
Soldiers of Fortune: Book 1
Aubrey Irons
“They’re fucking what?!” I almost drop the glass of champagne in my hand as I feel the floor practically drop out from beneath my feet. My campaign manager Donald’s face is impassive and steely - pretty much like it always is even in crisis meltdown situations like this - with his bushy grey eyebrows furrowing slightly like they do when he’s got news for me neither of us want to hear.
“They’re pulling out, Reagan; entirely.” I see him reach out of habit for the phantom pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket that hasn’t been there for five years; the frown in his eyebrows deepening.
“All of it?”
He sticks a pen between his lips instead of his old vice and glowers at me; “Every damn penny.”
I swear fiercely under my breath, clenching my hand tight and digging my nails into my palm as the reality of the situation hits me like a wet blanket; “How fucked are we?”
Donald tenses his face; he hates when I swear, especially in public and especially in public when there are cameras everywhere. “Lower your voice, Reagan” He mutters through the pen in his teeth, looking at me like I’m an ill-behaved child in that way that drives me crazy. In the movie version of my life, Donald is the kind and sagely grandfatherly type who guides me along a path of adorable metaphors and teary-eyed life lessons to victory. In reality, he’s cold, calculating, and robotically efficient at keeping me in line with his battle plans. But then again, kindly grandfatherly types doling out anachronisms like they were candy don’t win elections; robots do.
“They were forty percent of our campaign.”
I can feel the breath leave my lungs as the room spins around me; my lips moving soundlessly as my brain searches for the words to possible use here. This simply can’t be happening; not after we’ve worked so freaking hard to get to where we are.
Donald glares at me as he furiously chews on his poor pen; “Maybe next time, you’ll stay on the damn speech I give you instead of going off on one of your ‘save the world’ tangents, Reagan. You know they’re going to jump down you throat for that kind of things because-” His phone beeps and he frowns, trailing off as he shakes his head and mutters at whatever’s just popped up, but I can pretty much take my pick of what he was going to say anyways: ‘Because I’m a girl,’ or ‘Because I’m the youngest person to ever run for the State Senate of New York,’ or my favorite, ‘Because I’m the daughter of the late William Archer; billionaire philanthropist-slash-arms-dealer, depending on who’s opinion you ask.’ To most people, I’m either the next great American Dream for politics, or a nut-job, which plays nicely to the split media opinion of eager-eyed media darling or poor little rich girl, depending on which new station you like to watch. I hang my head; running was one thing, but dropping out like this is going to be a news anchor joke for years.
“So this is it then? We’re done, just like that?” I can hear my voice from outside my body, my ears ringing and my jaw clenching in that way Donald always tells me not to do in front of cameras because it makes me look aggressive. I look down at the trembling glass of champagne in my hand, suddenly wishing it was the size of a movie-theater cup.
“What?” My campaign manager takes the mangled pen from his mouth and briefly wrinkles his face at it, as if just noticing how gross a habit it is. He looks up at me, a stony look on his face; “No of course not,” He snaps, a bit more condescendingly than I need right now; “We’ve been approached by another new donor who sees a lot of promise in our campaign.”
I feel myself exhale for the first time in what seems like an hour and start to shake my head; “Well Jesus, Donald, you scared the living-“
“Now, you aren’t going to like it, of course, but try to let go of personal baggage for once,” He interrupts me, his voice low as he glares at me; “Try to remember that this is about more than just you?”
Instantly, I narrow my eyes as suddenly every one of my gut instincts start to tingle at the look on his face and the tone in his voice; “Donald-” I start to shake my head, my jaw clenching as I feel the anger and the heat rising in my cheeks; “No, absolutely not! It’s not even an option!”
Even though we’re off in the corner of the big open gallery of the museum where we’ve been throwing the now seemingly-useless campaign fundraiser, people around us turn to stare at my outburst. Donald shushes me again as if I’m some child acting out; “It’s our only option, Reagan.” He huffs, “Look, we all get that you don’t want your Father’s company’s money, but it is the only move here.” Donald’s rolling his eyes at me in the obnoxiously patronizing way that makes my blood boil, and for the eight-hundredth time, I have to remind myself that he’s really good at this job, otherwise I’d have blown up in his face and told him where to stick it a month ago.
“Now, there’s a man here from Archer Holdings to meet with you, and he’d like to talk with you-”
“Ms. Archer, they need some shots with some of the museum trustees.” I’m still shaking my head furiously, my mouth open and closing like a fish out of water, when one of my staffers scurries over and starts to tug me by the arm; yanking me away from Donald before I can even come up with anything to say. I turn back to over my shoulder to yell something like ‘We’re not done talking about this,’ but they’re already pushing me in front of the wall of flashing lights and clicking cameras and back into the spotlight where I can’t look like I want so break something.
*****
By the time they’re done, my face is feeling sore from all the fake smiles, and my palms are slick from other people’s sweaty handshakes; the hazards of the campaign trail they never tell you about. I’m extricating myself from the stuffy museum board of directors and scanning the room for another glass of champagne when I hear it - his voice; the voice from my past and the voice I haven’t heard in five years; “Hey, Princess.”
I turn and he’s just there, standing in the flesh right in front of me. I feel my breath catch in my throat as I suddenly look up into the bluest, most piercing eyes I’ve ever seen, and then I feel my pulse actually skip a beat as I fully grasp the man they’re attached to. He’s even more gorgeous than he was back then, in that unbelievable, magazine-model way. His dark hair is slicked back to one side, and beneath those stunning eyes is a cocky grin stretched across a strong, chiseled jaw, marked on one side by just the faintest white line of a scar across his clean-shaved chin. He’s the same infuriatingly hot dichotomy he was five years ago; the perfectly tailored tuxedo and gleaming silver watch on his wrist screaming money, but the teasing glimpses of tattoo ink creeping out from beneath his French cuff sleeves or the neck of his linen shirt. His lips part as he grins at me; I know those lips.
Suddenly Donald is there, beaming at this stunningly good looking man as if he’s the one running for a Senate seat instead of me; “Ahh, good, you’ve met!”
I’d almost want to laugh if my body wasn’t suddenly froze in time where I stand. Yeah, we’ve met. I complete tune Donald out as I lock eyes with the brooding and handsome man grinning that goddamn smug smile at me that hasn’t changed a bit in five fucking years. He might be a little bit older and a little bit more polished looking now, but suddenly my body is remembering exactly how I know Hudson Banks. I know how his body feels pressed against mine, how his hands feel on the skin at the small of my back, and how his lips taste. This time, we’re sipping champagne at a $5,000 a ticket political fundraising event, instead of moaning into each other’s mouths as he grinds that hardness into my thigh, making my whole body melt for him.
Crude: A Stepbrother Romance Page 20
