Full Mountie

by Ainsley Booth

  Full Mountie

  Ainsley Booth

  Sadie Haller

  Booth Haller Books

  Contents

  About This Book

  Glossary

  Foreword

  1. Lachlan

  2. Hugh

  3. Beth

  4. Lachlan

  5. Beth

  6. Lachlan

  7. Hugh

  8. Beth

  9. Lachlan

  10. Hugh

  11. Lachlan

  12. Beth

  13. Hugh

  14. Lachlan

  15. Beth

  16. Beth

  17. Hugh

  18. Lachlan

  19. Beth

  20. Hugh

  21. Lachlan

  22. Beth

  23. Hugh

  24. Lachlan

  25. Beth

  26. Lachlan

  27. Beth

  28. Hugh

  29. Lachlan

  30. Beth

  31. Hugh

  32. Beth

  33. Lachlan

  34. Beth

  35. Lachlan

  36. Beth

  37. Hugh

  38. Beth

  39. Lachlan

  40. Hugh

  41. Lachlan

  42. Beth

  43. Hugh

  44. Beth

  45. Lachlan

  46. Beth

  47. Lachlan

  48. Hugh

  49. Beth

  50. Hugh

  51. Beth

  52. Lachlan

  53. Hugh

  54. Beth

  55. Hugh

  56. Beth

  57. Lachlan

  58. Beth

  59. Tate

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Bonus Photos

  Also by Sadie Haller

  Also by Ainsley Booth

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  For Megan Linden, who called Lachlan as her book boyfriend while we were still writing the first book—we did our best to make him worth the wait

  About This Book

  Lachlan:

  365 days I’ve wanted Beth beneath me, begging for release. One long, angst-filled year we’ve circled each other, keeping things strictly professional.

  But I’ve also got shit in my past that complicates relationships. And I should know better than to hope secrets can stay buried.

  * * *

  Hugh:

  A year? Try ten. A decade ago, I let Lachlan walk away because deep down, I knew he needed something else.

  As soon as I laid eyes on her, I understood what I was up against: he loves Beth. Looks at her in a way he’d never look at me.

  I get it.

  Curvy, smart, and bossy? I just might love her, too.

  * * *

  Beth:

  Two men. Two first dates.

  Two first kisses…

  But this doesn’t feel like a love triangle.

  Oh no. It’s much more complicated than that. I’m not complaining. I’m game for anything. I just have one rule: we don’t tell anyone.

  * * *

  SECURITY BRIEFING:

  * Warning: there are no limits to these Mounties’ willingness to please

  * Never underestimate the strength of a woman

  * Sometimes the past can come back and bite you...if you're lucky

  * Top-secret clearance means three doesn’t need to be a crowd

  Glossary

  Canadianisms

  Mountie - an RCMP officer (see below)

  Riding - voting district

  Toque - wool winter hat, handy at the hockey arena even in summer

  Acronyms

  RCMP - Royal Mounted Canadian Police

  PM - Prime Minister

  MP - Member of Parliament

  PMO - Prime Minister’s Office (like the West Wing for the American President, where most of his staff works)

  Foreword

  This book is a work of fiction, spun from our filthy imaginations. Some of the places and events happening in the background may seem familiar, but we promise any similarities to real people are entirely coincidental.

  For purposes of keeping this story focused on a very complicated romance between three people, we’ve taken some serious liberties with the office of the prime minister, the structure of the RCMP, policing practices in general, and office administration. Our apologies to executive assistants everywhere. In exchange for our flights of fancy, we promise a delicious happy-ever-after ending for three characters we’ve fallen head over heels in love with.

  If this is your first Frisky Beavers book, same note goes for the political stuff. It’s simplified for storytelling purposes. And please note that while each book stands alone as a romance, this book does contain spoilers for what has happened in Prime Minister and Dr. Bad Boy.

  Curious about our entire series?

  Visit our website at www.friskybeavers.com

  1

  Lachlan

  May

  Torture is working side-by-side with the woman you adore—and can’t touch.

  It’s a gorgeous spring afternoon in Ottawa, and outside Centre Block on Parliament Hill, flowers are blooming and people are milling around, waiting for the prime minister’s arrival.

  As his chief of security, I give that go-ahead. This final sweep of the event site should be my only consideration at the moment. I shouldn’t be thinking about Beth.

  But I know exactly where she is, and have from the second I stepped outside. After a year, the way she affects me shouldn’t be a surprise anymore. And yet I still find myself wondering why my head is spinning, why my core pulls tight…then she smiles and there’s no mystery at all.

  Most days, we work within arm’s reach of each other. Close enough for me to memorize the elegant line of her neck, the curve of her cheekbones, the way her hazel eyes glitter differently in every light.

  Definitely close enough for me to know better than to indulge a crush fueled by lusty desires, because that very closeness is exactly why she’s off-limits.

  Beth Evans quietly and efficiently runs the prime minister’s world. She’s his executive assistant, his calm and steady gatekeeper.

  I. Can’t. Touch. Her.

  I’m not the kind of guy Beth deserves. I’m complicated and kinky. And even her tentative, curious explorations over the last year have been adorably vanilla.

  The one time she got a real glimpse at my depravity, she was horrified.

  Not that she stayed horrified, though. That would have been easier to handle. If anything, the chemistry between us has ratcheted up lately.

  I still can’t touch her.

  And I want to with every aching part of my soul.

  Now I search for her, as I always do, and unerringly, I find her in seconds. She pauses her conversation and looks up, as if she can feel my gaze.

  Moments like this burn at me. If only… But there’s no way to finish that statement.

  Then the tension ebbs as she takes a deep breath and returns to her task at hand, but it doesn’t take her long to wrap it up. I watch her the whole time as she walks across from where she’d been chatting with the catering manager. She gives me a cool, professional smile. “Good to go?”

  I return the exact same expression, but where she looks right at me, I can’t bring myself to hold her sharp gaze. I have to look just above her head. “Yep.”

  “Lachlan…”

  “Not now.”

  “No, you don’t get to tell me that.” She sighs as my radio crackles. “Or maybe you do. Saved by the bell.”

  She’s been trying to talk to me for two days now about something personal, and I’ve bee
n dodging her, because…

  Well, because I’m a fucking idiot, mostly. But the shit between us is complicated, and two months ago it got even more complicated when Hugh Evans slammed back into my life.

  “After the party,” I tell her, my heart sinking. I’m pretty sure she’s met a new guy. There’s a lightness to her step that’s been missing over the last year.

  It’s a good thing.

  Beth deserves all good things.

  But it makes me want to crawl into a bottle of scotch and die.

  Today, of all days. Today marks one year since we met, one year since Gavin was elected in a stunning upset, a come-from-behind victory that catapulted Beth from an ordinary Hill staffer to the Keeper of the PM’s Everything. One year since I walked into a meeting with the brand-new PM and his staff. I fell in love, head-over-fucking-stupid-heels with the sharp-eyed, smart-mouthed brunette with the legs that go on for miles.

  It’s also been one year since I made myself promise I’d never act on those feelings.

  “Sure, after the party,” she says, lightly touching my forearm.

  I lock down the part of my brain that thinks about Beth non-stop. The part that wants to turn in to that touch, let her fingers sizzle my skin.

  The next ninety minutes tick by exactly as expected. Gavin pulls out a two-four of beer for those who don’t want champagne. A cheer goes up for that, yet another example of how he knows how to read a crowd just right.

  They have good reason to celebrate. This is a government nobody thought would be formed. The underdog prime minister and his merry men. In the past year, Gavin Strong has proved himself a confident international diplomat and a caring national leader.

  And personally, a good friend.

  As soon as he says a final thanks and heads inside, members of my team with him, I allow my gaze to snap back to Beth.

  She’s hopped onto a table to sit, her legs swinging gently as she leans back on one hand. After a long winter of tights, tall boots, long skirts, and heavy wool pants, the dirty dog part of me is fucking pleased to see her in flirty summer dresses again. Ottawa winters are too damn long when all one gets is lusting from afar.

  Today’s dress is floaty and soft looking, a couple of layers of flower print fabric over a slip of silk against her skin. Earlier she had a blazer on over it, but she’s taken that off now, and has it bunched up in the hand that’s leaning on the table.

  In the other hand, there’s a nearly-empty champagne flute.

  She’s talking to Gavin’s chief of staff, Stewart Rochard, and as she nods her head along to the conversation, her short, dark hair swings around her face in a sharp bob.

  Not long enough to wrap around my fist, but the perfect length for her to role-play a sexually adventurous flapper girl.

  Not that I’ve had any speakeasy fantasies about Beth or anything. Ha. I don’t kid myself. When she sets her glass down and shimmies off the table and saunters towards me, I let myself go there, just for a second.

  And then, as always, I lock it down.

  I nod when she stops in front of me.

  “Done being the guy in charge?” she asks lightly.

  “For now. Do you want to get a cup of coffee?” Technically I’m still on duty, but I’m not on Gavin’s personal guard at the moment, and I can walk across the street with Beth.

  She parts her lips, then stops and shakes her head. “Not today.”

  “Of course.”

  “I do…”

  “It’s okay.” This is another reason why I haven’t asked her out. Because we can’t even coordinate going out for coffee and we work together every single day in a high-level way. Things getting awkward between us is not an option.

  “Actually, I have a date,” she says, her eyebrows tugging in ever-so-slightly as she holds my gaze. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

  A date. It’s a punch to the gut that I deserve, and one I saw coming. I manage to make a guttural sound of acknowledgement, but nothing else comes out.

  “I’m hoping it won’t be awkward.” Her voice is smooth, practiced. How did we end up in this place, where she’s had to rehearse how to tell me that she’s seeing someone else?

  Let me take you out instead, I want to say, but it’s too late. I had my chance. Three hundred and sixty-five of them. “Not awkward at all. You don’t need to tell me about your private life, either. I mean, I’m happy for you. But—”

  “It’s just that it’s—” She stops and glances behind me.

  I realize who her date is with before I turn around. I can feel Hugh’s smug grin penetrating my back, and when I do glance back, there it is—but even though his expression is entirely meant to set my brain on fire, and it does, his gaze is locked on Beth like she’s the only person in the world he can see.

  I know that feeling well.

  She’s hypnotic.

  There’s only one other person that has ever made me feel anything close to what I feel for Beth. And it’s entirely because of how explosive—and disastrous—my affair with Hugh was ten years ago that I can’t allow myself to go there with Beth.

  Hugh doesn’t share my concern about mixing business and pleasure, though.

  He never has.

  Didn’t care that he burned me a decade ago.

  Doesn’t care now that he’s playing with fire again.

  Fucking Hugh. Tall, dark, and arrogant. He’s a sexual pyromaniac, and since I’ve refused to even talk to him outside of work, he’s turned to Beth.

  I grind my teeth, but I can’t make a scene. Not here.

  “Ready to go?” he asks her, and she brushes past me, her fingers sweeping across my arm just below where I’ve rolled up my shirt sleeves.

  “Definitely.” She casts one last, quick glance back at me. “See you tomorrow, Lachlan.”

  I cross my arms as I give her a curt nod, and I watch them head across the lawn towards Spark Street.

  I can’t follow them.

  I won’t follow them.

  My radio crackles to life.

  Fucking hell. The reality is, if I had half a chance to sneak along behind and spy on their date, I probably would.

  I rub my hand across the muscles of my forearm before I press the talk button. I can still feel her touch there. But duty calls. “This is Ross, go ahead.”

  2

  Hugh

  I unbutton my suit jacket and loosen my tie as we navigate around the tourists taking pictures in front of Parliament. Heading out after work was Beth’s idea—and it took me long enough to get her to say yes that I wasn’t going to argue.

  “Where are we heading?” she asks as we stop at the street that separates Parliament Hill from the rest of downtown Ottawa.

  “There’s a cocktail bar a few blocks from here I’ve heard good things about.”

  Her face lights up. “Intermezzo? I’ve been meaning to go there!”

  I know she has. I saw her reading a newspaper article about it a few days ago, and when she agreed to go out with me, the first thing I did was call and reserve a booth.

  There’s nothing I like more than a first date. The potential is huge, and the expectations are low. Let’s be honest—most people think first dates are utter shit.

  Then I come along.

  It’s cocky to say that I give a good first date, but I’m cocky—and first dates aren’t the only thing I’m good at giving.

  First dates are foreplay.

  I’ve spent my entire adult life in unapologetic pursuit of giving good foreplay. Flirting, first dates, second dates, second base, third base—a personal favourite—I love everything about the build-up towards sex.

  There’s a lot you can learn about a sexual partner through foreplay. How they like to flirt and talk and touch is all good intel when it comes to finally getting them naked and in your bed.

  And that’s what this date is all about—getting Beth Evans naked. Not tonight—foreplay takes time—but soon. My bed, her bed, Lachlan’s desk when he’s away…I’m eas
y about where we eventually fuck.

  But seducing a woman like Beth is a long game. For a bunch of reasons, like she deserves to be wooed, and her standards are justifiably high. But the most important reason is she’s clearly in love with Lachlan.

  Sure, I should probably feel bad about poaching her, but I don’t. Just because she’s got a flame for Lachlan doesn’t mean I can’t treat her right while she’s waiting for him to unfuck himself and his precious feelings.

  As we wait for the streetlight to turn green, I brush my arm against hers. Light, casual touches are important on first dates. They say, if all goes well, I’ll be happy to hold your hand, but I’m not going to be pushy about it.

  They’re also an excellent test of chemistry.

  And every time I touch Beth—when I reach across her desk to borrow a pen that just happens to be in her hands, when I drop my arm if we’re walking next to each other, or nudge her shoulder—there’s a warm sizzle under my skin.

  This one’s magic, the sizzle says.

  Beth plays her cards close to her chest. I have no idea if she feels the sizzle too. If she doesn’t yet, that’s okay. It can take time to figure out that connection. Sometimes it needs coaxing. And if it doesn’t work out, that’s okay, too.

  There are plenty of fish in the sea, although none of them are quite as pretty as Beth.

  There’s something about her—like she gives zero fucks about shit that doesn’t matter, but when something is important to her, she’s all in with her entire heart. She loves her job, that much is clear, and right now that’s where all of her focus lies.

  Over the last two months, I’ve learned: she doesn’t have a boyfriend; her last relationship was serious, but they didn’t live together; it ended because he was a dick about her job getting more complicated when her boss became the prime minister; and she knows she’s better off without that guy.