I’ll Never Stop
Jessica Lynch
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Stay in Touch
A Note From Jessica
Wherever You Go
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About the Author
Also by Jessica Lynch
Copyright © 2019 by Jessica Lynch
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by Jessica Lynch
For You.
For everyone who wanted this book and who is reading it, since your support makes it possible for me to keep on doing this.
And also Dinah.
She knows why, and she’s not telling.
Because she’s a cat.
Prologue
The lights dimmed, a signal that the performance was about to start.
Finally.
Thomas resettled himself in his seat and sighed, not bothering to hide it. As secluded as his father’s private box was, he had felt eyes on him as the audience filed into the orchestra below. He couldn’t hear them, though he imagined the whispers all the same.
If they were shocked to see him out for a night on the town with a woman on his arm, it was nothing compared to the irritated thoughts running through his head. What a waste of a Saturday night. With everything else he could be doing, he was humoring his father by attending the ballet. He hadn’t wanted to come. This whole farce had been his father’s idea. Or, rather, his command.
You think he’d be used to it by now. After more than thirty years as Henry Mathers’ son, Thomas should’ve expected the latest mandate. An old-fashioned, self-made man, Henry believed that a Mathers couldn’t be truly happy unless he had a devoted wife waiting at home, plus strong, strapping male children to mold in his image. Two heirs, preferably, in case one was a disappointment.
Oh, and a mistress or four to keep him satisfied on the side, Thomas thought to himself as the theatre went dark.
Thomas’s younger brother, Kenneth, followed his father’s instructions to the letter. Five years younger than Thomas, he already had the requisite bride—a mousy young woman called Buffy—and two little brats of his own.
Despite Ken’s best efforts, and to Thomas’s amusement, Buffy birthed two girls in quick succession. His brother wouldn’t let that stop him from following Henry’s line. Right after Rachel was born, Ken proceeded to knock Buffy up in spectacular fashion. She was currently three months along with a set of twins. Odds were good one of them was the required boy.
Thomas hoped not. Nothing was funnier than watching Ken go ballistic when he realized he had let Henry down.
On the other hand, Thomas lived for upsetting his father. Ever since he was a young boy and he discovered the only way he got any attention was when Henry was shouting at him from the other side of his oak desk, Thomas purposely made it a game. One point if Henry mentioned military school, two points if he revoked access to his luxury cars, an extra bonus whenever his father got so angry, he needed to pop a heart pill so that he didn’t stroke out in front of his boy.
Then, just last year, Henry threatened to cut him off if he didn’t at least make an attempt to do what was expected of him. Suddenly, Thomas wasn’t laughing any longer.
Which was how he found himself a subject of speculation at the ballet that evening. The son of a billionaire, considered one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, he was used to having the eye of society on him. Used to it, and abhorred it with a passion. It was one of the reasons he regularly refused his father’s ridiculous stipulations and rules. So much of his personal business relied on keeping a low profile. Impossible when his father adamantly insisted he play the role of pampered playboy in a bid to snag a bride.
One last night, he promised. Thomas would give the old man one final night of this madness. After that, he would go back to work and if he found a woman to warm his bed for more than one night, Henry would just have to be satisfied with that.
The music started, and a hush fell over the audience.
As the curtain lifted, revealing an empty stage, Thomas wondered if Henry had any of his yes-men watching to see if he cut out early. He figured he would and resigned himself to suffering through the performance.
The strings soared, building to a crescendo before the ballet began. Just like he expected, he didn’t understand much of what was going on when it did. He thought he knew the story of Cinderella well enough, and he supposed the two men dressed in tights were supposed to be a caricature of the ugly stepsisters. The audience tittered at their antics. Thomas yawned and rolled his eyes.
Drawing his cell from his suit pocket, he peeked at the time. Only fifteen minutes in. The ballet’s running time was more than two hours long, with one stated intermission and a short pause. He already felt his eyelids drooping. Leaning away from his date, he relaxed in his seat and prepared to doze.
And that’s when the titular Cinderella was left by herself. The spotlight fell on the lone dancer and something—call it chance, call it fate—snagged his attention long enough for a second look.
Her costume was simple, a grey and light blue dress strategically tattered to resemble rags while flaring enticingly every time she twirled. The lights glinted on her dark hair; it was pulled tight in a bun, accentuating the long line of her elegant neck. En pointe, she seemed taller than she likely was, and she gripped a broom as her partner as he watched her dance.
Dance. No. That was too mundane a word to describe the way she moved.
She glided across the stage like she was weightless, every step, every leap, every spin absolutely effortless. It was magical. He tuned out the music, the audience, everything but the beauty down below and the emotions she evoked simply by the way she twisted and controlled her slender body.
Lust. Desire. Want.
Need.
The blonde in the seat beside him wasn’t lost to the fact that he was staring in fixation. Ever since he’d arranged for Boone to pick her up and bring her to dinner, Jacqueline made it clear that she wanted nothing more than to be his next bedmate. No matter that Thomas wasn’t the least bit interested before. After this new revelation, he didn’t even glance her way again. It was as if she was already a memory.
As the ballet continued, with the dark-haired Cinderella stealing his attention every time she graced the stage, he could sense Jacqueline pouting. He pointedly ignored her. This was their fourth engagement; she should’ve realized that he barely tolerated her presence. If he hadn’t made a move to do more than kiss her by now, he had no intention to.
It was a stunt, of course. Secretly, Thomas believed his father’s insistence that he marry was nothing more than a way for the old man to assure himself that Thomas didn’t just prefer the company o
f his bodyguard.
Only when the dark-haired beauty left the stage again did he dare turn away. Peering into the darkness of the private box, he impatiently flicked Jacqueline off when she reached out and laid her fingers against his knee. She drew her hand back, hesitating when he turned to watch the ensemble members of the dance company perform an intricate part of the ballet. He leaned closer, searching for his ballerina, wondering if she had returned with the others.
That’s when he felt Jacqueline move, shifting toward him before boldly reaching out to cup the front of his slacks.
Without turning to face her, he warned in a low voice, “Don’t.”
The tip of her finger traced his length. He was already hard, and from the purr in her voice as she whispered his name, she no doubt believed she was the one who inspired such a reaction in him. Not at all. From the moment he spied the dark-haired ballerina, his body knew what his mind had decided in that first instant: that the lithe and graceful beauty was his. She just didn’t know it yet.
Of course, that also meant that the cock Jacqueline was fondling was now promised to another woman. And as questionable as his morals undoubtedly were, Thomas was nothing if not loyal.
With a grip that was harsher than it needed to be, he lashed out like a snake, grabbing her by the wrist. He bent it back until he heard her soft cry and she released him. He shoved her hand away from him.
In the soft lights that faintly lit their box, he watched as she cradled her wrist against her chest. A frown tugged at her pouty lips as she simpered, “Thomas, why did you do that?”
Thomas didn’t answer her. Instead, he quirked a finger into the darkness. As if summoned, the massive shadow of his bodyguard appeared to the right of his seat.
How a man of his bulk and size could come and go so quickly, so quietly, Thomas could never figure out. He simply expected it.
Nodding in Jacqueline’s direction, Thomas said, “Take care of this for me. I’m done with her.”
Jacqueline made a hissing sound, followed by a small offended noise in the back of her throat.
He couldn’t quite tell what it was that upset her more: his dismissive tone, the way he turned down her blatant advances, or the fact that he was now dumping her in the middle of the performance. Didn’t really matter. With a shrug, he turned his complete attention back to the stage.
Boone materialized on the other side of the box. Leaning over, he gently hefted the slender woman from her seat. She dug in her heels. Boone lifted her as easily as if she were a feather.
“Come, miss. Time to go.”
She slapped at Boone’s massive bicep. It didn’t stop him from carrying her away.
“Well, I never—”
—could compare to the dazzling vision before him? No. She was right about that.
He was absolutely certain of that fact; he’d never had a reaction so strong to a woman before and doubted he ever would again. His attention ensnared by the promise of the ballerina, Thomas couldn’t be bothered pretending as if he ever cared for his father’s pick. He wanted her gone. As instructed, Boone would take care of her.
So what if he took in the rest of the performance on his own? The gossip rags would be sure to run with the story tomorrow morning—Billionaire’s son splits with lovely companion during ballet premiere—and his father would be frustrated that this match, like all the others, had failed. Then again, when Henry learned that Thomas had chosen a conquest of his own accord, the old goat would forget all about Jacqueline.
Ignoring her spitting outrage, Thomas continued to stare at the stage in front of him. Boone’s murmurs filtered in through his ears like white noise. He sensed the curtain that shielded their box open and close and that was the last time he even spared a thought for any other woman.
He only had eyes for his dainty ballerina.
Thomas waited a few minutes before raising his hand in the air. By the time he lowered it back to the armrest, Boone was at his side again.
Without preamble, Thomas said, “My father wants me to be married.”
As his closest confidant—his only confidant—Boone was already well aware of that fact. “Yes, sir.”
He pointed at the stage. Cinderella performed a flawless jeté to a round of enthused applause.
“Her. I want her.”
Boone bowed his head. “I understand.”
With barely a whisper, his bodyguard was gone. Thomas sank back in his seat, hungry for another glimpse.
Was it her beauty? Her strength? Her talent? Perhaps. Thomas didn’t waste time wondering what it was about her that was so attractive. He was a man who always knew what he wanted, usually from first glance. In business, his instinct made him millions. His love life would be no different.
In the soaring chords and the mesmerizing display of athletic ability and grace, he had found the woman who was meant to be his.
And he would stop at nothing to have her.
Thomas could have arranged to meet her in so many different ways. By the time the last bouquet of roses fell at her feet, Boone knew that her name was—quite fittingly—Grace Delaney, she was twenty-seven years old, and she was single. Thomas could’ve left his box and, using his charm and his name, arranged to meet her after that very performance.
Too easy, he thought. And too impulsive.
He was a planner. In everything he did, Thomas liked to have each and every detail plotted and planned so that there was no way the outcome would be anything but what he desired.
There was no other option.
For the first time that he could remember, he desired a woman in a way that would last well past morning. He desired that woman. And he would do whatever he had to to make sure that he got her. And once he did? His prima ballerina would never get away from him.
He followed her home that very night, unwilling to let her out of his sight for even a moment. All through the tedious travel using public transportation—the subway, the long train ride, the bus—he hung back, Boone his silent shadow as always. Thomas kept waiting for this obsessive need to possess a stranger to fade.
It didn’t.
By the time she let herself into a small house in a suburb more than an hour and a half’s travel from the city’s performance center, Thomas convinced himself that he wasn’t following her to satisfy his curiosity, but because he had to keep her safe. Young, vulnerable beauty on her own, oblivious to the dangers that lurked out of reach. She wore headphones, listened to music, and read off of a device throughout her travel. She never once noticed the intent way he watched her.
Her obliviousness only made her more attractive to him. While the train was half-filled, the late bus even more empty, Boone’s size, Thomas’s looks, and their expensive suits meant they caught their fair share of stares.
He could’ve taken any of the other women home with him. But he didn’t.
Thomas wanted Grace.
And, as Boone arranged for a car service to take them back into the city, Thomas knew exactly how he would get her.
It only took a little digging before his plan was a go. Despite her career, Grace Delaney was like any other single woman in her late-twenties: she was a member of an online dating site.
A wry grin crossed his handsome face as he compulsively read her profile, flipping through the same five photos again and again. So Grace was looking for love?
He would make sure she found it with him.
Thomas didn’t want her to want him because of his father’s legacy. Still, he learned from an early age to use every advantage he had. When he filled out the application, he boldly used the name Tommy Mathers.
Boone’s intel, as always, was spot on. Thomas didn’t even need to use his considerable skills to hack into the system to ensure that their applications matched. Within twenty-four hours, he received a notification that she was a perfect fit for him.
As if he didn’t already know that. He tailored every response on purpose, choosing his answers carefully based on everything Boone’
s surveillance—and his online stalking—had discovered for him. In their first correspondence, she mentioned that this must be fate, finding someone who had so much in common that lived close enough that he fit the parameters of her search.
Thomas put a lot of effort into “fate”. And he would’ve gone anywhere, moved anywhere, to make sure that he had his chance.
He let her set the day, the time, and the place for their first date. Because, after their wedding, he wanted her to think she had at least one choice.
They met for coffee.
And, for both of them, it was the beginning of the end.
1
It took her forty minutes to get home from the grocery store.
The trip should have only taken fifteen tops, but Grace learned to vary her routes back to the apartment complex. She took two different turns, getting stuck in the middle of a construction mess that prolonged the return journey.
On the plus side, she doubted she was followed. With his temper and impatience, Tommy would’ve had Boone turn around to miss the traffic if he wasn’t the one stalking her from behind the wheel.
Not that he seemed to have found her in Dayton yet. It was only a matter of time, though. When she changed her phone number last, it barely took him three days before the repeated calls started up again. Waking up to ninety-seven missed calls, countless voicemails—ranging from cajoling pleas, angry demands, and thinly veiled threats that the police thought were too vague when she reported him—plus the texts she stopped reading months ago had taught her to keep her phone on airplane mode around the clock. She had the phone in case of emergencies, and used it as infrequently.
I'll Never Stop (Hamlet Book 4) Page 1
