“You do,” he said again. “You love me.”
She let out a sound between a gasp and moan, but he kept talking, his voice firm with belief. “You love me,” he repeated. “And I love you. More than anything.”
She struggled to find her voice, but it was impossible to fight the overwhelming emotions his words stirred up in her.
He loved her. He loved her. Nothing in the world seemed as important as that monumental realization. For a moment, the rest of the world did not exist. The only thing that mattered was this man standing before her. This man who loved her.
He took her silence as acquiescence and nothing in the world could bring her to stop him as he leaned in slowly to capture her lips with his own.
“Mmm.” Lacey couldn’t help the blissful sigh of surrender as he kissed her like she was the only woman on the planet.
He pulled away for a second, just long enough to tell her he loved her again. Now that the words were out there he said it over and over in between kisses and nibbles and long, frustratingly clothed caresses.
“I love you, too.” The word slipped out in a whisper, and they both froze.
“Say it again,” he said.
Lacey let out a sigh. “I love you, Lawrence Alexander Newsom the third.”
He pulled away slightly so he could look into her eyes and cupped her face in his palms. “So then what is the problem?”
Lacey let it all come out. All of her lies exposed and their words still ringing in her ears, she caved and told him everything—about her initial lie about Sam, the threats Jess had made and finally, the vow that Arthur Wingate had made on her last night in New York.
By the time she was done he looked so furious she thought he might burst a blood vessel. After pacing the room while cursing Arthur, Jess and their entire bloodline many times over, he turned to her. “You should have told me,” he said.
Lacey shrugged. “I wanted to protect you. I don’t want to be the reason you fail—I won’t.”
For a moment, he looked at her like she was crazy and then he started to laugh. He took her hands in his and pulled her close. “I have spent the past two weeks hearing you go on and on about what a great leader I am and how I am the one who should be heading this company. Was that all a pack of lies?”
Lacey frowned, “No, of course not. I meant every word.”
He leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. “Then trust in me, Lace. Believe that I can defeat Arthur Wingate at every turn. Know that we have nothing to fear.”
Lacey was silent for a moment.
“The only reason I won today is because you had faith in me. From the very beginning, you believed I could win this election and prove to everyone that I’m the best leader for the company. If you have faith in me, I cannot fail. So tell me, do you still have faith in me?”
Lacey’s heart had melted into a puddle and she gave him a wobbly smile. “I do.”
“Good. Then let’s go to New York and kick some Wingate ass.”
Lacey’s head fell back as she laughed. “I’m in. But what are you going to do? What are you going to say?”
Alex opened his mouth to speak and then stopped, apparently stumped. “I have no idea,” he said with a laugh. “But luckily for me, my girlfriend is a world-class coach.”
He drew closer. “We’ve got a couple of hours before the plane is ready. Why don’t you show me your apartment?”
She looked around her tiny home pointedly before turning back to him. “The only room you haven’t seen is my bedroom.”
His wicked grin took her breath away. Leaning over, his lips brushed against her ear sending a shiver down her spine. “Then let’s start there.”
Epilogue
LACEY WAS RUNNING late. Again. Like always.
“Lace? My love? My one and only?” Alex’s teasing voice called from the living room.
“I know, I know, I’m coming,” she shouted. She shoved clothes into her new luggage—a Christmas present from Alex. He’d decided that if she was going to travel as much as she was—which was a lot between her new coaching business and her long-distance relationship—she needed luggage that didn’t topple over every five feet.
But sadly, new luggage did nothing to calm her nerves. The executives she was working with these days weren’t as high up the food chain as Ackland’s clients, but they were her clients. So far her business had been building steadily thanks to word of mouth, but the company was still new. She was still terrified of blowing it.
And missing her first meeting would definitely be blowing it.
When she finally finished packing and rolled her bag into Alex’s living room, her breath caught in her throat. There were times she wondered if she’d ever get used to his good looks or if she’d find herself gasping with unadulterated desire in the nursing home.
He moved toward her to take the luggage from her. “What were you doing in there?”
She squared her shoulders and sniffed. “Preparing for my meeting.”
“Liar. You were spoiling Freddy with treats.” Dammit. She’d been caught. Freddy, an adorable cocker spaniel, had been Lacey’s Christmas present for Alex.
“How did you know?”
He held up his cell phone. “You butt-dialed me…again.”
“Oh, for the love of…” her grumbling trailed off as he pulled another cell phone out of his back pocket.
“New phone. It has flip cover since you can’t seem to manage touch screens.”
She rolled her eyes at his teasing. “Yeah, but every once in a while it comes in handy.”
It was Alex’s turn to roll his eyes as Lacey smirked. Because it was true. Her butt-dialing had saved the day.
All hell had broken loose when Alex returned to New York—and to Newsom Industries—with Lacey at his side. They both knew the Wingates wouldn’t sit idly by so they were on guard. But no one had foreseen how Arthur Wingate would shoot himself in the foot.
Like the snake he was, Arthur chose to attack Lacey when she was alone in her office at Newsom. Or at least he thought she was. He hadn’t realized she was in the midst of a telephone interview with a Wall Street blogger. Thanks to her ridiculously sensitive, mind-of-its-own, infuriating phone, the blogger had heard every word of Arthur’s rampage. And he’d promptly printed what he’d heard.
It had all worked out for the best…for once. But still. Lacey pocketed the new phone with relief and turned off the devious device for good.
“You ready?” she asked. Alex was going to join her on this trip and visit the Newsom Industries office in Houston.
“Almost.”
She looked up in surprise to see Alex shifting nervously, wiping his hands on his jeans in a gesture she’d come to know well. Before she could ask what was wrong, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a set of keys.
“I know it hasn’t been long and we’re both focusing on our careers at the moment but….”
Lacey held her breath.
“Lacey Ames, will you move in with me?”
A burst of giddy joy left her temporarily speechless and he barreled on. “I know you love San Francisco but we could visit. You could see Morgan whenever you want. But I want more of you. I want to spend every moment I can get with you. Whatever you’re willing to give—”
She cut him off with a kiss. She paused long enough to say, “Yes” before leaning in to kiss him senseless.
When they came up for air, he grinned at her. “Yes? That’s it? I thought you were supposed to be a speech expert, and all I get is a one-word answer?”
Lacey was laughing as she pulled him in for another kiss. “Oh, shut up and kiss me.”
“I have to tell you, that’s terrible advice from my coach…”
She cut him off with a kiss that had him groaning, his hands pulling her to him until they both forgot about the plane that was waiting and the meetings that were scheduled.
Oh yeah. She was going to be late.
Thank you for reading L
ess Than Three! To stay up to date on Maggie Dallen’s latest releases (and for giveaways, sneak peeks, and sale alerts,) sign up for her monthly newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/bFEVsL
Keep reading for a sneak peek at Maggie Dallen’s next Romantic Comedy, Love Times Two
Love Times Two
A Romantic Comedy
Prologue
Mark and the rest of the bar staff watched in varying degrees of horror and amusement as the wasted brunette belted out “Purple Rain” in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by a handful of her giggling friends.
“How much do you want to bet that She-Prince over there tosses her cookies all over the bar tonight,” the waitress Melody mused.
“Dude, I am not cleaning that up.” The barback shouted to be heard over the drunk chick’s wailing but Mark couldn’t tear his eyes away. Sure she was making a massacre of a Prince song, but she was still freakin’ hot.
The barback came behind the bar for a better view of the spectacle. “You need to kick her and her friends out of here before they go from annoying drunk to messy drunk.”
“At least she’s not crying anymore,” Melody pointed out.
They all nodded in agreement at that. There was nothing worse than a crying drunk and this poor lightweight had been a weepy mess for the first hour after she’d arrived. That was before she’d discovered the jukebox.
“Seriously, man, cut her off.” The barback moved away to clear off some empty glasses.
“She’s only had two drinks,” Mark called after him. But he did cut her off. The drunk hottie and her friends, for good measure. It was a relief to ignore them since the bar filled up with a late crowd that had him hustling all night.
Despite the ban on liquor, she never left. He would catch sight of her, dancing in the midst of a crowd or crying on a friend’s shoulder at the end of the bar. And then, hours later, the weepy cutie was his last customer of the night. She was slumped over the bar, her cheek resting on the wood. Shit. Was she asleep?
But then he heard her murmur, “Gonna die alone,” for what must have been the tenth time that night. Nope, not asleep. Her hand was slowly reaching out for the half-full glass of whiskey next to her head. Where the hell had she gotten that?
“Oh no you don’t.” Mark hurried over and moved it out of reach, ignoring her moan of complaint.
“One more sip.” She lifted her head then and those eyes were a punch in the gut.
Before he could tell her yet again that she’d been cut off, the drunken beauty swung her head from left to right and back again, her dark curls bouncing around her pixie features which were crinkled up in confusion. “Where are my friends?”
He didn’t even try to disguise his annoyance. Some friends. “They left an hour ago, remember?” They’d been all too happy to help this little slip of a woman get wasted—in record time, he might add—but one by one they’d peeled off, making their excuses and giving their poor, weepy friend hugs on their way out the door.
So now, he was stuck with her.
In any other circumstances he’d be ecstatic to find himself alone in the bar with a hot, single woman. He figured ‘single’ was a fair assessment given her mantra of the evening. But one who alternated between weeping uncontrollably and singing along to the jukebox, loudly and off-key—there was nothing even remotely sexy about this scenario.
Apparently just now realizing that she was all alone, she turned to him with those big blue eyes and her lower lip so firmly jutted out, she looked like a little kid. “I’m gonna die alone,” she said again, this time with a trembling lower lip, as another round of tears welled up in her eyes.
“You’re not going to die alone.” Despite himself, he couldn’t help but laugh. She was so…pathetic. But so adorable. For the millionth time he cursed her flaky friends who’d left her for him to take care of. They didn’t know him from Adam, what if he was a player with no scruples? What if he was something far, far worse?
“You don’t know that,” she was saying now, shaking her head back and forth before dropping it back down onto the bar, burying her face in her arms.
“Hey, whatever it is, it’s not that bad. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.” He paused before adding, “Well, not tomorrow morning. You’ll probably feel like hell tomorrow morning. But the next day. You’ll definitely feel better about everything then.”
She didn’t stir.
Mark sighed as he cleared off the rest of the glasses from the bar. “Come on, miss, why don’t you tell me where you live and I’ll call you a cab.”
When she still didn’t answer, he came back and gently shook her shoulder.
Her only response was a snore.
Chapter One
Long after the last student left her classroom, Elizabeth sat staring at her phone. She had the nagging feeling that today’s date was significant but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Was it Mom or Dad’s birthday? No. Those were months off. She mentally ran through her best friends’ birthdays and the birthdays of their kids. Nope.
Was it Jason’s birthday? Just thinking of her cheating ex made her nauseous. No. Not his birthday either. And not their anniversary, thank God. She was just starting to recover from the epic hangover she’d gotten from their breakup two weeks before. Her liver would never survive their anniversary.
The memory of that next morning, waking up in a stranger’s bed, head aching, mouth reeking, eyes swollen. It was like a bad dream she couldn’t shake. The horrible guilt and shame as she slinked off, tiptoeing out of the studio apartment to keep from waking the hot bartender who was sprawled half naked next to her in the bed.
Ugh. Don’t go there. That morning is a distant memory that will be locked away until the end of time. There was clearly a reason her memory had a convenient black hole where that night should have been. But everyone had their bad nights, right? So what if hers happened to be an epic doozy of a bad night—it was all in the past.
Squinting at the calendar on her phone, Elizabeth racked her brain. It would come to her. She just needed a minute.
A text popped up from her twin sister, Connie. “Be here by six for the interview.”
The interview. Oh crap. Crappity crap crap, crap on a stick. This was not good.
The bottom of her stomach gave way and she sucked in air so quickly she thought she might hyperventilate. It was with shaky fingers that she dialed her sister. This was not how she’d wanted to tell her family the wedding was off. Not that she wanted to tell them at all. Especially not Connie.
That’s what happen when you procrastinate, her inner schoolmarm chastised.
Shut up.
“Please don’t tell me you’re running late,” Connie answered. “You know how important this feature is to me.”
Oh yes, she knew. Everyone knew. When Connie first came up with the idea of a double wedding, Elizabeth had been on board. After all, her sister loved planning events and it would save herself and Jason some money if all the costs were split between the two couples.
Connie had been in event planning heaven ever since. During what must have been a taffeta-induced high, Connie managed to sell the fact that they were twins having a double wedding to a national bridal magazine. Once news spread, this publicity opened all kinds of doors, it had gotten them the venue of Connie’s dream and a celebrity caterer—well, the closest thing to a celebrity caterer one could find in their small town. All because they were the adorable double-trouble twins. They actually weren’t identical in any way, but still…America loved weddings and a twins’ double wedding was ‘double the pleasure, double the fun.’
Except that one of the twins walked in on her fiancé having sex with her former friend.
Somehow Elizabeth doubted that was the story American Bride wanted to hear.
“Listen, Con, I uh…I can’t do the interview.”
The silence at the other end of the line was deafening. Elizabeth cringed as she waited for her sister’s response.
“Excuse me?”
That was it. So typically Connie. Ice dripped from the words and Elizabeth found herself twirling her hair around her finger like one of the teens she taught.
“Um, see, the thing is….Jason and I. We called off the wedding.”
Silence.
Dammit. Why hadn’t she told her sister sooner? Maybe because she was afraid of this.
“Why?”
Elizabeth drew in a deep breath before finally wussing out. “I don’t want to talk about it.” And she didn’t. She really didn’t. Especially not with Connie, who had never liked Jason. The thought of hearing an ‘I told you so’ right now was more than she could bear.
Fortunately Elizabeth hadn’t expected sympathy, because she certainly didn’t get it. “Fine. Don’t talk about it but you are not backing out of this interview.”
“But—”
She could practically see her sister’s scowl as she cut her off. “Listen to me, Lizzie. I have planned our dream wedding and you will not ruin this for me. I’m sure this is just cold feet and you and Jason will make up eventually. And when you do, you will thank me for holding this wedding together.”
No, she wanted to scream. This is not cold feet! This is a penis in another woman’s vagina. This would not be patched up with a bouquet of flowers and a good talk.
But she didn’t say any of that. She just flapped her mouth in a vague attempt to find an excuse. “Jason won’t be there. It’s supposed to be with both couples,” she pointed out.
“Let me handle the interview. You just show up here on time.”
Any further protests were cut off with a dial tone.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mark said as he shoved one arm into a long-sleeved shirt.
His best friend’s voice lowered to the point where he could barely hear him. “Please, man, I’ll owe you.”
“Is this your fiancée’s idea?” He refused to call Connie by her name. Petty, sure, but it was a passive way of protesting his best friend’s colossal mistake of an engagement.
Robbie’s lack of a response was answer enough—this was her idea.
Less Than Three: A Romantic Comedy Page 16
