“I do not think it a good idea for you to leave the estate.”
“I can take care of myself Pierre. I want Victoria and Greg protected.”
“You will take one of the bodyguards with you or I will not allow you to leave.”
“You going to try and stop me, DuMonte?”
“Oui, if I must.”
“I don’t plan to become a target for a madman Pierre; I’ll take protection with me.”
“What else do you want done?”
“Tell Tony to check the grounds and be careful while he is doing it. Find Yvette and have her send the staff home. I want Tony and Yvette out of here within the hour, have someone get them home safe. Tell Sophia she is welcome to remain, I have a feeling my son might complain if I try to make her leave.”
“Tony and Yvette are not going to leave, not after they hear what is going on.”
“They can stay in one of the rooms downstairs if you can’t convince them it is best to go. Send them home for some clothes but make sure one of the bodyguards goes with them.”
“Before we get everyone crazy, you need to tell Tori.”
“Right. You call Green and I will go find her. Join us in the residence when you’re done.”
Jason stood and walked to the door, throwing the lock he opened it and paused. Turning back into the room, he gave one last order. “Pierre.”
“Oui.”
“Find Sam.”
The End
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My Belle Tori
Belle Tori, Book 3
Michelle Hoppe
Excerpt
Gunfire ripped through the early morning air. Sam watched as Jack dove, wrapping Victoria in his arms as he took her to the ground.
Another shot split the air. “Alan, where is Jase?” He yelled to the bodyguard somewhere behind him.
“Got him boss.” Alan shouted over the sound of three more shots ringing out in quick succession. One shattered a window of the limo, another hit the trunk, sending hot metal fragments into his chin. He felt warm blood running down his neck. “Move!” Sam roared, rising enough to clear the trunk of the car, he began returning fire. “Get him in the building.”
He knew Jack and Victoria were safe, shielded by the front of the limo. Glancing in that direction, he saw Jack with his hand on her shoulder keeping her down, his body twisted back as his gun cleared the holster at his chest. He too began shooting.
Another shot hit the pavement close to Sam. “Jack did you see where it’s coming from.”
“Brick building across the street, second floor, third window from the left.”
“Cover me.”
Moving quickly, Sam opened the back door of the limo and threw his body in. Pulling the sniper rifle from under the seat, he edged his body onto the leather, bringing the nose of the gun to the shattered window. He could hear the distinct sound of Jack’s forty-five Glock laying down a spray of bullets.
Pressing the rifle against his shoulder and using the scope to sight along the line of windows in the building across the street, Sam looked for the shooter. From the front seat, he could hear the driver on the radio. “…we are pinned down by gunfire…no the driver for Jason Hunter…damn it, we need help…I can’t see the protection team…they are returning fire…took us by surprise…fuck yes send a medic, send an army for Christ sake.”
He closed his mind to the sound of the voice close by. Taking a deep breath, he held it, as he continued to sight along the barrel of the rifle. Counting from the left, he moved slowly until he lined his sight on the third window. The flash of another shot confirmed the shooter was still there. Waiting, holding his breath, his finger firmly pressed on the trigger, he watched. When the shooter moved to fire another round, Sam took aim and squeezed the trigger.
Through the scope, he saw the rifle fall from the gunman’s hand; his body held as if pinned to an invisible wall, before he slowly fell backwards, a bullet between his eyes. Removing his finger from the trigger, letting out the long-held breath, Sam lowered the rifle to the floor. Saying a silent prayer, he pushed himself up and out of the limo. His feet hit the ground as an anguished cry tore through the air. “Nooo…”
About the Author
Note from Michelle
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About Michelle
Author Michelle Hoppe first discovered a love for writing in a high school creative writing class, and has been creating romantic comedy, chic lit, paranormal, and contemporary stories even since. Michelle writes sexy stories with an edge, and humorous stories about life as a mother and grandmother. Michelle lives in a quiet little town in WA State, USA. With beautiful beaches, stately mountains, an active volcano, and an abundance of nature, it is an ideal location to write her novels, poetry, and stories.
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eBooks by Michelle Hoppe
Visit Michelle’s website at http://www.michellehoppe.com for more info
Belle Tori, a Contemporary Erotic Romance series
1. Club Belle Tori
2. Return to Belle Tori
My Life … MOM?!, a comedy series about everyday family life
1. Because I Said So
Stand Alone Titles
Hart's Heart
Forever Caspia
The Diner
Tipping the Scales
Poetry
1. Hues of Dark and Light (Illustrated)
Michelle recommends … Sami Lee
Sunset Knight
Sami Lee
Chapter 1
“You’re not getting here until Saturday? What kind of best man rocks up the day before the groom’s wedding?”
Brody Nash grinned as Drew Buchanan’s incredulous words barked at him through his mobile phone and replied, “The kind who warned you he wasn’t suddenly going to turn into Mr. Reliable just because you’re whipped.”
“Whipped and loving it.” Brody could hear the happiness in his old friend’s voice as he referred to his fiancée. “You ought to try it. God knows no one needs to be pulled into line more than you.”
“She’d have to be seven foot tall and armed.”
“Nah—I reckon short and sassy would do it.”
There was an awkward silence into which they both inserted the obvious—like Sidney. About six months ago Brody had thought exactly along those lines, which had landed him in an ill-advised three way and at the wrong end of Drew’s fist. Brody’s infatuation with his best friend’s girl had almost destroyed his relationship with Drew, but as usual Buchanan hadn’t given up on him when he probably should have. Story of their lives.
“The weekend is the best I can do,” Brody said as he approached the back entrance of Drew’s restaurant, the Blue Fish Grill. He figured Drew would be in the process of closing up for the night, and the likelihood that he’d scream like a girl when Brody snuck up on him was pleasingly high. “I don’t control the northerly winds.”
“Northerly winds,” Drew scoffed. “More likely you got sidetracked. Which was it this time, blonde or brunette?”
“Redhead, actually.” Brody frowned, w
ondering why he lied. He hadn’t hooked up with a woman in the past week, or in the past six months in fact, an anomaly in terms of his usual pattern. The drought wasn’t due to a lack of opportunity, but more to a sense of restlessness that he didn’t think could be cured by mindless sex. The idea of losing himself in the temporary heat of a woman he barely knew and would soon forget had actually bored him.
“You’re a piece of work, Nash. You’d better be here on time. Rufus is my second choice for best man and he isn’t even house trained. I’m not sure he’s up to wearing a tux.”
Rufus was a big, hairy mixed-breed puppy Brody had read about via email. From what he’d heard, Sidney treated that mutt like a newborn baby, which Brody figured was next on her list of must-haves. Buchanan really was going all out at this commitment thing. “It’s nice to know my backup is a mongrel. Is this a comment on my skills as a best man or my sparkling personality?”
“Take it as you like. But be here before the wedding or Sidney’s going to have my ass.”
“Doesn’t sound like hard labor to me.”
“Watch yourself, Nash. That’s my future wife you’re talking about.”
Brody winced at the icy edge in his friend’s voice. “Sorry, man. Too soon?”
Relief seeped through him at Drew’s chuckle. “Nah, it’s all right. I can afford to be generous. Winners are grinners.”
Brody laughed at Drew’s smug tone. There had never been any real competition when it came to winning Sidney’s affections, and Brody had stopped wasting time on “perhaps if I’d met her first” conjectures. For one, he was glad Drew was happy. Secondly, if he’d met Sidney first, he would have fucked up her life. So all things considered, everything turned out as it should have.
Pushing open the unlocked back door, Brody stealthily crossed the kitchen and peered into the restaurant’s dining area. He saw a woman gyrating to a raunchy number blaring from the stereo system—something about getting dirty that he vaguely recognized—while simultaneously running a broom over the polished wood floorboards. Her ponytail shone a deep russet in the sparse restaurant lighting as she spun it around to the melody, her narrow hips swinging in time to the pounding beat. A redhead. And a hot one at that.
“Nash, is that Christina Aguilera?”
“Who?” The woman had just started dancing around the broomstick and using it as a microphone. Amused and more than a little intrigued, Brody watched the sinuous silhouette of her body move against the backdrop of the marina and the few lights of Graceville’s main street beyond.
“Either your musical tastes have changed markedly or that’s Sid’s CD playing in the background. You’re at the restaurant, aren’t you?”
Brody made some noise of assent and listened with half an ear while Drew read him the riot act for pulling his leg about not being able to make it back for days yet. Drew’s new waitress had an absolutely phenomenal pair of long, slender legs and she knew how to use them. Brody let his gaze trail over her until it came to rest on her stocking feet where they slid across the floor.
The song ended and the silence that came after throbbed. The girl heaved a sigh and bowed toward the empty restaurant. “Thank you, thank you,” she said. “You’ve been a wonderful audience.”
“You’re welcome.”
She spun around and shrieked. She dropped the broom and her feet got tangled in the handle. There was a loud thud as she tripped and landed on the hardwood floor. “Ooouch!”
“What the hell was that?”
Into the phone Brody explained, “I think I just scared the shit out of the new waitress. I thought it was you locking up.”
Another song came blaring out of the stereo, a ballad this time. Brody had trouble hearing Drew’s words so he turned the volume down before striding toward the woman on the floor and offering his hand.
She eyed his outstretched arm as though it were a venomous snake. Brody’s attention was arrested by the fascinating hues fanning out from the dark spots of her pupils—multi-facets of gold, treacle and honey contained within almond-shaped eyes that turned up a little at the outer edges. A spark of recognition flared.
But the girl she reminded Brody of wore glasses and wasn’t a redhead. Neither did Lana Green wear her skirts so satisfactorily short. This couldn’t be her.
“Courtney’s the only new waitress I’ve hired in the past six months, and she’s not on tonight,” Drew said as, finally, the girl on the floor slipped her hand into Brody’s. She had slim fingers, strong yet ladylike. The short, practical nails were tipped with a pearlescent pink polish. Brody drew her to her feet easily. For a tall woman she weighed next to nothing. When he tugged on her hand her slender body came barreling into his.
They stood there, chest to chest. Brody’s nose rested close to that jaunty ponytail and the scent of apples and cinnamon teased his nostrils. He heard Drew’s words—it must be Lana—as though from far away, and he had to question if he’d misunderstood. Lana Green had worked at the Grill for three years. Brody would have noticed if she’d had such ogle-worthy legs.
But those eyes…
Wanting to see them again, Brody pulled back a little. He looked into an oval-shaped face with wide, lightly glossed lips and a nose that was perhaps a little too long to be classically pretty. His mind’s eye took away the subtle flattery of makeup and added a pair of wire-framed glasses. “Lana?”
She opened her mouth as if to say something. All that came out was a soft puff of breath that tickled through the hair on his chin, reminding him of the beard he’d grown purely out of neglect. Maybe she still hadn’t recognized him. Wearing the ratty clothes he’d sailed his yacht, the Sunset, back to Graceville in, he probably looked like a homeless guy who’d broken in to rob the till.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He would never have crept up on her if he’d known she was locking up alone. “It’s Brody.”
“I know who you are.” Lana gave him an incredulous look. “Didn’t you know who I was?”
Well, now she’d made him feel like a real dope about it. “You look different.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to tell her she looks nice, Nash.” Brody frowned at Drew’s remonstrance. How had he forgotten he was still holding the mobile phone to his ear? “Try and keep the staff happy. You’ll have to be a little more personable when you take over.”
“Yeah, yeah.” More personable his butt. He’d have to get a full-blown personality transplant if he wanted to keep everyone as happy as Drew seemed to do with minimal effort. Brody had agreed to fill in as the Grill’s manager while Drew was on his honeymoon, but he hoped his friend didn’t expect flawless results. The food was his thing—people were not.
Belatedly, Brody became aware he was still resting a hand against the soft indent of Lana’s waist. Probably why there was a hint of uneasiness in her eyes. Releasing her, he took a step back. He must have moved too abruptly because the sudden loss of his support seemed to unbalance her. She stumbled backward, her feet coming in contact with the fallen broom handle again. For the second time in as many minutes, she tripped and landed on the floor with a resounding thump.
“Ooouch!”
“Jesus, what are you doing to that girl?”
Brody scowled, feeing as disorientated as Lana appeared. “Nothing,” he told Drew a little defensively. It wasn’t his fault Lana was a klutz. She always seemed to be tripping over something. “Listen, why don’t I come by in the morning? You can measure me up for a penguin suit.”
“Alright, see you then. Hey, can I talk to Lana for a sec?”
“Hang on.” She was still sitting on the floor, resting her head on her bent knees. Brody crouched beside her. “Are you okay?”
She nodded without lifting her head. Brody wondered if she was in serious pain and if she might be about to cry. Anxiety sliced through him. He hated it when women cried. Made him feel helpless and ineffectual every time. “You sure?”
At last she raised her gaze to his, her expression more embarrassed than distre
ssed. “Nothing that an ice pack to the butt wouldn’t fix.”
Brody’s lips twitched. He barely managed to refrain from offering to help her with that as he handed the phone over. “Drew wants to talk to you.”
Taking the device, she pressed it to her ear. “Hey, Drew.”
A smile curved her lips as she started giving Drew a rundown of how the end of the night had gone. The wariness that had been in her expression when she’d faced Brody cleared as she spoke to Drew, shared a laugh with him. The obvious change in her demeanor irritated Brody for some reason.
Lana tried to push herself to her feet. Brody noticed she gave a little wince when she rested her weight on her ankle and instinct came out of nowhere. He slipped an arm beneath her bent knees, another around her shoulders and stood, hoisting her against him.
She let out a gasp and grew utterly still in his arms, every muscle in her body tense as he carried her into the kitchen. That hint of spicy apple hit him again, made him think of hot pie fresh from the oven and the girl next door a troublemaker like him would never be allowed to touch.
Not that he wanted to touch her. He carried her out of pure necessity.
He set her carefully on the stainless-steel counter, aware of what she’d said about her butt needing an ice pack. For the purposes of first aid—definitely not because the idea of touching her appealed in any way—Brody lifted her foot and examined it. He pressed his fingers into the flesh around the point of her ankle, trying to figure out if there was any swelling.
There didn’t appear to be. The only swelling in the room seemed to be in the region of his jockey shorts.
Lana’s eyes shot to his and Brody abruptly dropped her foot. Could she tell he was getting aroused from doing nothing more than touching her leg? Christ. Six months was obviously too long to go without.
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