Mister WonderFULL (Wonderful Love Book 2)

by Maggie Marr

  “So talk,” she says.

  She opens a cabinet and pulls out a glass, uncorks the wine bottle on the counter, and pours herself a drink.

  “It started about a year after Susie died. It was consensual, word of mouth, and never commercial, in any way.”

  “No money. Not ever.”

  I shake my head. “Not ever.”

  “Perks. Gifts. Meals. Travel?”

  “No, not generally. But if there were take-out meals I paid. Hotel rooms all paid for by me. I did receive one gift from a woman I saw for nearly five years.”

  Rachel swirls her wine and takes a sip. “But that was the anomaly, not the rule.”

  I nod.

  “Fine. So you’re a sex addict like Susie. I wish I’d known sooner. Maybe I would’ve judged her less harshly.”

  “This wasn’t about the sex.”

  “It wasn’t about the sex for Susie either.”

  I scrub my hand through my hair and look at Rachel. “This was because of what happened to Susie. I never wanted any woman to feel like she did. Like there was nowhere to turn. And I….I needed the physical intimacy and even the emotional connection, but in a way that I could control. A way that didn’t put me at risk. A way that allowed me to feel safe. That what happened between me and Susie, that I would never fall in love again, and it worked—”

  “Until Tara.”

  I nod. “Until Tara.”

  “Did you know about the article?”

  “Not until it was posted.”

  “Shut. Up.” Rachel places her wine glass on the counter and leans toward me. “That bitch didn’t even tell you before it posted?”

  And like that, in an instant, she is my big sister again. Still angry at me, probably disappointed, and definitely worried, but right now she is angry because in her mind, regardless of all of the above, I’m still her baby brother, and nobody gets to wrong her little brother, except maybe her.

  I shake my head.

  “And you forgave her?”

  “I love her.”

  “Oh, Jake. We don’t choose very well do we?”

  She lifts her glass and takes a long sip of her wine.

  “Fuck,” she says. “So why now? Why are you two broken up now if you’d forgiven her about the article?”

  “There was more. At first she said she figured it out after we started seeing each other and she copped to putting it together when she saw my phone.”

  “Fuck.” Rachel’s eyes grow wide. “The flip phone! And here I was worried you were dealing drugs when actually you were simply peddling flesh to the entire Westside.”

  “She found it and at first she said that she just saw the name, but actually she downloaded all the numbers and contacted all the women.”

  “Wowza!”

  Big Sis goes to a cabinet and lifts out a couple of Pyrex dishes. She opens the refrigerator and pulls out a container of cheese and mashed potatoes.

  “How’d you figure all that out?” She turns back to the counter. “Hmm, that’s an extra dish.” She lifts a Pyrex and puts it aside.

  “An extra dish?”

  “Yeah, that one’s not mine.”

  “Right.”

  It’s the one Kendall brought back to Rachel.

  “How did you find out about the phone numbers?”

  “There’s a woman that she reached out to, that figured out my real identity, because I bumped into her as Jake.”

  Rachel sprays one of the Pyrex dishes with oil. She sets down the spray can and looks at me.

  “This is all fucked up. Why did she tell you that? Why did Tara tell you the truth, finally?”

  “I guess someone threatened to out me if she didn’t come clean.”.

  “Now what?”

  I glance through the window toward Lily. Daisy races across the yard between Fletcher and Lily. Lily throws her head back and laughs.

  “I don’t know.”

  I pull my phone from my pocket. “I saw Mom yesterday,” I say, and flip the phone around to Rachel so she can see the picture I took.

  “Oh, Jakey. It’s her.” A tone filled with longing. Rachel presses her fingers to the corners of her eyes. “I…I don’t think we’ll see her much anymore. I mean the Mom who remembers our name.”

  “No, I don’t either. It’s almost like she clawed her way to me.”

  I look into Rachel’s eyes. “She told me why she took Dad back. How it was maybe the most foolish things she ever did and definitely one of the bravest. How thankful she was that she’d been that brave.” I press my lips together. “Love requires bravery.”

  Rachel looks at me. “Be brave.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  I knock on Tara’s door. I hear Jango’s nose pressed up against the bottom edge, and I picture her entire furry body shaking with joy that I’ve stopped here to see them.

  My belly tightens. I’ve been thinking about this moment, wondering what words I should or can say that will let us move forward, help us to get past the events that divide us, and I don’t know what those words are. I don’t know what exactly to say because I’m still angry and hurt and a little pissed off. But I know that none of that matters because I love Tara and she loves me.

  “Jake?”

  The door opens. Jango is out the door and her paws are on my legs and she hops a little on her two hind feet she’s so excited to see me.

  I pat Jango and stroke her soft fur. I look back at Tara. “Can we talk?”

  Tara nods, surprise on her face, and I don’t blame her. In the past month I’ve given her no indication that I’d ever speak to her again. I’ve done a pretty good job with my avoidance system and managed not to see her nearly the entire time, with one slip up in the parking garage because I stopped and got groceries.

  I walk into her place that I’ve been in a million times. This time feels a different, as though something is ending and maybe, I hope, beginning too.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asks.

  I shake my head and she moves to the couch.

  “Sit,” she says, and reaches out toward the blue chair in the living room.

  “I…I need to talk to you,” I say. “I need to put some of these things behind me.”

  The color leaves Tara’s face as though she’s completely aware that this moment, this conversation with me is most likely our last conversation.

  “Jake, I….I have so much I want to say to you, need to say to you, but even when I say all these things you’ll still—”

  “Please let me say what I need to say.”

  She surrenders to the couch and Jango lies down at her feet.

  “Tara, I love you.”

  Tara presses her hand to her mouth.

  “I will love you for the rest of my life. I know that, and that’s part of why I was so upset. Because I felt as though you traded on that love, but I traded on it too. I believe you when you say that you wouldn’t do this again and I know that we both have baggage to unpack and put away in this relationship. But I know I want to do this work with you.”

  Absolute shock, I see it in her eyes.

  “You…you…want us to be together?”

  “I … this has been hard on me. I…I am still trying to work through my anger at you going through my phone. Actually lifting the numbers so that you could get a story.”

  She nods and her face looks grim.

  “But where love is concerned, I need to be brave, and I want to be brave with you.” I walk to her and I pull her to standing. She is right in front of me and the scent of fresh soap and hints of lavender come with her.

  “I love you. You love me. We aren’t perfect people, but we only get so many trips around the sun and I don’t want to spend any more of them without you by my side,” I say.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

  She looks up at me and I know in this moment that this is the woman for me, that there will never be a Wonderfuck again, that
there will only be me, Jake, and her Tara, and together we will get through the bad and cherish the good and be a couple that weathers it all.

  I know this because I trust that this love I feel pulsing through what was once a heart deadened by pain, has come back to feel and love a woman that I’m ready to build a lifetime of memories with.

  A smile slips to her face and she weaves her hand through my hair and kisses me. I know that there is nothing more in this world that I will ever want or need. I only want to be her Mister Wonderful.

  The End

  Thank you for reading Mister WonderFULL. If you enjoyed this book, please take a moment to leave a review on Goodreads or your favorite online retailer. Reviews help readers discover new authors, and I am grateful for all reviews.

  Did you read Wonderf*ck, where Jake & Tara’s romance begins? If not, download a copy today.

  I am the Wonderfuck. I’ve got a rocket in my pocket and I live to take you for a ride. I’ve got everything a woman wants, all in one tight, well-muscled, long, hard package. My one goal is to make you come so hard and so often that you finally understand your innate power and how absolutely fucking beautiful you are. Because every woman is beautiful.

  Did you catch that? Did you hear it? Did you read it with the soul-searing earnestness with which it was written? Don’t shake your head or nod and skip right on past those so fucking important words.

  Every. Woman. Is. Beautiful.

  I know all of you sexy women don’t believe it, even if I tell you it’s true. No, you only believe you’re beautiful once I show you just how damn sexy you are. I’ve dedicated my life to tapping into your sensuality and sexuality until it pours from you. I loved once and lost. My heart shattered and I committed myself then to providing women pleasure. I am the Wonderfuck and this is my vocation. Or so I thought.

  Until Tara.

  My sexy neighbor with her douchenugget ex-fiancé. Tara and I weren’t friends, we were barely acquaintances, until the tears, and the fistfight, and then … the sex.

  Now what do I do? I can’t be myself with her, and I can’t be Wonderfuck. I want her, but having Tara means watching the walls of my carefully crafted existence crumble. While I have the strength to provide countless orgasms, I’m not sure if I have the strength to love.

  Want more smart, sexy romance? Keep reading for an excerpt from one of my other popular books.

  Bonus Excerpt: Beck

  Natalie Warner can’t ignore the risk any longer. A star on the rise, her latest film is on track to be the biggest box office breaker of the summer but Natalie isn’t safe. Someone is after her. Could it be her angry addict father, or her mother who always wanted to be a star herself? What about her ex-boyfriend who just did time? The Studio refuses to ignore the threat and forces Natalie to take on a bodyguard, but that bodyguard comes in the shape of rugged, irresistible Beck Tatum, because whoever is after Natalie isn’t going to stop until someone makes them.

  A question, wrapped in a riddle, Beck Tatum doesn’t know what part of the government he worked for before he lost his memory or what exactly his mission was. He can remember that he loved and that he lost that woman as well as his memories on that final mission. Now with a second chance, he’s assigned to protect a high-value asset. Rich and entitled but yet kind and vulnerable, Natalie Warner isn’t the spoiled rich woman Beck expected. But falling for her would put her life on the line and Beck isn't about to lose anything else.

  Chapter One

  “Fucking American scum.”

  The gun clicked. The barrel between Beck’s eyes.

  “Marisol?” His bed was empty and reflexes pushed him forward.

  “Beck, no!” Marisol screamed. He turned toward the noise coming from the darkness. One light shone in his eyes and one gun pressed to the center of his forehead.

  “Don’t move.” Andreas’s voice thundered through the dark room. “Shut that bitch up.”

  The smack of a hand against flesh. Beck’s body poised to spring forward, to grab the son of a bitch hurting Marisol.

  “You really think you can beat a bullet, asshole?” Andreas stood beside the bed. “You come here, to my house, my country, pretend to be my friend and fuck my sister and lie to me?” His voice was low and quiet. Deadly quiet. But fury raged in Andreas’s eyes. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out why you’re here?” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s certainly not for that whore.”

  His gun, if Beck could get to his gun. One under his pillow. One on the floor under the bed, one—

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Andreas said, a wicked smile on his face. “Don’t. Even if you could beat a bullet, I don’t think you could save her.” He turned the flashlight toward Marisol. A goon held her in a choke hold with a gun pressed to her temple.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “Not very nice, now is it? To talk to your host that way. The host you lied to, and were spying on for the American government.”

  “I’m not a spy. You’re fucking paranoid, Andreas. Too many fucking drugs. That’s your sister.” Beck held out his hand, and the barrel of the gun pressed harder between his eyes. He took a deep breath. “I love her, Andreas—let her go. This . . . we should have told you . . . we should have—”

  “You think I give two shits that you’re fucking my sister?” A cruel laugh exited Andreas’s mouth. “Let me show you how little I care about her.” He looked over his shoulder. “Kill her.”

  “What? No, fuck, Andreas . . . no, fuck you can’t—”

  “No!” Marisol screamed. “Andreas, no!”

  “This is my fault, not hers, no . . . she didn’t—”

  Marisol’s screams pierced the night.

  Andreas leaned down and lowered his voice. “I can’t kill you, asshole, because I need to make a trade and your spying ass is valuable. But her? She can pay for your fucked-up decision to spy on me.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Did you hear me? Shut that bitch up.”

  The gun popped. The screams stopped. A hard knock to the back of Beck’s head, and the room went black.

  Chapter Two

  Nine months later…

  Beck Tatum would die in this room. They were finished with him. Whoever they were. A secret behind a lie. A group, concealed by a shadow government, hidden behind the military, buried beneath the global panopticon. Exactly who Beck worked for was the answer to a riddle that was too deadly to solve.

  Whoever those fuckers were, they were finished with his ass.

  They’d traded something or someone for him after they’d chewed him up, spit him out. Now Beck was too unsavory to complete their dirty work. He’d spend the rest of his life in a facility that was trying too hard not to look like a facility. This place had gardens, a library, a pool, and hot meals, everything that made a man like Beck want to jump from his skin. A little too clean, a little too nice, a little too easy. Like a calf being fattened up on milk and rich grain before the slaughter.

  Most things that looked this good had a horrible bite. MT-55 was no different. He guessed that was his location. Officially nonexistent, if the whispers were true, this was where they sent the guys who weren’t crazy enough to be crazy, but dangerous enough to be deadly. After nine months Beck had chipped away enough of the gilded gold and the pretty-pretty grated.

  What the fuck? The last mission . . . He pressed his hands to his forehead. The only thing he remembered from his last fucking mission was that Marisol was dead and her death was his fault. Every other detail was gone.

  He turned to his sketchbook. Marisol. Those eyes. Those eyes . . . were gone. Marisol was dead. How? He couldn’t remember, but he knew that he’d been the cause.

  He had to get out of this place. Had to find out who and what and why . . . why what he’d thought he’d been doing in South America really wasn’t what he was doing.

  He pressed his eyes closed. Fuck. All the details, the memories, were jumbled and fractured like bits of stained glass shattered by a bullet.

  �
�Beck, you got a visitor.”

  He opened his eyes. One of the orderlies, with the soft shape of a guy who used to be muscled and now never worked out, stood in the doorway of Beck’s room. This guy was always here on Tuesdays . . . or was it Wednesdays? The information Beck tried to process didn’t fritz out all the time, but just often enough for Beck to notice.

  “Thanks.” Black soot covered Beck’s fingers and slid slippery against his skin. His gaze locked on the picture he’d sketched with charcoal. Those eyes. Those damn eyes haunted his dreams.

  “Atrium,” Craig or Colin or who the fuck knew said, and knocked his knuckles against the doorframe, gently pulling Beck back to the present.

  Beck nodded and with one last look closed the cover of the sketchbook. He stood and stretched his arms overhead. Pain sliced through his hip and up his back. Each day a little less, but according to his physical therapist the pain wouldn’t ever go away. Fuck it. He could live with physical pain. You didn’t hump through the desert and the training and the corps and then do the dirty work that Beck had done for a decade without some permanent dents. The physical pain wasn’t the problem, but the mental . . . that was the shit that would kill you.

  Visitor, huh? Who the hell . . . ? Not family. His bosses had wanted him untraceable. He’d kept his life just that way . . . until he hadn’t. He glanced at the sketchbook. Nope, not thinking about that face, those eyes, not now, not ever.

  He walked down the hall toward the stairway, his feet not making a sound on the plush carpet. This place with its pretty-pretty and sketchbooks and fresh air and all the other psycho-babble bullshit was pulling the skin from his bones. He had to get out or he’d stick a fork in somebody’s eye.

  The guy standing in the atrium was a stranger. Beck made him for about forty-five. He stood tall like a former athlete, like the guy knew how to move. Sharp demeanor but decidedly relaxed. Light smile, intense eyes, black skin. The sharp-edged haircut gave him away as former military, but he wasn’t in now, because the guy sported a three-thousand-dollar hand-cut suit and two-thousand-dollar Italian shoes. Unless he was on special assignment, in deep cover, there wasn’t a military man alive sporting those threads.