Hard Work

by Micah Persell

  She closed her eyes. “I . . . think I love you.”

  Kip actually gasped. Victoria’s eyes fluttered open. That blush he loved spread across her cheeks.

  He was across the carpet in the next second. “My turn.” His voice was a barely audible rumble. “Promise not to freak out?”

  The hint of a smile edged her lips.

  He reached for her hands and wove his fingers through hers. “I think I love you, too.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  He dropped one of her hands so he could trace his fingers up her arm. “Really, really.”

  “But we’ve only known each other for—”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Your mother hates me—”

  “I really don’t care.”

  “I’m . . . ” She licked her lips, and Kip wanted to kiss her so badly, he thought he would die of it. “I’m unemployed.”

  That got his attention. Just what the fuck had happened today? He wanted to know, but she was what he wanted even more. “Hmm, actually, I am, too.”

  He saw the full import of his words hit her, but just as quickly, however, her smile faded. “I said”—her eyes filled with tears, and Kip felt the first stirrings of alarm—“horrible things to you.” She squeezed his hand. “Kip, I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Oh, honey.” Dropping all restraint, he finally allowed himself to gather her into his arms. With a hand to the back of her head, he pressed her to his chest, kissing her golden hair. “Thank you for saying that.” He pulled back a little so he could look at her. Her eyes still swam with tears. He gently cupped her face and brushed them away with his thumbs. “You know what? I think standing up for me when it counts makes up for that.”

  She sniffed. “I like standing up for you.”

  God, his chest was going to explode. “And I like standing up for you.”

  She grew serious. “There’s one more thing I have to say.”

  Oh, God. Kip’s chest tightened again.

  “Will you go into business with me?” she asked.

  He blinked several times.

  “I mean,” she said quickly, “you don’t have to. I want to be with you no matter what. Unless, you don’t want to be with me now because I just asked you to go into advertising with me, and I have a feeling you’re conflicted about advertising given who your mother is, and—”

  “Wait.” He tilted his head. “You did ask me if I want to go into business with you?”

  She blinked. “Well, yeah. You’re kind of brilliant.”

  “I thought I was hearing things,” he muttered. “This is real, right?” He looked around the room for any obvious sign that he was dreaming, like a horse standing beside the bed or someone in the closet with an ax.

  She laughed, drawing his gaze back to her since he could never look at anything else when Victoria laughed. “Yes, this is real. I have several clients to get us started, but there probably won’t be a lot of money in it for a while yet, and—”

  “Yes.”

  She paused. “Yes?”

  “You can stop trying to talk me out of it. My answer is so much fucking yes.” God, he needed to kiss her. He stepped even closer. Now, her breasts pressed against his ribs.

  She licked her lips. He’d be doing the same in a moment. “Want to get out of here?” she whispered.

  “Out of here?”

  “I want to . . . make love, I guess?” She blushed. “At one of our places. Yours or mine. Just not—”

  Here. Because their relationship had taken a very different path. Kip bit back a grin. “How about mine then yours?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to come first.”

  Kip shrugged with one shoulder as he slowly rotated his hips, pressing his growing erection into her belly. “That’s true. Yours, it is.”

  When their lips finally connected, they were both smiling.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  “Oh, God.”

  That’s right, baby.

  “Oh, God!”

  Kip arched his back beneath her, the blunt ends of his fingers digging into her hips. His breath started bursting out of him in quick catches: Victoria’s favorite sound, and a sure sign that he was about to tip over the edge.

  She started riding him hard, the telltale fluttering of her own orgasm beginning.

  He opened his eyes and grinned up at her, knowing exactly what those muscles against his cock meant.

  She swallowed down the small moan that rose in her throat as she coasted over the edge with him.

  “Fuck, I love you,” he groaned.

  Though her eyes wanted to close, she forced them to stay open, her gaze locked with his. “I love you, too.”

  The came down together, and Victoria collapsed on Kip’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and she snuggled into his warm skin with her cheek, the still-rapid thud of his heartbeat resounding in her ear.

  A moment later, their alarm went off. With a groan, he stretched over to slap it off, and she made a small noise of disappointment that their afterglow was coming to an end.

  Then again, they’d managed some morning delight before having to get up and started on this very busy, very important day, so she couldn’t be too disappointed.

  Kip’s large, warm hand skated up and down her spine. “You ready for today?”

  She bit her lip to keep from smiling too broadly, because if he saw the size of her smile, he’d start asking questions.

  Today, they would meet with the former Mrs. Davis to sign a campaign contract. She’d gotten The Ricchezza in the coup of all divorce settlements—their prenup having an adultery clause that favored Mrs. Davis greatly. Though Kip had never told Mrs. Davis what he knew, Vegas was, for all its grandeur, a small town at heart. In the end, Victoria was getting her “dream” after all. Only now, it was even better, because she was getting it with Kip, and she’d come to realize that what they had together was a dream in and of itself.

  No, the reason Victoria’s grin was so big was not because of Mrs. Davis. Every day for the past three months, Kip had asked her to marry him. Every day, she’d responded with maybe someday.

  Today when he asked? She’d already reserved a chapel for tonight. In about—she squinted at the clock—fourteen hours, she and Kip would be best friends, business partners, lovers, and man and wife.

  Life couldn’t get better.

  She crossed her arms over Kip’s chest and propped her chin on top of them. Meeting Kip’s gaze, she said, “Today is going to be perfect.”

  He leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose.

  And then they got out of bed and started to get ready for the best day of their lives.

  About the Author

  Micah Persell lives in Southern California with her husband, 1.9 children, and menagerie of pets. She writes romance with strong women, smart minds, and scorching love. She loves connecting with readers. You can find her at www.micahpersell.com, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MicahPersell, and on Twitter @MicahPersell.

  Turn the page for an excerpt from

  Uncharted Waters

  Chapter One

  Bethany Morgan narrowed her eyes at her boss. Had she heard correctly? Granted, the words flirt for results had not actually left Dr. Dewinter’s mouth, but everyone in this room had heard them anyway.

  Excellent. Just what she needed a room of men to hear.

  She cleared her throat and set her pencil down on the tabletop before she snapped it in two. “Just to clarify, I’m to . . . get friendly”—she struggled not to emphasize the words and lost the battle—“with this Dr. Anderson to get him to hand over the schematics for our water system, even though we already own them?”

  Despite the ickiness of the request, Bethany couldn’t even think about the water system without a thrill shooting through her gut. In the biggest coup of her career, she had discovered the world-changing plans for a gray-water recycling system on a dusty
Delaney Science computer when she’d taken a box of surplus beakers down to the basement. Even though Anderson himself was a relic who hadn’t worked for Delaney since way before anyone seated at this table, he’d used Delaney equipment to create the system. Therefore, Delaney owned it. And no one would have known it even existed if it wasn’t for Bethany.

  She was the best in this field, but as much as she wanted to fool herself into thinking prowess in gray-water systems had earned her a spot at this table, it was the stroke of luck of finding the schematics that landed her here. And now it seemed as though her looks were the only thing keeping her here.

  Dewinter, the only other woman in the room, pursed her lips, and to Bethany’s right, one of her more insufferable coworkers, Jonathan, said, “But you pointed out the schematics were incomplete. And you haven’t been able to figure out how to finish them. We most likely need Anderson’s help.”

  Mansplaining was just precious. Really. “I recall that,” she replied through only barely gritted teeth. Showing up on Anderson’s doorstep and informing him that his water system was being legally commandeered would probably—definitely—be met with resistance. Social finesse was a necessity. “But surely there are . . . ” More dignified? “Better ways to approach this. Any of us could make overtures.” She nodded toward her dearest—only, really—friend. “Mark could get friendly with him.”

  That lightness in her belly turned to a lead balloon in an instant. What was she doing? Had she really just offered this opportunity to Mark on a silver platter? She could be friendly!

  Mark’s eyes seemed to dance with light. “I’m game.”

  No! “I mean—” Bethany began, mentally scrounging for a way to land back at the helm of this mission in a way that afforded her a modicum of self-respect.

  Dr. Dewinter held up a hand, and if she had been Evita Perón herself, she would not have gotten everyone’s undivided attention faster. “We can send a team.” She shrugged. “That’s probably best anyway.”

  Fuck! She’d done it. Managed to flush away the only viable, mass-producing gray-water solution she’d come across in her career. In anyone’s career. Anderson’s water system was groundbreaking. Capable of solving the world’s clean-water crisis. No one would have to die like Bethany’s mother had ever again.

  No child would ever go thirsty.

  What would have happened if she’d simply said sure when Dewinter had asked her to sidle up to the elderly Dr. Anderson? So, she’d been asked to use her feminine wiles. It hadn’t been the first time; it would not be the last. Is your pride, your principles, worth more than human life?

  She’d made a mistake.

  Dewinter opened the file folder in front of her and scanned a document. “Anderson’s last known location was high in the Rockies.” She closed the folder with a snap. “The Colorado Rockies, so it’s a short trip.”

  Bethany’s lips parted. A short trip high into the Rockies in the dead of winter? That was a paradox if ever she’d heard one.

  Dewinter slid the file folder toward the center of the table, and all eyes locked on it as though it were a Nobel Peace Prize up for grabs. And, in all probability, it was. Bethany’s hands itched to snatch it.

  “A team of five seems sufficient.” All gazes snapped to Dewinter, who was perusing the Delaney employees gathered around the table.

  Oh, God. Pick me. The words were plainly written on each of their faces.

  “Mark.”

  Damn it. That one was her fault. Mark can get friendly with him. Ugh, she was an idiot.

  “Jonathan, Eric, Bryce, and . . . ”

  A roar set up residence in her ears, and she watched Dewinter’s lips moving without being able to hear what she said. Had her lips formed Bethany?

  She darted a glance at Mark, whose subtle wink was promising. When he mouthed She picked you, her hearing came back with a pop just in time for her to hear Dewinter say as she rose, “You all leave tomorrow morning, so get packing. It’s cold out there, folks.” She exited the room in a waft of floral perfume.

  With grumbles, those who had not been picked pushed to their feet and began exiting the room. As two men passed her, she heard one say to the other, “Like Morgan can be friendly. You hear the things she says? She’s so . . . crass. The old guy will be turned off in a second.”

  These two guys in particular could make a porn star blush with the things they said about women’s bodies. And she was crass?

  Bethany saw a buzzing red cloud but leaned back in her chair, projecting the professionalism that got her through similar situations several times a day. Then, like it usually did, her mouth had to go and ruin it. “You can kiss my crass, Jerry. All damn day.”

  Across the table, Mark coughed a laugh and covered his mouth with finely manicured fingertips, but the other three men around the table—the rest of her team—shook their heads uniformly.

  They can kiss my crass, too.

  But she swallowed and eyed the folder that still gleamed from the center of the table. This was important. Maybe she could reel in . . . well, everything?

  When Jonathan reached forward, his fingers creeping toward the folder, Bethany launched. Her hand landed first, and as Jonathan scowled, she slid it toward herself.

  Bryce pushed to his feet with a sigh. “Well, I’m off to pack. We can talk plans on the way to the mountains.” He nodded at the folder in front of Bethany. “Study up, Morgan. And don’t forget to pack your lipstick.”

  Jonathan and Eric chuckled as they followed Bryce out of the room.

  “Pricks,” Mark muttered. “They will not be cuddling with me on that cold mountain.”

  Lifting her chin, Bethany smiled at him. “A terrible loss.”

  After a moment, Mark’s answering grin dimmed. “What’s your plan, Bethany? Because we both know it isn’t flirting for information.”

  Bethany opened the folder and rolled her shoulders. “Of course, it isn’t. I’ll be professional. Courteous. Anderson is a smart man.”

  Her words drifted off as she leafed through the copies of what appeared to be every memo Anderson had sent out during his employment at Delaney. His signature graced the bottom of every page; she traced the scrawling script with her pointer finger. Like many brilliant people, his letters were barely legible.

  Near the end of the stack, a new item joined his signature. Beneath his name, in exact block letters, Eugene Anderson had written ignotumque aquas. She frowned. Latin of course, but it wasn’t any scientific term she was familiar with. Aquas was water, but ignotumque?

  Unfound?

  No, uncharted.

  Dr. Anderson had signed this memo with the phrase “uncharted waters.” She flipped through the rest of the memos; he’d signed all of them that way.

  A slow grin spread across her lips. Oh, she was going to like this man. Uncharted waters would usually be a nautical term, but she knew that wasn’t what he meant here. His system would take clean water to uncharted locations. Exactly where it was needed.

  Eugene Anderson knew precisely what he wanted to do with this system. And it was what Bethany herself wanted to do with it: save the world.

  She transferred her grin to Mark, who was staring at her like she’d been woolgathering for several awkward moments. She flipped the file folder closed. “He knows what he’s created and what it means to the world,” she said. “Only the worst kind of person wouldn’t want to get this water system out there to save lives.”

  “And if Anderson is the worst kind of person?”

  If she was right about him, that wasn’t a possibility. She shook her head. “Then we reevaluate. But Bethany sacrificing her self-worth won’t be one of the options I agree to.”

  “Damn right it won’t be. So, when do you tell everyone else that?”

  “I’ll tell the guys as soon as we hit the road.” As for Dewinter? Well, Bethany didn’t need to be burning any bridges right now. Her place on this team was tenuous; that was more than obvious. Telling Dewinter to take her suggestion
of flirting and shove it up her ass was probably a bad idea.

  Bethany pushed to her feet, tucking the folder beneath her arm. It wouldn’t matter. Dewinter didn’t need to ever know she wouldn’t follow instructions. “This is going to be quick and painless. I mean, how hard can it be?”

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  Crimson Romance

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  Copyright © 2017 by Micah Persell.

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  First Crimson Romance ebook edition NOVEMBER 2017

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  Cover images © Shutterstock/CURAphotography

  ISBN 978-1-5072-0702-4 (ebook)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.