by Mari Carr
Table of Contents
Excerpt
No Regrets
Blurb
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
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
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Note from Mari
eBooks by Mari Carr
Mari recommends … Renee George
Excerpt
Another flash of lightning illuminated the house followed by booming thunder. She winced at the sound and started to rush back toward her own room, anxious to crawl under the covers and hide until the storm passed. The crash of breaking glass broke her stride. Concerned, she walked to Ben’s doorway and knocked softly. No reply.
Knocking a little louder, she called out his name. Again, silence. Trying the knob, she found the door unlocked. Opening it slowly, she stepped into the dark room.
“Be—?” she whispered. Her question was cut off by a strong arm pressed against her throat and another at her waist. Her back was roughly pulled against a large, powerful body. Panic gripped her until she recognized the harsh, agonized breathing in her ear. Ben was gone and the stranger was back.
Desperately attempting to dislodge his arm from her windpipe, she choked out his name hoping he would recognize her. Apparently he did as the muscular arms released her so suddenly, she stumbled forward, coughing lightly and struggling to catch her breath.
“What are you doing here?” Once again, his voice was alien to her.
Rubbing her throat, she squinted in the dark, trying to make out his face. “I h-heard glass breaking. I wanted to see if you were all right.”
Lightning pierced the darkness followed by a loud rumble. In the brief light, she saw his distorted features, his eyes dark against his pale face and his typically well-groomed hair tousled as if, once again, he’d been trying to tear it out.
“Oh, God, Ben.” She crossed the room to where he stood. “Not again.”
“Get out.”
“Ben.”
“Get out!”
She shrunk back at his menacing yell and intimidating stance, but made no move to leave. When she refused to move, he turned and walked toward a chair by the fireplace. She noticed his slight limp. Glancing at the floor, she saw dark patches on the floor and realized his foot was bleeding. Concern washed through her. “Ben, your foot. You’re hurt.”
Reaching out to him, she was halted by two painful hands grasping her wrists.
“Ben. You’re hurting me.”
“Get out,” he said, through clenched teeth. “Now!”
“No!” she yelled back, angry by his harsh treatment. She only wanted to help him.
Surprised by her response, he released her hands, his arms falling loosely by his sides. Taking his silence as acquiescence, she lightly pushed him into the chair. Bending down, she threw two logs on the dying embers to build up the fire. The chilled, dark room brightened with light and heat. Striding to the bedside table and carefully sidestepping a broken pitcher, she dipped a cloth into the washbasin, wringing out the water. Returning to him, she noticed how much it was costing him to control his anger. Undaunted, she knelt at his feet, gently lifting the injured one for inspection.
“You have a piece of glass in your heel. Be still and I’ll take it out.”
The sound of rain pounding on the roof surrounded them, but he remained motionless. Frowning, she set to work removing the shard by the light of the fire, then she washed his wound.
Satisfied she had taken out all of the glass, she tore a strip off the hem of her cotton night rail and wrapped his foot tightly. Pleased with her work, she leaned back on her heels and looked into his face. He sat woodenly, staring at the fire. She doubted he’d even felt the pain of her nursing.
Tentatively, she reached out to touch his cheek. The pain and fear in his eyes ripped her in two and she wanted nothing more than to comfort him. He shuddered at her touch before slowly turning his head and placing a soft kiss on her palm.
Shaking, he clasped her wrist, pulling her hand into his. “Please,” he whispered desolately. “Go.”
Unwilling to leave him alone with his dark thoughts, she simply shook her head.
“Go.” His voice cracked under the strain. “You’re in danger. I told you what will happen.”
“No.” She squeezed his hand. “You won’t hurt me, and I won’t leave you alone. Not again.”
“Dammit, Vee! Get out! I don’t want you to see me like this!” His fear and distress turned back to the red-hot anger she hadn’t seen since the night he kissed her roughly in his office.
“Well, that is a shame because I’m not leaving.”
Without warning, he rose, lifting her in his arms and carrying her to his bed. He deposited her in the center of the silk counterpane, following her down and covering her with his own large body. “I warned you.”
No Regrets
June Girls, Book 2
Mari Carr
Published 2017 by Book Boutiques.
ISBN: 978-1-946363-13-8
Copyright © 2017, Mari Carr.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.
Manufactured in the USA.
Email [email protected] with questions, or inquiries about Book Boutiques.
Blurb
How far would you go to help a friend?
Tori Hamilton's friends have disappeared without a trace. Mysterious clues lead to their possible whereabouts, but is she willing do what it takes to find them? Even if it means traveling back in time?
Lord Benjamin Sinclair is losing his mind—literally. He’s inherited a rundown estate and become guardian to a little girl—a self-imposed mute—with a tragic past. He’s also found himself in possession of a beautiful amnesiac who seems to have no past at all. On top of all that, he’s suffering from serious nightmares—remnants from his time at war—and an overwhelming sexual attraction to his strange lady.
Soon, Ben and Tori aren’t merely fighting to keep their hands off each other. They’re forced to do battle with a villain determined to silence Ben’s ward once and for all.
Previously Published
(2009) Liquid Silver Books | (2013) Mari Carr
Acknowledgements
Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs, Tibbs Design
Prologue
The sound of gunfire was louder as the boom of a cannon roared from somewhere behind him. No matter how many men fell, more were there to take their place. The grass of the field was no longer green—instead it was tainted with a deep red glaze that reflected in the eerie cast of the moonlight. Another flash of fire as the man next to him discharged his weapon and again, the tremendous thunder of the cannon and the crackle of the never-e
nding gunfire. More men, more blood, more corpses piling up around him until he was the only man left. A lone soldier standing atop a mountain of dead bodies.
A shrill scream pierced his ears, the sound louder and more horrible than all the moaning and sobs that had preceded it. On and on it continued. He covered his ears to block the piteous sound, but to no avail. Grasping his weapon, he raised it to halt the incessant shrieking; to make the cursed noise stop. He pointed his gun toward the sound, his hand trembling, his finger twitching on the trigger. The screaming continued, growing even louder. He had to make it stop, make it all stop. Glancing toward the weapon in his violently shaking hand, he saw a face. Stark terror written in every line, anguish and desolation reflected in the black eyes that met his.
He lowered his weapon. The screaming was coming from him. It was his own face looking back at him.
Chapter 1
V is for Voyage
June 2009
Come for me. Please come. Take me too.
Victoria Hamilton paced around the ancient oak at the edge of her parents’ estate just outside Dover, England, frantically begging for something, anything to happen. Exactly what she wanted to happen she didn’t know. Just something. She’d spent the past year alone and angry, deserted by the only two friends she’d ever had. Deep inside, she knew they were together. Desperate to find them, she focused her attention on the old oak once again.
“Open Sesame,” she chanted to the rough gray-brown bark.
“Abracadabra.”
“I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your…hmm, not door down…how about bark off? No, that just sounds stupid.”
Straightening her frilly hot pink mini skirt, Tori reached for her backpack and bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper. All this pacing, chanting and waiting was making her thirsty. Glancing down, she considered picking up her latest romance novel to read, but she simply couldn’t settle her mind to it. Today was the day, and this was the place. It had to be.
Out of habit, she tugged on her necklace, a gift from the June girls on her sixteenth birthday. She never took off the silver chain with the ornate letter “V” charm. “V” is for Victoria. Or “V” is for Virginia, where she now lived and worked. She loved word games, and sometimes, when Tori was bored or anxious, she would think about all the things her charm could stand for. “V” is for vexed, which certainly described her frame of mind at the present moment.
What if I’m wrong?
It was the tree. It had to be. It was the only connecting factor in Hayley and Erin’s disappearances—one year apart to the day—this day, June twenty-one. Her fellow June girls were somewhere out there without her. Erin had gone missing under this tree two years earlier on her birthday. Hayley disappeared the following year on the same day. The ancient oak with its leaf laden branches was the key, the portal, the time machine, the magic door, the—oh hell; whatever it was called, this had to be it. If she was wrong, well, she didn’t want to think about what would happen if she were wrong.
Actually, Tori didn’t make the connection between the oak tree and her friends’ disappearances until this past Christmas when she discovered an old book in the library of her parents’ home, Fernwood Grange. Edward and Michelle Hamilton had purchased the grand old estate situated near the White Cliffs of Dover shortly after she was born. The previous owner, Philip McCormick, had passed away and her father, ever the opportunist, swooped in immediately to buy the prime piece of property at a steal of a price. McCormick, a hermit, had never married or had children, and the executors of the estate were happy to unload it since the house had fallen into disrepair during the fifty-plus years of Old Philip’s residence there.
Two years ago, the June girls—so named because they all shared birthdays in June—changed their summer routine by coming to Fernwood Grange instead of meeting at camp, anxious to tour the English countryside and spend a long weekend in Paris. It was to be the beginning of a new chapter in their lives as adults and they were excited about traveling abroad together.
Tori slid down the trunk of the tree until she was sitting beneath its branches. At least it was a sunny day. It would be miserable to be biding her time in the rain that was so typical for this country. She felt the adrenaline and enthusiasm she’d felt as she embarked on this adventure draining out of her.
Drowsily, Tori thought back to the chain of events that led her to this tree today…
She had begrudgingly returned to the Grange for Christmas, even though the place held nothing but sad memories for her. Her mother was decorating everything in the house that would stand still long enough for her to plaster it with garlands, greenery, candles, Christmas balls, mistletoe, and so on. The house smelled like a tree farm that had been liberally doused in cinnamon, pine, and cloves; the aroma gave Tori a perpetual headache.
Mother decided she would be in charge of decorating the library. Tori knew this assignment was simply a ploy to get her out of the way as she tended to be rather clumsy whenever she was in her mother’s presence, or anyone else’s for that matter. She knew her ungainliness was a result of the fact her mother made her nervous with her constant criticism. Her clumsiness in front of others she simply couldn’t explain, except she supposed she’d never really lost all the shyness that had plagued her as a child.
Tori constantly struggled with her parents’ huge ambitions for her—their only child. Ambitions she’d realized at a very young age she would never manage to live up to. Her father was a foreign diplomat and her mother a high-powered government attorney. They lived the lives of the super-rich and had every expectation she would follow in their footsteps on the path to wealth, power, and glory. Instead, all their megawatt genes had produced was one painfully shy, chubby little girl with stringy blonde hair whose teeth took four years of braces to correct. A daughter who preferred books over money and whose dream job turned out to be an elementary school librarian.
“Just don’t start reading anything. I know how easily you get sidetracked,” her mother chastised.
“Well, I am a librarian, Mum. Perhaps the library is not the safest place to put me.” She meant her words as a jest, but her mother merely raised her eyebrows in annoyance.
“I’d rather not discuss your chosen career path, or the fact that you are wasting your talents in such a silly job surrounded by children.” Her mother said the word children as if it tasted like something particularly nasty.
Tori fought back the spurt of anger that came every time her mother criticized her job. She couldn’t think of any career on earth more rewarding or enjoyable.
Her mother mistook her silence for daydreaming. Fact of the matter was she was biting her tongue off in an attempt not to get into a fight with her mother. She’d only been here a few days, and was determined this holiday would be a peaceful one. Even if it killed her.
“Concentrate, darling, on the task at hand,” her mother purred, in her most annoying cosmopolitan-style voice, snapping her fingers in front of her face as if to wake her up.
“Yes, Mum,” Tori replied.
“Oh, darling, you’ve only been back in England two days and you sound British again. I do wish you would strive to be more consistently American. You know how our European friends simply adore my accent. Why must you revert back to that coarse British one just because we’re on this side of the ocean?”
“Sorry ‘bout that, momma.” Tori made certain to twang every syllable she could in her best southern—and smartass—accent. She was certain her mother didn’t tell her very British father he sounded coarse. Besides, she was a master at adapting her language to whichever side of the ocean she was on simply because she hated standing out, unlike her mother who was only truly happy when she was the center of attention. It was easier to blend in when you sounded like everyone else. Like children of bilingual parents, she could sound like the perfect Brit or American, depending on where she was and who she was with.
“Don’t get smart with me, young lady. Now get started in that room.”
“Yes, Mother.” She rolled her eyes as she turned to enter the library. Closing the door to the library behind her, she was thankful for the chance to get away, as she knew her mother would rather “shop at Wal-Mart—so blue collar,” than spend any amount of time surrounded by dusty, old books.
After an hour of sweat, cursing, and a crushed thumb, Tori had made good headway in the decorating and was about to attach the last garland to the top of one of the ceiling-high bookcases when the ladder began to rock. Reaching out, she grabbed the first thing her hands could find, which happened to be the top shelf of the nearest bookcase. Looking down, she saw the traitorous ladder now lay below her on the floor. The shelf she was hanging on to, already overtaxed with its load of the oldest and dustiest tomes in the room, held her suspended in midair for all of a second and a half before it cracked. The broken shelf sent her tumbling, dumping no less than twenty-five filthy books on top of her.
Shaken and disoriented, Tori shook her head and began to cough uncontrollably thanks to the huge dust storm she’d stirred up. She sat on her sore bum, waiting patiently for her mother to burst in at what must have sounded like a tremendous crash. After several moments, she realized either no one had heard or the servants and her mother, all too familiar with her tendency toward clumsiness, ignored the loud sound not wanting to know what she’d destroyed this time.
Still sprawled on the floor, partially buried in books, Tori surveyed the damage. The shelf, quite old, had splintered in two under her weight, and in her panic, she’d managed to pull down most of the garland she spent the last hour putting up. The most distressing part of the situation was the books. Several of them had torn loose from their covers, others had lost pages and one was ripped completely down the middle. Realizing these books were most likely over a hundred years old, she felt true regret for her awkwardness.
Remaining on the floor, she began to carefully pick up each book, separating them into stacks of undamaged and damaged ones, when the last one caught her eye. It was the most mangled of the bunch. The cover had flown off the body of the book, and several of the pages were ripped or bent. What drew her eye was not its damaged state, but the words written inside the front cover. They were faded and difficult to read, but she could very clearly make out her name—Tori Hamilton.
