Life had turned out better than she’d ever imagined. Babic was facing a long list of charges including murder, attempted abduction, breaking and entering, and cruelty to animals. In jail he’d had a psychiatric breakdown. Somewhere in Babic’s mind he believed that Petrov had killed his parents and by taking Sophie, he’d take what meant the most to Petrov. Petrov had been stunned, unaware of the hate that had been bubbling in Babic for years. He’d only ever taken pity on an orphan. The doctor had some name for it. Sophie just wanted him in prison for a long time.
Harlan materialized at her side.
“Found the journal yet?” She grinned up at him.
He shot her a tight smile.
“No, but I will.”
“Sure you will.” She leaned up and kissed his jaw.
They’d argued about O’Connor’s debt. Harlan had insisted that he’d be paying them back. Sophie had compromised and made a bet—if he could find her father’s journal using only old-fashioned detective work, then maybe they could pay them back together.
To date, the journal remained hidden.
“Love you, Soph.” His lips grazed hers.
She never tired of hearing him say it. The words slid across her soul like a purr.
“Love you, too.”
She never tired of saying the words she meant with her heart and watching his face go all soft, like he’d inhaled them and swished them around his body before letting the words settle in his heart.
“Are you margarita’d?” His lips grazed the back of her neck.
“Getting there, why?” She leaned her head back, knowing he’d scent her neck, which she’d come to understand was his way of saying she belonged to him. His hot tongue on her skin scorched her blood.
“I love fucking you when you’re half margarita’d. You’re soft and pliable and let me run with what I want, and tonight I want. A lot.”
She chuckled. “I let you think I’m soft and pliable. All the while I’m getting you to do what I want you to do.”
His hand brushed against her heart, and she winced.
“Still hurt?”
“Yeah, but it’s getting better.” She grinned up at him. “I’d do it all again tomorrow.”
He pulled her to him and crushed his mouth to hers.
His name inked in cursive under her heart matched her name on his. When she’d taken off the bandage, he’d stared at his name inked on her body, stalked to her, picked her up, and barely made it to the bed before he expertly removed her clothes and made love to her.
“Guess this means we’re stuck together for life.”
“On that note.” He pulled a box from his pocket. His face apprehensive.
Sophie stared open-mouthed. Gemma squealed behind her. She vaguely heard Zeb chuckle, and it sounded like Titus clapping his hands and telling Sally something. Her whole focus was on Harlan.
“Sophie Seraphina Callaghan Petrov, will you marry me?”
Sophie held her breath as Harlan slipped an emerald ring—her birthstone—onto her finger. It twinkled in the afternoon sun.
“Thought we’d honeymoon in Paris. Not the hotel in Vegas, but the one in France. Maybe get a snow globe.”
Sophie stared at the ring, tears filling her eyes.
“Sophie?” Harlan’s strangled voice pulled her out of her head. “I thought asking you in front of our family and friends would be the way to go, but if this is too much, or you don’t want to marry me…”
She looked into his tortured face. Silence had captured the crowd. She looked around at her family. Annie clutched Zeb’s bicep. Gemma, with tears streaming down her face, gripped Thor’s hand. Her dad looked ready to scoop her up and take her away. Titus with his glistening eyes, held Sally’s hand, which he also patted.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Yes this is too much or yes…” Harlan’s voice trailed.
“Yes to everything.”
“Thank fuck.” Harlan pulled her into his body and kissed the top of her head.
“I love you, Harlan.” She smiled into his chest.
“Love you more.”
“Girl, we’ve got some planning to do.” Annie arrived at her side, wiping her eyes. “We’ve got some serious dress shopping and cake tasting afternoons ahead.” She smiled, and Sophie knew she was doomed. “Shoes, Sophie, we’ve got to go shoe shopping.”
“Flowers,” Gemma said, hugging Sophie. “Cute things for the tables.”
Sophie paused. “Will you be my bridesmaids?”
“Try and keep us away. We’re family.” Annie squeezed in and the three of them hugged. “Besides, we’re going to throw you a kick-ass bachelorette party in Vegas. I’ve got The Thunder from Down Under on speed dial.”
Sophie laughed when Harlan growled beside her. Annie and Gemma moved away, already planning.
Her father gave her a quick, nervous hug. “You’ve got terrible taste in men.”
Harlan clapped him on the shoulder, laughing. “Love you, too, Pops.”
She clasped her dad’s hand. “Would you walk me down the aisle?”
“I’d be honored,” he said, gruffly wiping his eyes. He thumped Harlan on the back then moved away.
“Zebadiah, Israel, and I will be running your bachelor party.” Titus hugged her, then hugged Harlan. “I figure we’ve got all the guests’ needs met. I can introduce the young folk to fly-fishing.”
Sophie smiled at her friends who were now her and Harlan’s family.
Harlan’s lips grazed hers. “Felt that shiver.” He touched his lip to her earlobe. “You’re bound to me,” he whispered.
“Bound to the bounty hunter.” She smiled up at him. “For life.”
The man Sophie knew as Dug, who’d long given up thinking or caring about his birth name, adjusted the lens on his camera from where he sat in a utility van at the end of the street. If he passed Sophie or any of her crew, he doubted they’d recognize him. Different hair. Different colored eyes. Different everything.
Same shit inside.
A phone buzzed on the seat beside him. He flicked it open and waited for the monotone voice to chant the code. He punched in the response of the day and was put through to his handler.
“You were supposed to be here an hour ago,” his handler of the week said in a dismissive, “I’ve got a way higher education than you so don’t fuck with me” kind of voice.
“I’ll get there when I do.” He threw the phone on the seat.
Fucking government handlers.
He’d trusted a handler once, never again. They now got what they needed. He took the paycheck and moved on. Next town. Next assignment. Until Sophie, he’d thought that’s all he wanted. He’d have left the service for her. Taken a chance. Turns out she wasn’t his.
Franco was one lucky fucker.
He leaned back in his car and watched the stream of people entering Sophie’s open front door. A tall, built, blond guy hauled a slab of Coors on his shoulder and disappeared into the house. Israel Anatole, Franco’s comms man. A tall dark-haired woman, wearing jeans and a T-shirt stood outside the house looking uncertain. Arabella Tennyson. Another of Franco’s comms geniuses. He hadn’t seen her before, knew her by file notes only. She turned and looked straight at him.
A memory out of left field smacked him, hard. Two kids had been beating on a young girl. He’d stepped in and intervened. She’d hung around him and even tried to kiss him, but he’d sent her away, harshly, embarrassed by the attention of a fifteen-year-old girl to his eighteen-year-old self.
He stared harder through the windshield.
Jesus, it couldn’t be her. Looked like the promise of what that fifteen-year-old girl could be had grown into a beautiful woman, but that girl’s name wasn’t Arabella.
He’d run into Franco last week, on purpose and on the down low, he’d told Franco that they’d been monitoring the rumbling they’d heard regarding a threat to Petrov. The US government did not want his shipping routes to be used for anything but legit services.
Sophie came up on their radar after they’d intercepted Babic’s phone, and he’d mentioned her and the possible connection to Petrov. She was on his watch to make sure she wasn’t used as collateral against Petrov.
Franco had thanked him and told him if he ever wanted out from the government, he was always on the lookout for a good operative, and there’d always be a job working alongside him.
Arabella or the girl he knew as Mia turned, tripped on something, and walked through Franco’s door.
The burner phone buzzed beside him again.
Time to become another person.
Time to lose another piece of himself to the job.
The sound of laughter filtered through.
Unless…
Unless.
He exited the car and headed toward Sophie’s.
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Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
While writing Sophie and Harlan’s story, I always intended Annie and Zeb’s to follow, but Dug kept calling to me with his panty-melting drawl. He has a story and it needs to be heard. Now. And it involves Arabella. Their story just flowed and it felt right.
I hope you’ll forgive the diversion. Annie and Zeb and Gemma and Thor are in the wings and are impatient for their stories to be out there in the world.
Thank you for reading. It means the world.
Hayson x
Acknowledgments
To Samanthe Beck (my hanging at museums and drinking wine under the pretense of research bestie). Thank you for answering my emails that start with, “You’ve got a cold? Well, I’m in my nurse’s uniform, I’m coming over and I have thermometers.” Your willingness to critique my work means the world, as does your friendship, your wisdom, your everything.
To Lewis Pollak my editor. This book wouldn’t be what it is without you. Thank you for your patience, your insight, and answering my ridiculous questions that start with, “Wait, what if…”
Thank you to Inara Scott and Christine Bell for taking their precious time in reading an awful first draft chapter one and offering their invaluable advice. To Robin Bielman always. To the amazing supportive Michelle Mazuros who has hung with me since Wife in Name Only—I love you girl. To my Southern Hemisphere crew of Tracey Clark, Jo Willet, Kirsten Mcteare, Barbara De Leo, Sarah H, Chetna and the awesome Helen. S, and the fabulous people from the Australian Romance Readers Association, my eternal gratitude.
To Sherry Willingham and Pat Anderson, my Alabama peaches. Thank you for beta reading for me and thank you for being you. I am going to tailgate with you one day and there will be Fuzzy Navels.
To Liz, Melanie, and the team at Entangled. Thank you for taking a chance on me.
Big hug to my fake Gordon Ramsay who cooks up a storm while I pound the keyboard.
Thank you to the readers who read my words. You make my world a nicer place. I only hope I can return the favor one day.
About the Author
I love The Princess Bride, Young and the Restless, Days of Our Lives—the drama is deliciously addictive. Big Bang Theory but will take Wolowitz over Cooper. Star Trek not Star Wars. Undercover Boss, Secret Millionaire—any story that shows the little guy making it. I follow the Buffalo Bills like a religion. I am spellbound by showjumping and equestrian eventing. I love curling up and reading all books—no genre is off-topic. I like ironing, hate peas, love donkeys. I play a killer game of Scrabble. I will often be heading towards the fridge for another Diet Coke. I eat nothing with legs and believe wine goes with everything, oh and I’m an expert at finding new and inventive ways to avoid exercise.
I live in the sparkly beachside suburb of Redondo Beach in California with my Fake Gordon Ramsay and two boys who speak in mystifying grunts.
I would love if you subscribe to my blog (I promise not to spam you), where I chat about incredibly important issues like lipstick, foster dogs, and the occasional recipe. Oh and there are pictures of smiling bunnies and blob fish.
http://www.haysonmanning.com/
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Also by Hayson Manning…
Wife in Name Only
Trapped in a loveless marriage, Zoe Hughes runs a successful boutique honeymoon resort. No one needs to know she’s married in name only. At least until America’s premier honeymoon magazine wants to publish a feature on her perfect marriage. Now she must convince her estranged husband to rip himself away from plotting corporate takeovers in LA to save her island paradise. To his surprise, the wife he finds in Tonga isn’t the same woman he married. Now she’s so much more… When a storm strands Rory there, will he win back his wife or leave paradise empty-handed?
Winning the Boss’s Heart
Mason Christian has twelve weeks to flip something old into something new. Not even his temporary cook and secretary—the feisty, luscious Billie McLeod—will deter him. Billie has one dream: save enough money to go to college. That’s why she’s agreed to work for hard ass, all-business-no-pleasure Mason Christian. But working with male perfection every day is awesome with a capital A—as long as they can stick to a hands-off policy that gets harder every day…
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