Finding Forever

by Nika Rhone

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Finding Forever

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Pinning her hair up to keep it dry,

  Amelia opened the door to the bathroom. She was reaching for the clasp on her bra when her brain caught up with her eyes and she realized there was already somebody else in the bathroom, stepping out of the shower.

  And he was naked.

  She froze. Time stopped. The world tilted. Every reasonable thought she’d ever had went flying out of her head. All she could do was stare at the long expanse of caramel-colored skin that faced her, still gleaming wet with water that ran down a strong back to the taut globes of his—

  She must have made a noise because Daryl’s head whipped around, his eyes first widening then narrowing as he saw her standing there. With slow deliberateness, he reached over and dragged a towel off the bar and wrapped it around his waist. Only then did he turn to face her.

  The view was even better from this side, although some heretofore unknown part of her mourned the fact that he’d put the towel on first. His black hair was slicked back from his face, revealing its stark beauty of strong cheekbones and piercing eyes. There was a small smattering of the same dark hair running across a chest that was impressively well proportioned with his shoulders, which looked even broader now that there wasn’t a shirt hiding them. That line of hair arrowed down his belly and disappeared under the knot in the towel, leaving her imagination running riot over just what was concealed below it.

  Oh God!

  Finding Forever

  by

  Nika Rhone

  Boulder Bodyguards Series, Book 2

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Finding Forever

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Nika Rhone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Kristian Norris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Yellow Rose Edition, 2017

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1758-8

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1759-5

  Boulder Bodyguards Series, Book 2

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  She believed she could,

  so she did.

  Chapter One

  The party was a raging success.

  Everyone who was anyone from all around the Tri-State Area was there, nibbling on imported caviar and drinking overpriced champagne, all the while ensuring that they were seen by those deemed important, and ignoring the rest as not worth their estimable consideration. Smiles and air kisses were exchanged, handshakes dispensed, and photo opportunities given—discreetly, of course—to the lucky few reporters granted entrée to the first round of gatherings leading up to what was almost guaranteed to be the wedding of the year, if not the decade.

  Too bad the only person in attendance not impressed by it all was the bride.

  In fact, Amelia Westlake mused, sipping the too-dry champagne she’d been nursing for the past half hour, she would have paid good money to be just about anyplace else but at the center of the juggernaut that was propelling her toward her fate as Mrs. Charles Wilson Henry Davenport. A fate that, up until tonight, she’d been perfectly happy with.

  Or at least she’d convinced herself that she was.

  Because if she was absolutely honest with herself for a moment—something she tried not to do very often these days lest that thin veil of complacency be shredded—she’d been pushing herself toward this moment with all the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner heading for the gallows. Or, she reconsidered, glancing at the glittering crowd that moved and seethed around her like a living beast, more aptly to the Coliseum. Because her wedding was all about spectacle, after all. Lots of flash, very little substance.

  “Kind of like Charles,” she murmured into her glass as she swallowed the last sip.

  “What was that, dear?”

  Whoops. Amelia gave an insipid smile to the jewel-encrusted woman standing next to her. “I said I should go find Charles. If you’ll excuse me, please?” She slipped away without waiting for a reply, a big nasty etiquette faux pas, but she honestly didn’t care anymore. She knew she should, but…she just didn’t.

  Swapping her empty champagne glass for a full one from the tray of a roving waiter, Amelia slipped through the crowd, trying to look as though she was moving with purpose, when all the purpose she had was to keep moving. If she didn’t, she’d be cornered by whichever of the Davenports’ guests was closest when she stopped. Normally not a problem for her, having been drilled in social etiquette almost from birth. Amelia could fake polite interest with the best of them.

  But tonight…

  Tonight her tolerance for boring chitchat and name-dropping one-upmanship was at an all-time low. In fact, her tolerance for everything seemed to be low, quickly thinning to nonexistent. Especially for her fiancé, whom she hadn’t seen more than a quick glimpse of since they first stepped foot into the expansive ground floor of his parents’ mausoleum of a home and welcomed their first guests.

  Spotting a bright splash of color in the middle of the room, Amelia’s heart lightened for the first time all evening. Barely even seeing the people she brushed past to get to that beacon of hope, she only just kept herself from barreling into the arms of her two best friends. Only her mother’s voice screeching in her head about decorum reined her in at the last second, leaving her swaying slightly on her dainty high heels.

  “You made it.” It was a stupid thing to say, and yet Amelia didn’t feel awkward for having said it. Not with them. She’d grown up with Thea Fordham and Lillian Beaumont. They’d all seen each other at their best as well as their worst, and they all loved each other anyway.

  They loved her anyway.

  “Like we wouldn’t be here for you.” A petite cloud of citron and charcoal silk, Lillian pulled Amelia into a tight hug.

  After an evening of air kisses and cool, limp finger-touching, Amelia sagged into the embrace with a sense of wild
relief, barely noticing when someone plucked the champagne glass from her grasp. A person could only go so long without real human contact before going a little bit crazy. And right now she felt about half a step away from insane.

  With great reluctance Amelia withdrew from the embrace, keeping a tight hold of her friend’s hands as she stepped back to take in the colorful creation she wore. “You look amazing.” The swirl of vivid yellows and subdued grays should have overwhelmed Lillian’s diminutive five-foot-two frame, but the expert cut of the dress and the intense energy that emanated from the woman herself made it work for her. “Is that one of Des’s?”

  “A certified D.F. original.” With a dramatic twirl, Lillian showed off what was sure to be another instant hit in their friend’s newest entrepreneurial endeavor. It was amazing how much raw talent the man had, and in how many different directions he could fling it.

  “It’s truly incredible on you,” Amelia said. “Des is a genius.”

  Which was exactly what she’d thought when she’d tried on the gown Des designed for her as a wedding present. The one with the brilliantly tailored cut that had complemented her delicate bone structure, and whose soft lavender silk brightened her pale complexion to a healthy peaches-and-cream.

  The one that was still hanging in her bedroom closet upstairs after her mother deemed it unacceptable for the evening’s festivities due to its lack of name-brand cachet.

  Lillian grinned, unaware of her friend’s dejected train of thought. “As he’d say if he were here, ‘Thank you, kitten, but did you really expect anything less from the brilliance that is moi?’ ” She ended with a dramatic arm sweep a la Desmond.

  Laughing softly, because she could picture Des saying it just that way, Amelia next turned to her other best friend, Thea, who was also wearing one of Des’s masterpieces. The slightly baroque style was offset by the sheer panels of black lace at the sides, keeping the wealth of bronze sequins from overpowering either the gown or the woman wearing it. Her thick chestnut hair had been upswept into an elegant style that was both chic and sexy, with a few tendrils teasing at her high cheekbones and along her neck. She looked amazing.

  Struggling now to bury not only her dress envy but the disappointing comparison of Thea’s hair to the lacquered and completely unsexy formal hairstyle that constrained her own long, blonde locks, Amelia gave herself up to another exuberant embrace. She reminded herself for the hundredth time that there was nothing wrong with the gown she was wearing. Even if it did make her collarbones stand out like chicken wings. And the silver lamé washed her out until she was practically invisible. And the boat neckline made her breasts look almost nonexistent.

  God, she hated this dress.

  She hated this night.

  She hated her life.

  Blinking in surprise at the traitorously honest thought that sneaked in, Amelia stepped back from the hug, only then realizing she’d missed whatever Thea said.

  “I’m sorry,” Amelia said with a small shake of her head. “My mind must have wandered. What did you say?”

  “I asked if you were all right.”

  “I’m fine.” No, she was a big, fat liar. “Des really outdid himself, T. You look fabulous.”

  It wasn’t just a compliment to deflect Thea’s attention, which was a bit too sharp for Amelia’s comfort. It was also the truth. Less than a year ago, Thea had been a mess of insecurities and self-doubt. Now, she looked cool, confident, and crazy in love with the tuxedoed man standing at her side holding the champagne glass Amelia only now realized she was missing.

  Retrieving the glass and accepting a kiss on the cheek in greeting from Thea’s fiancé, Amelia had to admit that it wasn’t the dress that gave her friend that air of self-possession and poise. It was the man. Brennan Doyle gave Thea that and more when he’d finally gotten past his own personal hang-ups and admitted he was in love with her.

  Truly, madly, deeply in love. Nauseatingly so.

  Tipping back her glass, Amelia drowned out the spiteful little voice of jealousy with the last of her champagne. She was happy her friend had found that kind of love. Really she was. Happy, happy, happy.

  She just wished she could scrounge up a fraction of that happiness with the man she was set to marry in—God help her—ten days.

  “Mellie, have you had anything to eat tonight?”

  Blinking a bit owlishly at Lillian, who studied her with an expression of concern, Amelia nodded. “We had an early family supper. Duck a l’orange with shallots and parsnips. They have it every Wednesday. It’s one of the chef’s specialties.”

  “Sweetie, you hate duck.”

  Amelia nodded. “But Charles and his father love it.” She foresaw a lot of unhappy duck dinners in her future.

  She foresaw a lot of unhappy in her future, period.

  Amelia raised her glass to her lips, only to be disappointed by its emptiness. “Oh.” She stared into the glass, trying to remember when she’d drunk it all and failing. “I need more champagne.”

  “I think maybe you need to wait a bit on that.” Thea plucked the glass from her hand and passed it off to Doyle, who deposited it on a passing tray. He did not, Amelia noted with great disappointment, exchange it for a full one.

  As she watched the waiter disappear with her liquid courage, Amelia’s gaze ran into another familiar form standing unobtrusively off to the side of their little group, like a sheepdog guarding his flock. Which was exactly what he was doing. Although dressed in his dark formalwear, tailor cut to his broad shoulders and lean frame, Daryl Raintree looked more wolf than dog, and a big one, at that. Thea’s bodyguard stood literally head-and-shoulders above the rest of the guests, his dark gaze intimidating enough to scare off anyone stupid enough to get too close to his charge.

  Always a little awed by the sheer raw masculinity and understated power Daryl seemed to exude, Amelia gave him a tentative smile and extended her hand. “It’s good to see you, Daryl.” When he hesitated, she realized she’d just made another etiquette faux pas. The hostess didn’t shake hands with the staff.

  Well, screw that. Daryl had helped save her best friend’s life not so long ago. That made him more than just hired muscle. Anyone who didn’t like it could go suck lemons.

  Taking her hand carefully in his much larger one, Daryl said in his low, deep voice, “Thank you, Miss Westlake, it’s good to see you, too. You’re looking very well this evening.”

  No. No, she wasn’t. Interesting to find out that he could lie with such a straight face.

  Lillian let out a small eep, and Thea stared at her like she’d just grown a third nostril. Oops. Had she said that last bit out loud? Daring a peek up at Daryl and seeing the combination of amusement and concern in his eyes, Amelia guessed she had. Well, at least he didn’t look angry about being called a liar.

  “Amelia sweetie,” Thea said.

  Pasting on her party smile, Amelia interrupted before she could say anything more. “Come on, let me show you around. Lil, I think you’ll love the master’s gallery leading down to the library. There’s a wonderful little landscape there that they think might be an unknown Monet. There’s a huge debate over how to go about proving the provenance, but even if it’s not one of his, it’s still one of the most beautiful canvases I’ve ever seen.”

  She chattered on, hardly aware of what she was saying as she led them through the crowded ballroom thick with its mix of cloying perfume and noxious colognes, down the wide hallway that connected the more public rooms to the private family area at the back. As she’d hoped, no one else was there. No longer the cynosure of the glittering throng her parents and future in-laws considered five hundred of their closest friends and potential campaign donors, her whole body sagged with relief.

  Something her friends were quick to notice.

  “Mellie, honey.” Thea put a tentative hand on her arm. “I know you said you were fine, but, sweetie, you really don’t look all that fine right now.” She chewed her bottom lip, a sure sign that she was anx
ious about something. “Is it…do you want me to go?”

  “What?” A shot of pure panic raced through Amelia, straightening her spine faster than one of her mother’s disapproving glares. “No! You can’t go! Why would you want to go?” Her gaze darted between her two friends in desperation. “Please, please, don’t go.”

  Horrified to feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, Amelia used every bit of willpower she had left to swallow down the emotions starting to bubble over the usually secure cap she kept on them. It had to have been the champagne. And the stress. And the duck she’d forced down that had forced its way back up again.

  It couldn’t possibly be because she was realizing what a colossal mess she was about to make of her life. Because even if she did admit it, even if only to herself, the truth was it was much, much too late to do anything about it.

  “Why…” Amelia sucked in a breath and smoothed a hitch out of her voice. “Why would you ever think I’d want you to leave? I want you here. I need you here.” The knowledge her friends would be in Connecticut for the entire week of parties, dinners, and teas leading up to the wedding had been the one thing keeping Amelia from dissolving into a full-blown panic attack all day.

  “I’m sorry,” Thea said, sounding relieved. “It’s just…I know the dragons were giving you a hard time about me being involved in any of the wedding events, and after I found out about the cancellation, I thought maybe you’d decided to keep the peace and, you know…distance yourself a little. Which would be perfectly okay if you did,” she rushed on when Amelia just stared at her in confusion. “The last thing I want to do is add any more problems to your plate.”

  “No.” Amelia shook her head, although she wasn’t certain if she was disagreeing or simply clearing her thoughts, which were suddenly spinning in cloudy champagne-tinged spirals in her head. She tried again. “Okay, yes, Mother and Mrs. Davenport were a bit…apprehensive about the press making some sort of reference to last year’s incident when they saw you and stirring the whole thing back up again instead of focusing on the wedding. But no, I didn’t change my mind about having you here.”