by V. Theia
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
It Was Love
By V. Theia
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Names and characters are the property of the author and may not be duplicated. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.
It Was Love
Cover photo: shutterstock.com
Cover Design: V. Theia. ©2018
Published by V. Theia 2018.
All Rights Reserved
For the romance readers who believe in every kind of love and happily ever after. And for the biker-babes who have made my first year as an author an amazing, joyful experience. Here’s to many more book boyfriends <3
TABLE OF CONTENT
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
PROLOGUE
Months from now
How long can a person live once their heart has stopped beating? Minutes? Days? Decades? I only wish I was asking for a naïve friend.
I wish it was anyone else who was hurting because I can’t stand it.
He lied to me.
After everything, it was him who destroyed me.
People will say I should have known better.
How could I have been so gullible? They’ll ask.
The signs were all there, they’ll laugh.
Poor, deluded Sena.
But I can’t think of that now.
My head was buzzing.
My heart seized.
I thought we were rock solid.
My best friend.
My everything.
The man I gave my heart to.
Turns out everything isn’t enough currency.
Not if you began with lies. Where do you go from there? other than to more lies.
I wanted to crumble.
I wanted to die.
Can love kill you?
Right in my chest my heart split open. Broke so hard I don’t know how I can still be breathing.
Does he know he’s killed me? Can he feel it?
I don’t die, and I don’t crumble.
I turned from seeing him, my fucking person, with someone else.
Their faces close together, emotion and feelings there for me to witness.
And I walked away.
I slipped through the crowd like I was never there.
Out into the street.
The rain pelted my face. I walked and walked with no direction in sight.
I tried to get lost in the Manhattan crowd.
Even as my phone rang in my pocket I ignored and kept walking.
I walked. I walked. I walked.
It rang and rang and rang.
I know it’s him. A tightness in my chest told me it’s him, but I can’t look because if I look and see his name there with the little heart emoji at the side I know what I’d do.
I’d answer, and cry and he’d come for me and hold me.
Stay right there, I’m coming to get you. He’d tell me, and I’d let him because in this world there’s a certain amount of people who make you innately weak for them.
I can’t see him, can’t see his face, I can’t be weak anymore, can’t lie to myself.
And I just can’t have him touching me right now.
He’d tell me everything is okay.
It’s not okay. I don’t feel okay.
My heart is destroyed.
I’m broken into a million pieces.
Ice crawled through my veins, turned me to stone, hardened me until I’m just a shell of nothing.
He swore he’d never hurt me and he lied.
I was stupid and I’m dying.
The darkness swallowed me whole.
And I welcomed it.
Maybe it’s the dark that will keep me from cracking open from the pain.
ONE
Present Day
“Do you know what today is?” My voice scratched low in the back of my throat, sadly not from deep-throating myself a good time, but from too much singing last night brought on by far too many strawberry daiquiris and there was a low-powered headache fermenting too. Even with those afflictions I was feeling happy as I bounced on my tip toes in front of the shiny slate gray desk, it was like the command center of the Enterprise, modern, sleek and far too expensive for a home office. I flipped my pink tipped shoulder bobbed hair, smiling across the span of gray, dropping a hand to my hip. I was going for sassy.
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.” His commanding baritone voice matched his sinful looks. It always felt like I’d been hit in the ovaries with a sex stick.
Noah, was never as cheery as me at seven forty-five in the morning. He needed at least fifty-eight million double espressos before his personality kicked in. Me, I could open my eyes and go. I inherited it from my dad who only needed three hours of sleep a night due to the fact he’d been a firefighter for more than twenty years. The man was a saint, but god help you if you let your smoke detector batteries die.
“You bet your messy bed hair I am.” I went with a joke since he kept his hair clipped right to the skull, he’d worn it the same way since before we met.
For one of those men who loved grooming and fashion he was surprisingly low maintenance in the hair department. I told him a few times he looked like a villain in one of those hero TV shows, all he needed was a gun and a vicious sneer.
I viewed his dark brow lift wryly from his position behind his command center nursing a cup with caffeinated steam rising from the top.
“It’s our anniversary! I hope you got me a shit ton of gifts, lion.”
“I was unaware we had an anniversary.” Small measured sip. “Take my card, buy yourself something pretty.”
I pouted. “You forgot, didn’t you? I should buy myself a diamond. This day changed your life, Noah Vito Fierro.”
“It was a good month, buy a Jaguar.” He winked and stood to the most staggering height a man deserved to be, until he reached his six-four limit, all this time later it still punched me in the belly if I wasn’t prepared.
Today I wasn’t prepared, and heat licked around my lower abdomen before I dragged my eyes up to his face.
Stay on the pretty, pretty villain face.
Those eyes framed by thick, long lashes. Should serial killer faces have such gorgeous lashes? It was so unfair.
“How the hell am I gonna drive a Jag in Manhattan? I’d never get anywhere. I’d be forever tooting my horn in traffic and applying lipstick. And stop distracting me away from the noticeable negligence with piles of your wad.”
“My wad?” Amusement traveled through Noah’s deep rust filled voice. He had one of those voices that were naturally sexy, the kind of voice that when you heard it the urge to hump thin air was strong.
He was putting files away in one of the rows of cabinets. So very important was Noah, doing very business things so early but blah blah, boring.
I didn’t pay much attention, because when he stepped out from behind of his command center desk, fuck me in the face … he was wearing them.
I’d told him repeatedly to stop wearing them, they were a health hazard to my vagina. I didn’t tell him this, he had a huge ego, the size of that mountain somewhere in China, you know the one, that guy climbed that one time.
Holy shit. Holy fucking crackers on shit.
Low slung pale blue pyjamas should be outlawed.
They had no business hanging precariously on the leanest, well-cut defined fucking hips owned by the skyscraper of a man, and not with his bare feet peeking out at the bottom.
I’m outraged and turned on.
Protective shutters engaged.
If I even dared look at the dick print, I’d wither away on the floor from arousal.
Goddamn, maybe I shouldn’t have come so early, I could usually avoid all this nonsense when he had actual material on his body and I couldn’t see skin and defined muscle.
When he turned around to showcase his bubble-butt… I heard angels singing for a fantastic job they’d done sculpting this villain in human clay. Maybe they’d gotten his personality a little dark, but boy, his butt, they’d done a fine job.
High and tight, tight and hard.
Jesus. Jesus.
Bless my soul. I needed to get it together and fast.
Eyes up. Always up.
I cleared my throat and lost some of my bounce.
“Yeah, you know. Cash, wonga, moola.”
“Sena.” He let go of a gusty sigh and turned his devastating blue eyes on me. Judging me with them. I could see it even as his mouth turned into a grin to leave two grooves either side framing his well-formed pink lips. Kissable lips. “Have you been watching your English show again? I thought we talked about this.”
Noah said when I was tired or excited my native South Carolina accent became more distinct. I knew this, not even four years in New York could I lose my southern twang unless I really tried, and it was too time consuming to remember to put all the letters in all the words, my god, what was I, some kind of genius? Lately I’d taken to watching this show from across the pond and now at odd times I slipped into the worst rendition of an English accent since Dick Van Dyke tried to woo Mary Poppins.
“We did.” I agreed playing with the paperweight on his desk, it was a statue of Paris I’d brought back from my trip last year. I liked he kept it right there on the desk he ruled his wicked world from. “And the consensus was your opinion sucked gerbil balls and we didn’t have to listen to you. Getting back to my gifts.”
His lips twitched. He approached. I tensed.
It was only slightly through my spine, but I saw he noticed, his brows pinched in the middle causing his smooth forehead to frown, before I went into my loosey-goosey stance, all floppy relaxed arms and smiles as he got closer.
“What anniversary are we celebrating today and so fucking early?”
“It can’t be too early if you’re awake.”
“That would be true if I’d slept at all. I poured you into bed and did a little work.”
He’s trying to buy another nightclub. Like he needed more with twenty-four at the last count, before long he’d run Manhattan’s nightlife. Noah was a self-made millionaire all before the age of thirty and now at thirty-two he was still hungry for more. He was a bit of a business mastermind, with around a bajillion employee’s working for him at the last count.
But all that meant nothing because have I mentioned the low-riding fucking pants he’s wearing right in front of my face?
He doesn’t even have the grace to hike them up around his man-boobs. I avoided those slabs of rock too. Rock hard pecs first thing on a morning, it’s enough to send my ovaries into a tailspin.
I swallowed, resting my hip on the edge of the desk.
“All play and no rest. Any-hoo, today, lion, is the day you met me four years ago. Now how bad do you feel for forgetting to shower me in gifts?”
“Ah.” He smiled and kept coming until he’s standing directly in front of me. Tall as a circus man on stilts, he’s all chest and ropey arms with the protruding veins along his forearms with just a dusting of dark hair.
His stance was that of someone with the kind of confidence who was comfortable with their size. Despite the reputation he had —no one messed with Noah Fierro, they only made the mistake once if they did— he’s not covered head to toe in body art, I think his sexy meter would break if he placed ink anywhere on that torso, his body is deliciously bare to let those muscles breathe. The only ink he had was a black crown behind his ear. Egomaniac calls himself the King of Manhattan in a non-ironic way as did a lot of entertainment blogs.
God knows why I love him.
Click. Click. Click. Every feature photographed to my memory just like I’d done the last four years.
“I thought it was something momentous today,” he mused standing taller if it was possible. I tried hard not to watch his chest muscle twitching, his head kind of hanging there on his thick neck as he looked down at me, with a smile tugging one end of his mouth. I swear his smirk was a lethal weapon.
Breathe, one, two and three…
“Maybe that’s why I have this?” A white and blue box came from behind his back to sit on the palm of his hand.
I can’t help it. I squealed clasping my hands under my chin and I gave my blinding-watt grin.
“You did remember, you monster.”
“Not like you haven’t dropped several thousand hints this week, including noting it into my phone diary and a post-it on the beers in the fridge.”
“It’s called care in the community, helping one's elderly.” Noah was seven years older than me and I never let him forget it.
He lifted a lofty, dark brow all mocking like. He can say more with a look than most people can articulate with a thousand words. It’s both maddening and a delight.
Wicked man.
I grabbed my gift, of course I did, I’m a magpie for things. And it’s a special day, I’m planning on having something sugary for breakfast.
He watched me open it, quiet concentration waiting for my reaction, and when I saw what was inside, I swear my heart just puddled around his bare feet.
“Do you like it?”
His most casual words always turned me inside out and have me thinking real carnal thoughts. I don’t know if that feeling in my stomach is my ovaries exploding or the beginnings of an ulcer.
“Like it? I love it.” Emotion in my smile I lifted out the silver cat charm that would adorn the bracelet he bought me two years ago and steadily was filling up with little trinkets he gifted to me.
I called it my Noah bracelet. I know, I’m original.
“A kitten for my kitten.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead in that way he does that made me swoon internally. Really, not enough men gave forehead kisses. It’s a well-known fact our emotional storage is found in the forehead. You kiss it, and you can own a woman.
I beamed, reached up to kiss his cheek, his arm came around me and kept me there.
It was a big mistake to breathe in so close. I got a mouthful of his scent. Real masculine, woodsy and clean scent with a hint of whatever cologne he’d worn last night. My belly took that short dip for a second.
God, I needed coffee to deal with this.
My throat cleared. Of course, I’d not expected a gift. I just liked poking
at Noah. But now I held something precious and my heart smiled. “Aren’t you sweet. Thank you.”
“Before 8am it’s the sweetest I get.”
If he recognized my lust he didn’t show signs of it, instead his hand slid down the back of my thigh, everything in me clenched as I tried to move out of reach.
Unfortunately, he trapped me with his arm. “Do you have anything on under this thing?”
This thing being my college jersey hung down to my knees.
I scoffed. “No, I walked in here bare-assed. I’m wearing yoga pants for my class in a while.”
And didn’t you know, that same hand kept sliding up the back of my thigh, causing riots of fire to flood my belly, and he cupped my ass, smirking as he did.
“So, you are. Little yoga shorts to drive your instructor wild. Did you wear them for him?”
I had no defense against a hand on my butt. None whatsoever, every word I’d ever spoken or thought just fell out of my brain.
This was the Noah effect.
It was too early, and didn’t I already contend with the pale blue pants which were standing right there, I shouldn’t have to fight my way through lust for a hand on my butt too.
Inhale … one … two ... three.
To catch my balance, I placed a hand on his rock-hard abs. It could have been an accident, or it was traitorous fingers wanting to feel the body of a god. I swear there were eight bumps in there, the man couldn’t even do six packs right, he had to over exceed that too. Noah was built like a tight end football player; solid muscle, wide shoulders, tapered down to a lean waist, hard unyielding lines and acute edges. In a word the man was perfect, dammit.
“I don’t know,” I found my voice. “Who did you pack these babies for, Noah?” I poked them, all the while dying a little inside wanting to lean in and lick and lick and lick.
He ignored my question, instead fingered the ends of my cropped dark brown bob. Now I sported an actual bed head, I’d only managed to pull on clothes before coming through to his office, I desperately needed a shower and coffee. “I like this.” The pink tips. “Did you have it last night in the club?” His breath brushed against my cheek.
