by M. Leighton
“Then you’re already making me the happiest girl in the world.”
She rises up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine, her lush breasts dragging over my chest. My cock stirs to life, nudging her soft belly.
“There’s nothing ‘girl’ about you,” I say, reaching between us to palm the firm mounds.
“Mmmm,” she moans against my lips. “Nope. All woman. And all yours.”
I wrap my arms around her waist and pick her up to carry her back to bed. “I like the sound of that.”
EPILOGUE
Muse
Four months later
“Are you sure I look okay?” I ask for the twentieth time at least.
“You look edible. Maybe you should change.”
I tilt my head to give Jasper a withering look, but my lips are still curved in a smile. “Not a chance, buster, because after this, you get to take this home and eat it up.”
A laugh bubbles up in my throat when I see his eyes darken to the color of light molasses. “You do want me to go in with you, right? Because if you keep saying things like that, what I’m thinking will be very apparent to everyone in the restaurant when I walk in with this.”
He points to his lap and I can already see the growing bulge. My insides heat and contract, and I actually consider a quickie before we go inside.
I close my eyes and turn back to face the windshield. “Okay, okay, okay. Fooocus. Fooocus.”
Jasper’s long, warm fingers wind around mine and give them a little squeeze. “Come on. This is more important that your fiancé’s libido anyway.”
I open my eyes and meet the gaze of the love of my life. “Nothing is more important than you. No dream, no job, no art exhibition. Nothing.”
“Well, I’m looking at it this way. Later, you ought to be so wound up after signing a contract to get your work on display in a famous French art gallery that I can just sit back and enjoy the ride. It’s win-win.”
I laugh. “You make an excellent point, Mr. uhhh . . .” I have to pause and think about his name. Jasper picked a new identity, too. We started over. Clean slate. Completely blank. Blank. The only thing we brought from our old lives was each other. And my father, when we get a chance to meet up with him. “Mr. Blank.”
“Besides, soon-to-be Mrs. Blank, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
I lean my temple against the headrest as I consider the man before me. More handsome than anyone I’ve ever seen, more fierce than anything I’ve ever known and more mine than I ever thought he could be. “I wouldn’t miss you for the world.”
He leans forward to take my lips in a kiss that’s both sweet and passionate. There’s enough electricity passing between us to give light to a small country, and within seconds, it crackles into something that nears the “wild and hungry” side.
Jasper pulls away, his breathing harsh and heavy. “Unless you’re up for attending this meeting with a sweaty dress and smeared lipstick, you’d better stay on that side of the car. That or we’ll have to skip it altogether.”
His smile is devilish and I actually consider rescheduling. But then I remember how important this is, not just to me as an artist, but to our future. Jasper told me we need not worry about money, that he had made some good investments, but I want to be able to invest in our life and our happiness, too.
I sigh loudly. “Fine. I guess we’d better get in there.”
His smile is crooked, and I wonder how I got through the first part of my life without it. “We can just . . . postpone this. How about that?”
“Maybe call it ‘dessert,’” I suggest.
“I’ll bring the syrup. And the ice cream,” he says in a voice that sounds like caramel. His words alone conjure an image that affects me in a very visceral way. Muscles low in my belly clench spasmodically. I can all but feel slick syrup and cool cream being dribbled all over my body and then licked off by Jasper. I have to stop myself after I imagine the second swipe of his tongue.
“You’re evil,” I tell him breathlessly.
“I’ll show you just how evil later.”
With a quick peck to my lips, he gets out and comes around to my side, opening my door and taking my hand like a perfect gentleman, like he didn’t just nearly cause me a hands-free orgasm in the parking lot of a restaurant.
When I’m standing beside him, he looks down into my eyes, staring into them like they hold a thousand wonders. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
I nod, my mouth so dry my tongue is stuck to the roof.
“Have I told you how incredibly talented you are? And how much you deserve this?”
Again I nod.
“And have I told you how lucky I am to call you mine? No matter what tomorrow holds?”
I nod and smile, my skin warming as though I’m being bathed in sunlight. And that’s about right. That’s what it feels like to be loved by Jasper. It’s sometimes rough and fast, sometimes sweet and languorous, but always bright and hot.
“I love you, baby.”
I feel tears prickle. I will never get used to hearing those words from his lips. Nor will I ever get tired of it.
Before I can respond, Jasper tucks my hand in the crook of his elbow and we make our way into the crowded restaurant.
We are greeted immediately and taken to a private dining nook where Hugh and Julienne await us. They both rise when we appear, both kissing my cheeks before greeting Jasper. I can tell by the look on Julienne’s face that her appreciation for art extends to my jaw-droppingly gorgeous man. I smile. It doesn’t make me jealous. It makes me proud. So proud that he’s all mine. Although he’s polite, the greeting he gives her pales in comparison to the look he slants my way after he pushes in my chair.
Conversation is easy and light, the food exquisite and expensive.
“I have Gerard to thank for introducing me to this lovely woman’s work,” Julienne says.
“Obviously he had a good eye,” Jasper says mildly.
“Did you know him?”
“Not really. We only met once.”
“A pity we couldn’t all be here tonight. I have a feeling business will be very good,” she says, winking at me.
“I’m sure he hated to miss it,” I add.
Gerard sold his house and moved to Italy within a month of Jasper and me moving out. Jasper wanted to choose a place that was more to his liking. In other words, some place that no one could find us until my father finds out who’s behind Napalm.
In the last four months, he’s been able to uncover a few details about Napalm. It’s a covert operation, not sanctioned by the government, that appears to lead right to a senatorial committee. Every day he gets one step closer to putting an end to all this so we can go home. He’s got Rogan in the wings, waiting for another name, another connection so that he can work his own sources. Until then, we’re making a home where we can. With each other. We’re healing more and more, learning to love and be loved. Jasper is putting his old life and all its nightmares behind him and reaching for a future with me. He even grieved the loss of his mother, shedding a single tear that I caught before it could touch the ground. With each day, we’re growing closer together and farther from the pain of the past.
Jasper mentions one of my newest pieces, effectively bringing me back to the present. Under the table, he takes my hand and squeezes it. He’s always attuned to me, always sensitive to my moods and my thoughts, it seems.
They finally get around to making me an offer that makes my head spin. I feel giddy and light, my laugh sounding more and more like Julienne’s champagne-soaked one. But my bubbles come from within. This news makes an already wonderful day perfect.
My mind reels as I think about the other news I got, news that Jasper has yet to find out about. I’ll be telling him later, when we’re alone. Until then, every time I think about that little plastic tube that’s in the trashcan back at our new place here in Paris, I feel giddy. It read positive this morning. The pink plus appeared almost
immediately. I knew it would. Something in my gut, something in my heart told me that it would.
Jasper will be thrilled. He tries to act nonchalant about me getting pregnant, but he’s as disappointed as I am when the test reads negative. So tonight, we’ll be celebrating more than one dream coming true. After a lifetime of tough blows and bad dreams, I want Jasper to have his every heart’s desire, starting with our baby. If it’s within my power to make him happy, I’ll do it. I’d do anything for him. And he’d do anything for me. That’s why I don’t worry about tomorrow. As long as I’ve got Jasper, I’ll be more than okay. I’ll be perfect.
Turn the page for a special excerpt from the next Tall, Dark, and Dangerous novel by M. Leighton
TOUGH ENOUGH
Coming soon from Berkley Books!
PROLOGUE
Katie
Two years ago
Something is prodding me to wake up. Like an insistent finger poking my shoulder and someone whispering, “Wake up, wake up, wake up.”
But I don’t want to. I only want to hide. Hide from the light, hide from the world, hide from reality. I turn deeper into unconsciousness, but there’s no rest for me there.
Wake up, wake up, wake up.
A dull pain begins to spread down my left side and sounds that were a distant backdrop only moments before come closer, closer, closer. One by one, I can make them out.
Sirens.
Metallic clattering.
Strange voices.
Screaming. Awful screaming.
It sounds so familiar, that scream. That voice, although I can’t figure out why. The answer is fuzzy, like the face that swirls behind my eyes.
Distorted. Mocking. Cruel.
It’s Calvin.
Panic swells within me, forcing me toward wakefulness. I don’t want to go, don’t want to wake. I claw and scratch. I dig in with my heels, with my hands, but nothing can stop my ascent.
Agony rushes in. It steals my breath and sweeps over me like flames, licking at my skin, turning the air to napalm.
More screaming, only this time I recognize the voice. I know it. I’ve listened to it my whole life.
It’s mine.
And then I remember.
Just before the blackness welcomes me back.
I rouse again, despite a gut instinct that tells me not to.
I wake to harsh voices, shouted commands and muffled road noise.
The face is still there, still there behind my eyes. Taunting me, haunting me. Satisfied.
Horrific pain radiates from the left side of my body. It sears its way across my nerves, gaining strength, gaining momentum until I can’t fight the blackness.
So I don’t.
—
My eyelids flutter open. I see white metal above me, the dark head of a man beside me. I’m lying on my back. He’s sitting to my right. I don’t know who he is or what he’s doing. I don’t even know where I am. All I know is that something is wrong. Terribly wrong. I know it. I can feel it, like frantic fingers picking at my consciousness, picking away the scab. Tearing away the blindfold. Luring me into awareness.
I turn away. Back into the nothingness.
—
Seconds, minutes, hours pass. Time has no real meaning. It’s only a series of disjointed sights, sounds and feelings. Fear. Dread. Pain.
Excruciating pain.
And aloneness. Even though I know I’m not alone; I’m far from alone.
I hear dozens of different voices now. Beeps. Thumps. Scrambling. And I can smell. Something awful, putrid even, mixed with the chemical scent of a hospital.
But the pain is what overwhelms it all. It’s nearly unbearable, like my left side is trying to secede from the rest of my body. Nerves tearing away from nerves, muscle ripping away from tendon. Flesh falling away from bone.
So I run.
I run into the deepest part of my mind, the part that refuses to participate with the outside world. I hide there until the pain stops.
Only it never stops. It never stops stalking me from the shadows.
ONE
Katie
I haven’t been so aware of my shortcomings, of my fears, in the two years that I’ve been here. Each time I ask myself Why today? I can come up with only one answer, but really it’s no answer at all. It only spurs another question. Why him?
“You’re not the least bit excited to be putting makeup on the Kiefer Rogan?”
We slow our walk as we approach my “office,” which is basically four thin walls that house a makeup chair, a bank of lighted mirrors and a wraparound counter topped with a bunch of shelves. And on those shelves are the supplies of my trade—a wide array of everything from pancake makeup to prosthetic noses. It’s not fancy, but it feels as much like home as any place does.
I turn my eyes to Mona’s cornflower blue ones. She is the only person who might even come close to being called my best friend. Am I oddly nervous? Yes. Am I extremely uneasy? Yes. But am I excited?
“Not even a little bit,” I reply sincerely.
Her full lips fall into a disbelieving O. “Wow! I can’t even imagine not getting excited over a guy like him.”
“He’s just a guy,” I declare with a shrug. I wish I felt as casual as the gesture indicates. Kiefer Rogan is just a guy, but guys like him spell trouble. For that reason alone, I can’t really be as nonchalant as I pretend to be. I try to change the subject, turning the conversation back to Mona and her man. “Besides, why should you care anyway? You’ve got a boyfriend.”
She grins, which makes her look even more innocent than her platinum hair and eyes that are too big for her face. Physically, Mona is the perfect split between a Barbie Doll and a Precious Moments figurine, all with a touch of clueless porn star thrown in for good measure. She can work her assets like nobody’s business, but she does it in such a way that doesn’t make her detestable, which is quite a feat. She’s very genuine, too, which is one of the things I like most about her. That and the fact that we are polar opposites in practically every way.
Mona is tall and fair and beautiful with a sweet, outgoing personality. I am none of those things, but we both seem to be okay with that. It’s probably why we get along so well.
“White’s great, but he doesn’t look like that.” White Bristow is the executive producer of the show. He’s fairly good-looking, but nothing like the guy Mona is talking about, Kiefer Rogan. White’s a total player like Kiefer allegedly is, too, but Mona loves him enough to overlook it. No matter what else he’s doing (or who else he’s doing), he always comes back to Mona. I guess maybe he loves her in his own way. “God, I wish he did, though.”
“Looks aren’t everything,” I remind her softly.
Her expression falls into one of regret and sadness. She reaches out and smoothes the hair that I always keep swept over my left shoulder. It can always be found draped around my neck to hide my scars. She’s one of the few people who know what lies beneath the swath of hair. And how sensitive I am about it. “No, looks aren’t everything, but if they were, you’d still be one of the most wanted.”
I smile. That’s Mona—always seeing the best in me, whether it’s accurate or not. “That’s sweet, but you and I both know that’s not true.”
“Oh, but it is. Look at you, Katie. All this thick, wavy auburn hair, those big, dark blue eyes. And you’re so tiny! I’d give anything to be petite like you.”
“Mona, you’re like a living, breathing Barbie Doll. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to change a thing, not even your Amazonian height,” I tease. She’s not the least bit insecure about her five-foot-eleven frame. In fact, she’d be the first to tell you that it’s her unusual stature and legs that go for miles that helped her get the attention of White, who is the person pretty much responsible for bringing her into the Hollywood world.
I stop in front of my “office” door and turn to face her. Mona leans up against the jamb, her eyes going all dreamy. “I wonder if Rogan likes tall women,” she muses.
<
br /> Back to Kiefer Rogan, I think with a deflated sigh. I won’t be able to avoid him much longer, so why do we have to talk about him now?
My bitterness surfaces and I let it flow. Maybe it’ll prompt her to stop bringing the conversation back to him.
“From what I’ve read in the tabloids, he likes anything with boobs. But I think he’s into the divas mostly, which would count you out. Thank God!” I, for one, am glad that Mona isn’t conceited about her looks or her position here at the studio. She’s utterly guileless and happily clueless, and I like her just the way she is. With a diva not included.
“I could be a diva,” she says, straightening, her expression turning enthusiastic. “I could totally be a diva. If it meant having those flirty green eyes and that drop-dead gorgeous smile turned on me, I’d be whatever he wanted me to be.”
Her little-girl giggle belies her words. She could never be a diva. “You don’t have a diva bone in your body. Besides, why would you want a guy like that? He dates the most horrible women and he goes through them like water. I mean, look at Victoria,” I say, lowering my voice as I scan the hall left and right to ensure we aren’t being overheard. “What kind of a decent person would date her? She’s awful!” I go on cynically, finding some strange comfort in pigeonholing him, calling a spade a spade. Hoping that maybe if I build up my armor against him, I won’t be swayed by his pretty face. “I bet he’s a conceited jerk, who only cares about what his arm candy looks like.”
“Guys who look like him can be annnything they want, as long as they stay hot.”
“Well, he’s all yours, then. I don’t have room for cocky, obnoxious, selfish sleazeballs in my life.” I glance at my watch. Six fifteen a.m. Mr. Rogan should be here by six thirty, but I won’t be holding my breath. “I bet he doesn’t even show up on time. Jerk!”
Mona sighs, tilting her head, a faraway look in her eyes. “I’d wait all day for a guy like that. He makes my special places shiver.”
