The Proposal

by R. R. Banks

“Holly, right? I understand she's a beautiful girl. Stunning,” he says. “A teacher at that private school – the Gilmore Academy, correct?”

  I nod slowly, my body going numb. I’m finding it harder and harder to keep from puking. The fact that he knows her name and where she works sends a bolt of fear tearing through me. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I swear there is a veiled threat in the way he's ratting off her information.

  “Y – yeah, that's right.”

  Trujillo nods. “My proposal is this,” he starts, “I am willing to wipe the slate clean with you. Cancel all your outstanding debt and give you a fresh start, free of financial entanglements with me. In exchange, you will marry your daughter to my son.”

  The bolt of fear turns into a steady stream of fear-fueled electricity, searing my every nerve ending. I knew this is where he was going, but hearing him say the words feels like he just kicked me in the nuts with a pair of steel-toed boots.

  Still, the idea that I can wipe the slate clean, get out from under his thumb – I can't deny how badly I want that. The question is - can I get my stubborn, willful daughter to agree to this? Can I get her to put the family first and take one for the team? She doesn't know about Trujillo or the kind of trouble I'm in, and if I have my way, she never will.

  But, I know if I'm ever going to get her to agree to it, I need to tell her enough to get her to think of the family and sign off on this.

  “What do you think, Michael?” Trujillo asks.

  “The slate will be wiped completely clean?” I ask. “No strings attached?”

  “Completely clean,” he says. “You get a completely fresh start. You have my word.”

  I know this is going to be a tough sell. Hell, it might be impossible. But Holly is a good girl who's loyal to the family. She's loyal to me and will usually yield to what I want. It's not going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination, but I think with some prodding, I can get her to see things from my perspective.

  “I think I can do that, Mr. Trujillo,” I say. “I think I can get my girl to agree.”

  “Excellent, Michael,” Trujillo replies. “I knew I could count on you.”

  See how Brayden and Holly’s story unfolds. Get Accidentally Married HERE.

  Rebel (Sample)

  By R.R. Banks

  An Amazon Top 50 Bestseller

  *247 Customer Reviews – 4.8/5 Stars

  Savage Rival. Hardened Marine. Ruthless Hero.

  I can have any woman I want,

  Except Bree.

  She's untouchable. My enemy's daughter.

  But I wanted her the moment I saw her.

  Her sweet lips. Her curvy hips.

  I'm addicted to her taste.

  She submitted to me eight years ago.

  But I screwed up.

  Now I'm back. She hates me.

  She has a son now and I'm damn sure he's mine.

  A century-old feud kept her from me in the past.

  Now nothing will stop me from having all of her.

  She may be the enemy's daughter, but I'll risk it all for my family.

  This war is going to leave someone dead,

  And I swear it won't be Bree.

  Will we make it down the aisle or will this feud destroy us all?

  Chapter One

  Bree

  Eight Years Ago

  I see him moving between the arches of purple and silver balloons and among the lavish decorations that fill the ground floor of my family's home. He speaks to no one, his gaze rarely leaving me. I flit from room to room, watching him from my peripheral vision. He doesn't approach but watches me from afar. A small, enigmatic little smile touching the corners of his lips whenever our eyes meet.

  A four-piece string quartet plays in one room – but no one is really listening. Personally, I would have preferred a band that plays music I actually love – maybe some Taylor Swift or Lady Gaga. Something that my friends and I would have liked. After all, it is my birthday.

  But, my folks had vetoed that idea and went with the string quartet, saying a pop or rock band would not be appropriate. But, whatever. Everything else about tonight is incredible. It's a night of pure magic and I couldn’t possibly be any happier.

  “This party is amazing,” Elizabeth squeals as she grips my arm.

  She's bouncing up and down so hard, she's nearly knocking my mask off. I laugh and make her stop moving before I straighten my mask out. I selected my favorite colors for the masked ball and had my outfit perfectly matched. A sexy, strapless purple gown made of satin with a plunging neckline, and a silver mask adorned in purple beads, delicate lace, and feathers, complete the look.

  The whole scene – everybody in formalwear and beautiful, intricate masks – is amazing. Gorgeous. It reminds me of those movie scenes of the elegant formal balls held at the court of a king or a queen. Or like one of those old time Scarlett O'Hara type Southern plantations – which is, without a doubt, what my parents were aiming for. They are very proud of their Southern heritage, after all.

  I don't feel the same sort of attachment to or pride in being a Southerner. Not like my parents and brother do. I don’t feel like I should be proud of being born and growing up in Georgia – it was purely a matter of chance. But hey, whatever works for them.

  I've been wandering around for a while, just looking at it all. I’m completely in awe at how gorgeous and elegant everything is. Even though I'd chosen the theme for my birthday party, it turned out so much more beautiful and amazing than I ever imagined it would be.

  “I'm so glad you're here,” I say, pulling Elizabeth into a tight embrace.

  “Like I would have missed it,” she says, rolling her eyes dramatically. “My best friend only turns eighteen once.”

  Over Elizabeth's shoulder, I see the man again as he makes his way through the crowd. A familiar nervous chill mixes with the excitement running through me. He cuts a striking figure in what looks to be a very expensive, well-tailored tuxedo – obviously not a cheap rental like some of my friends are wearing – along with a black mask, decorated with red and black feathers and silver beading. He's tall and fit, with a trim figure and broad, masculine shoulders.

  Thanks to that mask, I can only see his perfectly styled hair, blacker than midnight, and the lower half of his tawny, chiseled face. He's obviously spent some time in the sun and works out. He looks handsome. Almost regal. But, I can't place him. Although there's something about him that's familiar, something that rings a bell, I can't seem to put my finger on what it is. Since I know he isn’t anyone I know - I assume he is the plus-one of another guest. Though, I wonder who he came with.

  I've been moving around the party, greeting friends, and talking to people for the last half-hour or so. And that guy has been lurking in the background the entire time. He's been at the fringes of the party, not talking to any of the other guests, just kind of walking around – watching me, following me from room to room, his eyes never leaving me.

  Ordinarily, the sight of a masked man, a stranger, following me around a large, crowded house, watching me, staring at me, would freak me out. And maybe it should. I mean, I don't know who this guy is, and he seems really interested in me. In any other setting, I'd call it stalking and probably call the man a creep.

  Yet, if I'm being honest – and I always try to be honest, especially with myself – there is something I find sexy about it. Maybe it's the overwhelming elegance of the evening, or all the emotions swirling in me, but there is something sultry, something strangely erotic, about a well-dressed man in a mask watching me as intently as he has been.

  “I want you to do something for me,” I tell Elizabeth.

  “Anything, babe.”

  “Don't be obvious about it,” I say. “But, turn around and check out the guy in the red-and-black mask over by the staircase. Remember, be subtle.”

  “Subtle is my middle name.”

  I laugh. “I thought slut was your middle name.”

  She slaps me playfully on the arm
. “I have multiple middle names.”

  Elizabeth is my best friend and has been since we were in kindergarten. I love her to pieces. As slowly and casually as possible – and somewhat theatrically – she turns around and scans the crowd. The guy sees her looking and smirks – although, I get the impression that his eyes never left me. She turns back to me a moment later and a wide smile spreads across her face. Even from behind her mask, I can see the mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  “He looks hot,” she says. “Totally hot. You should bang him.”

  I laugh and slap her on the arm. “Is that your answer to everything?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Elizabeth talks a big game, but she's not nearly the whore she pretends to be. She's only been with three or four different people, but to hear her talk, you'd almost think she would take any guy at any time. She doesn't. That's just her persona.

  For whatever reason, she wants to be known as the wild, bad-girl type. It probably has something to do with the fact that her dad is the town's sheriff and she's gotten crap for it her entire life from our group of friends and classmates. Maybe she feels like she has something to prove, I don't know. It's just part of who Elizabeth is.

  I'm not saying I'm an angel. Not by any means. But, I'm not quite as open and expressive about my sexuality and desire as Elizabeth is. Especially around my parents, who have this antiquated, Victorian view of sex and sexuality. Although, I notice those old-fashioned ideals don't extend to my brother.

  Sexist much?

  “What about that guy, though?” she asks.

  “Do you know who he is?”

  She shakes her head. “No idea,” she says. “He's not somebody who goes to school with us. Believe me, I'd remember someone like that roaming the halls.”

  “Well, duh,” I say, drawing a giggle from her. “

  I laugh again. Given the fact that we go to the Wellbrook Academy for Girls, a man – any man – would stand out in the halls of our school. Even if Wellbrook was a co-ed school, I think this guy would stand out. He's that striking.

  “He's been following me around all night,” I say. “Everywhere I go, he's there. Always in the background, just – watching me.”

  A grin touches Elizabeth's lips. “He totally wants you.”

  I scoff. “Please,” I say. “I doubt that. I just don't know what his deal is. Or, for the matter, who he is”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” she says. “Go talk to him.”

  “I can't,” I reply, feeling the heat rush to my face at the mere thought of it.

  “Why not?”

  “I – I just can't,” I say.

  “Oh please,” Elizabeth says, smiling. “You're not going to play into that whole shy, proper, Southern belle stereotype now, are you?”

  I laugh. “In fact, I am.”

  “Yeah, well you need to cut that shit out, babe” she says with a grin. “Especially if you want to land a hot guy like that.”

  “Who says I want to land him?”

  “Well, you should at least bang him,” she says. “At least once. He's hot.”

  I doubt Elizabeth would do any such thing, but I laugh anyway.

  “Seriously, babe,” she says. “Talk to him. At the very least.”

  Elizabeth waves at somebody over my shoulder and then turns back to me, giving me a wide smile.

  “Tommy Rutledge?” I ask, arching an eyebrow at her.

  “Oh, God no,” she says. “He is like so two weeks ago. No, I came to the party with Andy.”

  I feel my eyes widen. “Andy Wiggins?” I ask. “Tommy's best friend?”

  Her flirty little grin only gets wider. “That would be him,” she says. “The fine piece of meat that he is.”

  “You know you're playing with fire,” I say.

  She shrugs. “At least I'm playing with something, babe,” she says. “Now, go talk to the mystery stalker.”

  She flounces off and I see her grab Andy's hand, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. He leans in for a real kiss, but she brushes him off, laughing the whole time. She's not going to make this easy on him. The poor guy. I almost feel sorry for him. He has no idea that he is only a pawn in her game.

  I have a feeling that given the reputation she's nurtured over the years, Andy figured he was going to have an easy score tonight. But, I also know that Elizabeth is trying to get back at Tommy for cheating on her – and what better way to do that than date his best friend?

  Yeah, this isn't going to end well for anybody.

  I cut a quick glance over at the man in the red-and-black mask. He's still standing there, sipping from a cup, staring at me. It's a little frustrating, honestly. If he's this interested, why hasn't he made a move to come talk to me?

  I move to the next room over – the formal dining room. It's huge and paneled in dark wood – and filled with the painted portraits of our various ancestors. The most prominent portrait among them, that of James Longstreet, the famous – or perhaps notorious, depending on your point of view – Confederate General. Though I personally find it a little appalling, my family is proud of being related to the long dead war hero.

  Like I said before, my family takes great pride in our Southern roots and heritage.

  I talk to a few of my friends, accepting their birthday wishes, but my eyes are on the door. And, it's not long before I see the familiar red-and-black masked man step into the room. He sees me watching the door, sees me watching him, and smiles.

  And I swear to God, that smile is so electric and has such a weight to it that I feel my breath catch in my throat – and about melts my panties off on the spot.

  “You okay, Bree?”

  I turn and look at the face of my friend Mike. He's looking at me like I've just had a stroke or something, and I can only imagine what kind of expression is on my face.

  “Yeah, fine,” I say, trying to put a smile on my face that I hope doesn't look forced. “Sorry, just distracted, I guess.”

  Mike follows my gaze over to the man in the red-and-black mask. He's leaning against the door frame, sipping his drink, his eyes riveted to mine. Try as I might, I can't take my eyes off him. There's just something about him I find so mysteriously intoxicating. Compelling. It's horribly cliché, but like a moth to a flame, I feel drawn to him.

  “Is that guy bothering you?” Mike asks, puffing himself up.

  I put a hand on his arm. “No, not at all,” I say. “He's fine.”

  Mike looks at the man and then at me, obviously not buying it. I force another smile onto my face, hoping this one is more convincing than the last.

  “Seriously,” I say, “It's nothing. He's not bothering me.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do,” I say. “Now, come on, this is a party. Go, have fun. Go get a drink. I think somebody spiked the sparkling cider fountain.”

  Mike gives me a smile and casts the mystery man a threatening look, before turning and heading off to grab a drink. If there's one thing I know about my friends, it's that they like to drink. And although my parents said that alcohol wasn't allowed at the party, there wasn’t a way they could really stop it. I figure they probably knew that, though.

  My breathing is a little ragged and my heart thunders in my chest as I look at my mystery admirer. I can't stop the small smile that touches my lips. I'm half-tempted to do what Elizabeth said – go up and talk to him – but I have a better idea.

  If he's going to play games, so will I.

  I give him a little smile before I turn and head out the door opposite of the one he's standing next to. I make my way through the crowd, smiling and waving to the friends trying to catch my attention as I pass.

  I walk through the other dozen or so rooms on the ground floor, all decorated extravagantly for the party, completely filled with people. Turning around, I see the man weaving his way through the crowd, slipping around people and the elaborate decorations. All the while, there's an unfathomable smile on his face.

  I pus
h through the doors and walk into the kitchen. The wait staff that's assembled in there give me a questioning look, but I ignore them. A couple of moments later, the man comes through the door, his eyes glued on me.

  I stand not even ten feet away from him, captivated by the icy blue eyes I see behind the mask. I catch the scent of an expensive cologne and know that this man – whoever he is – isn't one of my guests. He's older than me by a few years at least– and is probably not a high school student at all.

  “Who brought you here? I ask.

  “Who said anybody brought me?”

  His voice is a low rumble – like the sound of thunder in the distance. And I feel every syllable reverberate through my body, sending shockwaves of sensation rolling through me. My mouth is dry, but my palms are damp – though not nearly as wet as my panties. His gaze is so direct, so penetrating. It's like he can see right through me.

  The way his gaze slides up and down my body is sexy as hell and makes my already racing heart, hammer inside of me even harder than before. It's more than him just undressing me with his eyes. He's not some high school boy hoping to get a peek under my dress. No, this is the look of a man who wants to devour more than just my body. Much, much more.

  And it's that look, that certainty that he wants more than just my flesh, that lights a fire between my thighs.

  “You two,” one of the waiters calls from behind us, “get out of here. We're working.”

  I turn and glare at the waiter. “This is my house,” I say. “I'll stand wherever I want to, thank you very much.”

  The waiter looks at me a moment longer and I can tell that he wants to argue, but wisely bites back his words instead. He quickly turns around and busies himself with a tray of food.

  “A woman in charge,” the masked man says. “I like that.”

  I turn back to him and grin. “What's your name?”

  The man gives me a roguish little smirk. “Telling you my name would defeat the purposes of these masks, wouldn't it?”

  “Well, you've been following me around all night,” I say, “so I assume you want me to know who you are.”