Jason
Eight months later
I’m so nervous my stomach is cramping. Gabriel texted me ten minutes ago that he’s on his way. He should be here by now.
Fuck.
We are gathered at Gran’s house for our wedding, and instead of the party of three, we have the whole shebang. The apartment block is milling. Zeb is chatting with a dark-haired woman he brought as his plus one. When I raised an eyebrow, he chuckled and said she was a work colleague then introduced me to Arabella Carpenter. Zan Gillard, who salutes me with a shot glass. Mostly Harmless Pete is like a peacock wearing the clothes I bought for him along with his bus stop mates. We’re going to talk about him and some of his friends moving here and helping in the garage.
My grandmother gives me a watery smile.
We are under mom’s favorite tree, sharing the big day with my brother and mother.
We are T minus five minutes until my beautiful wife walks toward me, and I slip my band on her finger for life.
My phone pings. I scan the text from Gabriel and blow out a breath. I thread my way through the crowd and find my bride-to-be being fussed over by Darlene, Bronte, and her friends.
The air shocks out of my chest at the vision in front of me. Yes, she’s wearing the dress from our earlier wedding, and she couldn’t be more lovely. I stride to her, pull her to her feet and plant a fierce kiss on her, ignoring Darlene having a hissy fit about makeup and hair and how it’s bad luck to see the bride on her big day.
I am lost in the kiss and lost in Asia when a throat clears behind me.
Showtime.
I look into my gorgeous wife’s face. Her smile lifts my heart into the stratosphere. “Do you trust me?”
“You know I do.”
I lick dry lips. “Could you find one more for your wedding party?”
She frowns. “What are you talking about?”
I thread my fingers with hers and turn. Gabriel walks toward us, guiding a nervous woman.
Asia stiffens. “Jamaica?” she whispers.
A slightly older version of Asia stands in front of her, wringing her hands before she bursts into tears.
“Asia, I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to apologize for the way I’ve treated you.”
Asia tenses beside me before flinging her arms around her sister. Both are sobbing and holding each other.
“We’re going to be late.” Darlene wipes the corner of her eye. “I’m going to have to do her makeup again.”
“I’ll wait.”
I’ll wait forever for my bride to reconcile with her sister. The sister that Harlan Franco never stopped looking for. She’d been abandoned by the Fucker and hit rock bottom. I got her into the best residential care money could buy, and now here she is. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel like shit for lying to my wife, but every indication was that Jamaica would bolt. I sure as shit didn’t want to get Asia’s hopes up only to have them dashed, so I waited it out. I figured if Jamaica was anything like her tenacious sister, then she’d find a way to get through, and get through she did. I could not be prouder of my sister-in-law.
Finding out the color of the bridesmaid’s dresses turned out to be harder than calculating Pi. Brutus stepped in and found out, and voila, Jamaica is wearing a purple dress. Lilac is the technical color, Brutus advised me.
My best man stands beside me. “Thanks.” I squeeze his shoulder.
Gabriel does a mock rear back. “Fuck me, is that a tear in your eye? You want a hankie?”
“Fuck off,” I puff out on a laugh.
His mood sobers. “She’s good people. I’ve spent a lot of time with her. Got mixed up with the wrong people. Shit happened, and she’s dealt with it.”
“The Fucker still in the wind?”
“Yeah. Franco said once he gets him sober, he’s threatened to hire him; he’s so good at hiding and covering his tracks.”
“If he comes within a hundred square feet of my wife, I’ll break his neck.” That he would fuck every hole before he broke Asia sits in my head like cancer. Therapy is helping with that, along with the nightmares.
Yeah, I’d do anything for my wife.
Speaking of.
A hand lands on my arm.
“Thank you, Jason.” Asia places a soft kiss on my cheek. “This is the best wedding present ever.”
I place a long kiss on her temple and when I’m engulfed in coconut and vanilla, I find my calm. My wife is my compass, my home, my rock.
“I’ll pay you back big time later.”
I grin. One thing about my wife is she likes sex everywhere. And I mean everywhere. A Safeway carpark. A museum—no names mentioned, of course. But get my wife in the outdoors and…well, let’s just say we’ve taught wildlife a thing or two.
“Pay me back later, you will.” I kiss her temple. “Come on, Mrs. Johnson, take two. I want to get back to the villa in Kona.”
The love of my life beams up at me. “There’s jungle.”
And with that, I am done.
Thirty minutes later, we are again married surrounded by family and friends. Angus holds Gran’s hand like she is crystal. Gran is pale but doing better since Angus stepped up and now won’t leave her side. Zeb, Israel and Holden - my boarding school buddies are all here.
Gabriel is being ignored by Darlene, who sneaks looks at him when she thinks no one is watching. Brutus and Bronte are ignoring each other and looking miserable. Jamaica and Gran are in a huddle. Zeb, Israel My world is complete.
Asia arrives at my side and squeezes my hand, and I’m filled with love for my wife.
“You slay and saved me, Asia Johnson.”
I am indeed a dragon to her knight.
Introducing Holden/Dug
Holden Kelly
I’m standing at the edge of Jason Johnson’s wedding, watching people mingle as people do. No one notices me. I can walk into a crowded room, and not a soul will remember me. Where’s Waldo’s got nothing on me. I’ll catch a few puzzled looks, furrowed brows with an ‘I know you from somewhere’ look. I gift them a ghost of a smile. Different hair. Different colored eyes. Different posture.
Same shit inside.
My phone buzzes. I sigh and punch in today’s response code, and I’m connected. “Holden Kelly,” I bark, just to reiterate the point that I am no longer working for the government, do not need another false name, hence giving my actual name. A name only my family loves.
“You were supposed to be here an hour ago,” a voice says in a dismissive, I’ve got a way higher education than you, so don’t fuck with me kind of voice barks.
I grip the phone harder. “Check your inbox. I told you I’m out. Resignation is done.”
Fucking government handlers.
I’d trusted a handler once, never again. Once I’d had the home, security, married to the love of my life, had been on the cusp of looking for a people mover until one night blew up my world - the night Holden Kelly died inside.
A light Montana breeze brushes my neck as I scan the crowd. Most of my boarding brothers from Stamford Brook are here including Gabriel, Zan, and his brother. According to Jason, his bride-to-be has invited everyone from Franco Security. Two I know, like boarders’ Zeb Carmichael and Israel Larsson.
I hover at the edge of the crowd, not interested in being social: Talking about the weather, which NFL team sucks, politely declining a women’s curious smile. Once upon a time, I’d been social, liked to take my wife out to dinner, show her off, smile at every man who shot me a ‘how did she end up with you’ look. I’d grin, knowing I was the luckiest man on the planet. I had no idea why Beth chose me, but I gifted her the stars every night since the night she agreed to marry my sorry ass. Now, I’d rather be in a room with chatty amateur clowns juggling chainsaws than do the whole social thing. But since I’m starting a contract for Franco next week, this is as good a time to press the flesh, bare my teeth and eat food off fancy spoons as any.
“Hey.” I clap Zeb Carmichael on the shoulder.
“Fuck me, it’s the invisible man,” Zeb chuckles. “What were you this week? A carpenter, sword swallower, assassin?”
I snag a satay chicken skewer from a tray from the black-suited wait staff. Tangy peanut sauce and red curry dance on my tastebuds as I wash it down with a Bud. It’s been a while since I had anything home-cooked.
I chuckle. “Aaron Laskowski on his honeymoon to Kona while guarding a Russian billionaire’s daughter.” I take another sip of beer. It’s far easier to play a character than deal with my own fucked up life. “That’s a sweet gig. Why didn’t you want it?”
A tic vibrates under Zeb’s left eye. “Got some personal stuff going on?”
Recently, I was working undercover tailing Sophie and hanging at Pipes Bar playing the part of Dug Mansour, a biker and mechanic. A beautiful blond had been interested in Zeb in had made it clear she was available.
“The blond from Pipes bar who goes by the name of Annie who was interested in you?” I raise my eyebrows.
Zeb’s blue eyes narrow. “Yeah. She’s got shit going down she will not let me deal with. I want to be around when she needs help.”
“And you’re not interested?” I stare at my friend, my face carefully blank. Even I can tell Zeb isn’t lacking in the looks department. Six-foot-two, built. His mother a southern blond, his father Black. Zeb Carmichael, with his Southern mama’s light blue eyes, and his black father’s killer smile, could have religious virgins drooling. Add in a portfolio with more digits in front of the decimal point than most people can count. He’s quite the catch. He works because he refuses to be a trust-fund kid, and would go into bat for any of our boarding school brothers. Zeb’s the calming light we reach out to, the one who never loses his temper. Fuck, if I were into dudes, I’d do him.
“She wants to play. I want a shot at a long-term thing which she doesn’t, so we’re at an impasse.”
Interesting.
“For how long?” I ask, genuinely interested. Zeb isn’t one to hang on the sidelines waiting. You’d have to be a closeted nun to not notice the blond with a smart mouth and a body built for sin is very interested in one Zeb Carmichael. My take after observing Annie is she’s interested in Zeb the man and not his money, which he’s come up against in the past.
“Clock is a ticking, my brother.”
Serious eyes hold mine.
“I hope it ends well,” I say, and mean it. Zeb deserves a happy ending. His heart is romance, flowers, and looking for his one and only.
Sharp eyes hold mine. “You still going through life alone?”
“Had my shot.” I sip my beer, not tasting it. “You only have one true love. There isn’t a second shot when you’ve had perfection.” The words are razor blades in my throat.
“Everyone deserves a second shot,” Zeb murmurs. “Even with all your ugliness.” He gestures to a group of waitstaff in the distance on a break. “I heard them earlier betting which one was taking you home tonight.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Male or female?”
“Both and also a combo.” He lifts his hands in surrender. “Not saying your ugly or anything, but if you went to the vet, no one would ask questions.”
I look in the mirror to shave and check my teeth. Believe me, there’s nothing special looking back.
But at that, I do laugh.
Zan Gillard salutes us with a drink, then shrugs. Regret rippling across his features.
My hand tightens around my glass, and something must move across my face.
“He’s not here,” Zeb growls.
I rub my temple. “He’s never anywhere. I left a voice message last week. Still nothing.”
A tense silence wraps around us.
One night in boarding school that shattered lives, one in particular when we were supposed to shield the vulnerable, and we fucking failed. Now one of us lives with the consequences.
The night I’d inked Praesidio protect on my right lower rib. A reminder that we will protect the vulnerable at all costs.
“Hey man, good to see you.” Israel Larsson, Franco’s comms man and ex Stamford Brook boarder, wraps me in a big man-slapping hug. “You’re done being a mechanic, having woman hanging off you at Pipes?”
I grin. “Yeah, my time of playing that role ended when Sophie was secure. You didn’t bring a plus one?” I’m expecting to see a glamorous woman walking toward Israel.
“Nope.” Israel’s face hardens.
Wait.
“What happened to the cute bartender at Pipes you used to stare at like a creeper?”
The memory of a stunning, friendly, gorgeous brunette morphs into my mind. “Gemma, Pipe’s niece.”
“Exactly why I’m not going there. I’d lose my balls if I hurt his only living family member. Besides.” He looks thoughtful. “She’s too sweet, too nice. I wouldn’t blow my shit onto her.” He takes a sip of scotch, his face a thundercloud of emotions.
Something happened to Israel. Six months ago, he went off the radar for two weeks, and no one could find him. He resurfaced and won’t speak about where he’d been or what happened, but he’s a changed man. He used to be the light of the party, happy as a fucking Labrador puppy. Nothing used to get the man down. Now a dark shadow follows him. I take in the faint bruising on his chin and a fading bruise on his cheekbone.
“Still going to fight club?” I ask quietly so that only Israel can hear, and he stiffens.
“Keeps the rage out.” He snags something from a passing server and pops a sausage wrapped in bacon into his mouth, ending the conversation.
Zeb turns, but I shake my head.
“Where’s Franco?” A quick change of conversation never hurt. I make a mental note to keep closer tabs on Israel. I, of all people, know what it’s like to keep shit inside. My emotions are currently in lead-lined containers, dipped in concrete, wrapped in plutonium, and buried on each of Jupiter’s seventy-nine moons.
“Harlan should be here in a minute. He’s meeting the father of the client you’re trailing in Kona. The dad is very protective of his only baby girl.” Zeb nods to someone in the crowd. “Speaking of, it’s time you met your fake wife.”
I look toward where Zeb has nodded and where a stunning, tall, dark-haired woman stands.
The brunette stops beside Zeb.
“Arabella Carpenter meet Holden Kelly, or as you’ll know him for ten days, Aaron Laskowski.”
The woman holds out her hand. “Aaron, lovely to meet you. I’m Lana, by the way.” A smile tugs at full, puffy lips. As our palms glide, I stare into her big blue eyes.
An icy hand reaches in and squeezes my heart.
Shock splinters my mind.
A fractured memory out of left field smacks me hard. An incident in college, maybe? I vaguely remember a freshman girl basically being told she was a stalker. A douche in my senior year berating her. I’d seen her around campus, remember once hearing her laugh with said douche with a slight snort at the end. I caught a glancing glimpse of her teary face that day before she fled. Could this be her? My brain strains to find the connection.
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” I look up to find both Zeb and Israel staring at me, while the woman I’m going to spend ten days with looks confused.
“Yeah, good.” I dig my hand through my hair, then pull my phone from my pocket. “Sorry, got to take this.” I nod to the group and walk away with my silent phone at my ear.
Jesus, it can’t be her, can it? I remember the guy shouting a name but it hadn’t been Arabella.
I stare hard at the woman.
Maybe it isn’t her.
Fuck, I’m losing it.
I put my phone back in my pocket and freeze when I hear her laugh.
Laughter with a slight snort at the end.
Laughter I remember.
Who are you?
Arabella looks at me then snags her lip. I don’t miss the flash of something on her face before she stills her features.
What are you hiding, Arabella
, and are you frightened?
The ink on my right bottom rib practically throbs.
Protect.
I move through the crowd.
Time to become another person.
Time to find out who Arabella Carpenter is and if she needs my protection.
Next up in the Bound Series
Bound to her Bodyguard
Chapter One starts on the next page
Chapter One
Bound to her Bodyguard
Arabella
“Welcome. We hope you’ll enjoy your honeymoon stay with us.” At the hotel check-in, the clerk throws me a dazzling smile at what we both know is a lie. My fake husband for the next ten days, wraps his warm fingers around my cold digits and pulls me into his side, and I flinch.
“I simply cannot wait to whisk my bride upstairs.” Holden Kelly beams. “Aaron and Lana Laskowski checking in.”
I try not to draw back when my curves hit solid muscle.
I swallow heavily.
“We know who you are and why you’re here,” the check-in clerk says in a forced whisper. “You’ll have access to all parts of the resort with these cards. The safe will hold your gun, which has been cleared with our security team.”
Holden nods.
I glance around while Holden hands over his credit card.
I am so nervous, excited, and slightly freaked that I’m on my first assignment, out from behind the computer and into the field, and it has to be with Mr. Hot, Broody, and Dangerous Holden Kelly. Tall and tanned, he has dark hair that women want to run their hands through to see if the strands are silky.
Not me and my basic brand shampoo.
His green eyes seem to change with his mood. Dark and stormy mostly. Eyes that make nuns melt.
No melting here.
Chiseled everywhere, I suspect. But the showstopper is a smile, slow to unleash, then dazzles. It sucks oxygen from lungs and leaves men and women walking into walls. It’s both enthralling and terrifying.
Bound to her Fake Fiancé Boss: A Fun Sexy Feel Good Billionaire Office Romance Page 27
