by Shelly Bell
Her world spun, the ground tilting on its side, making her feel as though she was falling even though she was on the ground. Her eyelids grew heavy and her muscles melted like hot butter. He snatched the defensive aid from her useless hand. She couldn’t fight.
She could barely move.
What had he given her?
He picked her up as though she was a limp rag doll, hoisting her over his shoulder and moving toward the ledge, dangling her over it.
“Please,” she begged, the word coming out slurred. “I don’t want to die.”
“Oh, Izzy. I’ll take care of you. I love you. We’ll do this together.”
Hot tears ran down her cheeks as Tony began to climb the ledge.
“Put her down on the bridge and let her go, Tony. It’s over,” came Tristan’s sudden command.
She forced her head up and opened her eyes, relieved to see Tristan and another man on the bridge running toward them.
“Satan can’t have her,” Tony said, still moving, seemingly undeterred by the men’s arrival. “She’s mine.”
“I don’t love you, Tony,” she said, her throat so dry, she could barely whisper. “Not that way. Please. I want to live. I want to fall in love and open my own bakery and have babies. Don’t take my dreams away from me.”
Everything swirled around her, the world growing darker and darker as though she was being buried alive. She heard the pounding of running feet and then she was falling, her limbs flailing helplessly.
Hands gripped her wrists. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” said Tristan soothingly as she was pulled upward. “Everything’s going to be fine.” His arms snaked around her torso and he lowered her to the ground, pulling her onto his lap and holding her tightly as if he’d never let her go. “I’m here now.”
She had a million questions, but she was so, so tired.
Safe in Tristan’s arms, she surrendered to the darkness.
Chapter 10
No matter how much tequila Tristan drank, he couldn’t get Isabella out of his mind. And over the last several days, he’d drank enough to test that theory. Days of teaching his damned Intro to Business class, her absence from the front row a painful reminder. Afternoons without her vanilla scent filling the office, her soft sighs and her husky laughs. Nights spent replaying those moments on the bridge when he almost lost her for good.
Of course, he’d still lost her.
Thankfully, he and Ryder had prevented a double tragedy, Tristan catching Isabella before she plummeted into the ravine, and Ryder punching Tony out cold to keep him from committing suicide.
Tristan had never been as frightened in his life as he was when Tony nearly dropped Isabella into that rocky ravine. Only a couple of weeks had passed since he’d known her, and already, he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
Once Ryder had restrained Tony with some handcuffs he kept in his car, they’d called 9-1-1. The police took Tony into custody and the paramedics took Isabella to the hospital with Tristan and Ryder following in the car behind. Thankfully, she was conscious by the time they arrived and Tony confessed to the police that he’d injected her with ketamine he’d stolen from his veterinarian father.
Tristan only had a few minutes alone with her before she was questioned by the police and examined by the doctor. When her parents arrived full of thanks to him and Ryder for saving their baby daughter, he’d left them alone, taking one last look at Isabella, who’d gazed at him with what he read as remorse in her eyes.
What did that remorse mean? Did she regret him?
He’d called her cell to check up on her, but it had gone straight to voicemail and she hadn’t returned his calls. Coupled by her no-show at class and work study, he assumed she’d decided to leave school.
He poured another shot of tequila when there was a knock on his apartment door. Swirling the alcohol in the glass, he debated on whether or not to answer it. Ryder had threatened to come up and beat his ass if he didn’t get a fucking grip, and soon. The asshole didn’t know what it was like to hold an Angel in his arms only to lose her.
Laughing at his maudlin thoughts, Tristan set his glass down on the table and got up to answer the door before his friend broke it down. “You didn’t need to come all the way up here, Ry—” He unlocked the door and swung it open.
Isabella stood there, nibbling on her lip, looking as innocent and wide-eyed as she had when they’d first met inside Ryder’s front door. “Hi. If you’re expecting someone, I can—”
“No,” he said a little too forcefully. “Please, come in.”
She walked inside, the side of her arm brushing against his torso as she passed him. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you this week.” She faced him. “You saved my life. I owed you—”
“You don’t owe me anything.” He shut the door, although from the sound of it, she wouldn’t be staying long. She was only here to thank him for his actions on the bridge.
“You’re wrong.” She took his hand and led him to the couch where they both sat. “I owe you everything. And not just for saving me on the bridge. But I needed some time.” She released a ragged breath. “We buried Tony’s parents this week. He gave them the same drug as me, but they didn’t have you to rescue them. Tony’s in the psychiatric ward of the hospital. The doctors are trying to figure out whether his medication stopped working or whether he was misdiagnosed. At this point, no charges have been filed against him, and it’s likely he’ll be found not guilty by reason of insanity, so he’ll probably never go to jail for everything he’s done. I’m angry and sad and there’s nothing I can do to change it.” Pausing, she let go of his hand. “But I don’t want to waste any more time running from my past. It led me here.” She moved to kneel in front of him, placing her petite hands on his knees. “It led me to you. I’m so sorry for not calling you this week, and even sorrier for how I reacted when you asked me about the flowers. I just couldn’t trust in you. In us.”
Suddenly sober and full of hope, he shook his head as he pulled her up onto his lap. “You’re not the only one with trust issues.” He inhaled deeply. “My ex-wife cheated on me with my brother.”
Shocked, she dropped her jaw. “You were married?”
“A lifetime ago. Obviously, it fucked me up. I haven’t spoken to her or my brother in years.”
“Oh, Tristan.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t imagine.”
“Don’t feel bad for me, baby. I’m not trying to excuse my behavior. Only trying to get you to understand where my head was at that day. I should’ve waited for your explanation before I accused you of lying to me.” He sunk his hand into her hair, his fingers wrapping around her neck as he swept his thumb across her plump lower lip, back and forth, until her lips parted on a sigh. Her eyes glazed and her nipples beaded in response to his touch. “You’re young. You’re just starting college and you have your whole life in front of you. Would you risk it all to be with me?”
She trailed sweet kisses up his neck the hovered over his lips. “I lied about my position on high-yield bonds. The possibility of reward is so much greater than the risk. It would make me a poor businesswoman if I didn’t go for it.”
He seized her mouth, reveling in its sweetness, and scooped her up in his arms then headed toward his room. They wouldn’t have an easy road ahead of them, but right now, he didn’t want to think about that. He had his Angel back in his arms, and back in his bed, where she belonged. Tonight, he’d remind her of what it meant to belong to him, and they’d take each day as it came, not worrying about tomorrow.
There were still things she didn’t know about him. Things he couldn’t tell her. Things that could get her killed.
Someday, his own past would return to wreak its havoc on him once again.
And when it did, he’d do everything in his power to protect his Angel, even if it meant walking away from her . . .
Forever.
Want to read more about Tristan, Isabella, and Ryder?
Look for Forbidden: Sophomore
Year, releasing late summer 2015.
Other Books by Shelly Bell
Benediction Series
WHITE COLLARED, PART ONE: MERCY
WHITE COLLARED, PART TWO: GREED
WHITE COLLARED, PART THREE: REVENGE
WHITE COLLARED, PART FOUR: PASSION
RED HANDED
BLUE BLOODED, Coming October 13, 2015
Magical Muses Series
SWAY WITH ME
STIRRING UP TROUBLE
Stand-Alone Titles
A YEAR TO REMEMBER
TORNADO ALLIE
About Shelly Bell
A sucker for a happy ending, Shelly Bell writes sensual romance often with a bit of kink and action-filled erotic thrillers with high-emotional stakes for her alpha heroes and kick-ass heroines. She began writing upon the insistence of her husband who dragged her to the store and bought her a laptop. When she’s not working her day job, taking care of her family, or writing, you’ll find her reading the latest smutty romance.
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TIN MAN’S DANCE
(A New Adult Novella)
By MK Schiller
The one time Lilly Franklin decides to reward herself with tickets to her favorite indie artist’s concert, there is a seat mix-up. Not to mention the tall, cocky boy who claims her front-row seat is all wicked smiles, long legs and tug-worthy hair. Lilly quickly decides this boy is messing with the wrong girl. But as the night wears on, Lily starts to see a softer side of former marine, James “Hutch” Hutchinson. A side that makes her shed her loner inhibitions along with her clothes.
There is a difference between trouble and troubled, but Hutch is both.
Hutch lost more than a leg in the Iraqi dessert. Returning to school on the GI Bill wasn’t exactly in the plans…but plans change. Now he only wants to meet the dancer he saw at the recitals his roommate dragged him to, but he’s forgotten how to talk to women, especially a woman as graceful as Lilly. So armed with a plan that even a twelve-years-old would laugh at, James steals Lilly’s seat.
Only fair since she stole his heart first.
But Lilly has plans, too. As if Hutch’s life wasn’t already a shit storm of sacrifice. Now, he has to give up the one thing he can’t get enough of.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I need to thank my soul sisters: Shelly, Heather, Sage, and Aliza for not only encouraging my writing, but acting as guiding lights while I navigated the crazy plot twists of my life. Sometimes you find a good friend, a reliable colleague, a compassionate mentor, or just someone who gets your peculiar brand of nutty. In these ladies, I have found all of those things. In short, The Smutastik Team rocks.
Of course, thank you to my family for putting up with my crazy and grounding me from writing when I need it the most!
To my editors, Erika Cooper and Corinne DeMaagd—thank you for correcting my mistakes and tightening the story. Most of all, for your kind words of encouragement.
To the reader, as always, thank you for picking up this book when there are more choices than stars in the sky.
DEDICATION
To all the heroic men and women in our armed services. Thank you for bravely sacrificing your safety to protect mine.
Chapter 1
Hutch
I had never planned to go to college, but with a GI bill burning a hole in my back pocket, Uncle Sam’s blessing, and nothing better to do, here I was. Well, that along with Mom’s encouragement and Colton’s insistence I’d enjoy myself. I didn’t exactly fit in—a twenty-four-year-old freshman in a tiny town with a liberal arts college, obtaining a degree in English Lit, the only subject I didn’t suck at in high school.
I never expected to end up in this Martha Stewart version of a bachelor pad that belonged in the glossy pages of the kind of catalogue I wouldn’t wrap fish in, let alone read. Blake owned the condo. Blake, roommate number one, who I referred to as “spoiled rich boy.” Not just in my head, but aloud, too. The crazy thing was, he identified himself that way. I kind of liked that about him. Mitch, roommate number two, was more like me—a working stiff trying to get a leg up in the world. Then there was Grayson, roommate number three, who mostly kept to himself.
I usually jogged outside, but the rain had changed my plans today. Rain fucked with my joints and caused my scars to sting. I ran on Blake’s treadmill instead, listening as he jabbered on about parties, girls and well…party girls. As usual, he switched gears as smoothly as my manual clunker.
“C’mon Hutch, I scored an extra ticket.”
“Richie Rich, why the fuck would you think I am remotely interested in attending a dance recital?”
He placed another weight onto his bar. “I want people to be there for my sister. My parents can’t make it. Not a lot of people go to these events, especially when it’s competing with a campus football game.”
I never thought of Blake as the kind of guy that looked out for others. Still, I had no desire to go. She wasn’t my sister, after all. In fact, I’d planned on hanging out with some other buddies tonight. It was gonna be a rager with Jose Cuervo supplying the drinks, Jimi Hendrix providing the tunes, and Albert Camus’ The Stranger bringing in the entertainment portion of the evening. I’m not an alcoholic, but lonely and numb were two sides of the same coin. Lately I’d grown very close to ol’ Jose.
“There will be hot girls there,” Blake added, wiggling his brows.
“I’m not interested in girls.”
My reflexes ran slower these days. Blake titled his head to the side, a flicker of understanding or rather misunderstanding forming on his features. “Oh, sorry man. I didn’t realize you were gay.”
Shit.
“I’m not gay,” I said, an octave too loud. “I’m just not interested in girls right now.”
“It’s cool man. You don’t have to hide.”
I sighed and revved up the speed on the mill, searching the room for my phone. “I have plans tonight.”
“Oh yeah, with who?”
With three dudes.
I stopped the treadmill to readjust. “Can you hand me the lube?” I asked, gesturing toward the tube on the table beside Blake.
Okay…so that sounded gay.
Blake tossed it to me. I sat on the workout bench and applied a generous amount where I felt the limb tightening on me. The front of my shirt was drenched in sweat, thanks to the ten-mile run, but I still had another five to reach my goal.
“I watch you stay in every night while everyone else is having a good time. This is college, G.I. Joe. You need to get out there sometime.”
Blake didn’t fool me. Obviously, he didn’t want to go alone, and he’d already run through his gamut of friends until my name popped up. In truth, I should go. I owed Blake a lot. If I wasn’t living here, I’d be uncomfortable as hell, cramped in a tiny dorm room. Plus, there were some very nice amenities at Casa Richie Rich. I may be only twenty-four, but my mental age had me pondering if I should apply for social security benefits.
I thought about it. Why the hell not? At least I’d have something to tell Colton when he came to visit. He often said my self-imposed exile from society wasn’t healthy.
“Yeah, okay. What time?”
Black stared at me as if waiting for a punch line. If he didn’t quit being so annoying, he might just get a punch right to the gut.
“Seven. I’ll leave your ticket at Will Call.”
Chapter 2
Hutch
The student theatre was a small venue, the seats designed for girls and scrawny dudes. I felt like fucking Gulliver in Lilliput. I looked over the program once more. Shit, how did Richie Rich manage to talk me into coming to this modern dance deal?
Blake and I warred over the armrest. I finally conceded, slumping low in my seat. After a few performances, he shoved me awa
ke.
“What?”
“What do you think of that girl?” Blake pointed toward the back stage where a chorus of identical looking dancers lined up. “That’s my sister.”
“The one in the black pants?”
“Um…no, that’s a dude.”
“Oh.” Squinting my eyes, I saw that he was indeed correct.
“The girl on the right.” There were ten girls prancing in some kind of menacing Riverdance jig.
I didn’t want to spend the next fifteen minutes trying to figure out who she was. “Sure.”
I tried to feign interest, but I just wasn’t into it.
“The girl in the blue has a nice ass.” I commented just to make impolite conversation.
“That’s my sister.”
“Man, I’m sorry.” Someone shushed us. Thank God, cause my mouth was best when locked.
“It’s okay. Do you want an intro?”
Smooth move, Richie Rich. “Are you trying to set me up?”
“Well, I figured an ex-Marine...”
Did he honestly think Devil Dogs were good dating material? “First off, there is no such thing as an ex-Marine and secondly, I have no interest in seeing anyone right now.”
“Suit yourself.”
The applause woke me, signaling the finished act. I yawned, wondering how many goddamn routines I’d have to suffer through. My left leg fell asleep, which was a very bad thing in my world because my right one wouldn’t work on its own.
“Now, performing their East meets West choreographed Snake Dance, Lilly Franklin and Joseph Bernard.”
A shirtless dude in sparkly orange Aladdin pajamas was on his knees before a large wicker basket. He faked played a flute as some kind of Bollywood music started up. I sighed, sinking back into my seat.
