Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  I can’t hold back the smile. “I’d stay at college?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You really think I’d expect you to abandon your studies because you had a baby? What century do you think I live in?” He points to the grey at his temple. “I may be ageing, Melissa Henley, but I am not a caveman, thank you very much.” His eyes twinkle and my heart does a weird stutter.

  He wants it.

  Oh my God. He really wants it.

  And I know we’ve talked about it, in one day terms, and I know he loves his boys and loves Joe, too. I know he’s an amazing dad. I know he’s great with kids.

  I just didn’t know he’d want this right here and know. I didn’t know he’d be so…

  “You’re amazing,” I speak aloud. “I hope you know how much I love you.”

  “You make it pretty clear.” His lips press to my cheekbone. It’s the most natural thing in the world to turn my face and meet his mouth with mine. “You’re distracting me,” he says between kisses. “Bathroom. Now.”

  But I can’t stop. I can’t stop kissing the man I love.

  I’m kissing him even as he pulls me to my feet and tangles his fingers in my hair. I’m kissing him as his hand comes to rest on my stomach so gently, as though he really wants it to be true.

  In that one moment, I’m ready.

  “I’m nervous,” I admit.

  “Petrified, I imagine,” he says. “But we’ll be great, whatever the outcome.”

  I smile, because I know we will.

  I twirl the rings on my wedding finger, a habit of mine. I guess it’s because I still struggle to believe it, that he’s really mine, for keeps.

  Forever.

  “Let’s do it,” I say.

  “Good girl,” he says, and sets off for the house with my hand still in his.

  The boys and Dean are happy enough chatting football around the kitchen table. Brutus is chewing his chew in the hall as we head right on upstairs.

  My heart is thumping like crazy as Alexander leads me through to our bedroom and takes one of the tests from his bedside drawer.

  He holds open the en-suite door for me, and my throat is dry as I step on inside.

  I get a whirlwind of crazy memories. Of the very first night I ever spent with him, when I was convinced he was going to piss in my mouth.

  Of eating breakfast with him the first night I ever stayed at his.

  Of our first night here, in this place. Our first night in our new bed where he loved me all night long.

  I tug up my summer dress and pull down my knickers, sitting happily on the toilet while Alexander unboxes the test.

  He hands it to me with the stick thing ready to roll, then drops to his knees in front of me.

  Butterflies take flight all over again as he parts my knees and stares so intently at my pussy. It takes me a few seconds to overcome the nerves enough to pee, but when I start I move quickly, shoving that dipstick right into the flow and hoping I’m doing this right.

  “That’s it,” he says, and I keep going, mind spinning as I try to work out what I’m really most afraid of – the test being positive or negative.

  It’s a strange sensation to discover I’m most scared of it being negative.

  It’s a stranger sensation still to discover how much I really want that little blue line to show.

  I hand it over and he puts the cap back on the end.

  And we wait.

  Fuck, how we wait.

  Every second takes a lifetime.

  He rests his arms on my knees as we both stare down at that little window.

  And then the faintest blue line begins to show.

  My heart pounds in my temples.

  He’s smiling as he looks up at me.

  “I think you may need to let college know you’ll need a bit of flexibility with your classes. I’m sure they will accommodate.”

  “It’s really real?” I ask.

  He holds up the test, shaking it to prove it’s not a mirage.

  The line is really there.

  Pregnant.

  I’m really pregnant.

  “It’s really real, Melissa,” he says. “We’re having a baby.”

  My hand is over my mouth and tears are pricking my eyes, but I’m smiling.

  He lifts my summer dress higher over my belly and runs his fingers over my skin.

  “We’re having a baby,” he says again, and kisses the bump which isn’t there yet.

  I run my fingers through his hair. “We’re having a baby,” I say.

  Fuck.

  We really are.

  His eyes speak a thousand words as he looks up at me, and all of them are happy.

  “I love you, Melissa Henley,” he tells me. “I can’t wait to meet our newest family member.”

  And neither can I.

  We’re having a baby.

  It’s crazy. But it’s crazy good.

  I pull him close and hold him tight. His heart thumps fast against mine and it makes me smile.

  When he kisses me I never want him to stop, and if it weren’t for the voices outside on the landing I don’t think he ever would.

  “Dad?! Half time’s over!” Matthew calls, and Joe’s sweet little voice chimes in after him.

  “Lissa! Half time’s over!”

  Alex’s forehead is pressed to mine as we hold back laughter.

  “When do we tell them?” I whisper.

  “Soon,” he whispers back. “But not today. We’ll think about how best to tell everyone, but right now this is our thing. Let’s enjoy the secret for just a little while.”

  I nod. Smile.

  Our secret.

  “Coming!” I shout to the boys.

  “You will be later, Mrs Henley,” Alex whispers, and it makes me blush.

  He pulls my knickers up before I can even reach for them, kisses my thigh before I get to my feet.

  “Second half,” I say. “I really should give you that yellow card.”

  He smirks. “Another kid will even up the teams at least, since you insist on being referee.”

  “Maybe we’ll produce a whole team eventually,” I joke, but he doesn’t laugh.

  “Maybe we will,” he says.

  And as I watch him play the second half with his boys, Joe and Dean, something tells me having a whole football team of Alexander Henley’s children really wouldn’t be that bad.

  It really wouldn’t be that bad at all.

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Johnny, my incredible editor, this one has been quite a ride, and I’ve loved every minute, as always. Thank you so much for pulling out all the stops for me.

  Letitia, you always do me proud with the cover. You are amazing! Thank you so much.

  Tracy, my awesome and tireless PA, I still love your face after two years, and I hope you still love mine. Thank you for all the hard work.

  To Louise and Leigh for reading my early copies. Your input is so appreciated!

  Michelle and Lesley, thank you so much as always.

  To my amazing reader group, you ladies (and gents) are all kinds of awesome! Thank you so much for your support and enthusiasm – and your patience with this one!

  So many friends to thank! Lisa, Dom, Jo, Sue, Siobhan, James, Lauren, Tom and the lovely Maria… I’m so honoured to know you all. Thank you all for putting up with my incessant book-speak!

  Isabella and Demi, you changed my life, for real. I hope you know how much I love you for it.

  Isa, thanks for being here for the second time in row I hit publish. I hope you realise this is going to be a ‘thing’ from now on. You might just have to move in…

  Jon, your support means everything, as always.

  My amazing family, I hope you know how important you are.

  Bloggers and the amazing fellow authors who support me every day! Thank you so much! This community is incredible. I’m so honoured to be a part of it.

  And of course, to my readers! Thank you for taking the time to
read Buy Me, Sir. I hope you enjoyed the experience.

  If you love Alexander Henley even half as much as I enjoyed writing him, I’ll be a very happy author indeed. ❤ x

  DELICATE SCARS

  ALTA HENSLEY

  To my sweet Ava and Kenna.

  Everything I do is for you.

  And to Mr. Hensley…my dream maker.

  CHAPTER ONE

  LOVE AT FIRST FUCKING SIGHT

  QUINN

  IS it possible to pick that one defining moment in life that fucked you up? I think it is fair to say that everyone in the world is messed up one way or the other. But can everyone look back on their life and pinpoint the exact minute it happened? I used to believe I wasn’t fucked up. I had absolutely no reason to be. I was actually one of the few people who could say I had a good childhood. Middle income family, parents who stayed married, average upbringing. Nothing there to fuck me up.

  Maybe I could say I was fucked up by Anthony Cruz when he tried to take my virginity at the age of fifteen, but it wasn’t like rape or anything. I thought I was ready but it still felt like he was taking it rather than me giving it. So, I screamed no, and luckily for me, he stopped. However, other than the fact that he lied and told everyone we had hot and wild sex, then dumped me right afterwards, I still wouldn’t say he fucked me up.

  My life was fairly easy growing up. I wouldn’t exactly say I was spoiled, but I never had to struggle. My parents paid for my car when I was sixteen, paid for my entire college education so I never had to get some lame part time job, and even helped pay my bills now so I could follow my dream of becoming a novelist.

  My sister had died recently, and although it ripped my soul out of my body and shredded my heart into a million pieces, I survived. It didn’t change the core of who I was, nor put me in the fucked up category. I was able to move on just like every other person in the world who has lost a loved one. I went on one day at a time. But the truth of the matter was life simply wasn’t a struggle for me. Call me one of the lucky ones, I guess.

  I WASN’T FUCKED UP…

  Until I met him.

  Axel Rye.

  Yes.

  He fucked me up.

  He really fucked me up.

  THE DEAFENING CLUB music pulsated through my body, the bass pounding at my ears like a hammer. I made a mental note to try to describe the sensation when I wrote my book. One more thing to add to my ever-growing list of story notes. I wanted my readers to understand the power the music possessed. I wanted to somehow successfully describe how the sound waves actually woke every nerve in your body and caused each one to vibrate from your head to your toes. I wanted to explain in detail how each thump of the bass made your entire core hum in excitement. Recounting this club would definitely be a challenge. How could you possibly express the inside of a nightclub without sounding like a washed-up poet?

  I took off my apron at the end of my shift, desperate for a break. Standing on my feet for so many hours was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Bartending was no joke, and after working the job for one night, I felt bad for not tipping all my bartenders in the past way better than I did. My feet were killing me and that was with me wearing black ballet-slipper-like shoes, unlike all the five-inch heels the other women in the club wore. How they stood and balanced on the spikes, let alone danced, amazed me.

  The club was hot, sticky, crowded, and I really wanted to get some fresh air and maybe a small moment of silence. I scanned the room, looking for my friend Felicity again. She had promised to meet me at the club before my shift ended and at least be a familiar face amongst the crowd of complete strangers.

  The girl could socialize her way through anything. Selfish as fuck sometimes, but she had been my friend since sixth grade, and we just meshed somehow. She was wild; I was not. She was fun, while I bored even myself sometimes. She had helped me land this job, a job completely out of my element, bartending at one of the most popular clubs in Los Angeles. Felicity had also offered me a place to stay while I did the research needed to write my book on the seedy life of nightclubs, drugs, and all the glitz and glamour laced with gritty shadows. I had high hopes I’d get enough real life details to expand into a book, but didn’t know how much information I could really gather. My editor Harrison—if you could really call him an editor since he only free-lanced for beginners like me and was trying to break into the publishing world himself—had thought it would be a good idea for me to completely go undercover and immerse myself in the everyday life… or nightlife, as it were. He said I lived in a suburban dollhouse and had no idea what happened beyond the key-entry gates. And unless I wanted to write a cookbook or some sugary puppy love young adult romance, I had to branch out and expand my life experiences. I agreed the investigation might make my book more genuine and complex, and I did feel as if I was trapped in the white box of boring. I also didn’t want to just get the generic, canned answers from an interview. Or write about something I knew absolutely nothing about and risk the readers sensing my ignorance. I had never been a partier unless you counted the couple times I drank from a beer bong at a frat party. But for this book—especially since it would be my debut—I wanted to go deeper and really capture the heart behind it all. I wanted the truth, the feelings, the reality.

  Glancing at the clock, I saw that Felicity was over an hour late. Had my friend really flaked on me? Felicity had a habit of getting “lost,” but she wouldn’t just forget about me, or at least I hoped not. I had counted on her for a ride back to our apartment. Not wanting to walk through the wall of sweaty bodies by myself, I decided to just stay put a little longer and wait for her. I took in some of the faces around me and wondered if I should mingle and make some friends.

  Yeah, like that was really going to happen.

  Being outgoing was not my strength, so I chose to sit and observe instead.

  A commotion got my attention, and I turned toward the front entrance to find a crowd gathered around a group of men who had just walked in. I stiffened, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I swallowed the lump forming in the back of my throat, my heart leaping as I saw the man I wanted to get to know. He was the key to my success. Tall. Handsome. Tattoos in all the right places. Face hidden in darkness. The pictures I had seen, and all the media coverage I’d watched, did not do this man justice. A single picture could not capture the raw power and strength rippling through him. The control, the authority, the mystery.

  Axel Rye.

  I watched with interest. I’d been told this club—Wicked—was the place to be. I hadn’t heard of it before, not until Felicity raved about the place and the people who frequented the spot like Axel Rye. He was clearly in demand by just watching all the people turn his way the minute he walked in. My new boss at the club confirmed my belief that Axel Rye was the hot ticket when he had told me to always cater to Axel and his friends’ needs. Never say no to the man. I was told Axel provided something crucial to the nightclub and the partygoers—drugs.

  Trying to act cool, but feeling uneasy being in the same room with a known drug dealer, I looked around for Felicity again, feeling more than a little annoyed at still having to wait. I was completely out of my element and having serious doubts I could even do this… that I even wanted to do this. Who was I to think I could simply immerse myself in the scene and hang out with celebrities like Axel Rye… if you really could call him a celebrity? Although I guess in this scene he was—as fucked up as that was. Notoriety equaled fame, and Axel Rye was definitely notorious.

  A deep wave of laughter erupted directly behind me, and I turned to find the same group of men I’d seen walk in just moments earlier. A flock of women surrounded them, flirting, dancing, and having a good time. Axel Rye stood in the middle of it all. He looked different than when I last saw him on television. Granted, when I watched him on TV he was in a suit and tie being escorted out of a courthouse by his team of lawyers after just being found not guilty of all drug charges. I had watched in awe when his arrog
ant ass hopped in a black Escalade as if he was innocent as an angel.

  He was guilty.

  Everyone knew it. He just had the money to buy his way out of a jail sentence. Or his rich rock star daddy did. Axel Rye was the son of the famous singer Jamison Rye, and the word “rich” wasn’t a strong enough term to describe the wealth that family had. They were helicopters and yacht rich. Axel Rye—though everyone thought was cool as fuck—was nothing but a trust fund baby. He hadn’t worked a real job a day in his life, so the fact he sold drugs wasn’t out of need to feed his family, pay for medical bills or for any other romanticized reason. No, he simply sold drugs because he wanted to and because he could.

  But God, he was fucking handsome as hell.

  And he was so close I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. I had researched the crap out of this guy, and even though he was a complete stranger, I did have an odd sense I knew him. I had stared at his face and read countless articles while brainstorming and outlining my book. As odd as it was, this man was no stranger to me.

  He was laughing when our eyes met, and I almost peed my pants from the huge weight in my stomach when I realized he caught me staring at him. His laugh stopped, and the smile on his face seemed to melt away slowly. He stood there frozen, his chiseled face almost demanding to be touched. The scar near his lower lip caught my eye. For a moment, I thought he might say something, but then I heard Felicity come up behind me.

  “Hey there,” she said, a bit winded.

  I snapped out of my groupie stare and watched as she wiggled her way to the bar and ordered a drink. “Crazy night! Sorry I’m so late.”

  “It’s okay. I was actually hoping to leave. It’s been a long night.”

  Acting as if she hadn’t heard me, she simply stared ahead until the bartender made and delivered her her drink. She grabbed her cocktail and spun around, taking in the dancing bodies around her. Bobbing her head to the music, she instantly fit in. “You do realize, Quinn, who that was staring at you, right?”