Vow of Atonement

by Emma Renshaw

  Vow of Atonement

  Emma Renshaw

  Just Read Books LLC

  Vow of Atonement

  Copyright © 2018 by Emma Renshaw. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editor: Lisa LaPaglia

  Evident Ink

  www.evidentink.com

  Line Editor: Traci Finlay

  Traci Finlay

  www.tracifinlay.com

  Proofreader: Catherine Cowles

  Interior Formatting: Stacey Blake

  Champagne Book Design

  www.champagnebookdesign.com

  Cover Design: Hang Le

  By Hang Le

  www.byhangle.com

  Cover Photo: Adobe Stock

  Photographer: CURAphotography

  Photo ID: 139876483

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Visit my website: www.emmarenshaw.com

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  1. Harper

  2. Harper

  3. Harper

  4. Harper

  5. Harper

  6. Roman

  7. Harper

  8. Roman

  9. Harper

  10. Roman

  11. Harper

  12. Roman

  13. Harper

  14. Roman

  15. Harper

  16. Roman

  17. Harper

  18. Roman

  19. Harper

  20. Roman

  21. Harper

  22. Roman

  23. Harper

  24. Roman

  25. Harper

  26. Harper

  27. Harper

  28. Roman

  29. Harper

  30. Roman

  31. Harper

  32. Roman

  33. Harper

  34. Harper

  35. Roman

  36. Harper

  37. Roman

  38. Harper

  39. Harper

  40. Roman

  41. Harper

  42. Harper

  43. Roman

  44. Harper

  45. Roman

  46. Harper

  47. Roman

  48. Harper

  49. Roman

  50. Harper

  51. Roman

  52. Harper

  53. Roman

  Epilogue

  FOR MORE INFO

  Acknowledgments

  Also By Emma Renshaw

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To Catherine,

  I don’t think half these words would be written without you. I’m eternally thankful for the wormhole and our twinsie friendship. Love you big!

  And, always to my husband,

  Thank you for everything you do for me while I’m inside my head with my characters. I love you fiercely.

  Author’s Note

  Thank you so much for reading Vow of Atonement! There are a few Spanish sentences throughout the novel. I’m so sorry if any of the Spanish translations are incorrect. If you find any, you can blame my Spanish speaking husband. :)

  1

  Harper

  Holy shit.

  “Wow.” I hear a whisper behind me. I can't turn my head to look at Camille; I know we’re seeing the same thing.

  I mindlessly wipe the corner of my mouth. I must be drooling. I subtly push my chin, so I can close my open jaw. Heat creeps up my neck. I feel the stranger’s eyes sweeping my form in a dangerous caress. My breath is caught in my throat, my gaze fixated on the man striding toward us.

  The moment he enters my boutique, Harper Avenue, all air escapes my lungs and my hand freezes on the glass display. Standing in the doorway is every woman’s fantasy, he smoothly pulls the sunglasses from his face, deposits them in his crisp, designer, perfectly tailored suit pocket, and scans the room until his eyes fall on me. Like a moth to a flame, I can’t look away. He moves closer and I’m tilting toward him. He strides toward me with confident, purposeful steps, eyes raking over my body. When his gaze rests on my face, his full lips turn into a seductive smile.

  I’m a gazelle caught in a lion’s trap. I gulp. When he finally reaches me, I stare down at the large, copper-toned hand between us, waiting for me to make a move.

  Only seconds have passed but it feels longer trapped under his watchful eyes. “Yeah, she’s Harper,” I hear Camille say. I didn’t hear the man ask a question. I wonder why her voice sounds like she’s speaking underwater, but I don’t turn toward her. I can't stop staring at this stranger’s hand. I see hints of black tattoo ink beneath his crisp, white shirt cuff. The sharp pinch on the back of my arm finally pulls me from my haze. I slap at the stinging pinch on my arm and turn my face toward Camille, throwing daggers at her with my eyes. She’s staring back at me with puppy dog eyes, melting my annoyance. Tilting her head, she motions to the man standing on the other side of the counter and speaks quietly. “Uh, Harp, this guy wants to talk to you.”

  “Harper Maxwell?” he questions, in a smooth, seductive tone with the barest hint of an accent.

  My gaze shifts back to the newcomer, feeling out of sorts again. Immediately I am lost in the dark pits of his eyes. They’re so dark I swear they’re black, there’s no hint of color or light playing amongst the darkness. The long lashes framing his eyes make them look even darker, more ominous. My eyes slowly slide down his strong, perfectly straight nose until they fall on relaxed lips that give nothing away. There’s no smile playing on the edges or frown to give me a glimpse into his thoughts about me, this strange girl who simply can’t stop staring. His full, soft, dusty-pink lips pull into a smirk under my scrutiny. I snap my eyes back to his, rolling my lips between my teeth, as the heat deepens the blush on my cheeks. I bite back my groan of mortification. He probably thinks I come from a faraway land and have never seen a man before.

  “Y-yes,” I stammer, clutching the cleaning cloth tightly in my fist. I stand straight and push back my shoulders. Fake it until you make it. If I can’t feel confident in front of this man, I can pretend to be a confident, strong, independent business owner—even if I feel like a little girl playing dress up under his watchful eyes.

  His smirk turns into a full grin before he holds out his hand again. I’m not sure when he dropped it the first time, probably around the time my eyes took a slow journey from his eyes to his lips. I place my hand in his smooth, warm palm, unable to contain the shiver that races up my spine as his fingers rub soft, slow circles on the inside of my wrist. I’m quickly melting into a puddle on my countertop, certain that if he asked me to dance a little jig in trade for a small caress, I’d find myself on top of the counter dancing my heart out.

  “I am Rafael Bazán.”

  The gooey puddle turns rock-flipping-solid with annoyance and caution. I try to tug my hand from his when I recognize his name, but he holds it firmly in his grasp. This man is the new owner of my building. I've been terrified to meet him. The old landlord wouldn't tell me anything about the new owner, and the sale of the building was abrupt and s
urprising. Some of the other tenants in the building closed their doors quickly. I vowed to stay right where I was until forcibly removed. I won’t give up my store without a fight.

  “Mr. Bazán, it's nice to meet you.”

  He cuts me off. “Believe me, muñeca, the pleasure is all my mine.” His voice is practically a purr, trying to seduce me. He brings my hand to his lips, never looking away from my eyes as he lays a soft kiss on my skin.

  “Mr. Bazán,” I begin, trying unsuccessfully to pull my hand from his grip again. His magnetic stare hasn't released me.

  “Rafael. Call me Rafael.” A slight edge is in his tone. His other hand lands on top of mine, making the skin trapped between his palms hot. His eyes are boring holes into my skin and the smile playing on his lips makes me feel like I'm caught playing a game—only I don't have the rulebook for this game.

  I hesitate, not sure I want to lose formality with this stunning man in front of me. He holds the key to all my dreams. If he gouges the price of rent, I'll have to move my business. I refuse to do that. I love this area of Austin with its trendy shops and eclectic vibe. Harper Avenue fits with the neighborhood. I've cultivated my store from the ground up to make it the go-to trendy boutique. I have a loyal customer base in the area. If I move to a cheaper area, I don't know if my customers would be willing to battle traffic to visit my shop.

  He squeezes my hand firmly, but not painfully. “Rafael, muñeca.”

  I rack my brain for the meaning of that word. I don’t speak Spanish, but I’ve heard it often enough that I can pick up some words, but this one is new to me. I've blocked Spanish from my mind for a long time, which is a feat in and of itself, living in Texas. Spanish reminds me of too many nights spent with another man and of those I’ve lost.

  “Rafael,” I say, finally relenting. He lets go of my hand this time, and I let it fall back to my side. “Would you like to step into my office?”

  “Yes,” Rafael says leaning toward me. I spin, but slam into Camille, completely forgetting she is right next to me.

  Camille whispers in my ear as I edge around her, “If you don't want him, I'll take him.”

  I ignore her and Rafael’s chuckle, striding straight into my office to sit behind my large, white desk. Rafael takes a seat in one of the blush-pink velvet chairs on the other side of my desk. He relaxes, a long, thick leg crossed with his ankle resting on his other knee. When he leans toward me, I lean back in my chair, trying to keep distance between us.

  I remain silent, waiting to see what the first words out of his mouth will be. My neighboring tenants are moving out, closing up their businesses almost overnight. Do I start begging to keep my rent the same? Do I wait to see what he will say? Rafael is one of the most attractive men I have ever seen in person, but there’s a quiet, intimidating factor swirling around him. A ball of nerves sits in stomach as I wait for him to slam down his proverbial gavel on the sentence I know he’s about to unleash.

  “I recently acquired this building,” Rafael says smoothly, his hands sweeping in front of him. I don’t miss the slight tilt of his head, begging me to play this game with him. He’s waiting for the contradiction from me. I don’t say the words my store out loud, but they’re sitting between us as if they’re lit up on a neon sign. He wants me to know he owns this space. The building may be his, but the store is mine.

  “Yes, I heard,” I say, smoothing my hands over nonexistent wrinkles in my outfit. I hesitate adding more, but his intimidating stare loosens my lips. I can’t help the note of hysteria that comes across in my voice. “I recently signed a two-year contract with a locked-in rate on rent with the previous owner.”

  “I know, muñeca,” he says as his lips split into a sinister smile, giving me another glimpse of his perfect, white teeth.

  I gulp, removing my eyes from his, fearing I’ll be turned to stone if I stare into them for so long. There is no doubt this man is sexy and intriguing, but one word keeps scrolling across the front of my brain as I stare at him. Dangerous.

  A dangerous man in an impeccable three-piece suit, a honey-rich voice, and an irresistible smile. If I were anything other than a piece on his gameboard and if my life didn’t rely on the outcome of this game, I just might feel lucky to be sitting across from someone like him. I might be charmed, but with the weight of my world resting my shoulders, this isn’t fun for me and I certainly don’t feel lucky to be sitting across from the man who can leave me jobless. Rafael leans closer to me, dropping his crossed leg back to the floor, and placing his arms on my desk. He hasn’t looked away from me one time, hasn’t looked around my office, has only watched me. The weight of his stare isn’t easy to miss.

  I am unable to stop the words as they spill past my lips, completely erasing the cool facade I’m hoping to show. “Who are you? Why did this sale happen so fast? I had a good relationship with the old owner. He told me nothing about you or why he suddenly decided to sell even though he’d just given me a two-year commitment. All the tenants around me seem to be closing up shop, never to be heard from again. They won’t answer my calls or emails. What’s happening? I demand to know.”

  An arrogant, mocking grin pulls at the edges of his lips. His gaze dips to my chest for a second, making his nostrils flare. When his eyes land back on mine there is an unmistakable heat burning in them. I suck in a breath, partially fascinated by the idea of heat with Rafael and partially terrified of getting even an inch closer to him. My chest is heaving after my rapid-fire questions.

  “You demand, muñeca?” Amusement is replacing the heat in his eyes. The corners of his lips are twitching as he suppresses a laugh.

  “Yes,” I say, hating the way my voice shakes, wishing I could make it sound stronger, more firm. I’m the confident woman who always has her shit together. Five minutes across from a sexy man is a designer suit and I’m nothing but a quaking, terrified little girl.

  “I will be the only one to make any kind of demand.” Rafael is full on smiling as he says each word slowly and seductively, making sure I don’t miss the innuendo laced within his statement. I roll my lips between my teeth, willing myself to calm down and praying my heart will slow. A battle rages within as fear seeps into my bones, but my heart races with excitement as an image of us tangled in sheets pops into my mind. I have no doubt he’s demanding in a bedroom. That’s something I will never find out, though.

  “I will honor your two-year contract,” Rafael finally states.

  My shoulders sag in relief as I let out a breath. He ignored every single one of my questions. I’m grateful that I seem to be safe for at least the next two years, but I worry about the reason for the mass exodus. “Why have so many other shops closed overnight?” I ask, twirling the ring on my finger.

  Rafael leans back into the chair, creating distance between us again. I hadn’t realized I started to lean toward him. He makes a small slicing motion through the air while he states in a firm, no-arguments tone, “Muñeca, while I would love to stay and talk with you all day, I will not discuss the status of any other resident’s contract with you, just as I will not discuss yours with them.”

  Rafael abruptly stands, leaving me confused at his sudden mood swing and firm tone. He straightens his suit before turning toward the door. I stand, brushing unseen lint off my dress as I walk around the desk to shake his hand. When I step in front of him and raise my gaze to meet his eyes, they’re traveling leisurely up my body. He takes a step closer, grabbing my hand and bringing it to his lips for the second time today. “Until next time, muñeca,” he whispers against my skin.

  “It—it was good to meet you,” I stammer, the blush creeping up my neck and heating my cheeks.

  He turns to exit my office, stopping in the doorway to face me again. I brace myself for what will come out of his mouth next. The flaming heat is back in his eyes and a sinister smile is on his lips. He looks like the devil ready to tempt me into a life of sin.

  “I am hosting a small meet and greet with my new tenants. Question
s can be asked, answers will be given. Dinner on me. I would like to get to know more about the establishments I have collected. A car service will arrive at seven to pick you up.”

  The bell on the front door of my shop chimes signaling his departure before I’m able to coherently respond.

  2

  Harper

  I stand in front of Harper Avenue’s door. Apprehension creeps up my spine as I look up and down the block, expecting the other store owners to be waiting much like me, but each storefront is abandoned. A black stretch limousine pulls up. I look around again, expecting it to take off down the street. Rafael wouldn’t have ordered a limo for the shop owners, would he? The street my shop is on is hardly ever quiet, and the eerie silence makes me wary of the black car in front of me.

  A tall man with broad shoulders steps out of the driver’s side door and strides around the limo. He doesn’t acknowledge me as he steps to the back door closest to me. I start taking slow steps back toward the front of my store while digging for my keys inside my bag. I’m really regretting not taking more self-defense classes with my best friend Savannah right now. I could stab him with my key. Or my heel. James, the local gym owner, showed me moves to break from an attacker’s clutches, but none are coming to mind. The only thing coming to mind is ripping the shoe from my foot and throwing it at this man while I run for my life.