RISE - Part Three (The RISE Series Book 3)

by Deborah Bladon

  Epilogue – 3 Months Later

  "If Gianna told you that Asher isn't your father's son, I think you need to accept that and drop it. Asher is a Foster."

  I reach across the table to grab a piece of toast from Landon's plate. "I still think that he's my brother. I studied him when we went to see him perform two weeks ago. Don't tell me that you don't think he looks like me?"

  "Your hair is the same color." He playfully pulls on a few strands of my hair. "He looks more like Gabriel than you."

  That's true. Gabriel had come to the venue that night as well and when I saw him standing next to his younger brother, there was no mistaking the resemblance between the two of them.

  "Remember what your dad said when you asked him about Asher?" He takes a bite of the bacon he prepared. "He told you that he'd already discussed it with Gianna and that Asher has a father he loves very much. He asked you to leave it be because there's nothing there."

  I'd waited until I was back in New York after the Liore pop-up shop event before I asked my father about the timing of his relationship with Gianna. He was open about the details, telling me that their trysts had spanned a period of many years. Their relationship had been on-and-off but the pull was there for a very long time.

  I wasn't shocked by that. I was disappointed and saddened but I understand now that my father's actions don't reflect who I am.

  I can't imagine ever wanting anyone but Landon. He's fulfilled me in ways that have transcended the times we spend in our bedroom. I'd moved in with on, on a whim, right after we'd returned from Los Angeles.

  I hadn't brought up his father during that time at all. One night, he did, and as I explained the details of my discussion with Frederick, Landon had gone from clenching his hands in anger to weeping over the loss of his father from his life.

  He's never gone to visit him and I haven't again either. He's a part of our past now and until, or if, Landon chooses to change that, I'm going to honor what he wants.

  "Are you going to come to Athens with me next month?"

  I lean back in my chair, pulling his robe tightly around my body. "You asked me that same question an hour ago."

  He cocks a brow. "I asked you that when I was buried inside of you because I wanted you to agree to it."

  "You need to learn that you can't expect me to answer anything when you're fucking me." I lick the traces of bread from my bottom lip. "I can't talk when that's happening."

  He follows my lead and his tongue lashes out to moisten his bottom lip. "We need to celebrate our engagement. I want to do that in Greece."

  My gaze falls to the beautiful, round diamond on my left hand. He'd proposed last week when he came to my office. I'd looked up to see him standing in the doorway with the ring on his pinky finger.

  I'd rushed into his arms then. He'd whispered into my ear that he loved me and didn't want to waste any more time. His heart knew I was the one. My heart knew too.

  "I want to plan an engagement party here first." I reach for my smartphone. "We can invite my mom and that man she's being seeing, Bob. There's my dad, Dane, Bridget, Lilly will want to be there, your mom can come if she wants..."

  His head falls back in laughter. "If she wants? You know she'll want to."

  "It will be the beginning of our new life." I'm on my feet and around the table before he has time to say anything.

  He pushes his chair back from the table and pats his pajama covered lap. "Sit here."

  I gleefully slide into his lap, wrapping my hands around his neck.

  "Every day that I get to wake up loving you is a new life for me, Tess." His lips glide along my cheek. "We're leaving out past behind us and building a future together. It's just the two of us."

  I look into his beautiful, kind eyes. "The past is the past. Here's to our future."

  He doesn't say a word. He doesn't need to. I feel it all when he lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me deeply.

  Preview of HAZE – The Standalone

  Featuring Gabriel Foster

  "How long have you worked here?" His voice is cultured, deep and smooth. It's not uncommon to hear a voice like that in this boutique. I've worked here for six weeks now and at least twice a week a man with too much money and an insatiable need to see young women dressed in expensive lingerie will come waltzing through the doors.

  "Welcome to Liore," I say softly as I glance to my left to where he's standing.

  I have to look up. He's large, not just in height but in his shoulder's breadth. His eyes are a rich brown, his hair just as dark. His nose is sculptured and his jaw has a definite curve to it. The suit he's wearing is dark blue, perhaps even black. It's hard to tell under the chandelier lights that decorate this opulent space.

  "Isla." His eyes hover over my chest before they settle on my nametag. "It's nice to meet you, Isla."

  "It's lovely to meet you..." I pause. It's not only because I've been instructed to grab the name of each customer to give them a personal shopping experience. I want to know his name.

  "Gabriel," he offers with a light touch of his hand on mine.

  The name is oddly familiar. As I work to place it, I see him peering across the boutique at my boss. "Is there something I can help you find, Gabriel? Are you purchasing something for a girlfriend, or perhaps, your wife?"

  His expression shifts slightly. "I have neither."

  That's a pity but it's not. This is exactly the type of man I envisioned in my mind's eye when I arrived in Manhattan. I graduated from high school less than two years ago and my dreams of attending Julliard on a scholarship had vanished as quickly as my clean record when I broke one too many rules in high school.

  "Is there something in particular that you're looking for?" I catch the faint wave of the hand of one of my co-workers across the aisle. I ignore it because when a customer is ready to buy, the store could be engulfed in flames, and I'm not moving an inch. The commissions here are the highest I've ever earned in retail and the secret to guarantee a big sale is to make the customer feel as though they're the only one in the boutique.

  His eyes scan the various bras we have displayed before they move to the lace panties and garters. "If I asked you to try something on for me, Isla, would you do that? Would you take me into one of the change rooms with you?"

  I've read the employee handbook. No, I skimmed it briefly while on my way to work that first day weeks ago. The number one rule is to never take a customer into the rooms. Men who lead you into those quiet spaces are craving more than a private fashion show. I know that. "I'm sorry, Gabriel. That's against company policy."

  He studies my face carefully. The dark shadow around my blue eyes looks hideous in the alarming bright light of the morning, but in here it's sensual and alluring. My shoulder length blonde hair is straight today, a sharp contrast to my high cheekbones. I'm here to sell lingerie and the light pink wrap around dress I'm wearing accentuates everything it needs to. He hasn't walked away yet, so he's still primed to buy.

  He closes the short distance between us as he steps towards me. "You don't strike me as the type of young woman who follows all the rules."

  It's tempting. Not just because of the extra money I'd find in my pocket. "I don't follow rules, Gabriel. If you want a private show, I can come to your office after work."

  His brow cocks with the suggestion. "Is that something you offer to customers often?"

  I've never offered it before. "I only offer it to the ones who peak my interest."

  "I'll give you my card." His hand dips into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

  I take it from his long, elegant fingers and look down at it. I don't have time to read the details before my boss is upon us.

  I turn to look at her but she's staring at Gabriel. Her hand leaps to his shoulder.

  "Mr. Foster," she says slowly. "I see that you've met our newest girl. Isla, you're explaining everything we offer to Mr. Foster, yes?"

  I look down at the card of Mr. Gabriel Foster, the CEO of Foster
Enterprises and the man who owns this boutique.

  "Isla has been very cordial." He glides the tip of his index finger along my wrist. "She's coming by my office today. I'll expect you at four, Isla."

  "At four," I repeat back. "I'll be there at four, Sir."

  His eyes skim slowly over my body before they stop on my face. "Don't be late and bring those samples we spoke of."

  I freeze as his hand runs up my arm before he brushes past me towards the front of the shop.

  Coming Fall 2015

  Preview of TORN – The Standalone

  Featuring Asher Foster

  "Are they low enough?"

  "Pull them up." I wave my arm in the air towards one of the three female assistants he walked in with. "I need them higher."

  He pushes their eager hands away as he adjusts the waistband of his button-fly jeans. I'd told him to strip down to just his pants as soon as he stepped foot into my studio. He had done that effortlessly. His hands tugging the white sweater he was wearing over his head to reveal a toned chest and stomach covered by the expected tattoos.

  I'd walked closer to ask him to remove the bracelets and necklaces he had on. His eyes had been glued to mine the entire time.

  I admit he's much more attractive than most of the men who traipse through here. His hair may be a tousled mess of brown but his eyes more than make up for that. They're framed by long lashes, the irises a shade of chestnut I haven't seen before.

  It's no surprise that he warrants the attention he does in the media.

  Asher Foster has the number one song in the country right now. On top of that, he wrote it. I listened to it on my phone before he arrived. It's moody, soulful and surprisingly brilliant.

  I look through the lens of my camera. "I need that light moved to the left."

  My assistant, Remy, darts into action. She pulls it over just a touch. I'd be lost without her, especially right now, given that the small space is filled with at least ten people, all part of the entourage that arrived with the Asher.

  I take another glance. It's almost perfect save for the fact that when I asked him to show me some skin, he took it to a level that's bordering on obscene.

  I step around the tripod and walk back towards where he's standing in front of a pale, grey canvas hung from the ceiling.

  I point towards his jeans. "You can button those back up."

  He looks down. "I thought you wanted me almost naked."

  He's taller than I am, but only by an inch or two. It helps that I'm wearing boots with heels today. I wouldn't have chosen this short of a skirt if I'd have known that he'd be here. I try my best to always look professional but when it's over 100 degrees outside, you have to make concessions. I'm thankful I at least took the time this morning to wash and sweep my curly brown hair up so it looks controllable.

  I've already established myself as the go-to photographer for celebrities in New York City. Granted, it only constitutes part of my business, but it's the most lucrative part. I'm making enough off this shoot today to pay my rent for both the studio and my apartment for the next two months.

  "It was my understanding that the photograph needed to be tasteful."

  "You don't think this is tasteful." There's a low growl to his voice. "Tell me what's not tasteful about it."

  The room may be milling with people, but his focus is entirely on me. I've felt that since he walked in. I imagine he's used to women taking him up on everything he offers to them. There's no denying it's tempting. I only need to look down at the top of his cock visible through the opening of his jeans to know that the man is very comfortable with his body.

  "I'd prefer if you buttoned your jeans up."

  "Why?" His eyes darken. "Tell me what you don't like about the way I look."

  There's no way in hell this man needs his ego stroked. If that's what fuels his fire he need only turn around to where every single woman in the room, including Remy, is standing with their lips at the ready.

  I've always been mildly curious about why so many women are drawn towards musicians. I don't have to wonder anymore. His confidence is undeniable but it hasn’t crossed the line to cocky yet. He's just the right balance of rawness mixed with blatant aggression.

  "I think I look good." He playfully nods towards his groin. "You think I look good too, don't you, Falon?"

  I look around the room before I rest my hand against his shoulder and lean in just a touch. "As impressive as your dick is, I don't want it in my pictures."

  Coming Soon

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  About the Author

  Deborah Bladon has never read a romance hero she didn't like. Her love for romance novels began when she was old enough to board the bus, library card in hand to check out the newest Harlequin paperbacks. She's a Canadian by heart, and by passport, but you can often spot her in New York City sipping a latte and looking for inspiration for her next story. Manhattan is definitely her second home.

  She cherishes her family and believes that each day is a gift for writing, for reading, and for loving.