by R. R. Banks
Oh, no.
The moment that thought popped into my head, another snapped in with it. The image of the two of us stripping down and rolling around on luxury bed sheets metamorphized into Kevin standing in the middle of my office. Kevin who I had asked to strip right after meeting him. Shit.
I grabbed my phone and called Terri.
"Hey!" she said when she answered. "I thought you couldn’t use your phone when you were in the air."
"We're haven’t taken off yet."
"Oh, good."
"Listen, did HR come down to my office?"
"HR?"
"Yeah, I was supposed to go up and talk to them a couple of days ago, but I forgot before I left for vacation."
"Why?"
"I think it probably has something to do with thinking that guy was auditioning for the Egyptian fundraiser."
"The one you asked to get naked and dance for you in your office?"
"I did not ask him to dance for me. But, yeah, that one."
"He stood in your office for two hours after you left."
"Oh, lord."
"That was months ago. Why is HR coming after you now?"
"I don't know. He seemed really happy with his new position. I thought it was all over, but then I got a note saying I was supposed to go talk to them. And I didn't."
"How in the world did you forget you were supposed to go talk to HR?"
I leaned forward and rested my forehead in my hand.
"I might be really bad at my job."
"No, you aren't. You're amazing at your job. You've completely turned things around here. Do you realize how much your fundraisers have made?"
"You've helped make it happen," I said.
"Listening to your ideas and nodding occasionally isn't exactly helping you. You have so much going on in your head, girl. It's no wonder you can't remember things sometimes. If I was you, I don't know if I would be able to remember to put my pants on in the morning. At least you've never come in bare-assed."
"I'll add that to my resume."
"You aren't going to need a resume anytime soon. HR did come down to see you. They said it wasn't a big deal you forgot to come up, and that they'll talk to you when you get back. It is about Kevin, but it's not a sexual harassment complaint. Apparently, he was intrigued by your interview and decided his true humanitarian calling is being a prop in your fundraisers."
"Seriously, Terri, you're going to have to stop that."
"Why? It's good for you. Keeps you on your toes. Keeps your brain moving."
"The brain that is already so full that I can't remember anything? Perfect." I sat up to let Luca step past me. I waited until he had disappeared through the curtains before I spoke again. "Oh, yeah, and speaking of not being able to remember anything, jot it down on my calendar to send your brother a fruit basket."
"For what?"
"To thank him for not coming."
"That's not very nice. Greg really is a good guy."
"I'm sure he is, Terri, but have you ever met Luca?"
I lowered my voice just in case he was lurking on the other side of the curtains.
"No. Why? Is he hot?"
"I am so flustered around him. He's got me alternating between rambling like an insane woman and acting like a raging bitch. This man is like nothing I've ever seen."
"Wait a minute. I thought you weren't in the market for a man. I thought all of this was totally no strings attached. You even offered to pay him. That puts you in a whole weird grey area."
"Pay that he turned down, just for the record. And just because I can't eat the pretty cupcake doesn't mean I can't enjoy standing at the bakery window."
"That good, huh?"
"Do you remember that tiramisu we had for dessert when we went out for Helen's birthday last month?"
"Oh my god, that was so good."
"It had that cream that was so sweet and luscious I said I wanted to just lick it up?"
"Yeah…"
Terri sounded intrigued, but at that moment I realized Luca was standing right beside me. I had been so caught up in trying to describe him I hadn't even realized he had come back. Oops.
"I really hope Thea has that on her dessert table. I think we're taking off soon, Terri. Gotta go. Bye."
I hung up the phone and flattened it to my lap as I leaned back to let him in, praying he hadn't been standing there long.
"Everything OK at work?"
"Hmm?"
"You were talking to Terri. That's Greg's sister, right? You know her from work."
"Oh," I could feel my face burning. "Yes. Yeah, that was Terri. I was just calling to check in on the office."
My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen.
"You got caught, didn't you?"
"Her again?" Luca asked. "They can't hold down the fort without you, huh?"
"We're a good team. You know what they say. There's no 'I' in intraoffice cooperation."
"Shut up." I typed back and hastily put my phone down again.
"Yes, there is. There's three actually."
"Send me a picture."
"I am not sending you a picture."
"Pics or it didn't happen."
"I'm not going to take a picture of him while we're sitting together on a plane for four hours."
"Picture or you're actually going with a troll."
"It's not going to happen, Terri."
"Picture or you are there by yourself."
I was positioned awkwardly in my seat, but I sighed, picked up my phone, and snapped a picture as fast as I could. I hoped that whatever Luca was doing on his own phone would distract him enough that he wouldn't notice, but he immediately looked up.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Did you just take a picture of me?"
"No. I wanted to send Thea a picture of the window. Let her know we're on the way."
He looked at the window beside him.
"It's closed."
"It's tradition."
"To send each other pictures of closed airplane windows before you take off?"
"Yes."
"I thought you said you didn’t like flying."
"Well, you know what they say. It's good luck to sit down in a seat on an airplane with a closed window."
What am I saying?
"Who is it you know that is saying these things?
Before I could come up with the next nonsensical lie, I heard a loud ding overhead. I gasped and grabbed onto the armrest. The voice of the flight attendant came over the loudspeaker, welcoming us aboard. I looked around.
"There's no one else on the plane," I whispered.
Luca glanced around and shrugged.
"I hear people back in coach. Maybe no one booked first class for this flight."
I nodded.
"Does that happen a lot?"
"I don’t know. Maybe."
I figured that made sense. The only way he would be able to snag us first class tickets through his connections with the airline was probably if there were plenty of seats available in the first place. And I think it’s safe to say that having no other passengers meant there were plenty of available seats. The flight attendant went over all the safety procedures and I listened with rapt attention. I had watched movies about planes landing in the ocean and all the passengers floating out on their seats. I could get behind that. But this flight wasn't going to be anywhere near the water until we got to the resort. I needed to know what to do if we went down on land. A few minutes later the plane started its taxi down the long runway.
"You're shaking," Luca said from beside me.
I realized I had pressed myself against the very back of the seat as I squeezed my eyes closed and gripped the armrest.
"I really don't like flying."
I said it under my breath, worrying that if I said it too loud it would somehow offend the plane.
"You've mentioned that," he said.
He didn't sound like he was mocking me. Inste
ad, his voice was low and soft again, compassionate even, as if he was trying to reassure me without having to say a word. A moment later, I felt his hand stroke mine as his fingers slipped under to touch my palm. His touch sent a shiver through me and I hesitated, trying not to let it affect me. Like Terri had said, that wasn't the intention of this week. I wasn't supposed to be attracted to Luca, and I certainly wasn't going to act on it. I just wanted to be there for Thea and hoped that pulling off this charade would somehow make that easier. I had to stop thinking about Luca that way. I had to ignore how sexy he was. I needed to maintain distance between us unless it was absolutely necessary.
I felt the pressure of the wheels beneath the plane release as we left the ground and I clasped onto his hand. The heat of his skin seemed to sear into mine.
I'd get right on that just as soon as my feet were on solid ground again.
See how Luca and Roxie’s story unfolds. Get Accidental Fiancé HERE
Accidentally Married (Sample)
By R.R. Banks
An Amazon Top 10 Bestseller
*310 Customer Reviews – 4.5/5 Stars
"Let's get married."
That was the last thing I had in mind.
Then I saw Holly, a curvy redhead in a tight green dress.
I knew she was mine. And I had to claim her.
I tasted her full lips and devoured every inch of her.
I woke up with a ring on my finger, but she was gone...
Our marriage was an accident, but my vows are real.
Finding her isn't easy. And I'm not the only one who wants her.
The cartel thinks they own her, but they have no clue.
I'm not your ordinary billionaire. I'm f*king ruthless.
I'll protect my wife. And our baby growing inside her
Chapter One
Michael
The night is dark, cold, and I've got a bad feeling. A really bad feeling. Gabriel Trujillo called me earlier and told me we needed to meet. And when Trujillo calls, you don't say no. You clear your fuckin' schedule and go where he tells you to. It's a lesson I learned the hard way.
I shudder and pull my coat tighter around me, attempting to ward off the chilly Colorado night. I'm standing in the parking lot of a rest stop on a hill, overlooking the city of Denver. I was born and raised here and I'm probably gonna die here. I just hope that death is still a long time comin' though.
My cell rings. I pull it out of my pocket and look at the ID. Trujillo.
“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself.
With a sigh, I connect the call and stare down at the glitter and sparkle of the lights in the city below me. I'm not an overly sentimental man, but looking down on the city makes me appreciate its beauty.
“I'm here,” I say irritably. “I've been here for twenty minutes already.”
“Running late,” Trujillo said, his Mexican accent coloring the words. “I'm a couple of minutes out. Relax, my friend.”
“Hurry up,” I snap. “It's freezing.”
I disconnect the call and drop the phone into my pocket. Ordinarily, I'm more deferential to Trujillo. Given who he is and what he does, it only seems prudent, if not wise. I don't know what got into me just now. Talking to him like that is a good way to get my teeth kicked down my throat.
I guess I'm just cold, tired, and stressed the fuck out.
Turning back, I stare out at the city again, trying to block out the cold, calm myself down, and not to think about what's about to happen. Truth is, I don't know what that is. Maybe nothing. Trujillo has a flair for the dramatic and might just want to make an impression by meeting me in this secluded spot in the middle of the night.
Yeah, either that or he's going to put two in the back of my fuckin' head.
A few minutes later, I see headlights coming around the bend and feel my balls tighten instantly in response. He's here. Shit.
“Get a grip,” I mutter to myself. “He can't kill you. Otherwise he gets nothing.”
It's something I've repeated to myself a million times already. And even now, after saying it one million and one times, it doesn't make me feel one iota better. Trujillo is a wild card. He's unpredictable and I never know what he's going to do, let alone what he’s thinking. He very well could decide that I’m more trouble than it’s worth. That he'll eat the money I owe him just to wash his hands of me. I just don't know.
And it's that uncertainty that has my balls climbing up into my throat.
The black SUV pulls into the rest stop, as I’m trying to avoid comparing the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires with the sound my bones would make beneath those same tires. The SUV pulls to a stop in front of me and the driver cuts the lights. After being nearly blinded by the headlights, it takes my eyes a minute to re-adjust to the darkness.
I hear the door open. Blinking away the spots, I watch as the driver walks around to the rear door and opens it. Gabriel Trujillo steps out of the vehicle and makes his way over to me. His dark hair is slicked back, and his thick beard neatly trimmed. The dark designer suit is well-fitted to his frame, with a vibrant blue pocket square, complete with matching tie - providing the only bit of color. Trujillo looks the part of a respectable businessman.
He's anything but respectable though.
Gabriel Trujillo is the head of one of the most notorious, violent, and brutal drug cartels in Mexico. Like most of the cartels, he's expanded his business operations into the U.S., moving drugs, guns, and girls. He's also eliminating his competitors along the way. The mass graves that seem almost commonplace south of the border these days, have been cropping up in places like Arizona and New Mexico. Recently, a couple had even been found in southern Colorado.
There is no question that Trujillo is solidifying his hold on power in this part of the States. And I'm right in the middle of all this shit. If I'd known who and what he was when he first approached me, I never would have gotten into bed with him in the first place. But, desperation and a lack of options make a man do stupid things sometimes. Hell, all the time.
He stops a couple of feet in front of me, smiling. He hands me one of the two cups he's holding. I look at it for a long moment, feeling completely uncertain.
“Cappuccino,” he says. “I picked one up for you on our way. Thought you might like something to warm you up.”
I reach out and take one of the cups, eyeballing it skeptically. “T-thanks.”
“You're welcome.”
We stand in silence for a moment, Trujillo sipping his drink as he looks out over the skyline of Denver, admiring it as I had been before he pulled up. I look down at the cup but don't drink, hoping he doesn't notice. Though, I know that poison isn't exactly his style. No, when Trujillo wants you dead, he makes a statement about it. It's a fact I've unfortunately had to learn as he seems to enjoy trumpeting his kills.
After a few moments, he turns around and looks at me. “It's beautiful up here at night,” he says. “Gorgeous view.”
I nod, as thick tendrils of dread wrap themselves around my throat, pulling tighter and tighter. Trujillo's eyes are darker than space and just as unfeeling. It's almost as if he can peel the skin off my bones and completely eviscerate me, with nothing more than a glance.
“Nice to see you, Michael,” Trujillo says, his accent rich and cultured. “Thank you for meeting me out here tonight.”
“Did I really have much of a choice?”
Trujillo smiles. “No, not really. But I am a firm believer in manners,” he says. “What can I say, my mother raised me to believe in being polite and observing social norms.”
“It's cold out here,” I say. “What can I do for you, Mr. Trujillo?”
“I was wondering about the money you owe me,” he says, his voice smooth and pleasant. “And more specifically, when I can expect full payment on your debt.”
I clear my throat and look down at the ground. “I'm working on it, Mr. Trujillo,” I reply. “I mean, we're doing a good job of cleaning a lot of it through the constr
uction projects, and –”
“Yes, you're cleaning some of it and turning a tidy profit,” he says. “But, that is ultimately, a slow process. Considering the interest accruing on your original loan, you're barely breaking even at this point. I'm looking for a more – substantial – payment, Michael.”
Shuffling my feet on the ground, I kick a small stone away. “I'm working on that, Mr. Trujillo,” I say softly. “Times have been tight lately. Some of my bids are getting undercut by –”
Trujillo moves so fast, I barely have time to register the fact that he's in motion before his hand lashes out and slaps the cup of coffee out of my grasp. I watch numbly as the cup sails through the darkness of the night, hitting the gravel of the rest stop. The top pops off and the drink spills out all over the ground.
I turn to Trujillo, my heart hammering, and a sick, queasy feeling rising in my stomach. He's staring at me, his eyes darker and harder than I've ever seen them before. Jaw clenched, body tense, fists balled at his sides, I can see Trujillo trying to physically control and restrain himself.
I should have known better. I feel myself grimacing. Trujillo is not a man who likes explanations and justifications. He expects results. Action. Those are the only things he respects.
“I don't want excuses, Michael,” he says, his voice as cold as his eyes. “I want my money.”
“I understand, Mr. Trujillo,” I say. “And I'm –”
He holds his hand up and I fall silent. The look of patience on his face is forced and I can tell, is taking a Herculean effort on his part.
“Michael, I want to make sure you understand the seriousness of your situation,” he says.
“I do, Mr. Trujillo,” I say.
The greasy, nauseous feeling rises even higher within me and I'm half-afraid I'm going to throw up on his thousand-dollar shoes.
