Monica Murphy

by Crave

  I wrap my arms around his solid warmth and close my eyes, savoring being in his arms again.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs against my temple just before he kisses it. “I fucked up and I’m sorry. Will you ever forgive me? I need you to forgive me, Ivy. I need you in my life. I feel lost without you.”

  Tears threaten. Of course. When do they not threaten lately? “I’m sorry too.”

  “For what?” He sounds stunned.

  “I overreacted. I blamed you and made such a big deal about the bet being a secret but maybe . . . maybe I was scared too.” I pull away slightly so we can face each other. It feels so natural, so right, having him here. Touching me, looking at me with all that love and emotion shining in his eyes. It gives me hope. “If you’d been honest about the stupid bet from the beginning, I wouldn’t have cared.”

  He frowns, his brows drawing down. “Really?”

  “Archer. I know how you guys operate. I would’ve helped you win that million dollars if you’d let me in on the secret.” I so would’ve. Not anymore though.

  Nope. Now I’m ready to throw him to the wolves and make him pay up.

  “I’m an idiot,” he says with a sigh. “Your brother said so too.”

  “You talked to Gage about me?” I’m in shock.

  “I wanted his blessing.” His face turns solemn, his dark brows drawing together. “Considering I’m in love with his sister, I had to clear the air between us and make sure I had his approval.”

  “And do you?” I hold my breath for fear of my brother’s reaction.

  “I do.” He smiles faintly, though his jaw is still tight. “I think he gets how much I love you. Thank God. Remember, I’m an idiot when it comes to this sort of thing.”

  I nod in agreement. He so is. “You are. So am I. Maybe that’s why we’re so good together.”

  His expression clears at my words. “I also really messed this up.”

  “You definitely did.”

  “You’ve never, ever been just Ivy to me.” He cups my cheek, his fingers drifting lightly across my skin. “You’ve become my everything.”

  My heart flutters when he touches the corner of my lips with his thumb. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too.” Leaning in, he kisses me, breathing against my lips all the pent-up hope and love I’ve held deep inside me as well. “I love you, Ivy. So damn much it’s killing me not to have you by my side. I need you. I want you to be my partner in every sense of the word.”

  “What do you mean?” My heart is beating so fast I swear it’s going to thump right out of my chest.

  “Come live with me. Work with me. Start your own design business in Napa. Do you know how many calls I’ve taken since the opening, all of them asking about you? I could give you a ready-made client list.”

  Pride suffuses me. I had no idea. “Including Matt?”

  He chuckles. “Yes. He’s reluctant, but I’m trying to sway him. Cheap bastard.”

  I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. “What about us?”

  Archer sobers immediately. “I’m in love with you, Ivy. I want you by my side forever.”

  “Forever?” I ask breathlessly

  “Yeah.” He kisses me again, deeper this time, my lips parting for his persuasive tongue. “Marry me, and we can go into business together. Bancroft and Bancroft,” he says after he breaks the kiss.

  “Bancroft and Emerson?” I joke, though my head is spinning at his words and what they all mean.

  “Baby, if you’re going to marry me, you have to take my name. I’m kind of old-fashioned like that.” He frowns. “I can’t believe I just said that. I sound like a macho ass.”

  Laughing, I circle my arms around his neck and press my fingers against his nape, forcing him to kiss me again. “I loved that you just said that. I will gladly take your name, Archer. Though I’ll be the first Bancroft in Bancroft and Bancroft, I hope you know.”

  “I don’t think so,” he murmurs against my smiling lips. “My first name starts with an A. Yours with an I. I’m afraid I’m first.”

  “Shouldn’t you be polite? Ladies first, after all,” I tease as he pulls me in closer.

  “I think I can do that.” He presses his forehead to mine, staring deep into my eyes. “I need to hear you say it, Ivy.”

  “Say what?” I’m confused. Dazzled. Lost in his dark brown gaze, those golden flecks dancing with so much happiness.

  He doesn’t say a word, merely continues to stare at me until realization slowly dawns. “Oh.” Tipping my head up, I kiss him. Softly. Reverently. “I forgive you, Archer.”

  “I forgive you too, Ivy.” He’s smiling, knowing I’m teasing him, drawing it out. “And?”

  “And I love you. So much, I thought I might die without you these last two weeks.”

  “I feel the same way, baby. The same exact way. Don’t ever leave my side again.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Become just my wife. Nothing else. Just mine.” He’s teasing again and this time his words don’t hurt.

  This time, his declaration fills me with so much love I know he’s the man for me.

  “Only if you become just my mine too,” I say with a smile.

  “I already am,” he admits. “You own me, Ivy. You own my heart. There’s no one else I’d rather belong to.”

  I kiss him, unable to stand it any longer, my heart and soul completely transformed when I hear him whisper two simple words.

  “Just you.”

  Acknowledgments

  * * *

  AS ALWAYS, I’M thanking my husband and children for putting up with me while I work extra hard at my desk, giving myself eyestrain while I stare at the computer all day and night. You are all so awesome and supportive and rarely complain (ha ha). What would I do without you?

  To the readers—I would be nothing without your continued enthusiasm and love. Thank you, you all mean the world to me. This book (and this entire series) is a little different, and I hope you love reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. Hopefully we can’t go wrong with sexy billionaire bachelors . . .

  A big thank you to my editor Chelsey Emmelhainz for slapping my words around and making this book so much better. To the entire team at Avon Books for their enthusiastic support of this series—y’all rock. To KP Simmon and Kati Rodriguez for keeping me straight. And to Katy Evans for loving Archer from the very, very beginning.

  Can’t get enough of the boys with the bet?

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at the second book in Monica Murphy’s sexy

  Billionaire Bachelors Club series

  TORN

  Coming in November 2013 from Avon Books

  An Excerpt from

  TORN

  Marina

  “TELL ME YOUR name.”

  A shiver runs down my spine at the commanding, deep voice that sounds in my ear. I keep myself still, trying my best not to react, considering we’re surrounded by at least one hundred people, but oh, how I want to.

  As in throw myself into the arms of the man who’s standing far too close to me, demanding to know my name as if I owe him some sort of favor.

  “Tell me yours first,” I murmur, turning my head in the opposite direction so it appears I’m not even talking to him. He stands behind me, tall and broad, imposing in his immaculate black suit and crisp white shirt, the silvery tie he wears perfectly knotted at his throat.

  I might not be looking at this very moment, but I’d memorized everything about him from the moment I first saw him not an hour ago. He’d drawn plenty of attention without saying a word, striding into the room as if he owned it, casting that calculating gaze upon all of us in attendance. Looking very much like the mighty king observing his lowly subjects until his eyes lit upon me.

  And then he proceeded to watch me for long, agonizing minutes. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and for a terrifying moment I wondered if he could see right through me. I shuffled my feet, inwardly cursed myself
for coming tonight, but I held firm. I refused to react.

  I still refuse to react.

  “You don’t know who I am?” He sounds amused at the notion, and I’m tempted to walk away without a word. My earlier nerves evaporate. He’s so confident, so arrogant, I’m sure he believes he has me.

  He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with then, does he?

  Finally I chance a glance at him, drinking in his thick brown hair that’s tinged with gold, the way it tumbles across his forehead, his twinkling green eyes, the faint smile that curves his full lips, the combination giving him a boyish appearance. It’s a complete illusion because there is nothing boyish about this virile man before me.

  “Perhaps you can enlighten me.” I offer a carefree smile, the nerves returning tenfold when he takes a step toward me, invading my personal space. His scent hits me first, clean and subtle, a mixture of soap and just . . . him. No cologne that I can detect.

  Rather unusual. Most of the men I know slather themselves in expensive cologne all for the purpose of drawing us silly women in. Instead, they end up choking us out.

  With the exception of this man. I find the difference refreshing.

  A slow smile appears, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. “Gage Emerson.” He thrusts his hand toward me. “And you are?”

  He’s not very subtle. And he’s exactly who I suspected. The very man who recently bought up what feels like half of the Napa Valley, all in the hopes of turning it around and selling it to God knows who just to turn a profit.

  Not caring in the least that he’s forever changing the landscape of the very place I’ve grown up in. Devastating my family in the process with his callous buyouts.

  “Marina Knight.” I sound breathless and I want to smack myself.

  A slow, burning anger threads through my veins, and I inhale sharply, desperate to control it. I came here tonight specifically looking for him. And I found him—almost too easily. I knew he was handsome, charming, well spoken. I’d done my research, Googled him for a solid hour trying to find any sort of weakness, but it appeared he had none. Like he’s some sort of untouchable superhero.

  I didn’t expect my reaction toward him, though. My body is humming in all the right places at his closeness. My skin literally tingles, and when he clasps my hand in his to shake it, my knees threaten to buckle.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Marina Knight.” His voice rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest and he draws his thumb across the top of my hand in the quickest caress before releasing it.

  He’s just a man, I remind myself. A dreamy, sexy man, in that polished, overtly masculine, deliciously commanding way that I don’t normally find myself drawn to but . . . hmm.

  A girl is always allowed to change her mind.

  About the Author

  * * *

  Monica Murphy is the wife of one and mother of three. A native Californian, she lives in the foothills below Yosemite but hasn’t visited the park in years (whoops). She’s also a USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of new adult and contemporary romances. Visit her online at www.monicamurphyauthor.com and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MonicaMurphyAuthor.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  By Monica Murphy

  The Billionaire Bachelors Club Series

  Crave

  New Adult

  Second Chance Boyfriend

  One Week Girlfriend

  Give in to your impulses . . .

  Read on for a sneak peek at four brand-new

  e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.

  Available now wherever e-books are sold.

  LESS THAN A GENTLEMAN

  By Kerrelyn Sparks

  WHEN I FIND YOU

  A TRUST NO ONE NOVEL

  By Dixie Lee Brown

  PLAYING THE FIELD

  A DIAMONDS AND DUGOUTS NOVEL

  By Jennifer Seasons

  HOW TO MARRY A HIGHLANDER

  By Katharine Ashe

  An Excerpt from

  LESS THAN A GENTLEMAN

  by Kerrelyn Sparks

  New York Times bestselling author Kerrelyn Sparks returns to romance during the Revolutionary War with the sequel to her debut historical novel, The Forbidden Lady.

  Matthias gazed up the lattice to his balcony. As youngsters, he and his cousin had used the lattice to sneak out at night and go fishing. Of course the doors had not been bolted back then, but climbing down the lattice had seemed more exciting.

  Matthias wasn’t sure the lattice would hold his weight now, but with Dottie’s restorative coursing through him, he felt eager to give it a jolly good try. Halfway up, a thin board cracked beneath his shoe. He shifted his weight and found another foothold. The last thing he wanted was to slip and tear Dottie’s stitches from his shoulder.

  He swung his legs over the balcony railing and landed with a soft thud. How odd. His door was open. Of course, he reminded himself. Dottie had gone there to fetch his clothes. She must have opened the door to air out the room.

  He slipped inside. Moonlight filtered into the room, glimmering off the white mosquito netting. He strolled over to the secretaire, then kicked off his shoes and dropped his breeches. When he draped the breeches on the back of the chair, he noticed something was already there, something thick. He ran his fingers over the folds of cotton. The scent of roses drifted up to his nose. His mother’s perfume. Why would she have left one of her gowns in his room?

  Odd. He pulled off his stockings. He’d talk to his mother in the morning. For now, he simply wanted to sink into a mattress and forget about the war.

  He unwrapped his neck cloth, then removed his shirt and undergarments. How could he forget the war when he had so much to do? Ferryboats to burn. Supplies to capture. He untied the bow from his hair and dropped the thin leather thong on the desk. And those two missing females. Where the hell could they be?

  He strode to the bed and slipped under the netting. With a sigh of contentment, he stretched out between the clean cotton sheets.

  The bed shifted.

  He blinked, staring at the ghostly netting overhead. He hadn’t budged an inch. There was only one explanation.

  Slowly, he turned his head and peered into the darkness beside him. The counterpane appeared lumpy, as if— He listened carefully. Yes, soft breathing.

  He sat up. A soft moan emanated from the form beside him. Female. His heart started to pound, his body reacting instinctively. Good God, it had been too long since he . . .

  What the hell? He drew his racing libido to a screeching halt. This had to be another one of his mother’s plots to force him to marry! Even Dottie was in on it. She had insisted he bathe and go to the Great House. Then they had locked up the house, so he would be forced to climb the lattice to his bedchamber. Straight into their trap.

  He scrambled out of bed, batting at the mosquito netting that still covered him.

  The female gasped and sat up. “Who’s there?”

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered. His mother’s scheme had worked perfectly. He was alone and naked with whomever she had chosen for his bride.

  Another gasp, and a rustling of sheets. The woman climbed out of bed. Damn! She would run straight to her witnesses to inform them that he’d bedded her.

  “No!” He leapt across the bed and grabbed her. “You’re not getting away.” He hauled her squirming body back onto the bed. Her sudden intake of air warned him of her intent to scream.

  He cupped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t.”

  She clamped down with her teeth.

  “Ow!” He ripped his hand from her mouth.

  She slapped at his shoulders.

  He winced as she pounded on his injury. “Enough.” He seized her by the wrists and pinned her arms down. “No screaming. And no biting. Do you understand?”

  Her breaths sounded quick and frightened.

  He settled on top of her, applying just enough press
ure to keep her from escaping. “I know what you’re after. You think to trap me in wedlock so easily?”

  “What?”

  He could hardly see her pale face in the dark. His damp hair fell forward, further obstructing his view as he leaned closer. The scent of her soap surrounded him. Magnolia blossoms. His favorite, and Dottie knew it. This was a full-fledged conspiracy. “I assume you brought witnesses with you?”

  “Witnesses?”

  “Of course. Why would you want me in your bed if there were no one to see it?”

  “My God, you’re perverse.”

  “You’re hoping I am, aren’t you?” He stroked the inside of her wrist. “You’re hoping I’ll be tempted by your soft skin.”

  She shook her head and wiggled beneath him.

  He gulped. She was definitely not wearing a corset beneath her shift. “You think I cannot resist a beautiful, womanly form?” Damn, but she was hard to resist.

  “Get off of me,” she hissed.

  “I beg your pardon? That’s hardly the language of a seductress. Didn’t they coach you better than that?”

  “Damn you, release me.”

  He chuckled. “You’re supposed to coo in my ear, not curse me. Come now, let me hear your pretty little speech. Tell me how much you want me. Tell me how you’re burning to make love to me.”

  “I’d rather burn in hell, you demented buffoon.”

  He paused, wondering for the first time whether he had misinterpreted the situation. “You’re . . . not here to seduce me?”

  “Of course not. Why would I have any interest in a demented buffoon?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Then who are you and why are you in this bed?”