The Mogul and the Muscle Bonus Epilogue

by Claire Kingsley

  The Mogul and the Muscle: Bonus Epilogue

  Claire Kingsley

  Contents

  Cameron

  Faking Ms. Right: Chapter 1

  Also by Claire Kingsley

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2019 by Claire Kingsley

  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.

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fictionalized.

  Published by Always Have, LLC

  Edited by Elayne Morgan of Serenity Editing Services

  Cover by Kari March Designs

  www.clairekingsleybooks.com

  Created with Vellum

  Cameron

  Ten years later

  I rested my elbow on the bar and traced my fingertip over the rim of my martini glass. The bartender—a smartly dressed woman with a platinum blond pixie cut—mixed a drink behind the bar. A man in a suit jacket, no tie, sat at the other end, contemplating his whiskey on the rocks, and small groups of people held quiet conversations—mostly in Czech—in the seating area behind me.

  The Black Angel’s Bar was in the renovated cellar of the Hotel U Prince and was one of the best bars in Prague. A crystal chandelier hung from the arched exposed-brick ceiling, the dim light adding to the mysterious ambiance. The dark wood bar was carved with intricate details and the light gleamed off bottles stacked on glass shelves. The nineteen-thirties décor somehow complemented the Gothic opulence of the centuries-old building.

  But neither the lavish surroundings nor the excellent gin martini could soothe the jumpy feeling in my stomach while I waited for Jude to arrive.

  My shimmery black Versace gown did glorious things for my boobs. A difficult twin pregnancy eight years ago had widened my hips, and my boobs had never returned to their original size. Not that my husband was complaining, and this dress maximized all my hard-earned curves. With my red hair in loose waves around my shoulders and a pair of sparkly gold Louboutins on my feet, I felt confident and sexy.

  I slipped my phone partway out of my black clutch. I wasn’t supposed to be Cameron Whitbury-Ellis tonight, but once my thoughts strayed to my twins, I couldn’t help but check to be sure I didn’t have any messages. Jude had brought me to Prague, one of his favorite cities, for our tenth anniversary and our first vacation without Fiona and Carter since we’d become parents.

  They were staying with their Auntie Daisy and Uncle West, so there was no doubt they were having fun. The biggest challenge would be getting them out of the trampoline room for meals and bedtime. Especially without their favorite person—Daddy—to lure them out.

  Once upon a time, weekend Jude had surprised me with his leather jacket and vintage motorcycle. But that guy had nothing on daddy Jude. He was the sweetest, gentlest, most loving and patient father. He loved those little ginger babies with his entire enormous heart, and it was every bit as precious and ovary-melting as I could have imagined.

  A text from Daisy with a photo of our two little redheads happily eating breakfast on her balcony eased my mommy heart. They were fine. I tucked my phone away and went back to sipping my martini.

  I felt Jude’s entrance before I saw him—although, like me, he wasn’t Jude Ellis tonight.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and my heart gave a tiny flutter of excitement. I pointedly ignored him, lifting my martini to my lips, my eyes downcast, and left a blot of red lipstick on the glass.

  The air felt charged with electricity. I risked a quick glance from the corner of my eye as he took a stool two down from mine. His suit jacket fit his wide shoulders perfectly. A sprinkling of gray had made its way into his hair, especially at the temples, and the silver in his stubble made him more handsome than ever.

  He was still an intriguing mix of rugged and sophisticated, with his square jaw, capable hands, and the way he wore a suit like it wouldn’t slow him down no matter what dangers he faced. The sight of him made my heart beat harder, and a familiar tingling trickled through my body, settling between my legs.

  It reminded me of the first time I’d seen him, standing in my office, a giant wall of man. More than a decade had passed since that day. A day I’d had no idea would change everything.

  Who would have thought I’d have Bobby Spencer to thank for meeting the love of my life?

  It had been ages since Bobby Spencer’s name had crossed my mind. I hadn’t seen him since the day he’d had me kidnapped by the Russian mafia. About five years later, Jude had received an anonymous text indicating he was alive and unharmed, but appropriately miserable, his life of luxury long behind him.

  The bartender slid a glass of whiskey to Jude. He wasn’t looking in my direction—I didn’t catch so much as a flick of his eyes—but I could feel his attention centered on me.

  I re-crossed my legs, the high slit in my gown revealing an almost obscene amount of thigh. Jude’s jaw ticked and he took a sip of his whiskey.

  We’d roleplayed at home a thousand times. Sometimes he was a by-the-book intelligence operative and I was the temptress intent on thwarting his mission. Other times I was the spy and he was my devastatingly handsome foreign contact with a tendency to distract me from my mission.

  Our games never lasted long. A little improvised banter and we’d be hastily making our way upstairs to the privacy of our bedroom.

  But here in Prague, five thousand miles from home, Jude had suddenly dropped into character in the hotel lobby upstairs. He’d touched my elbow, leaned in close, and told me he knew the truth about me, and I wasn’t going to compromise his mission. Without another word, he’d walked out.

  A short time later, I’d received a text from a number I didn’t recognize. A tip from “my handler” that Agent Brick Holt—one of the teasing spy names I’d given Jude since he wouldn’t tell me any of his former aliases—would be at the Black Angel’s Bar tonight. It was my last chance to gain the agent’s trust and complete my mission, otherwise my life was forfeit.

  That meant tonight I was Sienna Rose, Brick Holt’s nemesis—and only weakness.

  I’d replied simply with, I’ll do what’s necessary.

  I’d also decided that tonight, Sienna Rose was going rogue.

  Clutching my drink in my manicured hand, I smoothly moved to the stool next to Jude. He took another sip of his whiskey, pretending to ignore me.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice quiet.

  “I know you don’t trust me,” I said, keeping my voice soft and eyes forward, as if hiding the fact that we were speaking.

  “I don’t trust anyone.”

  “Professional hazard. Neither do I.”

  He was quiet for a moment and took a casual sip of his drink. “I thought I made things clear. I know who you are. I know who you work for. You might as well take that dress home. It won’t work.”

  I trailed a finger across the low-dipping neckline. “No? Such a shame.”

  “Don’t insult me, Sienna.”

  “I know you aren’t so easily tempted. But there was a time when you couldn’t resist.”

  “Things change.”

  I took a sip of my martini. “Things do change, Brick. Perhaps more than you realize.”

  His posture stiffened, ever so slightly. “How so?”

  “I want out,” I whispered, givi
ng my voice a slight edge of fear.

  “Come on, Sienna. We’re not amateurs. Do you really think I’ll fall for that line?”

  My hand trembled as I set my glass down. I felt the tingle of fear in my chest as if this were real. As if I was about to put my life on the line for the man who was supposed to be my enemy.

  “You’re right about me. I’m a liar and a thief. They sent me to steal your secrets by any means necessary.”

  He turned his face a few centimeters in my direction. “But?”

  “But I can’t. I can’t betray the man I…”

  A growl rumbled deep in his chest and when he spoke again, his voice was dangerously low. “The man you what? Say it, Sienna.”

  I turned toward him, letting him see my face. As if I was suddenly allowing myself to be vulnerable and real for the first time. “The man I love.”

  His jaw hitched and he leaned in close. “Don’t fuck with me. That night in London, I thought we had something. Then I come to find out you betrayed me—”

  “No,” I said, cutting him off, laying my hand on his arm. “No, Brick, I’ve never betrayed you. I’ve never given them anything. I lied to you, but I lied to them, too. I didn’t tell them about London. I didn’t tell them about us. They think I failed, and tonight’s my last chance.”

  He slid his hand around to the back of my neck and held me in an iron grip. “If you’re lying…”

  “I swear on my mother’s grave I didn’t betray you. And I never will. If you walk away from me tonight, I’ll accept your choice and face my death willingly. They’ll kill me if I fail, but my life won’t be worth anything without you.”

  He fisted my hair and his brow furrowed. “They can’t have you.”

  I exhaled with relief. “Then I have to run.”

  “They’ll never stop hunting you.”

  “I know.” I lowered my eyes, his hand still in my hair, keeping me in his control. “I can’t ask you to risk everything for me. I don’t deserve it.”

  “We all have a past, Sienna. I just want your future.”

  I met his gaze, a little thrill running through me. His hazel eyes were filled with love and compassion. I didn’t know how long we were going to play—how far we’d take our game—but it felt like I was falling in love with him all over again.

  He let go of my hair and traced his fingertips down my neck. Something seemed to catch his attention and he glanced over his shoulder.

  “Damn it,” he whispered. “Either you’re every bit the lying vixen I feared you were, or they’re onto you.”

  I shifted so I could see past him. A man I didn’t recognize wandered into the bar. He was dressed in a black shirt and dark jeans, his hair buzzed short.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know who he is,” Jude said. “Jax Draven, your boss’s right-hand man.”

  “They know,” I hissed, wondering who the guy really was—and what he’d think if he knew we were pretending he was a bad guy. “They must have sent him to kill us both.”

  He leaned in so close his lips brushed my ear. “If you come with me, I’ll save you. But then you’ll be mine.”

  “I’m already yours. What’s the plan?”

  “Don’t make eye contact. Follow my lead.”

  I nodded and picked up my clutch, keeping my eyes down. Jude slid off his stool, adjusted his jacket, and positioned himself between me and the stranger. He offered me his arm and as soon as I tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow, we were ducking out of the bar.

  Stifling a giggle, I held onto Jude’s thick arm. That had been fun. We went up to the hotel lobby, but he didn’t turn us toward the elevator to return to our room. Instead, he picked up the pace, walking us quickly outside.

  Streetlights illuminated the ancient buildings of Prague’s Old Town Square. My heels clicked against the intricately paved sidewalk as I hurried to keep up.

  “Where—”

  “Shh,” he said, cutting me off. “Don’t look back.”

  I resisted that temptation for all of two seconds before tossing a glance over my shoulder. The man from the bar was behind us.

  “Jude—”

  “For fuck’s sake, Sienna, don’t use that name here.”

  Oh my god, we were still playing. But who was following us? Did I need to be concerned?

  Not that I would be with Jude around. I always felt safe with him, no matter what was happening.

  That tickle of pretend fear grew, snaking through my belly and making my fingers and toes tingle. I walked alongside him, my hand still tucked against his solid bicep. The night air was cool on my bare shoulders and arms, but the heat of arousal—enhanced by the excitement of our game—warmed me from the inside.

  It was early enough that the square was still teeming with people. Tourists and locals out for a bit of nightlife in one of Prague’s most historic—and beautiful—neighborhoods. I noticed a man peel away from his spot next to a building across the street. He kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes in front of him, but there was no doubt in my mind he was following us.

  My eyes flicked to the other side and sure enough, another man did the same.

  “There are three,” I whispered.

  “Five. You certainly pissed them off.”

  “Should we stay in the square? Will they attack us in public?”

  “Probably not, but we need to lose them before more show up.”

  The buildings in Old Town Square were built right next to each other with very few alleys or walkways in between. We made our way quickly across the widest part of the square to where the roadways narrowed. People packed in tightly in the smaller space and the scent of flowers and baked goods filled the air.

  Jude dropped my arm but took my hand in his, leading me forward through the crowd. We darted around small knots of wandering people in the increasingly narrow space between the old buildings. Risking a quick glance behind us, I caught sight of all five men, none of them far behind.

  My stomach tingled with excitement and anticipation and my heart raced. The street widened, coming to a three-way intersection. A car whizzed by, the pedestrians simply stepping out of the way to let it pass.

  Jude didn’t hesitate in choosing a direction. He led me across the street, but instead of continuing around the corner, he took me through a restaurant’s open door.

  It was pub-style, with dark wood paneling, a bar with at least a dozen beer taps, and large wooden tables surrounded by benches. A chalkboard above the bar had the menu written in Czech and English, and a folk band played on a small stage.

  We rushed past the tables, earning a few surprised looks from patrons. Jude didn’t seem to notice. And despite the server calling to us first in Czech, then in English, Jude took us behind the bar and straight into the kitchen.

  The cooks looked up, blinking at us in shock as we swept through without stopping. I had no idea how Jude knew where he was going, but I didn’t question it. We must have been quite a sight. Jude in a suit and tie, me in a designer evening gown and gold heels, bursting through a Czech pub’s kitchen while the staff gaped at our audacity.

  There was a door at the back and I half expected it to lead to a pantry or storeroom, or maybe an alley outside. Instead, I found myself at the bottom of a narrow, rickety staircase. Jude turned around and fiddled with the doorknob, locking it.

  “Do you think they followed us in?” I whispered.

  “Maybe, but the staff will delay them.”

  “They didn’t delay us.”

  One corner of Jude’s mouth turned up. “I know. Come on.”

  He took my hand and gently nudged me in front of him. There wasn’t room on the stairs for us to walk side-by-side, so I went first.

  “All the way up,” he said.

  Not for the first time, I was grateful for every leg day Inda had put me through as we hurried up four flights of stairs.

  The sound of someone banging on the door below echoed in the tiny stairwell and my heart jumped into my throat. I
raced up the last section of stairs, but the door at the top was locked.

  “Are we trapped?” I asked, pulling on the useless doorknob.

  Jude put his big hand on the small of my back and stepped up next to me. “If you’ll allow me.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a large old key. It was thick with a circle on the end of the handle, like something you’d see on the belt of an old-fashioned police officer guarding a bank of jail cells. He slipped the key into the lock, jiggled the handle a few times, and opened the door.

  A rush of cool air greeted us. He took my hand and led me through, ducking because the door was so small.

  We emerged on a flat rooftop. A single table with two chairs sat off to the side, decorated with a white tablecloth, two place settings, champagne glasses, and an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne.

  “I thought we could celebrate your defection to the good guys,” he said. “Sienna Rose.”

  “Does Agent Brick Holt always keep a table for two at the ready or am I special?”

  He slipped his hands around my waist and leaned in to rub his nose against mine. “Special? That’s an understatement. You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “Are we still being chased by bad guys?”

  “I think we gave them the slip.”

  I laughed softly and twined my arms around his neck. “Who were they? How did you do all this?”

  His lips turned up in the slightest grin. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. And you don’t want to know how hard it was to get a key lime tart in Prague. It’d be a shame to waste it.”

  “Oh my god, you really are the greatest man in the world.”

  He placed his fingers beneath my chin and tipped my face up to meet his lips. “I love you, Cameron. Happy anniversary.”

  “I love you too, Jude. Happy anniversary.”

  We stood on a rooftop in Prague, kissing beneath the stars. No matter where we were, or what we were doing—board meetings, birthday parties, conferences, manufacturing facility site visits, back-to-school nights, Bluewater HOA meetings, or running through the ancient cobblestone streets of a foreign city while pretending to be spies—Jude always had my back. He was my partner, my lover, my husband, and my best friend. We’d spent more than a decade together—created a family together—and our love had only grown stronger.