by Tara Leigh
But the key to my happiness lays in the gorgeous man standing right in front of me. I trail a finger along his glistening forearm. “Lead the way.”
Tristan
There is a ring in my pocket. Granted, it’s the pocket of the shorts I left back in our room after changing into swim trunks to meet Reina on the beach. But still. There is a ring in my pocket, and hopefully it will sit on Reina’s finger later tonight. And for the rest of her life.
It’s not just any ring.
Shortly after Reina and I got back together, my Dad gave me a note my mother left for me before she died. In it she had written—
When you find a love so strong you know it’s true, I’ll be there. Always.
Taped to the note was the key to the safe deposit box that held her wedding ring.
I can’t wait to make Reina mine. I plan to propose as the setting sun breaks on the horizon, imagining my mother painting the sky in joyful streaks of gold and orange and pink.
Bermuda is the perfect place to celebrate Reina’s birthday for many reasons, including the fact that it is home to the Bettencourt Bank where my great-grandmother’s ring, the same one my father gave to my mother, has been kept in a safety deposit box since her death. Even our couple’s massage has an ulterior motive. While we are locked away in our room, my entire family will arrive, along with Bryce and Celeste Van Horne. I invited Wendy, although she declined during an unexpectedly candid conversation about her divorce. She isn’t in the right state of mind to celebrate someone else’s engagement, which I can understand. She did send a bouquet of flowers, along with a note of congratulations. It is a start. Reina’s mother is coming, and I even reached out to Gerald. He declined, no reason given.
I drink my beer, long swallows as we cross the sand and head back to the house. I am already anxious to feel Reina beneath me again even though it’s only been a few hours since we came together in the still soft light of dawn, our bodies melding into one before consciousness caught up with our minds. The flavorful beer does nothing to drown out the taste of her on my tongue. It tugs at me like a craving, as consistent and unrelenting as the tide.
I should be exhausted. So should Reina. I recently launched a new fund as part of a collaborative effort with my friend Nash, focusing on venture capital investment opportunities. And Reina has stayed with the Polaris Team, in an expanded role. We are both pulling seventy-, eighty-, even ninety-hour work weeks, but I know neither of us would want it any other way. Reina is, without a doubt, my perfect partner in work and in life. I can’t wait for every sparkle of the diamond on her hand to proclaim that she is the love of my life.
Wall Street is all random walks and unpredictable whims. My job is the equivalent of jumping on a bucking horse and riding it long enough to make it shit a stream of golden coins. Some days I leave the ring battered and bruised, and other days my pockets bulge with loot. I can’t imagine anyone else but Reina will appreciate the highs and lows of such a speculative career.
But right now, work is the last thing on my mind. “Let’s go.”
When we return to our suite, two massage tables have been set up on the terrace outside our bedroom, beneath a white muslin canopy. Reina looks from the women standing on either side, wearing broad smiles and colorful turbans wrapped around their heads, to the fresh piña colada and sweating bottle of beer arranged between the towel-draped slabs, and back to me. “Is this Bermuda or heaven on earth?”
I toss a leering smile her way. “It’s only heaven if you’re naked.”
The women turn away, giving us our privacy. Reina lifts her hair from her neck, glancing at me over her shoulder. “Want to help?”
My response is a slow pull of her bikini string, followed by a leisurely nibble of that sensitive patch of skin just behind her ear. “Your wish is my command.” When Reina’s bathing suit is just a jumble of triangles and string at our feet, I swat her bare ass.
Reina gives a surprised yelp, her eyes taking on a lustful glimmer I’ve come to recognize. I grin, gesturing toward the twin tables. “Paradise awaits.”
She lies down, turning her head to watch me step out of my board shorts, biting down on her lower lip as she drinks in every inch of me.
Our heads are close, and as the masseuse rubs oil into Reina’s shoulders, I reach out for her hand. She extends it with a dreamy smile.
I feel it now. A contented happiness that comes from being in the perfect place with the perfect person.
Eventually Reina’s hand slips from my fingers. An occasional groan lets me know she isn’t sleeping, but she’s so relaxed, she’s practically boneless.
I have no desire to close my eyes. Why should I? I have the best view in the world. God damn, Reina is beautiful. Her long blonde hair hangs over the edge, one stubborn lock hugging the side of her cheek and curling just under her chin. Her skin is pink from sun and pleasure, her lips swollen and slightly open.
A towel is draped over my ass, but the way my dick is stiffening beneath me, it will become a tent as soon as I turn over. Putting a finger to my lips, I nod at Reina and rise quietly, wrapping the towel around my waist.
My turn. Greasing my hands, I take over. Flashing knowing smiles, the women back out of the terrace silently. I run my thumbs along the delicate arches of Reina’s feet, pulling at each perfect toe.
Reina mumbles something, sighs. I move up to her calves and thighs, kneading with my fingers, pressing with my palms. Keeping my touch perfectly professional until I can’t keep myself in check anymore. Finally I knock her towel to the floor, groaning as I possessively grip the deliciously round globes of her ass. Reina’s eyes fly open as she spins around to face me, her pupils dilating with surprise. In an instant I am right back in my apartment the first night we met, slayed by the look of panic on her face. But this time it slides off the second she meets my gaze. “Oh, it’s you.”
I plant a kiss at the base of her spine, then at the twin dimples sitting a few inches south. “It’s me, Reina. It’s always going to be me.”
She rolls over then, and I am treated to the feast of her breasts. Her nipples are furled into tight little peaks and I tug at them with my teeth, small nips that has Reina rolling her head and breathing hard. A bottle of oil sits near our untouched drinks and I reach for it, pouring it liberally over her skin, relishing the feel of her muscles bunching and easing beneath my touch.
Reina’s thighs loll open, her hips bucking upward, wordlessly communicating exactly what she wants. Not a tough sell. As I kiss my way along her delicate hip bones, I catch a flash of color—a breeze sweeping the umbrella adorning Reina’s drink to the floor. Accident or inspiration?
I reach for the frothy concoction, dribbling a tiny bit into the shallow well of Reina’s belly button, waiting just long enough for her sharp intake of breath, her stomach tensing in surprise, before following it with a swipe of my tongue. “Tristan—”
But I am already focused on the creamy expanse of inner thigh. I tilt the glass. Another sharp breath, another lick. “Tristan—” Reina’s voice is higher, more urgent this time.
I could do this all fucking day. I move to her other leg, tilt the glass again. This time my name is a shriek. I glance up. I have a destination in mind, but want to be sure. Reina’s eyes are wide and glassy, the line of her teeth white against her pink lips. I skim the base of the glass lightly along her oiled skin, moving closer and closer to her core. Reina’s eyes follow my movements, her lower lip trembling. “You know where I’m going with this,” I say, giving her a chance to object.
She nods. “I think so.”
I take a sip, holding the icy concoction in my mouth, just long enough for it to cool my tongue. And then I put the glass down, hold her open with my thumbs, and make contact with her swollen clit. Reina’s hips jerk upward. “Ohmygod—”
Within a few seconds, my tongue is just as hot as Reina. Her thighs tremble, closing around my ears so that my every breath is filled with her. As a last shudder rips though Reina’s bo
dy, I pick her up and carry her to the bed. No way the massage table’s spindly legs will survive my version of a couple’s massage.
Reina’s fingers interlock behind my neck as I settle her against the pillow. I kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, the delicate hollow at the base of her neck, her heartbeat fluttering against my tongue. As I slide between her welcoming thighs, Reina moans, low in her throat. Our eyes meet as I hover just above her mouth, drinking in her breath.
“Now this, this is my heaven.”
Reina
One minute I am blowing out twenty-five candles, surrounded by everyone I care about—which is in itself a miracle—and the next I am staring at Tristan, down on bended knee. Apparently while we were locked away in our room, luxuriating in each other, my mom arrived, along with Bryce and Celeste, Tristan’s father and stepmother and their two daughters, and of course Kyle and his girlfriend, or maybe just girl of the moment.
My mom is here too, without Gerald, and that’s just fine by me. He did send a gift, though. A beautifully framed photograph of the bronze ‘Fearless Girl’ statue staring down Wall Street’s famous bull. A peace offering, perhaps.
My stomach turns over as Tristan’s eyes meet mine, my heart pounding a furious beat against my chest. “Reina, the first night we met you told me that if you picked my pocket I’d never feel it. But it turns out, you stole something a lot more essential than my wallet, or a handful of loose change. I can’t pinpoint the moment you claimed my heart but I do know that it belongs to you today, and tomorrow, and all the tomorrows to come. ”
For a moment, time stops. I am playing dress-up in borrowed jewelry and too-big heels. A tremor starts in my stomach and moves outward, and I nearly lose my footing. But then I focus on Tristan, immediately steadied by what I see shining in his eyes. Love. Respect. Trust.
“I love you more than I ever thought possible, a love so strong I know it’s true. I met you at an auction, not realizing then that you were a priceless prize I’d have to earn.” He opens the box and my jaw drops at the sheer size of the diamond winking at me from its blue velvet cushion. “Reina St. James, will you marry me?”
A hush falls over our small group, the pounding surf a drumbeat scoring the end of my fairytale. This isn’t an ending though, Tristan and I are just getting started.
“Yes,” I whisper. Yes, yes, yes!!!
Tristan’s smile is as dazzling as the diamond he is holding. As exuberant as the canopy of colors painting the sky overhead. He is just like the scotch he drinks—expensive, rare, and intense. The fingers of my left hand stretch out, almost automatically. He takes the ring from its perch and slides it over the knuckle of my fourth finger.
It fits perfectly.
Applause fades into background noise as Tristan sweeps me into his arms. It hits me then how much I’ve lost. All the secrets, all the shame. Good riddance, don’t let the door smack your ass on the way out. I have love in my life now. I have family. And this wonderful hunk of a man who looked at my dug-up patch of dirt and saw only the beginnings of a garden.
For a girl who has never heard even the slightest tick of her biological clock, a visceral urge slams into my belly. I want a Tristan James Xavier Bettencourt V, and a dozen other Bettencourts to follow with dark hair, blue-gray eyes, and preppy-sounding names that will be shortened to ridiculous nicknames. I want a lifetime of hedge funds and holidays, honoring old traditions and making new ones together. I kiss Tristan back as if my life depends on it. In a way, it does. He is my life, and I am his.
Best. Birthday. Ever.
Thank you for reading PENTHOUSE PRINCE! I hope you fell in love with Tristan and Reina just as I have.
To meet a new couple in my New York City romance series (and of course get a peek at what Tristan & Reina are up to),
One-click MANHATTAN MOGUL now!
You can read Nash and Nixie’s story right now! Find out what happens when The Black Knight of Wall Street meets a woman on the run from her past.
A fake engagement. A sham of a wedding.
A lie dressed up in diamonds and lace . . .
Is still a lie.
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Keep reading for an excerpt of MANHATTAN MOGUL . . .
“I should probably know your name,” I mumble, irrationally irritated by his size, his clothes, his enormous apartment. And especially his eyes. They’re the incandescent blue-green of travel brochures to exotic escapes I’ve never visited. Places with names that dance over my tongue like Ibiza and Jean-Cap-Ferrat and St. Tropez.
“You’re right, you should.”
I blink. “And?”
“Oh, was that you actually asking my name? I couldn’t tell.”
A flush starts at my chest and rises above the stiff white collar of his shirt. Am I getting etiquette lessons now? “Well then, Dick it is.”
He sighs. It’s a different sigh than the ones that have come before. An amused sigh. “Nash. My name’s Nash.”
I swallow another surge of irritation. “Nice to meet you, Nash.”
“Good to meet you too, Nixie.”
I almost laugh at the absurdity of our situation. The absurdity of this entire day. The absurdity of my entire life. Because sometimes it’s better to laugh than to cry.
But the seed of that laugh turns to ash in my throat. He called me Nixie, the name spilling from his lips as easily as if he’s said it a thousand times. I stop moving forward, my feet suddenly rooted to the ground. “How do you know my name?”
He doesn’t have the grace to look at all chagrined. “Because that’s what it said on your ID.”
“You rifled through my clothes?”
“No, I did not rifle. I emptied your pockets before throwing your jeans in the wash. It’s been a while since I’ve done my own laundry, but I remember that much.”
My mind snags on the sliver of information Nash let slip. Who does his laundry? A girlfriend? Wife? None of your business, Nixie. I turn slightly, so that I am facing him. “Did you do a Google search on me, too?”
This time, a tiny flicker of something that’s not exactly guilt but is definitely an admission of sorts crosses his too-damn-handsome face. “Oh my god—you did!”
Nash’s jaw clenches as he stares down at me, the gritty tone of his voice sending a shiver down my spine. “I did.” I sway within his embrace, the tips of my breasts brushing against his shirt. Of course, they pucker immediately.
And of course he notices, one corner of his mouth pulling upward. “Want to know what I found?”
The breath punches from my lungs, my mind racing. What did he find? I’ve worked so hard to cover my tracks. If all it takes is one Google search to—
“Nothing. I found nothing.”
I nearly sag in relief. Thank god. “Exactly. It was a waste of your time.”
His eyes narrow, like I’m a mystery to be solved. “No, I don’t think so,” he says.
But I’m not about to hand my secrets over so quickly.
Nash is a stranger and I don’t trust him one bit.
More importantly, around him, I’m not sure I trust myself.
One-click MANHATTAN MOGUL now!
Also by TARA LEIGH
New York City Romance series
Throne of Lies
Park Avenue Princess
Penthouse Prince
Manhattan Mogul
Hamptons Heartbreak
Trust Fund Titan
Wages of Sin Duet (dark romance)
Cruel Sanctuary
Corrupt Savior
Angsty, Emotional, Suspenseful Standalone
We Are Us
Nothing But Trouble series (rock star romance)
Rock King
Rock Legend
Rock Rebel
About the Author
Tara Leigh is a multi-published author of steamy contemporary romance. A former banker on Wall Street, she graduated from Washington Univ
ersity and holds an MBA from Columbia Business School, but she much prefers spending her days with fictional boyfriends than analyzing financial spreadsheets. Tara currently lives in Fairfield County, Connecticut with her husband, children, and fur-baby, Pixie. She is represented by Jessica Alvarez, of Bookends Literary Agency.
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Copyright © 2021 by TARA LEIGH
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. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
www.taraleighbooks.com
Cover Design: Danielle Leigh
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-955659-02-4
Print ISBN: 978-1-955659-03-1
Some parts previously published as: penthouse player. Copyright by Tara Leigh. All rights reserved.
