Buy Me, Love (The One and Only Book 1)

by Lauren Milson

  “What’s that?”

  “That he knows you’ll take care of me. That he knows you’ll love me. That there’s no one in the world he trusts more than you.”

  “That’s three things,” I correct her.

  “Minor detail.”

  She smiles and throws her arms around my shoulders.

  “Can we get the hell out of here?” she whispers.

  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than somewhere else with you,” I whisper against her lips. Anywhere with her is better than anywhere else without her. I’ve spent enough time staying away. Now I’m going to spend the rest of my life staying right damn next to her.

  Forever…

  …

  “Wait. There is one more thing,” she says against my lips. She slips away and takes a seat at her father’s desk, reaching into one of the drawers and pulling out a piece of paper. I walk up behind her to see what she’s got.

  “The check from last night?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she breathes, looking up at me. “My dad wants us to decide together who should get the money. I have a few ideas.”

  “So do I, baby,” I tell her, taking her in my arms. “So do I.”

  Kit

  Two Months Later

  I kneel down in front of the crate and try to coax the pretty yellow lab toward me. She and her puppies just arrived from Puerto Rico. There’s a serious problem with strays there, and the shelter I volunteer at is working with a shelter down there to bring as many dogs over as we can handle. We’re having a little event tomorrow evening to show off the animals, hoping some prospective parents will come by and ultimately apply to adopt some of the dogs and cats we have available.

  The money Max donated to the shelter has gone a long way so far, and we’ve just barely started our expansion. More room, more crates, more blankets, more kibble. And that means more animals we can save.

  “That’s it, come here pretty girl,” I whisper, putting my fingers out to her. I don’t get too close. Trust needs to be established first, and rehabbing these animals is a tough journey but so rewarding. If I can get through to even one animal it makes it all worth it. All the hours spent cleaning up after them, fostering, training, it’s all worth it.

  I’m able to make some progress with her, and by the time seven o’clock rolls around and I tuck her back into her crate with a fresh supply of water, my phone is ringing off the hook from my back pocket.

  “Hello,” I say warmly when I answer.

  “Hello,” Max replies. I put my phone between my shoulder and my ear to wash my hands in the break room and grab an allergy pill from my purse. I love the animals and I’m not letting a mild allergy to cat dander stand between me and my friends. “Are you almost ready? We have a reservation at Cipriani at seven-thirty.”

  “As if you had to remind me,” I tell him with a laugh. My stomach grumbles. “I used my lunch break to look at the menu and I already know what I’m getting. Wait, shit. Are we going downtown or midtown?”

  “Midtown,” he says. “What are you wearing?”

  “Ugh,” I say, peering down at my animal-hair strewn jeans and old Nets t-shirt. “I’m not really dressed appropriately for it. Hell, I’m not dressed appropriately for downtown either.”

  I push the door to the shelter open and turn to wave goodbye to my colleagues. I come to a slow walk in the warm spring night when I see Max leaning against his car with a garment bag draped over his arm. I pull the phone away from my ear.

  “Oh, hi,” I say, crossing the sidewalk and slipping my arms around him. I breathe him in deeply and let it out. I instantly feel myself turn to jelly in his arms when I look up at him and see his eyes. He brushes a hair away from my temple and leans down to kiss me.

  “Oh hi yourself,” he says. “I brought something for you to wear to dinner.”

  “Shut up,” I say, catching his chest with the back of my hand. “Nothing in this garment bag could make me look as good as you look right now.”

  Damn. Will I ever get over how sexy my boyfriend is? It’s like, it’s not fair to all the other girls. Not because they all want my man - hell, no, and he would never look at another woman with me around.

  I know this to be true, objective fact. Last week we walked by one of my favorite models on Broome Street and I had to stop myself from actively gawking at her. Max didn’t have to pretend to not be looking at her. When I finally tore my eyes away from her amazing ass and looked over at Max to see his reaction, his eyes were on me.

  “What the hell are you drooling over, babe?” he’d asked, cocking his head to the side.

  I threw my arms out in front of me in excitement.

  “Don’t you know who that is? She’s fucking gorgeous and she’s a literal lingerie model on top of it, man.”

  Max just took a deep breath, shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  It’s just unfair how good he is to me. How good we are together. I have to pinch myself every time he shows up unexpectedly to bring me a green tea soy latte. I get butterflies every time he does this thing where he looks at my eyes, then my lips, then back up at my eyes again before sliding his hand to the base of my scalp and pulling me toward him.

  “Should we stop at home for you to change or do you want to change in the bathroom here?”

  “Bathroom,” I say, grabbing the bag from him and standing on my toes to give him a quick kiss. “I’ll be back in three seconds!”

  He looks at his watch.

  “Three. Two.”

  “You know I didn’t mean that literally!”

  I sneak back inside and tell my colleagues I just forgot something in the bathroom, but then I see my friend Paul wave at Max through the window and throw me a laugh.

  Max is in here all the time. He likes to go on our website and look at the wishlist the shelter has, and then pick up the items at a store himself so he has an excuse to come visit me at work.

  All the time.

  I get giddy every time he walks through the door.

  Is that normal? I don’t care.

  I get into the bathroom and pull off my clothes quickly, unzipping the garment bag and putting the pads of my fingers to the dress. It’s gray silk and the straps are thin, silver metallic strands. This dress is gorgeous. I shake my head and raise my eyebrows. Yeah, maybe in this I’ll look close to as good as Max does.

  I scoop my clothing into the bottom of the garment bag and slide the dress on, biting my lip when it slides past my belly. I put my hand there and feel a tear tug at the corner of my eye.

  When I’m back outside, Max hands me a pair of black slides. They have a chunky heel and they’re exactly what I like to pair with this kind of delicate, feminine dress. A chunky heel with a slinky dress has this sexy quality to the pairing that I just really like.

  “Did you hack my phone to look at my private Pinterest?” I ask him as I slide my sneakers off and balance against him to get into the heels.

  “I had Ms. Steele do some stealth research for me.”

  “Of course,” I say, “you don’t know what Pinterest is.”

  “No, I do not.”

  He smiles and grabs the door for me, and I sink down into the leather seat.

  Fresh wood. Spring air. Pine. Lemon.

  “Have you thought any more about adopting a dog of our own?” he asks on the ride to the restaurant. A nervous tick slides through me.

  “I’ve given it a little bit of thought, yeah,” I say, “but I’m not sure I’m ready for it yet. I feel like we’re kind of in limbo a little bit at the moment you know, with my classes still and you with your new firm.”

  Max is expanding too. He doesn’t do as much hands-on work anymore. Instead, he hires veterans to work for him as private security for high-net-worth individuals and even a few celebrities. Mostly, though, he just contracts out security guards for things like bars and restaurants.

  “Ah,” he says, nodding and reaching over to take my hand, “got it. Well, we have time to figure it out.
We’ll do it at our own pace.”

  “Right,” I breathe. “Right.”

  When we get to the restaurant, Max gives the woman at the hostess stand our name and we’re ushered to a small table in the back. To my surprise, my father is here, sitting with a bread basket and a bottle of red wine. He stands and waves when he sees us.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say, kissing him on the cheek before sliding into the seat next to him. Max sits across from me and gives me a small smile, dark green eyes swimming. I turn my attention back to my father. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ll let Max answer that,” he says.

  I turn my eyes back to Max. “What’s up?”

  He catches a waiter’s attention and puts his hand up. “Hey, could we get a bottle of champagne please? We’ll do the 2008 Dom? Thanks.”

  A smirk flutters at the corner of my lips.

  “Hey. What is going on?”

  “Kit Kensington,” Max says, reaching into his pocket, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for a long time. As a matter of fact, I can’t remember you not being in my life.”

  He pulls out a small blue box and goosebumps instantly plump up over my arms. I shoot a look at my dad with tears in my eyes and he puts his hand over mine to give me a squeeze.

  “What?” I ask, putting my fingers to my lips. Max drops down to one knee next to me and looks up, his deep emerald eyes warm with trust.

  “Kit Kensington, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me? If you don’t say yes, I’ll ask again in six months. I’m in love with you and I won’t stop loving you. I’ve never be so certain of anything in my life.”

  “Oh my god,” I say, “of course! Are you kidding me?”

  “No,” he smiles with a shake of his head, “I am not kidding.”

  A lock of black hair falls against his forehead and I push it away before he crushes his lips to mine. A bubble of excitement pops inside me and around us people are clapping. It feels like I’m kissing Maxwell Armstrong for an eternity before we pull away from each other.

  “I’d like to propose a toast,” my father says. “To my two favorite people in the world. You are both incredible, incredible individuals. And I know that together you will be better than your are alone. Even if alone you’re both really fucking awesome.”

  The three of us take our champagne glasses in our hands, but with shaky fingers, I hold back and don’t clink mine against theirs.

  “Kit?” Max asks me with a sideways grin. “Why aren’t you toasting?”

  “It’s bad luck to toast and not drink,” I breathe. “Max. I’m pregnant.”

  My heart is beating to the sun and back. My heart is fuller than a basket of puppies on Christmas morning. Max stands up, takes me in his arms and spins me around.

  “I love you so fucking much, Kit,” he whispers against my lips. I feel a few salty tears against my mouth as I kiss him.

  “I love you too, Mr. Armstrong.”

  “Mrs. Armstrong,” he whispers against my lips. “I love you.”

  ❤️ The End ❤️

  Her Friend’s Father

  Preview

  I haven't seen him in a year. Back then, he was sweet, attentive and kind. And now?

  Joanne

  I've wanted my friend's dad for a year, and now I'm stranded in his house, with no ride home, in a bikini that's slightly too small, barely able to contain my curves.

  William has the body of a Roman soldier. Protective and gorgeous. Wealthy, powerful, and totally off-limits.

  I shouldn't want him, but I do. Crazily, achingly, completely want him to be my first.

  But he would never let anything happen between us, right?

  Wrong. Very wrong.

  William

  I've built walls around my heart to protect myself and my daughter. She and I are all the other has.

  But when my daughter's gorgeous young friend shows up at my front door, I feel those walls crumble in an instant.

  I remember her from a year ago. How could I forget? She was sweet, pretty, and young. Too young for the likes of me.

  Now she's sweet, pretty, and young, with curves that make me crazy. Lips that make me think dirty, borderline obscene things. The closest I can get to her is slathering sunblock on those mouth-watering, pants-tightening, perfect curves that I'm obsessing over.

  She's still too pretty, still too young, and I still have no place laying a hand on her. I've been burned before, and the walls I've built are all that's protecting me.But I'll tear them down to get a taste of her.

  Please enjoy this steamy novella! No cheating, no cliffhanger, HEA.

  xx, Lauren

  1

  Joanne

  I watch William as he puts his hands on the edge of the pool. Strong, masculine, pure damn sexy hands. The kind that make you realize that just seeing hands - hands! - can make you all wet.

  I bite my lip and shift in my lawn recliner, flipping a page of the glossy magazine in my lap. The paper sticks to my hands and I peel them away. A little bit of ink gets left behind on my sweaty fingers. I watch as William’s chest rises from the pool, glistening and rippled as water flows over it, the tanned, tattooed skin taut against firm muscle. My heartbeat becomes more rapid as I watch his forearms balancing his weight against the edge of the pool.

  With a grunt he pushes himself up higher, planting one of his feet on the sturdy ground, finally emerging completely. His shorts drip with water, and I struggle and succeed in not letting myself check out the front of them. He smiles over at me as he pushes a hand through his wet hair, then shakes his head, sending drips and drops of water everywhere. A few of them land on my magazine and my legs, and I lean down to brush the water off my calf, marking my leg with a little bit of the ink stuck to my fingers.

  “Have you tried counting sheep?”

  “Huh?” I reply. My eyes follow William as he walks away, smiling back at me. My gaze finds the edge of his swim trunks, slung low on his perfect, cute butt, every muscle flexing and moving. I struggle to swallow, my mouth suddenly dry, and I throw my gaze back down to my magazine.

  “Counting sheep? You said you couldn’t sleep.”

  Cassandra’s question snaps me out of the moment, and it’s a good thing, too.

  “Oh, right. Yeah, been there, tried it,” I reply.

  I’ve tried everything. Counting sheep. Not drinking water for two hours before bed. Not drinking coffee for eight hours before bed. Ear plugs, headphones, a noise machine, ASMR videos. But nothing works, and none of it is going to work unless I get my ass out of that apartment.

  I don’t want to tell my friend the real reason I haven’t been able to sleep. All the stuff I’ve tried helps me fall asleep, sure, and that’s half the battle. The other half is staying asleep. The real reason I can’t sleep is that I live in a basement apartment with crappy windows and that the L train runs right above my bedroom window.

  “And that doesn’t work?” she asks, flipping her magazine. “That sucks. Have you tried counting sheep backwards maybe?”

  “Oh, that’s a good idea,” I say distractedly. “Yeah, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  I’ll give it a try. 100. 99. 98. It won’t do any good. I’m going to be subjected to loud noises at all hours either way.

  “You okay?” Cassandra asks. “You seem like you’re somewhere else.”

  Somewhere else? Yeah, right. Not even a little bit. Sneaking glances at William all day has made me all the more aware of where I am. No, I’m not somewhere else. I’m definitely fully in my body, because I can feel every single tingle and butterfly and sensation deep inside me, no matter how hard I try not to.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I reply, burying my attention in the magazine in my lap. I force myself to try to concentrate on it. “Maybe just a little tired like always. Hey, they’re having a show at the Franklin Gallery. Didn’t you work with them once?”

  “Yes, I did.” Cassandra nods, licking her finger and flipping the page
of her magazine with one elegant motion.

  “Ever think of going back to them?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going. Anything to distract me from the man I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off all day and out of my dirty, forbidden thoughts.

  “Yeah, maybe,” she says. She glances over at me while my eyes are straining to stay down on my magazine. “Hey, are you sure everything’s okay with you today?”

  Cassandra is very maternal. The last time I stayed home from work sick, she had chicken soup and ginger ale delivered to me with a bouquet of yellow roses. I told her it was way too much, but she likes doing nice things for people.

  I nod again and give her a little smile of assurance, but I’m lying.

  William answered the door in his swim trunks when I showed up for Cassandra’s birthday this afternoon. I was already nervous, and the fact that I had to wait a while for someone to let me in didn’t help. I guess in a house this size it takes a long time to get to the door.

  And when he did finally get to the door?

  I clutched my big black floppy hat by the brim, clawing at it a little bit harder when I saw him. My other hand was holding the soft handle of my tote bag, and I felt myself fist the leather harder, my heart suddenly hammering in my chest.

  I had met this man before, just about one year ago. He was kind to me. Sweet. He paid attention to me in a friendly, innocent way. We’d made small-talk. Over the course of the evening, I’d developed an innocent crush.

  But today, when he greeted me at the door? Today was different. Today cast him in an entirely new light.

  He was barefoot and bare chested, with sparkling dark blue eyes, a chest that nearly took up the entire doorway, and dark brown hair. A tattoo, etched onto one side of his chest, forced my eyes to take on a mind of their own, wandering from his built, perfect chest, up to his neck, where the tattoo ended. He put one hand on the doorframe and towered over me as I announced in a meek voice that I was there for Cassandra’s birthday.