“We’re good.”
He brought his lips to mine and rested his hand on my belly, rubbing it in a figure-eight. “Pretty soon it’s not going to be just the four of us.” A devilish smile spread across his face.
Harriette lifted her head, looking curiously between us as if she knew her life was about to change—yet again.
“So I don’t want you to be mad.”
I raised my eyebrow over the frame of my sunglasses. “Do tell.”
“I thought we should get used to even more chaos, so I got us a puppy.”
I tried to stifle a smile. We were having a baby in three months, and Layton decided to do something crazy like this. We’d been living together for a year, so you’d think I’d be used to his enthusiasm, his grand gestures and crazy ideas. Especially when I got pregnant after being in California for six months—Layton was absolutely giddy.
“One of the guys on the set got this pup,” he explained, “and there was one more left in the litter. A boy, which was perfect. I thought I’d even the playing field. You know, since there’ll be three of you soon.”
“Lay, we don’t know if it’s a girl.”
“It is.” His eyes, the color of toasted almonds, sparkled in the sunlight, contrasting with the never-ending blue sky behind him.
“You’re crazy. Another puppy? I’m definitely paying the price for your quiet childhood.”
“I named him Jackie. You’ve got to see him, all cute and fluffy. And that puppy breath, it’s absolutely awful.”
“It’s a good thing I love you. A puppy? And a baby? We already have Harri and Jay. We must be certifiable.”
“I think we kind of need to step up the hunt for a new place.”
“You think? Three canines and soon to be three humans?”
Layton averted his eyes, concentrating on Jay. “There’s one thing I didn’t mention. Jackie is a Newfie, so he’s going to get pretty big.”
I grabbed the back of Layton’s neck, warm from the sun and slick with sweat, and slid my hand through his hair to pull him in for a kiss. It was a better alternative than slapping him.
“So, you’re cool with it?”
I kissed him again. His tongue wound its way into my mouth and he deepened the kiss. Of course, my raging hormones took over and I moaned into his lips. My hand roamed his back before slipping into the waistband of his shorts.
“Char, not in my shorts. Not right now.” He pulled back a little, a smirk on his face.
“What? I’m horny, fat, and carrying your baby, so it’s your job to take care of me. Anyway, when have I never been able to touch you?”
My chest rose and fell, my heart beating a furious pace.
“Oh, I’m going to take care of you. But first, I need to do this.” He reached around his back awkwardly, and I realized he was unzipping his pocket.
“Marry me?” he asked, a shiny bauble hanging from his pinky.
“Look at me.” I motioned to my belly.
“Yeah? I am looking at you, and I love it.”
“I thought we said we weren’t going to think about any of that until after the baby.”
He raised his hand to my cheek, running his knuckles all the way to the back of my neck. “Are you going to marry me, Charleston? You’re not your mom. You’re doing what you want. I know we’re not in New York but you’re doing what you want. Writing by the beach, which is better anyway. I know you think so. Say yes, so I don’t get a complex.”
“Yes,” I whispered into the ocean air. Then I said it louder, afraid it would get lost forever at sea. “Yes!”
“Good,” he said and placed a kiss on my closed lips. “I was getting nervous. Luckiest damn day of my life.”
“Well, now we have to tell my mom we changed our minds. It will crush her; she was still holding out for a Wall Street banker or something.”
Layton chuckled. “She knows I’m your something, she’s just afraid to admit it. You know that. She as much as said it, that she felt enormous pressure for you not to turn into a free spirit like her. She wanted you to be like your dad. He grounded her.”
“I’m stuck on you being my something,” I said while I scribbled it on my notepad. “And I’m totally going to use that line. And yes, my dad centered my mom before I did. Now I don’t, and she’s pissed. Feels lost.”
“As long as you said yes, I’m cool with it. And while you’re happy, one more thing. I already called your mom. She knows. I told her I was going to ask you.”
Surprised, I asked breathlessly, “What’d she say?”
“She said I better watch my back because Garrett’s going to be at the wedding.”
We fell into a pile of limbs and laughter on the sand with Harriette jumping all around us, licking every salty surface she could reach, and Jay crawling under us.
* * *
Layton
She said yes. That one little word, so small but so significant, ran on repeat in my head. Charli said yes to me!
Later that night, after we went to eat and picked up Jackie from the breeder, we sat on the patio while he nipped at Jay. Harriette ambled over and sniffed the newest addition, and Jackie graciously allowed her to check out all his bits and pieces. When all the dogs lay flat on their stomachs, sick of one another, we went inside.
I smiled to myself as Charli picked up Jackie and nuzzled him into her neck. He was going to be two hundred pounds, and she was loving him like a lap dog. Must have been the nesting thing zapping through her veins.
She walked into our room, slipped him into his crate, and spread a blanket overtop, making it dark and cozy for him before she came to bed. I watched her slip off her sundress, sliding the straps off her shoulders and then letting it flutter to the floor. She wore a white lace bra, barely containing her breasts, and a pair of white booty shorts, her belly protruding over the waistband.
That was our baby. Our girl. Even though we didn’t know for certain, I did.
I lay on my back on the bed as I watched, my hands tucked behind my head, Harriette and Jay in the corner.
“Come here.”
She kneeled on the bed and I lifted myself up on my elbow, running my free hand over her stomach, exploring every inch, yet unable to take my eyes off my wife-to-be.
“You look so stunning,” I told her.
“You have to say that.” She pushed me back on the bed, knocking me off my elbow.
“No way. You’re gorgeous, and I want you.” My voice strained against the lump of desire in my throat.
“Have me,” she said, remaining still on her knees.
And I did.
Forever.
* * *
Thank you for reading TO SEE YOU. If you’d love more sexy romance, be sure to read HOT FOR HIS GIRL, available now!
Andonia “Andi” Schwartz is the kind of gal you love to hate. Snarky, skinny, and jaded, Andi’s goodness lies hidden beneath her sharp edges. But it’s there…this independent single mom has it going on.
Reid Fellows is a lovable dude. Bespectacled tenure-track statistics professor by day, shirtless blogger by night, he’s a catch on paper and easy on the eyes.
Andi wields her power and unruly commentary from behind her laptop as the anonymous proprietor of The UnAffectionate Blogger.
Reid’s blog, Grill and Groom, began on a dare. Now, he regularly shows his abs of steel while grilling.
He may love this gig more than his day job. She needs her page views and advertisers to support her daughter. Until the two meet and spin a web online and IRL…in real life.
What happens when two bloggers fall for each other?
A new blog is born.
ONE CLICK HOT FOR HIS GIRL NOW >
Turn the page for suspenseful romance between a playboy prince and the eighteen-year-old covert operative who must protect him from assassination in THE PRINCE by Jillian Dodd.
If you’ve already read that one, skip ahead to the sweet and engaging romance between a man with an English title and small-town bake
r in JUST DESSERTS by Marquita Valentine.
THE PRINCE
Jillian Dodd
An eighteen-year-old covert agent is pulled out of training before graduation by Black X, a espionage group so secret even the President of the United States doesn’t know it exists.
For her first mission, she must go undercover as the long-lost daughter of a recently deceased billionaire, infiltrate high society, and protect the Prince of Montrovia from assassination.
But Prince Lorenzo is known as the Playboy Prince for a reason and his sensuality and charisma add a whole other level of complication to her mission.
She knows that her every move is being watched, but what she doesn’t know is that the Prince is just a chess piece in a bigger game that will have world-wide ramifications. And that Blackwood Academy, the place she has called home for the past six years has secrets of its own.
Prologue
A man is being hung by his feet from the top of a sixteen-story building.
He tried to evade his pursuer but could not. The pursuer was like a ghost who would magically appear no matter where the man tried to hide.
And it is in moments like these that men experience clarity in their lives.
The dangling man knows he will die soon. And, still, he refuses to admit to the ghost that he had anything to do with the crime. After all, he was ordered to do so by a man no one dares to cross, for fear you will end up in a situation like the one he is now.
Fearing for his life.
He did not cross his employer, though. He simply made a mistake. Last night when he was three sheets to the wind, he may have been bragging about a job he did recently in Britain.
It was an easy job, kill a man who was hunting and make it look like a suicide. No one in the pub was surprised. The types that gathered at this establishment were all criminals of one form or another, but he’d gotten a big payday and it made him feel a few notches above the rest.
“Tell me who hired you,” the ghost yells at him, threatening to let go.
The man shakes his head. If he tells, he will die—either by this man’s hand or his employer’s, and he’d much rather get dropped off this building than face what his employer would do to him. He should know. He’s fulfilled numerous contracts with explicit instructions for a slow, painful death. Or worse, making them watch their families die first.
“If you tell me, I’ll keep you safe,” the ghost offers.
“Nowhere is safe from him!”
“Just give me his name. Atone for what you’ve done.”
The man considers this. Would telling the ghost allow him to end up better in eternity?
He shakes his head again. “It’s already been set in motion. No one can stop it now.”
The man feels himself fall as the ghost lets go of one of his legs. Although he quickly discovers he only dropped slightly, it felt like many feet. He has a wife at home and an elderly mother. Even in death, his employer would punish him—by killing his family—if he thought he had been betrayed. But the ghost is good. He’s clearly a highly trained spy, who may be the only one able to stop his employer.
“We can protect you! Tell me!”
He feels the man’s grip slip, and in a flash of panic yells out, “Please, don’t let go! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!”
The ghost pulls him to the safety of the roof then levels a gun at his chest. “Who hired you?”
“A man who is not in charge, but I overheard some things.”
“Like what?”
“It starts with Montrovia,” he tells the ghost. It’s not all he knows, but hopefully it will be enough.
A relative peace overcomes him, and he now knows what he must do to protect his family.
It’s the only way.
He leans backward and pitches himself over the ledge.
“Shit,” the ghost mutters, putting his gun away and reaching for his phone.
“We were right. It’s starting,” he says to the man who answers.
“Do you have him in custody?”
“Sort of,” he replies, looking down at the broken body lying in the street.
“Is he alive?”
“Uh, not so much.”
“Did you find out who hired him?” The voice sounds angry.
“As we suspected, it was a man who is not in charge. But he confessed to overhearing something.”
“Dammit, you should have kept him alive. We need more information.”
“He said enough. It starts with Montrovia.”
The man on the other end goes silent. “I was hoping to give her more time.”
“We can’t wait any longer.”
“I’ll make the call,” he says reluctantly.
MISSION:DAY ONE
My mother is on her knees in our living room.
She’s pleading at me with her eyes. Although the man standing in front of her thinks she’s begging not to be shot with the suppressed handgun he’s pointing at her, I know she’s really begging for me not to do what I’m about to do—shoot the man myself.
She closes her eyes as I pull the trigger.
But I’m too late.
A tiny hole forms in the center of her forehead as blood sprays onto the couch behind her.
I watch in stunned horror, a scream rising in my throat even though I know I should keep quiet.
The man turns to face me. He’s clutching his shoulder, which I must have hit.
His eyes bore into mine. Eyes I will never forget.
Then he turns his gun on me.
“X, wake up,” my study hall professor says, pushing on my shoulder. Even on Sundays, we have mandatory study periods.
“I’m sorry. I was up late studying,” I say smoothly.
“The Dean would like you to report to his office immediately.”
I stand up and smooth out my uniform—which, not surprisingly, is all black—grab my backpack, and head down the hall, my dream still at the forefront of my mind.
X has been my name since I came to Blackwood six years ago after my parents were killed. I slide my hand down the thick chair rail and take in the polished beauty that is Blackwood Academy, the stately mansion that has been my home since then. Although to the outside world it appears to be an elite boarding school for only the wealthiest of students, it’s not really. If Hogwarts was for young wizards who show talent with magic, Blackwood is for students who show exceptional skills in disciplines like martial arts, languages, computer hacking, and rule-breaking. Talents that our government can harness and train.
As I descend the grand iron staircase, I start to worry.
Last night, I may not have actually been studying. I may have been hooking up with S, who told me his real name is Josh Bentley after we slept together. He wasn’t my first. At Blackwood, dating isn’t allowed, but we aren’t expected to deny our sexual desires. As long as we are not in violation of other rules like curfew, sex is fine, even considered a great way to release tension—which means the standard pickup line here is, Wanna blow off some steam? And that works for me.
I know I’m going to have to end things with Josh because last night when he held me in his arms, he dared to whisper those three little words—sweet words most girls long to hear but are the death of a relationship at Blackwood. Here, we’re taught to thrive on our own. To not crave emotional entanglements.
Last night, I failed in that respect. I liked hearing it.
But I’m chalking up my emotion to the events that preceded his words. All the students had been woken up yesterday at 0500 for a mission enactment. Twelve hours later—muddy, hungry, and exhausted—I used a sniper rifle to kill the target and retrieve the stolen data. Josh and I had worked together all day using our tracking abilities while being hunted. Just staying alive—as in not getting hit with a rubber bullet—is a feat. Completing the mission is a rare thing. Our enemies were two former graduates who had never been beat.
After we’d scarfed down food in the mess hall, Josh and I celebrated by sn
eaking out with a 1974 bottle of Bordeaux I nicked from the school’s wine cellar.
And I have a feeling someone is missing that bottle.
I’m only a few weeks from graduation, and although it’s not that unusual for me to be sent to the Dean’s office for various misdemeanors, I’ve been particularly careful lately because after graduation I want to be a field operative for a covert agency. Because it’s my best chance of finding the man from my dream—and killing him.
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I turn right then lift the brass knocker which contains a retinal scanner. My eye gets scanned and then the door responds with a click, letting me know I can open it.
“Hello, Xanthamum,” the Dean’s perpetually cheerful assistant says to me. She dresses like a grandmother and makes up a new name every time she sees you, but we all know it’s just a ruse. The woman retired from the CIA over ten years ago and is still a crack shot. “Go on in. He’s waiting for you.”
I give her a smile, hoping she will say more. She likes to gossip about the goings on at school. But in this case, she gives me a wave toward the door.
“Hello, sir,” I say to the Dean, by way of announcing my arrival.
He looks up from his book. “Have a seat.”
I sit down in a well-worn leather chair across from his desk. If I’m being honest, I love the Dean’s office. It’s a former library and is loaded with shelf after shelf of books. And the Dean has been a sort of father figure to me, like if your dad was the type of guy to push you to do better at holding your breath under water, hitting a target the size of a peanut from one hundred feet, hacking into the Pentagon, and kicking the shit out of your jujitsu instructor.
“It’s my understanding that you are a good dancer,” he says.
Shit, he definitely knows I was dancing with Josh in his room after curfew. And by dancing, I mean having sex. But spies are trained not to follow the rules. To complete the mission whatever it takes. We are trained liars. So I reply coolly, “Of course, all of Blackwood’s students take finishing class.”
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