Jump (LOST BOYS Book 4), page 1
Jump
LOST BOYS BOOK 4
EMILIA FINN
Copyright © 2023 Emilia Finn
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below:
info@beelievepublishing.com
ISBN: 978-1-922623-32-4 (Paperback)
Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.
Cover design: Britt @ Chaotic Creatives
Editing: Bird’s Eye Editing
First printing edition 2023.
Beelieve Publishing, Pty Ltd
PO Box 407,
Woy Woy, NSW, 2256
Australia
www.emiliafinn.com
EMILIA FINN, the ROLLERS logo, the CHECKMATE SECURITY logo, STACKED DECK logo, and INAMORATA are all trade marks of Beelieve Publishing, Pty Ltd
Contents
Also by Emilia Finn
Looking To Connect?
Ana
Jump
Vivian
Matteo Ruiz
Vivian
Ruiz
Vivian
Ruiz
Vivian
Ruiz
Vivian
Ruiz
Vivian
Ruiz
Vivian
Vivian
Ruiz
Vivian
Ruiz
Vivian
Ruiz
Vivian
Epilogue
Also by Emilia Finn
For those afraid to love again…
Don’t give up on yourself.
Also by Emilia Finn
(in reading order)
The Rollin On Series
Finding Home
Finding Victory
Finding Forever
Finding Peace
Finding Redemption
Finding Hope
The Survivor Series
Because of You
Surviving You
Without You
Rewriting You
Always You
Take A Chance On Me
The Checkmate Series
Pawns In The Bishop’s Game
Till The Sun Dies
Castling The Rook
Playing For Keeps
Rise Of The King
Sacrifice The Knight
Winner Takes All
Checkmate
Stacked Deck - Rollin On Next Gen
Wildcard
Reshuffle
Game of Hearts
Full House
No Limits
Bluff
Seven Card Stud
Crazy Eights
Eleusis
Dynamite
Busted
Gilded Knights (Rosa Brothers)
Redeeming The Rose
Chasing Fire
Animal Instincts
Pure Chemistry
Battle Scars
Safe Haven
Inamorata
The Fiera Princess
The Fiera Ruins
The Fiera Reign
Mayet Justice
Sinful Justice
Sinful Deed
Sinful Truth
Sinful Desire
Sinful Deceit
Sinful Chaos
Sinful Promise
Sinful Surrender
Sinful Fantasy
Lost Boys
MISTAKE
REGRET
Crash & Burn
JUMP
JINXED
Rollin On Novellas
(Do not read before finishing the Rollin On Series)
Begin Again – A Short Story
Written in the Stars – A Short Story
Full Circle – A Short Story
Worth Fighting For – A Bobby & Kit Novella
Looking To Connect?
Website
Newsletter
The Crew
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Ana
THE THINGS WE CAN ONLY SAY AND DO IN THE DARK
My shimmering golden gown clings to my body, the hip panel hugging my shape so it’s almost as though I needn’t have covered up at all.
Though, I don’t look as naked as I feel.
The gown, chosen specifically for this black tie event from a small boutique, is elegant in all the best ways. The silken fabric accentuates what little backside I possess, while also flaunting the D cups I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with.
Love because, of course, boobs are a sure way to catch attention, and it’s an instant ego boost when that attention is, in fact, grabbed. But hate, because I’ve had them since I was twelve, and back then, when grown people looked, it felt gross enough to set me up for a lifetime of baggy shirts and dorky outfits, in lieu of the figure-fitting clothes that most other women my age go for.
I wander the ballroom floor beneath the crystal chandelier in heels taller than any I could ever become used to wearing. All the beautiful people around me wear similar ankle-breaking shoes, but they do it without a single hitch to their strides.
Though of course, the buff, handsome, dangerous-looking men at their sides no doubt carry a lot of the load, and course-correct if a misstep is taken.
But I walk alone.
That’s how I prefer it.
Even better, the ballroom is dimmed to set the mood, and the otherwise familiar crowd is masked, so identities are mostly hidden. All of this means the usual dread I would feel at such an affair lifts to make way for elation. For a level of daring only made possible when I get to be anyone I want to be.
I’m just a woman, peering out from behind a silk mask that hides everything but my earthy blue eyes and my glossy red lips. At a ball, where I’m neither the hostess nor the birthday girl, so I get to stroll the fringes of a world that churns with laughter and champagne. Among beautiful people, and in enough anonymity to make me comfortable.
This is a small town, of course, so the idea of secrecy, even in the midst of a masquerade, is laughable. I know who is here, just as most others are aware that it’s me in the gold. I can pick out the dazzling dancers who own and run a studio across town; though the women are also masked, their gowns are incapable of covering the long, sinewy lines of their ballerina bodies. The professional fighters are similarly unmistakable; to expect a suit to conceal that kind of muscle is simply asking too much.
Nevertheless, wearing silk on my own face somehow brings me bravery I wouldn’t otherwise possess. And this gown, caressing my body and highlighting curves I’ve spent my life covering, fills me with a confidence I don’t usually feel.
So I sip my champagne, and grin as I pass a man I know.
He’s my colleague, and currently, my roommate’s date—which sounds lovely, if not for the fact that I’m ninety-nine percent sure my roommate has been making out with someone else tonight: her boyfriend. Sort of. Her situationship she’s trying desperately to get over.
Though, if the subtle marks on her neck and the unsubtle way Axel Feeney watches her from across the room are any indicator, I’ll be comforting my coworker on Monday morning, when he carries his mildly bruised heart and ego into the office.
Poor guy.
“More champagne, madam?”
I turn at the soft voice of a server holding a tray of fresh flutes. Glancing down at mine and noticing it’s almost empty, I flash an appreciative smile, tip the rest back so the smooth liquid rolls along my throat, then I switch one glass out for another. “Thank you.”
He dips his head and turns to continue his mission of getting people intoxicated… although, his suit and tails make it a more charming attempt than if he were handing out beer in a can around a bonfire.
“That’s two.”
I spin again at the deep, unfamiliar tone of a stranger’s voice, and look up when I find that my visitor stands at an easy six feet and a few inches tall. Almost an entire foot more than my five-seven. He wears an elaborate, Phantom of the Opera-style half-mask, but in a textured black that stands out against his short black hair.
On the half of his face I get to see, stubble almost as long as the hair on the top of his head covers a jaw that clenches so the muscles above flex and move, and when I follow the lines up and stop on his eyes, I find a chocolatey brown that somehow burns into my blue gaze so I almost feel… exposed.
More so than in the clingy dress.
“Uh…” Nerves settle deep in my stomach, tempting my hand down to rub away the discomfort. But then I remember that, tonight, I’m a beautiful person too. In an elegant gown, and a mask made of silk and mystery.
So for tonight, at least, I refuse myself the luxury of hiding.
Curious, I look down at my glass of champagne, then up to the stranger. Which is a bizarre concept. Small towns and big family events typically mean everyone knows everyone else. But this man, even under the mask, is unknown to me.
“E-excuse me?” I stammer. “Two, what?”
“Glasses of champagne.” His voice is deliciously deep. His teeth, in the brief glimpses I get when he opens his mouth, are perfectly straight and charming. His lips are full and heavy, so when I cast another gaze across the features I can see, I wonder if perhaps he’s a Latin man. Maybe not completely. Not on both sides of his family tree. But a little. Enough to color his skin and bless him with lips everyone else wishes they could have. “You just finished your second,” he adds. “About to start your third.”
My eyes narrow in thought, then I glance down to my glass for the third time in search of sense. Blinking once, twice, I peer up again and meet his stare. “So?”
He lifts a single shoulder in a shrug and places a hand on my arm to shuffle me to the side a mere second before a couple, not watching where they’re going, almost bumps into me.
My eyes shoot down to where his fingers encircle my arm, and catch goosebumps springing up on my skin. The sensation races all the way to the tip of my spine, and I shiver under his touch, entirely involuntarily—only to scowl when I glance back up and find a smug grin tugging his mouth to the side.
He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, and when my scowl grows more severe, he rocks back on his heels and nods. “That’s what I thought.”
“What?” I demand. “What did you think?” I jerk my arm from his, not because I don’t want him to touch, but because the fact he does and my body turns to goosebumps is enough to throw me a little off-balance.
“I thought fuck,” he groans, so the sound ricochets right to the bottom of my stomach and replaces my nervousness with something else. Something a little more… curious. “She’s really fucking beautiful,” he continues. “I wasn’t trying to look. In fact, I left this party once already so I could stop looking. But then I came back in, and bam.” He bends his back a little to stare into my eyes. “There you were, still beautiful. Still alone. And on your second glass of champagne.”
“Hmm…” I flatten my lips and search for a way to escape without screaming ‘FIRE!’ in the middle of a hotel filled with firefighters. I want to run from the smooth-talking lothario before I allow myself a chance to be charmed, but the birthday girl’s brother is a fireman, which means his entire crew is here to celebrate too.
So subtlety is the name of this game.
And I have no practice with that.
“Nice line.” I flash a mildly pleasant, partially mocking, smile, which results in his expression dropping into a pout. Then I turn on my heels and start away.
“Wait.” He grabs my arm again—and damn me for hoping he would. Damn my imagination for wondering what it would be like to be pursued by an available, handsome, devilishly dangerous man like this one.
I’ve read too many romance novels for my mind not to wander. I grew up immersing myself in the love stories of fictional characters, while in real life, wanting to be noticed, but shying away when I was.
This man, whose name I don’t know, pulls me around until my toes meet the front of his shoes and my breath, embarrassingly, hits his chiseled jaw. If he had long hair, I have no doubt the gust that explodes from my chest would blow it back.
He stands over me, his eyes burning down into mine, while I arch my neck back to hold his gaze. “That wasn’t a line,” he shakes his head, slow and thoughtful. “I have no fuckin’ clue what it was, but it was the truth.”
“Listen…” I try to step back—and if I could, I would chug my alcohol and hope to remedy the anxiety swarming my blood—but he doesn’t allow me even an inch of space.
“You’re beautiful,” he presses. “In a room full of beautiful people, you’re the only one I see. I don’t know why that is. And hell knows, I sound like a creep on the verge of stalker status.”
“Yeah.” I nod in the space he barely allows, and swallow the ball of nerves in my throat. “Little bit.”
“But you’re the first woman I’ve thought that about in a long time. So…” Finally, he releases his tight grip on my arm and takes half a step back. “The fact I am has made me curious. Which pissed me off.” Chuckling, he reaches up and scrubs a hand along his stubbled jaw. “I was so pissed, I left the party.”
“But now you’re back?”
He drops his hand and chews on his thoughts for a beat before he finally nods. “You’re the first woman I’ve looked at in a long time, and though I might burn in hell for it, I came back so I could look at you a little more.”
He’s a peculiar man. Odd, in the careful wording he chooses. As well as in the words he doesn’t speak at all.
“Looking typically involves eyes only.” My hands shake and adrenaline zings through my veins, but I bring my crystal flute up and work to hide the tremor beneath it. “You jumped to touching awfully fast, considering we don’t know each other. And I’m friendly with a lot of first responders in this room.”
I take a sip of my drink and search the crowd for the man I know as the chief of authority in town. Then, for my companion, I nod in the cop’s direction. “Chief Turner. And the guy beside him, Deputy Franks.” Finally, I twist fractionally to the right and glance toward Axel Feeney. “Firefighter, and my friend. So what’s stopping me from screaming right now and getting your ass beat and locked up for the night?”
As though amused—the twinkle in his eye sexier than the worry that was there a moment ago—he follows my line of sight until he stops on Axel’s broad back. Music plays from the live band across the room, and people chatter, so sound becomes one massive white noise that could become overwhelming for some. But my odd companion only grins, like the thought of Axel Feeney doing anything to remove him is absurd.
“I touched you only to move you and prevent alcohol being spilled on your dress.” Bringing his attention back to me, he glances down and stops on my bottom lip, trapped between my teeth.
I hadn’t even realized I was doing it until his gaze darkens.
“But touching you meant I got to see with my own eyes,” he rasps. “I got to know.”
“To see what?” I release my lip and meet his stare. A glutton for punishment. A prisoner out for execution. “To know what?”
“You react to me.” He slides his tongue forward to wet his dry lips, my eyes following the movement, and my throat turning parched in response. “Your brain says fuck no. But your body says something else entirely.”
I choke out a nervous laugh while, inside my head, my mind screams what the hell? “You’re presumptuous, aren’t you? You have no clue who I am, and yet, you think you can tell me what my body thinks?”
“But that’s just it.” Daring, arrogant, he extends his hand and slides the tip of his pinky finger along my forearm, and smirks when goosebumps follow after. “Your body doesn’t think. Which is kinda why I can stand here at all. Just like yours, my brain is firing all over the place. Telling me no. Shouting that this isn’t okay. But our bodies…”
“Maybe I’m married, and your entire spiel is a waste of semi-decent pick-up lines.”
Pointedly, he looks to my left hand and raises a single brow. No ring. “Are you married?”
“Well… no,” I admit. “But maybe I’m in a committed relationship, and your advances offend me.”
His chest bounces, though the sound doesn’t come out. “Are you in a committed relationship?”
No, damn him, I’m not.
“Does my presence offend you?” he presses, tenacious in his pursuit of my time.
“I’m not sure,” I murmur.
And hell if that isn’t the truth. His presence confuses me most of all.
As though my incomplete answer is telling enough, his lips curl higher and his eyes lighten a little. Not a lot, considering the dim lighting in the elegant ballroom. But enough to assure me there’s a sweet guy beneath the rough exterior.
