Sunset Savage: A Dark Possessive Romance, page 1
Sunset Savage
A Dark Possessive Romance
BB Hamel
Copyright © 2022 by B. B. Hamel
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.
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Contents
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Trigger Warning
1. Blair
2. Blair
3. Baptist
4. Blair
5. Baptist
6. Blair
7. Baptist
8. Blair
9. Blair
10. Baptist
11. Blair
12. Blair
13. Blair
14. Blair
15. Baptist
16. Blair
17. Baptist
18. Blair
19. Blair
20. Baptist
21. Blair
22. Baptist
23. Blair
24. Blair
25. Blair
26. Baptist
27. Blair
28. Baptist
29. Blair
Preview: Broken by Sin
Also by BB Hamel
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Trigger Warning
This book contains graphic descriptions of sexual content, explicit violence, drug use, and past trauma. It’s over-the-top and twisty, which means you’d better be ready or a wild ride. These scenes were written to create a more vivid, in-depth experience, but may be triggering for some readers.
Read at your own risk.
Chapter 1
Blair
I throw back my fourth champagne of the night and watch the happy people down below mill around the dance floor, laughing, joking, kissing, grinding away to a slow jam by the Backstreet Boys, and I wonder why I’m not in that crowd.
I should be ecstatic. My good friend Marie’s getting married to my boss, the Ice King himself Ansell Drake, and I’m lucky enough to be one of her bridesmaids. The whole wedding’s been a dream, bankrolled by Ansell’s endless cash, from designer shoes and dresses to an entire week of activities, to this absurdly gorgeous mansion venue complete with a second-floor balcony.
It’s been amazing, almost like heaven. I grip the railing and make myself smile—but I don’t feel it.
It’s hard to understand. Blair Webb, daughter of the famous Alexander Webb, given everything and wanting for nothing. My whole life is supposed be a charmed masterpiece of luxury and joy, like birds appear at my window every morning to get me dressed and do my hair and tweet about how beautiful and perfect I am.
Except that’s only the fake image my dad loves to show the press.
While the reality is much worse.
“You look grim.”
I glance sideways. Baptist stands nearby, arms crossed over his chest. I feel a small shiver run down my back at the way he’s watching me carefully. He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, and he looks like a model in that expensive suit. He’s Ansell’s best man and the most eligible bachelor in this room—and maybe all of Philadelphia—and he’s not my favorite person in the world.
There’s a danger lurking beneath his surface.
Most people don’t notice it. All they see is the happy-go-lucky Baptist he presents to the world, the guy that can make an entire room sit still and pay attention to him like he’s the center of the universe.
But I know better.
Although I don’t mind looking at him. Baptist has a smile that could win a beauty contest and the muscular arms of an athlete, and I know there are tattoos hidden under that crisp white shirt inking his smooth, muscular skin. So yeah, Baptist is hot, insanely hot, and yes, I am very attracted to him—but looks aren’t everything.
As I well know.
Nice clothes easily cover up scars.
“I’m not grim. I’m having a wonderful time.” I go to take a sip of my drink and find it empty.
“Allow me.” He sneaks a glass from a nearby waiter’s tray and hands it to me before placing my empty on a high top. “There you are. The finest champagne money can buy.”
“Really? It’s wasted on me then.”
“I’m just kidding, Ansell saves the high-end stuff for him and his new wife. He’s too cheap to spread it around.”
“None of this screams cheap.”
“You’d know.” He smiles slightly and sighs, leaning his elbow on the railing. I glare at him and he shrugs. “Well, you would, why bother pretending?”
“You love to remind me about money, don’t you?”
“Only every chance I get.” His smirk slowly disappears. “Why are you standing up here alone, anyway? The party’s only getting started.”
How am I supposed to explain that one to him? My mom ran off to England again to be with her boyfriend and my father’s in one of his violent moods, which means my little brother’s living with me in my tiny apartment, oh, and he’s practically falling apart too. He’d only smile and laugh the way Baptist does and I’d feel like I’m being dismissed, because surely someone with money can’t possibly have problems.
Not that any of the money is mine.
Which my father endlessly enjoys reminding me about.
I shrug instead. “Tired. Too drunk. Take your pick.”
“I hope you’re not too drunk. I actually came up here to ask you about something important.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Really? Why, I thought you spent most of your life avoiding me. And I didn’t know you cared about important things.”
He doesn’t take the bait. Normally, Baptist loves to spar with me, and he’s all smiles and laughter and charm. He’s the opposite of Ansell—Baptist burns hot and he burns brightly. Entire rooms turn to face him when he walks through a door. Where Ansell’s cold and calculating, Baptist is all rage and passion and heat.
He’s the sort of man that would burn down a city to get what he wants.
“Not tonight,” he says, leaning both arms on the railing, and looks down at the party. I stand closer and sip my drink. “I’ve been thinking about leaving Drake Entertainment.”
That gets my attention. “Are you kidding?” I’m not sure why he’d tell me that, but he’s right, this is a huge deal.
“I’ve been talking to Ansell about it, so he’s aware, but please don’t mention this to anyone.”
I’m not sure what to say. Baptist and I aren’t friends—I’d describe our relationship as workplace frenemies at best—and I have no clue why he’d give me a secret like that. But I’ll admit, I’m curious. I lean down so we’re on the same level, both of us looking out at the revelers below. I spot Marie in the crowd, dancing with an awkward-looking Ansell, and smile to myself. This isn’t the Ice King’s scene, but he’s trying hard for Marie, and that counts for something.
That man loves her, really loves her, and I didn’t think he was capable of feeling anything much less actual romantic attachment.
“I’m wondering why you’d tell me something like that. We’re not exactly close.”
A hint of a smile. “No, we’re not, but I wanted to ask you something. Are you happy at Drake?”
I hesitate, not sure how to answer.
Am I happy?
I mean, in general, no, I’m not happy, not even a little bit.
But at work?
That’s something I’ve asked myself half a dozen times over the years. I should be happy. I’m intensely aware of my privilege and everything that comes with it. But does comfort make me happy? Does a good family name and a famous father make me happy? Does money bring me joy?
I’m not sure I can honestly say yes to any of those questions.
Drake Entertainment is a good job. It’s a solid firm with good clients and a sterling reputation on the East Coast. I have room to grow and learn, and that’s important in this industry. I don’t plan on being there forever, but for now, it feels like it’s the best I’m going to get.
“Work’s fine. I have good clients. I’m making decent money. I’m independent, learning a lot—”
“But are you happy?”
I shrug. “It’s work, Baptist. Is anyone happy at work?”
“They should be. I want to be.” He doesn’t look at me and his usual smirk is completely missing. His voice is quiet, almost pensive. This is a Baptist I’ve never seen before. Gone are the jokes, the laughter, the teasing. This is his serious underside, the man beneath the mask he shows to the rest of the world, and I find it strangely alluring that he’s letting me catch a glimpse when he tries so hard to keep himself hidden away.
It’s disturbing, how honest he’s being. The idea of Baptist, of all people in the world, somehow being unhappy seems—impossible.
“Why are you asking me about this? You’ve barely done more than make fun of me ever since I came to Drake.”
“You’re an easy target.”
“Thanks, you’re such a prince.”
He laughs softly and glances at me sideways. His eyes burn, smoldering with a deep passion I don’t understand. I nearl
Or maybe I’m projecting.
“I found you tonight for a reason.” He looks at me, head tilted. “I’m starting my own production company and I want you to come with me.”
I don’t know what to say. I flounder for a response under the intense weight of that stare. Instead of speaking, I drain half my glass and turn my back on the party down below, staring out across the balcony at the far wall. I can’t look at him right now as my head swirls with possibility. “I don’t know what to say,” I admit.
“Don’t say anything yet, just listen. Ansell’s going to be my first investor, so don’t worry about any bad blood there. I want to start something here in Philadelphia and work with local artists. I think there’s a lot of untapped potential in this city, and if we’re smart and work hard, I think we can turn this into something. I have some of my own startup money, and that plus whatever Ansell gives me will be enough to get us going. I’m in talks with Antonio Cowan—”
That grabs my attention. I look at him sharply, ready to laugh in his face. “Tony Cowan? Are you kidding me?” I stare at him, truly surprised. It’s one thing for Baptist to get money from his best friend—and entirely another to have a direct line to one of the most famous and reclusive directors in the country. “How did you manage that?”
“You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Seriously. You want me to consider this? Then tell me.”
“I ran into him in Rittenhouse Park. He was feeding pigeons.”
“Shut the fuck up, now I know you’re lying.”
He laughs and shakes his head, turning around to face the same direction as me. He crosses his arms and his elbow brushes against mine, and a chill runs down my spine. His eyes glance along my body like he felt it too, and I’m distinctly aware of him lingering on the hint of cleavage, my exposed back, my hips, and my lips.
“I’m really doing this, Blair. Cowan’s got a script and it’s really fucking good. I want to bankroll him, produce the whole thing, and he wants to shoot it locally. It’ll be our first project, and if it works, this can make our entire careers. I want your help. Of everyone at Drake, you’re the only one I’m approaching.”
I chew on my lip, considering. If he’s not full of shit, this could be absolutely huge. Cowan’s never made a bad movie, but he’s notoriously strange and difficult to work with. He’s only ever finished three projects, and abandoned half a dozen, which isn’t a good track record—but those three projects are incredible.
To be a part of the production company that finally gets a Cowan film into theaters after all these years sounds like a dream. The second employee, right on the ground floor? It’s so tempting I could scream.
“Why me?”
He nods and shifts closer. Now we’re touching, arm to arm, and I don’t pull away. It’s a dance we’re going through and I’m not sure why it’s happening at all, but I feel this sudden pull to him. It could be the alcohol buzzing in my head or the scenic wedding or just him. Baptist annoys the hell out of me, and I think he’s an egotistical asshole, but this is a real opportunity. And he is handsome as hell.
I’m flattered he’s thinking of me. I’m attracted to the way he’s looking at my dress.
Maybe I should stop drinking the champagne.
Instead, I drain my glass and look for another.
“You’re clever. You work hard. Ansell speaks highly of you and your clients all think you’re the best. Marie likes you, which I guess means something.”
“That’s just a bunch of crap other people say.” I turn toward him, looking hard. “What do you think?”
His eyes meet mine. There’s that smoldering need again, so intense I nearly pull back, but I don’t move. His fingers brush against my wrist, just the slightest touch, sending a jolt into my core. What’s with this guy all of a sudden?
“I think you’re smarter than you let on. I think you’d kill to make this project a success, and that’s what I need. Drive, talent, ambition. I want someone that cares as much as I do, and you’re the only person I know that gets anywhere close.”
I take a slow breath. “And you’re not doing it because of my father?”
He knows damn well who Alexander Webb is. Everyone in this industry knows my dad, and I’ve spent my entire life fighting off blood-sucking leeches intent on getting close to me just to meet my father. I’m not about to let Baptist take advantage of me, not even for an opportunity like this one.
“No, I’m not.”
“Promise me.” I touch his chest, my palm flat against his heart. He seems surprised, but he doesn’t pull back. I feel his heart beating, slow and steady, and I stare at him sharply. “Promise it has nothing to do with my dad.”
“I promise.”
His heart races, faster and faster.
“You’re lying.” I move to pull away.
But he catches my wrist. I stare in surprise as he yanks me closer, pressing my hand harder to his chest, above his heart. It’s pounding now like he’s in the middle of a marathon. I look in his eyes and he gazes back, and that longing is incredible and painful, and I don’t understand it at all.
Is his heart racing because he’s not telling the truth?
Or maybe it’s because I’m so close.
“I want you, Webb. Not your father.”
I bite my lip and slowly nod.
What am I doing right now?
“Say that again.” I move nearer. My lips are inches from his. This is a stupid mistake, especially if we’re about to get into business together. A stupid, dumb, alcohol-and-wedding-fueled mistake. The kind of mistake that can ruin a life.
“Tell me you want me, Baptist.”
“I want you. Not your name. Not your family. I want you.”
He kisses me and I kiss him back. Fuck, it’s so stupid, but his heart is pounding and mine is too, and his lips taste like whiskey and licorice, and I want to melt into that mouth. His hands brush along the small of my back inches from my ass and extreme jolts of desire rush down my core. I’m breathless and longing for more. He holds the kiss for longer than we should until I break off first, and I can tell he didn’t want me to stop.
“Come with me,” he says quietly, not asking for permission. He grabs my hand and I should tell him to stop. Someone might see us leaving together and make all the right assumptions.
But I don’t care. I trail after him, walking fast to a back door. We descend an empty back staircase, pausing only for a moment, only long enough for him to pin me against the wall on the darkened landing and kiss me, his body hard and handsome and warm against mine.
This is stupid. This is so, so stupid. We’re going into business together, we can’t start this way.
I don’t even like this guy.
And yet I follow. I’m smitten, my lips swollen, my body melting. He takes me into a back room—a supply closet. “How romantic,” I say.
He shuts the door, shoves me against the wall, and smothers any other thoughts I might’ve had with his tongue.
His hands move down my hips. I can feel his thick hardness against my flesh already. He’s pulsing, beating with desire. He hikes up my dress and I gasp in shock as he strokes my pussy over my panties, kissing my neck, almost purring with delight. Pleasure breaks into my brain and any lingering doubts are blasted to pieces.
