First Glance (A Steamy Series-Starter Anthology), page 24
But Brea couldn’t be anywhere near him.
“Not now. I’ll explain when I can but—”
“Actually, don’t worry.” Her face closed up. Her eyes filled with tears.
He tensed. “What does that mean?”
“I was going to say no anyway.”
Seriously? He hadn’t fucking seen that coming. The night he’d left, she’d claimed she loved him. Now suddenly she’d decided to give him a polite fuck off? Because she’d interpreted his words as a breakup…or because she genuinely didn’t want him anymore? “Why?”
“Pierce, I’m a preacher’s daughter. I can’t shack up with a man, especially one my father has never met. The fact that shocks you tells me we weren’t suited anyway.”
That hadn’t crossed his mind…and it should have. Fuck.
Looking ready to dissolve into tears, she shoved against him and edged toward the door. “I have to go.”
Seriously, that was it? She was done talking? Pain spread through his chest and ice-picked through his veins.
One-Mile sucked at relationships. Did her hesitation have anything to do with his confession about his father? Probably, but he couldn’t stay to fix it. He couldn’t fucking risk her. “So do I, but we will talk about this later.”
“What’s the point?” Brea wrenched the door open.
Before she could flee, he slapped a big palm over her head and slammed it shut, locking them in again. He should let her go; he knew it. Instead, he stupidly backed her against the door and slanted his mouth over hers, ravaging her like he intended to tattoo her taste on his tongue.
After a little gasp, she grabbed him with desperate fingers, dragged him closer, and opened to him. He tasted her desperation as he sank deep and reveled in her softness. Their breaths merged. Her body clung.
Fuck, she felt like home.
Suddenly, she pushed him away and glared with accusing eyes. “Stop. You have your reasons for not wanting me to move in and—”
“Because while I was gone—”
“I don’t care why you changed your mind or who you slept with or…whatever. My dad found out about us and asked me not to see you for a month. After thoughtful consideration, I think he may be right.”
“What?” Why the fuck would she think that?
Because she didn’t love him, after all?
“We were never going to work out. It’s best if you don’t come back.” She shoved him away and wriggled out the door.
One-Mile watched, too stunned to stop her.
By the time he surged outside in pursuit, she had already climbed in her car. He bit back the urge to call out to her. What good would it do?
She thought it was over, and she would keep her distance. It was best…for now.
But the second this shit with Montilla got sorted, he would hunt her down and resolve everything. He’d explain. He’d even beg if he had to. And since she couldn’t simply move in with him, he would propose. He loved her. He wanted to spend his life with her.
As soon as he figured out what the fuck had happened to change her mind.
One-Mile watched Brea drive away with a curse, vowing that he would set eyes—and every other part of him—on her again.
Can’t wait to find out what’s next for One-Mile and Brea? Grab their thrilling, epic conclusion HERE!
Thank you for reading Wicked as Sin! If you enjoyed this book, please review and/or recommend it to your reader friends. That means the world to me!
Want to know more about Wicked Ever After? Read on…
WICKED EVER AFTER
One-Mile and Brea, Part Two
Wicked & Devoted, Book 2
By Shayla Black
(available in eBook and print. Audio coming soon!)
Click here to purchase!
The good girl is keeping a secret? He’ll seduce it out of her until she begs to be his.
Sniper Pierce “One-Mile” Walker nearly had everything he ever wanted—until a fateful mission stripped it all away. Now an outcast, he’s forced to watch the off-limits beauty who stole his heart slip through his fingers. Left with nothing but revenge, he’s determined to defeat evil and win her back. But when he learns she’s planning a future without him, he vows he’ll break every rule and defy all odds to make her his again—forever.
Brea Bell was always a good girl…until Pierce Walker. Despite everyone’s warnings, she gave the rough warrior her body—and her heart. When she receives news that shatters her world, he devastates her by walking away. Terrified of losing all she’s ever known, Brea tucks away her dreams and commits to a “safe” future. Then Pierce appears in the dead of night, challenging and seducing her. Brea isn’t sure she can trust him…but she also can’t say no.
Angry and betrayed, he leaves to pursue vengeance, while her sins are exposed to the world, forcing her to fight painful battles. Can Brea and Pierce conquer the dangers that threaten their happily ever after…or will fate wrench them apart forever?
EXCERPT
Saturday, November 1
Louisiana
As everyone in the salon joked and laughed around her, Brea Bell held in a sob.
Pierce Walker didn’t want her anymore. Sure, he’d come up with an excuse, but the truth was he’d pushed her away. He’d lied. He had never loved her.
That reality pelted her brain in a litany through the long day of stilted smiles and prying clients.
It took all her will not to break down, but she refused to weep over a man who’d abruptly decided she wasn’t enough for him.
Still, she couldn’t stop turning their brief conversation over in her head.
If he no longer wanted or loved her, why had he rushed home to see her? And kissed her as if his life depended on it?
The man had always confused her.
As she swept the last of the hair from the floor and stored the broom, the chime on the empty salon’s front door rang. She turned, hoping to see a friendly face.
Cutter appeared around the privacy partition dividing the front desk from the clients. “Hey, Bre-bee.”
“You’re back!” She ran to him.
He opened his arms and hugged her tight. “You okay?”
She clung gratefully. He’d always been her lifeline. “Tell me what happened to you. Your client got kidnapped? And you got a concussion?” She skimmed her fingertips across his face. “That’s a nasty scrape on your cheek, but whatever gave you that bruise at your temple must have hurt like the dickens. And what about that long scratch on your chin?”
Cutter pulled back with a scowl. “I’ll heal. But it wasn’t my finest case. Thankfully, Jolie Quinn, my client, kept her head up. Her corporate security specialist, Heath, managed to save her. They both got out alive.”
“Oh, thank goodness everyone is all right.”
“I’m not going to lie. Wednesday was rough. I should have done better.”
She laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know you. I’m sure you did everything you could.”
“Except pee with my back against the wall,” he groused. “But how are you? Feeling any better?”
Brea glanced into the break room to make sure everyone had, in fact, left. Finding it empty, she returned to Cutter’s side with a frown. “Not so good. Lots of nausea and exhaustion.”
“Your text said your doctor appointment is Monday morning at eleven?”
She nodded. “Can you make it?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Thanks. And thanks for coming to see me. I could use a friend.” Tears filled her eyes.
So much for her vow not to cry. But at the thought of never seeing Pierce again, hot drops scalded her cheeks.
“Hey, Bre-Bee, shh… I know you’re worried. But don’t borrow trouble until you’ve seen the obstetrician and—”
“P-Pierce broke up with me this morning.”
“What?” His mouth pinched. His nostrils flared. His fists clenched. “Are you kidding me? You told him you were pregnant, and that motherfucker—”
“I didn’t get to tell him. I don’t know what happened…” She sniffled. “Before he left on a mission last Thursday, he told me he loved me. He asked me to move in with him. But when he showed up at my house this morning, he…”
She couldn’t finish that sentence without falling apart.
“Dumped you. What reason did he give?”
“He didn’t. He just said that something had come up and he couldn’t see me anymore. But he seemed impatient. Or nervous. I’m not sure. And he talked to me like…he was already half out the door.”
“Oh, Bre-bee.” He caressed her back and held her as the tears she didn’t want to shed fell freely. “I’m sorry.”
“You warned me.” She dragged in a deep breath and tried to stop blubbering. “B-but I’m so confused… When he told me he didn’t want me to move in anymore, I told him it was impossible anyway and tried to leave. Then he grabbed me and kissed me like he didn’t want to let me go.”
“Don’t look for logic where Walker is concerned. You gave yourself to him in good faith because you fell for him. He’s just an asshole who played you. I hate that. And I hate him.” He gritted his teeth. “But now, it’s over. You have to move on. I’ll kick his ass for you.”
“You can’t. That won’t solve anything. I just don’t know what I’m going to do if the doctor confirms I’m pregnant.”
“Well, Pierce wasn’t going to be much help as a father anyway, so don’t bother giving two shits about him.”
She couldn’t put this on his shoulders. “Cutter…”
“Fine.” He clenched his jaw, which told her he wanted to say something more but didn’t to keep the peace. “I won’t bad-mouth him anymore. But I’m right. He’s gone, and you’re better off. Don’t worry. You know I’ve always taken care of you.” He squeezed her shoulders. “I always will.”
ABOUT MORE THAN WANT YOU
I hired her to distract my enemy. Now I'm determined to have her for my own.
I’m Maxon Reed—real estate mogul, shark, asshole. If a deal isn’t high profile and big money, I pass. Now that I’ve found the property of a lifetime, I’m jumping. But one tenacious bastard stands between me and success—my brother. I’ll need one hell of a devious ploy to distract cynical Griff. Then fate drops a luscious redhead in my lap who’s just his type.
Sassy Keeley Kent accepts my challenge to learn how to become Griff’s perfect girlfriend. But somewhere between the makeover and the witty conversation, I’m having trouble resisting her. The quirky dreamer is everything I usually don’t tolerate. But she’s beyond charming. I more than want her; I’m desperate to own her. I’m not even sure how drastic I’m willing to get to make her mine—but I’m about to find out.
Maxon
“I’m fucked.” I sink into a wooden chair at a high-top inside the dingy sports bar, almost smearing the sleeve of my suit coat through mustard. Britta and Rob, my tireless staff, love this place. For them, I choke down a slab of greasy beef on a soggy bun, surrounded by drunk tourists and neon Bud Light signs, once a week. But not happily.
Then again, Lahaina isn’t exactly bursting with five-star dining choices. Maui is a quaint paradise, smaller than you think. Its size works both for and against me at times. This is definitely an against occasion.
“Maybe not, Maxon,” Britta counters with a frown. “The call went better than expected.”
I’ll give her that since Mike Sperry, the attorney representing the filthy-rich Stowe estate, at least listened. Figuratively speaking, I hustled to the “party” late and barged my way through the door without an invitation. But that’s real estate. No one ever earns multimillion-dollar years by sitting back and letting the properties come to them.
“I have to agree,” Rob cuts in, pushing a feathered wing of his salt-and-pepper hair from his eyes.
I want to tell my marketing manager to ditch the eighties ’do. He looks stuck in a time warp. His somewhat steady girlfriend aside, I’m shocked he’d ever got laid.
“Why?” I challenge.
“At least Sperry agreed to pass your proposal on to the Stowe heirs. You’re the number one real estate agent on Maui, and it’s ridiculous you didn’t get the call to start with. But with you persuading them while Britta and I work the angles…if we get this listing, the social media campaign—and the buzz—will be amazing. Almost easy money.”
Despite looking like someone who crawled out of The Breakfast Club, Rob is killer with sound bites and live video. He knows how to make buyers desperate to see a house. Sadly, the enthusiasm doesn’t always last through escrow.
I scoff at him. “If. But I don’t just want to list this place. I want both sides of the transaction.”
Persuading the seller to list with me and finding the perfect buyer will be a challenge. Which is one reason I want to do it.
But not the only reason.
Rob winces. “With all due respect, one step at a time. Focus on convincing Mrs. Stowe’s kids to choose you and keep your ego out of this.”
“With all due respect, fuck you. This isn’t about my ego.” Well, not entirely.
Britta rolls her eyes as our waitress greets us by name—a clear sign we come here too often—and takes our orders. While Rob is asking about some new Pan-Asian crap on their limited menu, I mentally sort through our recent meeting. One issue disturbs me. I tried to ignore it on the drive over…but it’s not working. My suspicion still tugs and pokes. It has since we ended the call.
I glance at my staff. “Sperry said there’s one other agent in competition for this listing. Based on the description he gave, who do you think that is?”
Rob falls silent. Britta suddenly finds the drink menu fascinating. So they’ve figured it out. Good. I hire smart people for a reason.
“Yeah. It’s my brother. That’s why I want to both list and sell.” It’s also most likely why I’m fucked.
“You’re better than he is,” Rob argued.
In some ways, yes. In other ways… Griff has always been brilliant at connecting buyers with the perfect-for-them house. It’s an instinct. He creates emotional bonds between people with ready cash and the big-ass mansions with to-die-for views they crave, even half a world away. It’s one reason we made a great team. I sniffed out great properties and closed the listing appointments, promising the sellers the fucking world if they simply signed on the dotted line for ninety days. I always market upscale properties with far more than the standard pansy-ass cocktail party of air kisses and champagne. But Griff has a knack for matching buyers with the place they’ll fall head over heels for that I lack. Between the two of us, our closing rate was sick.
Then came the debacle with that obscure prince. Then the Tiffanii fuckup. After that…well, we haven’t spoken in three years. To say we loathe one another now would be kind.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence”—I nod Rob’s way—“but you’re biased because I sign your paycheck. The truth is, Griff has gotten shit-tons better at snaring sellers.” This part of the deal is still my game to lose, but since I’m not the estate’s first choice, I could easily strike out. Or fail to kick the game-winning field goal. Hell, insert the sports metaphor of your choice. “With the Stowe heirs hunkered down with the business they inherited, Griff and I both have four weeks to perfect our pitches. It’s essential I lead with something beyond spectacular. Or I have one hell of a plan B. I need ideas. And…go.”
Because it isn’t every day an oceanfront estate worth nearly thirty million dollars lands on the market. The commission on one side of this deal could reach seven-figure territory, but to get paid by both buyer and seller… I would earn half my usual annual haul in a single transaction, probably well before June. It makes the Realtor in me hard.
But beating Griff would be way more exciting than the cash.
“I think we go in big with a slick video of your endorsements and awards.” Rob nods, warming to his subject. “Then show these brats from Vermont everything they don’t understand about the Hawaii lifestyle.”
Britta shakes her head. “Rubbing a seller’s face in what you think they don’t grasp is a surefire way to annoy them. The point is to prove why Maxon is the right listing agent.” She turns to me. “We have to give them big-picture ideas for how you’re going to get quality buyers onto the grounds so they can fall in love. We stress your cache of foreign contacts—China, Russia, UAE—you can bring in the big-money people who won’t think much of dropping that kind of cash on the perfect vacation house. We show them the creative ways you’ve sold before. Your close rate is pretty insane.”
“You know Griff’s is better. That’s what they want. Quick close. All cash.” I lean across the table to her. “You’re looking at this wrong. Yes, I’m better at listing than my brother, but the seller is already half convinced that Griff is their guy, probably because no one finds the perfect buyer and brings them to the closing table faster.”
“So you have to beat the champ at his own game.” Rob sighs, sounding like he finally understands my proclamation that I’m fucked.
There’s no way to top Griff. He’s got a goddamn natural gift.
“Okay, your brother might find a buyer a week or two earlier.” Britta shrugs. “But you’re the better man.”
“They don’t give a shit about that.”
“You always come through,” she argues.
“To the people dying to unload this estate so they can cash out, those seven days make a five-figure difference in their bank account. Besides, they don’t know the Maui market. And they don’t know me except as the pushy salesman who barged in. They certainly don’t know my reputation except through boring statistics and my own claims, which they probably see as bragging. It sounds as if Susan Stowe was fond of Griff, so she picked him. Her heirs would need a damn good reason to cross her wishes.”
