Masked Innocence (24 page)
Epilogue
We rode back to Brad’s house, the new engagement ring sparkling on my hand. It shone at me in the dark car, claiming me as its own, and I slid it off, then back on, just to prove to myself that I could. He reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it reassuringly, and I looked over at him. His profile was strong, beautiful, mine. It felt odd, having security in our relationship. And at a point when I had just come to terms with the feelings I had for him.
“So. What’s next?” I spoke over the music, and he reached forward and turned it off.
“Tomorrow morning, I will speak to my father. If you feel comfortable enough, I’d like you to be there.”
“Me?” I blinked, considering the situation.
“Yes, you. He will love you, I promise.”
“Did he love your first wife?”
“Hillary?” He shifted in his seat. “Ummm...”
“Oh my God—he hated her.”
He grimaced, an overdramatic expression that turned into a smile as he started to laugh. “He, uh, wasn’t fond of Hillary. But you are different. He’ll like you.”
I crossed my arms, pulling my hand from his. “Really.”
He groaned, hanging his head a fraction too long, and I glanced worriedly back and forth between him and the road. “He is going to love you because I love you.”
“Ah, no. That didn’t work for Hillary.”
“You are different than Hillary. She was reserved, collected.”
I straightened in the leather seat. “I’m collected.”
He laughed, reaching for my hand again, and I moved it away. “No. You are lovable, funny, quirky and feisty, but you are not collected. You are classy. I’m not saying you aren’t a lady, but you have an air of energy and spunk that keeps you from being collected and reserved. It is why I fell for you, and why my father will, too. He didn’t like Hillary because he didn’t think she could make me happy. He was right, but I would never admit that to him or myself until it was too late.”
I blew out a puff of air and allowed his hand to find mine. “What if he shoots me?”
“My father will not shoot you.” My scrunched face must have showed my disbelief. “I promise! Now, come on, I want to take my fiancée to bed.” He put the car in park and leaned over, asking for a kiss. I grumbled slightly and met his lips, pressing mine chastely to his. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me harder to him, taking my breath and my senses and communicating more sex, desire and need in one kiss than anyone I had ever met. I pushed him away, gasping for breath, laughing a little. “Fine. Take me to bed, if you must.”
“How kind of you.” He eyes held a glint of the devil I knew lay inside him. Then he blinked, and there was nothing but arousal and desire.
We started on the stairs, not the interior ones, but the wide, stone steps of the back porch, a passionate kiss against the column that led down to the ground, small groans emerging as he stripped off my dress and examined me closely, my back arched against hard stone, his hands traveling down between my breasts, worshiping them each in turn, his mouth quickly following the path of his hands.
I begged for him on those steps, soft pleas that went unfulfilled, his focus on me, his hands and mouth, that soft mouth that held such a wealth of carnal knowledge, taking me to that sweet, perfect arc. I came, my legs trembling around his head, my hands gripping rough stone, my new stilettos digging into the strength of his back.
Then we moved, him carrying me through the house, my bare breasts resting against his suit, his eyes on mine, a small smile tugging on those lips.
The bed was our next stop, soft down pillows where stone had just been, that magnificent cock finally let loose on my eager body. I rolled, I bent, I rode and I was conquered, six times in all! It was a long and lengthy session of firm hands, soft kisses and positions I had never even dreamed off. And in the end, I wanted to watch, and with his eyes on mine, furious, dark depths that reached in and grabbed my heart, throwing out all reason and restraint on their treacherous path, he finished, my hand taking the final steps to bring his body to the point that I had already traveled so many times that night. And as I watched him, as he marked my body with his ownership, I focused on those depths, those intense, dark eyes that led right to his soul, and the realization of the night’s events hit me hard. This man, this beautiful, incredible, strong man, was close to being mine. Completely and forever mine.
That night, after a long, hot shower, I lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. Tomorrow held so much. My return to the office, his father’s decision, the beginning of my second life as a fiancée. Hopefully, this engagement would stick. The diamond glittered at me in the dim room. It would have to stick. My heart couldn’t survive a fall, not from the height that my feelings had climbed.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the sound of Brad’s breathing, a strong, steady cadence that spoke of confidence and assurance. I borrowed some of his confidence, dreaming of tomorrow and of the security his father’s blessing would bring. Of the changes that being Brad’s fiancée, his wife, would bring to my life.
Me, a wife.
And I knew, as I finally fell asleep, that my life was never going to be the same again.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from BLINDFOLDED INNOCENCE by Alessandra Torre.
Acknowledgments
I owe this book, and any success it has, to a team of individuals.
First and foremost—the readers. Wherever you are, whether it be curled up on your couch or in the break room at work—you rock my world. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for taking a second chance with Brad and Julia. Your time is valuable, and I am so grateful for it. I was (and still am!) a passionate reader—and I never realized my worth as a reader until I sat on this end of a book. For every friend that you share a good book with, or for every review you leave online, you grow another pair of angel wings. Thank you.
The bloggers. I don’t know how you find time for it—with work, lives and family—but you are my rock stars. As a reader, you helped me find those perfect, often-unknown gems. As a writer, you helped the readers find this story. Thank you so much for everything you do for us. You are all amazing.
My husband. Thank you for being the inspiration for Brad. It is also oh-so-helpful how you are always on hand to “inspire” me whenever the need arises. You are incorrigible and so much like me it is insane, but I love you, baby, forever and always. Thank you for giving me support and time to write, and for spoiling me incessantly.
My family. Thank you for giving me an ear when I need one, space when I need to write and advice when I don’t know what to do. You are my core support and I love you all. Most of all, thank you for not judging me for writing hot, dirty, scandalous smut.
The team. Maura Kye-Casella, you are the best agent a girl could hope for. Thank you for always being available and for never pressuring me. Emily Ohanjanians, thank you for all of your work on
Blindfolded
and
Masked
—you took those books and strengthened them in ways I couldn’t. Kate Dresser—thanks for jumping in midstream and breathing more life into
Masked
. You have been a dream to work with, thank you for being so flexible and insightful, all at the same time. And to the entire Harlequin HQN team—you have been brilliant, patient, helpful, timely and supportive. I feel as if I have joined a family; thank you all for taking me under your wing and showing me such love.
My God. Thank you for giving me these ridiculous, crazy ideas that somehow, when written on paper, seem to make perfect sense. Thank you for creating my soul mate and somehow making him just lovable enough to steal my heart. And thank you for keeping me focused. You keep the ideas coming, and I will keep putting them on paper.
Thank you all. Without you this book wouldn’t be the book it is today. I appreciate you all and apologize for not telling you each and every day how much you mean to me.
Sincerely,
Alessandra
If you loved
Masked Innocence
by national bestselling author Alessandra Torre, be sure to also catch
Blindfolded Innocence.
Available now in ebook format.
Order your copy today!
For more erotic tales be sure to also check out titles by acclaimed author Tiffany Reisz, all available in ebook format:
The Siren
The Angel
The Prince
The Mistress Files
(novella)
The Mistress
The Saint
(June 2014)
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One
Four months earlier
I decided to break off my engagement on a Wednesday night at 2:20 a.m. I was drunk past the point of walking a straight line, but not yet to the point of slurring my speech. Drunk wasn’t the best mind-set to be in to make a life-altering decision, but a thin curtain had finally been ripped away and a truth that I had evaded for the past two years now stood front and center in the middle of my head, waving its arms and screaming.
Luke was not the one for me.
I met Luke as a sophomore in college. At the time I was emotionally vulnerable, recently dumped by the first “love of my life” two weeks after he took my virginity. That asshole ditched poor deflowered me to run off with a seventeen-year-old blonde, pink-toenailed California princess. Luke was different—quiet, brooding, a sensitive soul who seemed absolutely terrified of me. I was bubbly, beautiful and determined to get over my heartbreak the college way—partying myself into oblivion. I hunted Luke down the way a lioness would a defenseless baby antelope, making my sole occupation getting him to fall completely and hopelessly in love with me—which he did, putting me on a pedestal and worshipping daily at my whim.
I demanded a proposal within six months, which he gave me willingly—I think—and we began to plan a life together. This life plan was hampered slightly by the fact that Luke was a dreamer with high goals but little follow-through. He enjoyed spending time with me, and not much else. He worked in construction—not in a management capacity, as I had originally thought, but as a laborer. My bubbly persona started to turn into more of a nagging mother role. It wasn’t long before my subconscious started poking me with a sharp, pointy stick. I ignored the annoying pokes for twelve months, then my subconscious had enough of waiting.
It is weird the things that enter your head during a breakup. I sat on my bed with Luke sitting next to me, and I wondered why I had never purchased a chair for my bedroom. I had a desk and the typical bedside table, but no chair. A chair would have made the situation easier. Sitting next to Luke on the bed was too intimate—his pain was too close—and I knew I would have to fight to keep from reaching over to comfort him.
I stood up, wobbled slightly and turned to face him. I took a deep breath and delivered the bad news. I think my dramatic breakup speech was hampered slightly by the fact that we were both drunk, but I tried my best to be compassionate, coherent and firm. I accomplished at least two of those objectives.
Luke turned out to have a streak of stalker in him. Despite all the poking and prodding that he had needed to bathe, balance a checkbook and show up for work, it turned out he needed little or no encouragement to spend every waking moment trying to convince me to come back to him. In retrospect, maybe I should have spent less effort trying to get him to fall in love with me. I might have overshot that objective.
After two weeks of avoiding my home, work and anyplace I had frequented during the past two years, I decided to leave my crappy apartment and even crappier job and start fresh. It was good timing. Intern season was starting.
Copyright © 2012 by Alessandra Torre
ISBN-13: 9781459253834
MASKED INNOCENCE
Copyright © 2014 by Alessandra Torre
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