Devil May Care: Boxed Set (25 page)

He took the items he’d brought from his saddlebag. A thick blanket, some sandwiches and chips and sparkling grape juice. He spread out the blanket and Sophia immediately sat and looked up at him expectantly.

“Want to help me set the food out?” he asked her.

She pulled the remaining items out carelessly and set them on the blanket. Somehow, the mini bag of chips never made it to the blanket, but was opened and half devoured by the time Jasper helped Fiona sat down.

She rubbed her growing belly and picked up a sandwich. “So, this is what you were doing in the kitchen all morning.”

“Yup. I hope they’re okay.”

She took a bite of the turkey sandwich, and he took a bite of his own. He’d tried to make it like she did, but something was missing, and he hadn’t been able to figure out what. It still tasted okay, though.

“What’s different?” he asked. “What do you do that I don’t?”

She thought for a moment. “Probably the mustard. I mix Dijon and spicy.”

And he’d only used spicy. Maybe that was it.

“It’s very good, though,” she said.

After they’d eaten, he took out the bottle of sparkling grape juice. “I have a special toast to make.”

He ripped off the foil and poured the juice into three glasses. He handed one to Sophia, and one to Fiona. Sophia held up the glass, acting like she was a princess with her pinky sticking out.

“I have been living the perfect life,” Jasper said. “A new job that I enjoy, a beautiful new house, a gorgeous woman by my side, an adorable little daughter”—he gestured to Sophia—“and even another little princess on the way. But something still feels like it’s missing.”

Fiona pulled her eyebrows together and tilted her head slightly at him.

“It was this.” Jasper set down his glass and reached into his pocket. He held one ring out to Fiona and another, smaller ring out to Sophia. “I love you both. I want to continue to build our happy family together. Fiona, will you marry me? Sophia, will you let me join your family?”

Sophia looked at her mother with an amazed smile. “I get a ring, too!” She reached over and tried to grab it from Jasper, but he took her hand and slid it into place, then kissed her hand. She giggled and moved her hand back and forth to make the small pink stone glitter in the sun.

Then, he turned to Fiona and picked up her hand. “I love you so much. Since the first moment you showed up, you were like an angel to me. Come to save me from death, then from a life of loneliness. I want to keep saving each other for the rest of our lives.”

She wiped tears from her eyes and leaned forward to kiss him.

“Will you marry me?” he asked again.

She nodded and squeezed her eyes shut. He kissed her forehead and picked up her hand to slide the diamond ring on.

“It’s perfect,” she said. “It looks exactly like the one I’ve always wanted.”

“Told you,” Sophia said, taking a big gulp of her juice.

“You did?” Fiona asked.

Jasper nodded. “I asked Sophia if she knew what kind of ring you would want. She picked that one out.”

Fiona looked at Sophia with wide eyes. It had been months since they’d had that conversation. It was one day after they left Sam and before she’d met Jasper. They were in their apartment and Sophia had noticed that Fiona wasn’t wearing her engagement ring and wedding ring anymore.

“Where did your rings go, Mommy?” she asked.

“Well, those rings were from Daddy and since I’m not married to Daddy anymore, I don’t wear them.”

“Will I have rings when I get married?”

“Of course you will. There’s an engagement ring first, that’s when he asks you to marry him, then you get a wedding ring later when you get married.”

Sophia had been so entranced by this idea that they’d looked on Fiona’s phone and she’d shown her the different ring styles. She asked Sophia which one she would want if she was getting married. She chose a square diamond with channel set diamonds beside it. Then Sophia asked which one Fiona liked. She’d pointed to a round cut ring with a halo of smaller diamonds around the edge. A ring just like the one now on her finger. How in the world had Sophia remembered that?

“Does this mean you’ll be my daddy now?” Sophia asked Jasper.

“Do you want me to be?”

“Yes.” She nodded her head enthusiastically.

“Then, I guess we’ll just be one big happy family,” he said. “Mommy, Daddy, Sophia, and Mia.”

“That’s a good idea,” Sophia said.

She crawled into her mother’s lap and Jasper put his arms around them. Everything he loved most was right here, close to his heart.

THE END

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I touched my boss’s precious princess. Now, he wants my head on a platter.
 

Ryder
I shouldn’t have gone anywhere near Pia. 
But how can you blame me?
Her father is the one who assigned me to guard her 24/7. 
With a body that fine, a smile that tempting…
I’ve never been good at keeping my hands to myself.
It was only a matter of time until I 
took her as my own.
This time, though, I might’ve gone too far. 
After all, it’s never a good idea to mess with the daughter of the Don.
When he finds out what I’ve done, 
he wants blood.
My blood.
Now, I’m torn between my duty and my desire.
And no matter which way I turn, I can’t see a way out.
 

I knew he wasn’t the man for me… until I ended up pregnant with his baby.

Pia

Ryder is a hitman for my mafia boss father.
When I’m attacked by a masked man one night, he adds “Pia’s bodyguard” to his job description.
He was supposed to protect me.
But the moment Ryder showed up at my door, 
he made me his.
 
His mouth claimed me.
His hands possessed me.
His eyes enslaved me.
But now, my father is forcing me to marry another man. 
That is, until he discovers that 
I’m carrying Ryder’s baby.
Now, all our lives are in danger.
Family, fear, pheromones… it’s hard to know what to do next.
There’s only one thing I know for certain:
My world will never be the same again.

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This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

Wed to the Devil copyright 2016 by Ada Stone. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

By Ada Stone

Olivia

There are a dozen different jobs just a hop, skip, and a jump down the road in Las Vegas, the devil’s playground. Unfortunately, they all involve having breasts spilling out of your dance number or a bared pussy for a gentleman caller.

In other words, the exact reason why I lived just past the city limits in a suburb of the real deal. It wasn’t as glamorous and I would make more in the city, but I just didn’t want to deal with the liberties people thought they could take with pretty young women in the city. Like we were all just a step away from prostitution.

It was maybe worse for me, because I had the body for it. Curvy hips, a slim waist, and breasts that made for a full show of cleavage with little prep work on my part.

I was sweeping up the floor, clearing away the loose hairs that had accumulated over the last hour or so since I’d swept before, when my phone buzzed on the table. I finished sweeping before going over to the table, taking a seat in the cushy chair that spun a little as I kicked off the foot rest at the bottom. When the spin completed its turn, I came face to face with my reflection. I wasn’t a bad looking woman, though I was nearing thirty and you could see it around my wide green eyes, but I was doing better than most thanks to a healthy diet and a lot less makeup. My hair dropped nearly to my waist, though maybe that wasn’t a good promotion for my profession.

Shouldn’t a hair stylist have more cutting edge hair?

I couldn’t bring myself to cut it, though. I couldn’t decide if it was because I liked the long silky strands or if it was the lingering restrictions that had once ruled my life.

Taking a deep breath, I looked away from my reflection and reached for my phone, unlocking it to read the text. My shoulders tensed instantly as I saw who it was from. Tom. My ex. I slammed my phone on the countertop face down before even catching more of a glimpse of what he’d said. I had to clench my eyes shut and slow my breathing before I forced myself into a panic attack.

We’d broken up only two months ago, but it felt both like an eternity and yesterday since that night. The night things had gone from bad to worse to over.

I finished cleaning up, putting away the chemicals, the hairdryers, the combs, and tossing the used towels into the laundry. When I was satisfied that the shop was clean—I wanted it to be spotless, a low key means of showing that I deserved the promotion I was gunning for—I finally went to my phone. I didn’t want to check it, even after I’d had some time to calm down, but ultimately I couldn’t resist.

Curiosity killed the cat, right?

I flipped the screen up so that I could read the text.

I miss you, babe. We’re so good together. Don’t let one bad night wreck us. You’re mine; you’ll come back.

A cold feeling slid down my spine, but I just turned off the screen, shoved the phone in my pocket, and left the shop, ignoring the feeling. I locked the doors and headed towards the bus station—I didn’t have a car right now. I was saving up, but it was hard because I’d only just started working again. People liked me, but they didn’t give cars away for free and loans needed proof that you could pay them back.

So, the bus and I were good buddies now.

I tucked my hands into my jacket pockets, walking to the nearest stop and stood next to the bench. There was a man, maybe a little younger than me, sitting on the bench, and though there was enough room for me on there, too, I didn’t want to risk it or invite any unwelcome attention. I’d already caught his eyes wandering low over my body, lingering at the slight line of cleavage peeking out from my collar.

I closed my jacket tighter around me and pointedly ignored him. I didn’t dress for attention, but I dressed to impress. No one wanted a frumpy hairstylist.

When I felt the man still staring at me, I pulled my phone from my pocket and searched through my contact list. I needed a little distraction tonight, I decided. Some fun. By the time the bus came to pick me up, I’d texted Sylvia and Lynn, both of whom would meet me in an hour at Shiverly, the nightclub that was as close to exciting as you could get without actually going into downtown Las Vegas.

I felt a little better, but I still sat in the front section of the bus with my back to a wall and my bag beside me, making it clear I wasn’t inviting any attention from anyone.

***

Lynn was driving, because I didn’t have a car and Sylvia’s boyfriend used hers to get to and from work. I liked to remind her every so often that he was a little possessive, but she just shrugged it off.

“He’s not possessive,” she told me nonchalantly. “He’s protective. There is a difference, you know.”

I rolled my eyes at her, but didn’t pick up the old argument. I was speaking from a place that came from my relationship with Tom—I shuddered involuntarily and tried to pass it off as from the cold—and I didn’t want to think of Tom tonight.

We got in line at the entrance of Shiverly. Thankfully, it wasn’t too bad tonight, most of the people in the area having opted for the more exciting Las Vegas strip since it was the weekend. Bad for business, sure, but good for us. We were waiting barely a minute before we were at the front, presenting our IDs and our smiles.

The bouncer, a big man with broad shoulders and rippling muscles that weren’t exactly attractive on him, but not unattractive either, checked our IDs then looked us over. Technically, he was making sure the ID matched the face, but the way his eyes dipped down past our shoulders made it obvious that he was checking for other things, too.

Like, on a scale of one to ten, how pretty we were.

It irked me a little bit, but I let it slide. It was his boss who made those kinds of rules—no one under a seven allowed inside—not him. Besides, after a second he nodded his head and unhooked the rope, like this was some high end Hollywood event rather than an out of place club on the edge of suburbia hell in the middle of the desert.

Guess we all had to tell ourselves things to get through the day.

When we got in, we were hit by a wall of music and sweat. It mingled with high perfumes, so it wasn’t unbearable, just powerful. The beat of the music settled into my body, my heart almost seeming to pound in time with it, and already I felt a little better.

I didn’t even think about Tom’s text or what it meant.

Sylvia nudged me as we walked farther into the club towards the bar. “I was a little worried he wasn’t going to let us in tonight,” she joked, eying my clothing. “I didn’t think nametags were used anywhere beyond speed dating places.”

“Ha ha,” I answered, putting as much sarcasm as I could into the fake laugh. “Shut up. I didn’t want to waste time changing.”

It was true; I’d decided against changing clothing and just wore what I’d had on at work. It wasn’t the sexiest thing around, but it was sharp and hinted at the hourglass curves that I was lucky—or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it—to call my own.

The pencil skirt went past my knees, the heels were maybe three inches, and the blouse was a white button down with the first three undone so that a small line of cleavage could be seen, but my bra wasn’t peeking out. That was it. Simply and versatile, though I knew Sylvia thought it was a waste of a night out when I dressed like that. She was under the assumption that a night out on the town meant showing as much leg and cleavage as you could without getting arrested for indecent exposure. Like we were still nineteen and in college or something. Her sequin covered top dipped dangerously low down her chest, hinting that she’d opted out of a bra, and her black miniskirt suggested this same thing.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that we were
not
teenagers anymore, so I just chose to take the light razzing. At least Lynn was a little more toned down, if you called skin tight leather pants toned down. But her top covered her boobs, even as it exposed an inch-long strip of her midsection.

Next to them, I looked like a secretary, and not the sexy kind.

“Hey, I see a table!” Lynn exclaimed, nudging the both of us as she pointed across the dance floor to the other side of the bar. It was near the fire exit and was only half visible thanks to the dim lighting. But it was empty and that went a long way.

“You go save us a spot,” Sylvia told her, her eyes already scanning the crowd to look for her newest dance partner. She had been with her boyfriend for the last two years now, but they had an agreement that other “partners” were okay so long as they were safe, used protection, and always came home to the other person.

I never understood it, but it seemed to work for them. It was the main reason I never got upset with her for staying with him, strangely enough. It meant that if he could be okay with her sleeping with other guys, then he couldn’t be all that possessive in the end, right?

That was how I chose to look at it.

Lynn headed through the crowd of undulating bodies, most of them rubbing against one another rather than really dancing, but they did it to the beat that pounded out of the speakers from all sides. As she began to disappear, she called over her shoulder, “Order me a beer! A pale ale!”

Sylvia waved her off and the two of us went to the bar, her eyes still scanning the crowd.

The bar was full for the most part, so Sylvia and I had to squeeze in between two leather clad men who were twice our size, biceps bulging. Bikers were a pretty regular scene out here, most of them belonging to the same club, though I wasn’t sure which club that was. They were rough and tumble and throughout the week, they were Shiverly’s main patronage. Probably they were the only reason the place even made enough money to stay open. It was only on weekends, nights like tonight, that the place saw the rest of us average citizens.

I let Sylvia do the ordering, because I knew she had a thing for the bartender. He was tall and buff, but I’d never paid him much attention. I didn’t know if Sylvia and he had already hit the sack, but I wasn’t about to get into that one way or the other.

As I waited for her to get through with the flirting and finally just put our order in, I scanned the room, just enjoying the feeling of
being
somewhere.

Tom never let me go out on my own or with friends. It was still refreshing.

Beside me, a gruff voice called to me. “Hey, baby. You’re looking pretty good tonight.”

I turned to the guy beside me, one of the bikers, who was grinning like a lecher and winking like he had a twitch. I rolled my eyes at him and tried to turn away, but he kept talking.

“You’re looking like a naughty little teacher. Did you come out to play?”

A blush—from anger, not flattery—rose up along my neck higher towards my cheeks. I turned back to answer him. “Not with you,” I told him flatly.

He muttered something that sounded like
bitch
, but our drinks came then and we grabbed them to head over and join Lynn at our table. This was the only downside to clubs and bars, I thought. Men thought they had the right to just nose up into your business and then when you told them no, they called you a bitch.

I hated it.

We joined Lynn at the table a few minutes later, Sylvia depositing her pale ale in front of her. “Don’t go overboard tonight,” she reminded her in the closest to a mom voice Sylvia has ever used. “You’re our DD, remember?”

Lynn took a swig, waving her off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Why do you think I’m doing beer tonight?”

She could get drunk on beer, too, but it would take a lot more, and if we stayed long enough and she only had a couple, she’d be mostly sober by the time we left. I hoped. I had the number of a drunk cab just in case, but I hoped not to use it.

We chatted and had fun for half the evening—Lynn even did her best to limit her drinking to the bare minimum, still managing to have fun with the girls—avoiding topics too close to home, like Tom, and I was finally feeling pretty good about everything. Until one of the biker guys from the bar came over to our table.