Last Call for Love (18 page)

His heart careened through his chest. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Trevor stood. He wrapped the sheet around his hips. How? After last night? How could she leave him? Finally after all these months, after never committing, after him chasing her with words and love notes and coaxing her along as though she a scared rabbit, she’d agreed to be his. To try. To let him go with her.

He’d known in his heart to the depth of his soul that if they traveled together, if she was with him, if only for a while and not at Mesquale, that she would never be able to deny their love. She did love him, and he did love her. Poppy’s fear prevented her from committing.

He picked up his phone. No message. No call. He sat at his desk chair, and his head dropped to his hands. He closed his eyes. His heart might split in two. Shattered. She’d absolutely and unequivocally shredded him. He turned and looked at his desk.

There. Lying on top of his journal was an envelope with his name. He lifted the flap and pulled out the paper. How very dramatic. How very Poppy. Anger started to heat through him. Anger that would mask the pain.

Trevor,

You knew it couldn’t last. That’s me. It’s been well
…
more than I could ever expect.

Your six-month lover,

x Poppy

He crumpled the note in his hands. How droll. How charming. How nonchalant. He tossed the paper toward the trash, and it bounced against the rim and landed on the floor. She fooled him less than she fooled herself.  What did she think she would get by leaving him? An unscarred heart? An effortless existence? A freedom from the possibility of pain?

She would get none of those things. Those things didn’t exist in a world with the absence of love. Only when you embraced the scar, the effort, the pain could you feel the full experience of life. His writer’s heart crumpled under the weight of what he’d just lost, of all that Poppy had just tossed aside due to fear. Of what they wouldn’t share together simply because Poppy was afraid and running from love.

The End

Want to read Trevor & Poppy’s love story? Get …

Running From Love

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Running from Love
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Thanks for reading
Last Call for Love
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Last Call for Love.

You’ve just read the fourth book in the Eligible Billionaires Series. The next book in the series is
Running from
Love
, which is coming soon.

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Books in the Eligible Billionaire Series:

Can’t Buy Me Love

One Night for Love

A Christmas Billionaire

Last Call for Love

Running from Love
—coming soon

A Forever Love
—coming soon

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Hard Glamour

Broken Glamour

Fast Glamour

Easy Glamour

Luxe Glamour

Impossible Glamour
– coming soon

Just click the link if you'd like to read an excerpt from the second book in the Eligible Billionaires series,
One Night for Love
.

The Hollywood Girls Club Series

Hollywood Girls Club

Secrets of the Hollywood Girls Club

Hollywood Hit

Hollywood Girls Club the Series

The Eligible Billionaires Series

Can’t Buy Me Love

One Night for Love

A Christmas Billionaire

Last Call for Love

Running from Love
– coming soon

A Forever Love
– coming soon

The Powder Springs Series

Courting Trouble

The Christmas Wish

The Glamour Series

Hard Glamour

Broken Glamour

Fast Glamour

Easy Glamour

Luxe Glamour

Impossible Glamour
– coming soon

Maggie Marr is an attorney, author, and producer. She began her career in the entertainment industry pushing the mail cart but rose to the position of motion picture literary agent. She has written for TV, film, and celebrities. Maggie has been featured on KCRW's
The Business
and reviewed by
Publishers Weekly
,
Kirkus
, and
Romantic Times
. She lives in LA with her family.

Maggie is eternally grateful for the graciousness and support of her readers.

Please visit her Website at:
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Thank you to my readers. I would not have this amazing job that I love without you and your support. Thank you to my rockstar agent Kristin Nelson and her entire team at Nelson Literary Agency. Thank you to Lori Bennett, the NLA Digital guru who makes everything digital work. Thank you to Angie Hodapp for her patience and interior design of all my paperbacks. Thank you to Kim Killion for another great cover and the entire vision for the Eligible Billionaires Series covers. Thank you to Sasha Knight, my editor, for her awesome skills. Jennifer Brown, my proofreader, who makes every book shine, thank you. Sarah Altman, virtual assistant extraordinaire, thank you.

Thank you to RWA, LARA, and WFWA, who provide me with information, knowledge, and fabulous friends.

Thank you to my family and friends, especially: Margaret L. Marr, Nancy Veskerna, Lauren Harrison, Gavin White, Nealie White, Linda and Bill Henderson, Lindsy and Mark Henderson, Eloise and Dixie Marr, Gayle Leftwich, Joyce and Tom Leahy, Paula and David Glasscock, Garrett L. Marr, Amy and Brent Zacky, Victoria and Karl Makinen, Sheryl and Steven Ross, Peggy Cafferty, Maria Seager, Beverly Diehl, Kady Ambrose, Rebekah Ganiere, Debbie Decker, Christine Ashworth, Cami Brite, Chandra Years, Sarah Vance-Tompkins, Julia Blake, Jane Porter, Megan Crane, and Bob.

To my husband and my children, you are the lights in my world that shine through my every darkness and my every doubt. Thank you. I love you.

One Night for Love
, book two in The Eligible Billionaires
Series, now available from Maggie Marr.

Chapter One

“I want it harder,” Prim said. A grunt came from behind her. “God, yes.” Warmth pulsed through Prim’s body. Tingles shot from her spine and into her limbs. “Yes, deeper, deeper.” The warmth in her core puddled. Her muscles loosened. Her eyes closed. She soaked in the pleasure of a strong, hard, touch. To be stroked and kneaded and rubbed.

This was paradise.

“Lady got too much tension in her shoulder.” Layla’s hand supple with oil trailed along the fine vertebrae of Prim’s neck. “Muscles still knotted in here”—her deft fingers pulsed along Prim’s left shoulder—“even after six days of massage.” 

Air wooshed from Prim’s lungs. She opened her eyes and stared at the terra cotta tile floor beneath the massage table. What could she say? Even with the sun, surf, and sand she couldn’t forget what she was about to return to in California.

Gargantuan changes and potentially a huge mess of an existence.

“Lady’s lower back is still tight.” Layla's fingertips fanned out and Prim felt the heat in her core melt. Relaxation oozed through her. “Lady needs to be with a man.”

Prim jerked her head from the circular cushion. “A what?” 

“Head down,” Layla pressed on the back of Prim’s head. “A man. Lady, needs to be with a man to release the tension in her body.” 

Prim resettled her forehead and cheeks against the cushion. Her sex life, of lack thereof wasn’t something she really wished to discuss with her masseuse. Of course Layla's hands had kneaded nearly every inch of Prim's body for the last six days. The massage, each day, was a high point of Prim’s existence at La Meridian Ora at which she’d spent the last six days trying to decompress, relax, and prepare for what she would return to in L.A.

“Thought Lady would find a friend by now,” Layla continued. “Every day I walk up to house and think, this is the morning pretty Lady has no more tension here.” Layla’s thumb dug deep into the muscle of Prim’s left shoulder.

“Oooow,” Prim whined. Layla’s thumb hurt so good.

“Lady is pretty. She is young. She has beautiful body. Not married. No kids. She has private house, private beach at resort.” With each word, Layla rubbed her hands deeper into the muscles of Prim’s back. “She on holiday without man, but plenty of men at resort on holiday without a woman.”

Prim closed her eyes, Layla was beginning to sound more and more like Prim’s mother in London.
“So why, I ask, why has Lady, while she here, not found friend to take care of all the tension in these muscles?” Layla pulled the heavy heated towel up over Prim’s back and took her strong hands and stroked down Prim’s left leg.

“God, yes,” Prim whispered between her teeth.

“You not answer me.” Layla laughed. “Maybe Lady not know answer.”

“Men are pigs.” Prim said. There were two Prim wanted to gut right now.

“You’re not having sex.” Layla said. “I feel it in your muscles. I see it in your joints. Too tight. No sex.”

Prim’s sexual frustration bubbled through her chest and replaced the relaxation that Layla’s hands provided.