You're Still the One (30 page)

Five years ago, Josie Fairmore left timber country in search of a bright future. Now she's back home with a mountain of debt and reeling from a loss that haunts her. Desperate for a job, she turns to the one man she wishes she could avoid. But former Marine Noah Tager has never forgotten their one wild night and the only thing he desires is a second chance with his best friend's little sister.

 

S
he tried the door. Locked, dammit.

Ignoring the warning bells in her head telling her to run to her best friend's club and offer to serve a topless breakfast, she raised her hand and knocked.

“Hang on a sec,” a deep voice called from the other side. She remembered that sound and could hear the echo of his words from five long years ago, before he'd joined the marines and before she'd gone to college hoping for a brighter future—and found more heartache.

Call, email, or send a letter. Hell, send a carrier pigeon. I don't care how you get in touch, or where I am. If you need me, I'll find a way to help.

He'd meant every word. But people changed. They hardened. They took hits and got back up, leaving their heart beaten and wrecked on the ground.

She glanced down as if the bloody pieces of her broken heart would appear at her feet. Nope. Nothing but cement and her boots. She'd left her heart behind in Portland, dead and buried, thank you very much.

The door opened. She looked up and . . .

Oh my . . . Wow. . .

She'd gained five pounds—well, more than that, but she'd lost the rest. She'd cried for weeks, tears running down her cheeks while she slept, and flooding her eyes when she woke. And it had aged her. There were lines on her face that made her look a lot older than twenty-three.

But Noah . . .

He'd gained five pounds of pure muscle. His tight black T-shirt clung to his biceps. Dark green cargo pants hung low on his hips. And his face . . .

On the drive, she'd tried to trick herself into believing he was just a friend she'd slept with one wild night. She'd made a fool of herself, losing her heart to him then.

Never again.

She'd made a promise to her broken, battered heart and she planned to keep it. She would not fall for Noah this time.

But oh, the temptation . . .

His short blond hair still looked as if he'd just run his hands through it. Stubble, the same color as his hair, covered his jaw. He'd forgotten to shave, or just didn't give a damn. But his familiar blue eyes left her ready to pass out at his feet from lack of oxygen.

He stared at her, wariness radiating from those blue depths. Five years ago, he'd smiled at her and it had touched his eyes. Not now.

“Josie?” His brow knitted as if he'd had to search his memory for her name. His grip tightened on the door. Was he debating whether to slam it in her face and pretend his mind had been playing tricks on him?

“Hi, Noah.” She placed her right boot in the doorway, determined to follow him inside if he tried to shut her out.

“You're back,” he said as if putting together the pieces of a puzzle. But still no hint of the warm, welcoming smile he'd worn with an easy-going grace five years ago.

“I guess you didn't get the carrier pigeon,” she said, forcing a smile.
Please let him remember.
“But I need your help.”

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Serving Trouble
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Weston Gallagher is falling hard—for the wrong woman.

One night of passion has haunted him for years.

Now he's got a second chance to get the girl of his dreams . . . but there's just one problem:

She hates him
.

 

A
knock sounded at his door, startling him and he climbed off the couch to go answer it, pissed that it was most likely Holden ready to convince him he should go out to the bars. He didn't bother looking through the peephole, just unlocked the door and swung it open, launching right into a speech for his little brother.

“I already told you I didn't want to go out tonight,” West said, the rest of the words stalling in his throat when he saw who was standing on his front doorstep.

It was Harper, wearing a black trench coat on a warm June night, her long auburn hair extra wavy and flowing past her shoulders, a secretive little smile curving her very red lips.

“You did?” She blinked up at him, all wide-eyed sexy innocence. “Maybe I should go then?”

She started to turn and he grabbed hold of her arm, halting her progress. “Don't go.” He sounded eager. Way too eager. Clearing his throat, he started over. “Sorry. I just thought—I thought you were Holden.”

“Oh.” She turned to fully face him once more and his gaze dropped to her feet, which were in the sexiest, shiniest black high heeled shoes he'd ever seen. “So you don't mind that I stopped by?”

He looked up, their eyes meeting. “Not at all.” What was she up to? Her eyes were heavily made up, as were her ruby red lips. And her hair was downright wild . . . all he could think of was fisting it in his hands and tugging her head back so he could plant a long, deep kiss on those juicy lips.

“It's sort of late.” She blatantly scanned his mostly naked body, her glossy lips parted, her pink tongue touching just the corner of her mouth. Her gaze lingered on his chest and arms, cataloging his tattoos. She seemed fascinated with them and he was half tempted to flex his muscles just to see if her eyes grew hungrier . . .

Which they seemed to do, without any encouragement on his part. If she didn't stop looking at him like that he might get a freaking boner and that probably wouldn't be good. “Were you in . . . bed?”

The provocative way she just said it made him aware of her close proximity. How her hands tugged on the ends of the belt wrapped tight around her waist. The hollow of her throat was exposed, as was a bit of her chest. She looked practically naked under that coat.

Hmmm.

“No, I wasn't in bed.” He paused, wondering what the hell she was up to. Whatever it was, he could appreciate the way she was staring at him, and he was damn thankful she'd come by. He figured he'd blown it for good with Harper. “You want to come in?”

“I would love to.” She smiled and he stepped out of her way, the scent of her surrounding him as she walked by. He shut and locked the door and followed her as she moved deeper into the living room. Grabbing the remote from the side table, he turned off the TV, the sudden silence amplifying every move she made.

“So I have a proposition for you,” she said, turning to face him once more. “One I'm hoping you'll agree to.”

In the hushed quiet of his house, she looked a little less sure, a little more nervous. A lot more like the Harper he knew. He wanted to reach out and reassure her but he also wanted to hear what she had to say first.

“Really?” He rested his hands on his hips, noting the way her gaze dropped to linger on his stomach. He felt downright exposed, what with the way she studied him. Not that he minded. “What is it?”

She bit her lower lip as she contemplated him, her straight white teeth a bold contrast to the deep red coating her lips. “Last night, when we talked, you said you weren't boyfriend material.”

He winced. Did he really need a reminder of the stupid things he'd said?

“And I told you I wasn't looking for a relationship, which is true. I don't want one. But I do want
something
from you, West.” She reached for the coat belt, slowly undoing it. “I'm hoping you want the same thing.”

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Ignite
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Years ago con artist Lisa Smith fell in love with her mark, then vanished without a trace . . . but now he's found her and he's not going to let her slip through his fingers again.

An Avon Red Romance

 

H
e sucked in a breath, the tightening in his chest becoming more pronounced as he watched her glide across the dance floor with a glass of champagne in her hand. She'd changed since the last time he'd seen her. Gone was her halo of white blonde tresses that spilled down her back and those round silver irises that looked at him with what he'd believed was love. Like a chameleon, she'd adapted to her environment, her chestnut hair cut into a sleek bob and an air of sophistication clinging to her designer-clad body.

With a smile on her face, she had everyone at this wedding fooled, but he knew the truth. She was a con artist who had stolen millions from unsuspecting men and women. At the drop of a hat, she could become someone else, fade into the crowds until she turned invisible, only to return moments later as someone new. And no one would ever guess the truth. She'd mastered the art of disguise, her ability to convince someone of her love and devotion worthy of an Academy Award. Just when she had you wrapped completely around her finger, she'd disappear without a trace, taking your money and your heart with her.

But she'd grown careless when she'd allowed herself to be photographed, the picture on the front page of every major newspaper. She'd been in the background, barely discernable to most. But not to him. Never him. He'd know his chameleon anywhere.

She had no idea he was watching her.

Stalking her.

Hunting her.

His chameleon had forgotten to use the reptilian sense that warned her of impending danger. She might believe she was a predator, but she was now the prey.

His
prey.

Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and black spots flickered in his vision. He shook his head as if clearing the cobwebs from his mind. Didn't she understand he needed her? After everything he'd done for her, she owed him. It was time for her to repay her debts.

Time and fate had kept them apart for far too long. But now that he'd found her, he was never letting her go again.

She loved to play her games.

He smiled.

A game was what they'd play.

W
alking away from her friends, Lisa Smith took a sip of wine and headed toward where she'd last seen the caterer. Not spotting him, she stopped and scanned the crowd.

“Lisa!”

Lisa turned and caught sight of her friend Rachel Dawson walking toward her with two men by her side.

It took only a moment for it to register.

The long blond hair she loved to tug on during rough sex.

The stubble lining his jaw that used to scratch the skin of her inner thighs as he worked her over with his mouth.

The roguish and lighthearted appearance he maintained in public and the dark dominance that lurked beneath the surface.

It was him.

He was here.

Her
Master.

He had found her.

She blinked a few times, trying to see if maybe she was imagining that the man she'd run from five years ago was suddenly only feet away and talking with her friends as if he knew them. Which was impossible, right?

Her heart galloped a wild beat and the sounds of the crowd disappeared under the roar of her pulse.

She wanted to run
from
him.

She wanted to run
to
him.

All the sorrow and regret she'd buried deep down inside came rushing back with a force that nearly bowled her over. And when the ghost from her past stood right in front of her and looked at her like a stranger, the glass of red wine slipped from her shaking hand onto the green grass, the liquid pooling beneath her heels.

Seemingly oblivious to her shock, Rachel smiled, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “I'd like to introduce you to Logan's friend, Sawyer Hayes. Sawyer, this is Lisa Smith.”

“Hello,” Sawyer said cordially, standing so close she could feel his body heat radiating off him and smell a scent that reminded her of the best days of her life. “It's nice to see you again, Annaliese.”

Her mind was a jumbled mess.

Like she was prey caught in the sights of a hunter, she became entrapped in his eyes.

She couldn't breathe.

Couldn't speak.

Couldn't move.

“You know each other,” Rachel said, her brows wrinkled in confusion.

“You could say that,” Sawyer said slowly, still holding Lisa captive with his eyes. “She's my wife.”

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Black Listed
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This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

An excerpt from
Serving Trouble
copyright © 2016 by Sara Jane Stone.

An excerpt from
Ignite
copyright © 2016 by Karen Erickson.

An excerpt from
Black Listed
copyright © 2016 by Shelly Bell.

YOU'RE STILL THE ONE
. Copyright © 2016 by Darcy Burke. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition APRIL 2016 ISBN: 9780062443533

Print Edition ISBN: 9780062443557

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