“And you have to tell her you love her at night. That I love her. You know what I mean.”
I have all the feels now. “Should I text her hearts as well?”
“I send the smiley faces blowing kisses. Or hearts. Either is fine.”
I. Was. Fucking. Kidding.
I’ve never done hearts, flowers, or any of that other shit with a woman. Ever. Not even my mom. And definitely not Bridgette. It wasn’t how we were with one another. “All right. It’ll be hearts and kissies for sissy.”
“I owe you one, Tap.”
“Yeah, you do. A big one. And don’t you forget it.”
“Name what you want. I’ll make it happen.”
“I hope you know I plan to make this worth my while.”
“I’d expect no less out of you, Tap.”
Texting the sister. Hearts and flowers. I’m a smart guy. I can wing charm and brotherly love. I got this.
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From New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Best-selling author, Georgia Cates, comes a steamy new standalone novel.
Beau Emerson is no gentleman.
Those hazel eyes.
That filthy mouth.
That greedy, hard body.
It all equates to one thing. Irresistible.
One look and I know he’ll bruise my lips and scar my knees. He’ll give me the best nine days of my life while ruining me in the most beautiful way imaginable. And I’ll let him because he has the power to talk me into anything.
Except one thing.
Staying.
I have no choice. The things I desire from him will destroy me in the end. I want more than he’s capable of giving––something true and beautiful.
He can never know how much of me belongs to him. Too much is at stake.
Shh … don’t tell him he’s my everything.
My name is Anna James Bennett. And this is our story.
PROLOGUE
ANNA JAMES BENNETT
I sigh as I toss the thick legal envelope across the island in Meredith’s gourmet kitchen. The proof of my marriage’s dissolution barely comes to a stop before plummeting over the edge. “It’s final, as of today.”
My best friend, Meredith, squeals. “Yes. This calls for a celebratory drink.”
The word celebratory implies happiness or joy. That isn’t the case for me. My husband of twelve months left me for a nineteen-year-old. A kid. His former student.
Fucker.
He swears nothing happened while she was his pupil.
Liar.
He claims it’s true love.
Dumbass.
Drake’s relationship with Caitlyn is fleeting. She’s an immature teen who wants to play house. The paint won’t dry on the walls of their new apartment before she’s ready to bail.
“I’ve been saving this one for a special occasion.” Ahh. A bottle of Wittmann Westhofener Morstein Riesling. Always rich in body and texture. My favorite.
Gulp. Gulp. The bottle gurgles as Meredith pours far more than three ounces. My glass is three-quarters full when she presses two fingers against the base and glides it across the sleek Carrara marble toward me. I instantly salivate when the essence of honey, peach, mango, and flowers invades my nostrils.
Meredith lifts her glass, cueing me to the toast she’s about to make. “Here’s to the end of an error––your misconception that Drake Langston was a knight in shining armor rather than what he really is—a turd in tinfoil.”
“I know that’s the truth.” I tap my glass against hers before taking the first sip of dry, fruity goodness. Damn, that’s good stuff.
“Capone made sure you got everything you wanted?”
Alec Capone is the most successful divorce attorney in Georgia. He should be with a name like that. “I got more than I wanted, including custody of Little Bastard, since Drake relinquished ownership of him. Caitlyn’s allergic.” I’m epically pissed off about him dumping his cat on me.
“Are you keeping the lil’ guy?”
“I haven’t decided.” Kermit, aka Little Bastard, has no love for me. Doesn’t matter that I’ve been the one who has fed him his every bite, changed his litter box every time, taken him to the vet for every visit, even the time he was deathly ill from eating part of my foam flip-flop.
“You won’t have a problem if you decide to rehome him. He’s beautiful. Plenty of cat lovers would take him just because he’s a Bengal.”
Kermit was Drake’s trophy cat. Pretty to look at and that’s about it. Much like Caitlyn.
I have no emotional connection to Little Bastard. I’ve tried to bond, but he’s resistant. That’s why I’m so surprised by the way I feel when I think of giving him away. He’s resistant to loving me. Just like Drake.
“I got my name back.” That’s what I wanted most. Bennett. My daddy’s name.
The wrinkle in Meredith’s brow serves as a warning. It’s always a prelude to something serious. “I understand those papers feel like a painful ending, but that’s because they’re disguising what today is. A new beginning. Grayson and I think it’s important for you to treat this as a fresh start.”
Meredith disappears into the dining room and returns with a gift bag covered in curly ribbon and filled with tissue paper.
“Your divorce gift. Read the card first.”
I open the envelope and read the message aloud. “Congratulations on your divorce. We hated him.”
“No secret there.” I already knew Meredith and Grayson despised Drake.
I rip into the bag, tossing aqua and lime tissue paper in every direction. I’m worse than a child when it comes to tearing into gifts.
I take out each item and place it on the countertop. Sunscreen. Ray-Bans. The ridiculously expensive bikini I lusted for at that expensive boutique in Buckhead. And condoms.
“Sur . . . prise. Gray
son and I are taking you to Jamaica with us next month.”
Umm . . . not just no. “Forget it. Not happening.”
“Oh, it’s happening. We’ve already booked two suites and your airline ticket. First class.”
She’s out of her mind. I’m not going to that place. “Cancel one. Unless you and Grayson plan to use separate suites.”
“Can’t cancel. It’s Wicked Week at the resort so both rooms had to be paid for in full. Nonrefundable.”
This is her way of guilting me into doing what she wants. She thinks I’ll say yes if her money won’t be returned. “You’re so wrong for doing this to me.”
“You need a getaway, and we knew you’d never agree otherwise. Don’t be mad.”
I’m not mad. I’m pissed. I’ve already made plans for the next three months. “I’m taking a second job while school’s out for summer. There’s no way an employer will give me vacation time four weeks after hiring me.”
“Maybe not, unless your bosses are Meredith and Grayson Faulkner. Come to work for us, and we’ll guarantee you the time off. There won’t be a reason in the world you can’t go.”
Right. No reason in the world unless you consider the fact this all-expenses-paid vacation is for a getaway at a hedonism resort. A freaking no-holds-barred sex retreat.
I’m neither a hedonist nor a swinger.
Meredith Faulkner has been my best friend since ninth grade. We’ve been through thick and thin. There’s nothing she and I haven’t shared, apart from one huge exception.
Meredith and Grayson practice hedonism. They chase pleasure in any form it presents. They’re also part of a local community known to many as the lifestyle. They’re swingers. Wife Swappers.
Whatever floats their boat is fine by me. I don’t judge. But hedonism and swinging ain’t my thang. I’m not into casual sex. I prefer intimacy with a man I love, and always within the boundaries of a committed relationship.
Call me old-fashioned but I need more than a physical connection. A quick fuck with a person I’ve just met isn’t my cup of tea. Neither is having sex with someone else while my husband watches. Or the other way around.