100 Lifetimes of Us (The Romantics #1)

by Maggie C. Gates

The aroma of sweets, herbs, butter, and spices wafted through the air, inviting me into the warm environment. Inside, the bustling lobby was a pie paradise. Employees hustled to keep the line moving, serving slice after slice from the packed display case. A sugar cream pie caught my eye, and I knew immediately that it would be coming home with me. Dammit, this place is gonna ruin my abs.

He made himself laugh. “Okay, okay, I can hear myself rambling now. FYI, if I’m talking and you need to say something, just smack me, and tell me to shut up.” I pressed my fingers to my lips. “I don’t think I’ll smack a former MMA fighter. Who knows what kind of knee-jerk fight-or-flight instincts you have?” “Ah-ha-ha! She’s got jokes!” Miles pulled up to a strip mall and cut the engine. “I knew there was a firecracker in there.” He jumped out and swiftly opened my door. “Come on, you adorably sarcastic pyromaniac. I’m starving and I talk less when food is in my mouth. Not a lot less, but less.”

“Where are those ankle boots you like? Those go with the green dress.” “Look around the chair,” I said as I pulled the shirt off my head and dropped it in my suitcase. I pulled off the hair that was stuck to my tongue while Ophelia dug through the chair of no return for a pair of brown boots. “Aha!” She grabbed them and prepared to bean me in the face. “Ay—” I held my hands up. “You hit me in the face one more time and I’m not going on the tour.” She tossed them gently to the only open space on the mattress. “I can’t believe you hadn’t started packing.” She glanced at her phone, checking the time. “Your puppy will be here in less than half-an hour.” I raised an eyebrow. “You mean ‘guard dog’?” She snorted in the most proper way possible. “Please. That boy has the ferocity of a corgi. And the arse of one.” “Corgis were originally bred for herding and they’ve been known to track badgers to their dens.” I snickered as I folded the rest of my clothes, which mostly included black leggings and sweatshirts. “And you’re correct. His butt is excellent.”

Outside, the rumble of an SUV caught my attention. I nearly fell off the bed trying to get to the window to peek outside. When she thought I wasn’t paying attention, Ophelia stuffed a fistful of dressy clothes into my bag. “Someone fancies her bodyguard,” she sing-songed. “Do not,” I shot back. “I just like to look at him.” She paused thoughtfully. “That’s fair. He’s quite fit.” And boy was he a sight to see. Miles got out of the car and stretched. I pressed my hand to my mouth as I took him in. He was in those rubber ducky swim trunks and Crocs again. His skin-tight t-shirt was a complementary sunshine yellow. He pulled his sunglasses off and hung them from his collar. Miles Zhou was a walking contradiction. Intimidating and enticing. Muscular, but soft. The bad-boy persona and tattoos that stretched across his body should have scared me off, but it didn’t. This was the man who wore swim trunks and Crocs to an interview, and chased after an ice cream truck for a cartoon-themed treat. And that smile… I always had to look away when he smiled. It was radiant, shining from deep inside of him. The buzzer rang, and I tripped over a pile of t-shirts as I bolted to answer it. “Yeah,” Ophelia scoffed. “Just like to look at him. Not into him at all.” I let Miles up and grabbed my bags. Why was I dreading this trip again? As soon as I opened the door, Miles exploded. “Holy shit! Is that the Whitney West?” He clapped his hand over his mouth and switched to a terrible Australian accen...

Miles adjusted the knot of his tie. “You look lovely, Ms. West.” I fought back a smile, but there was no beating the girlish blush that painted my cheeks. “Why thank you, Mr. Zhou.” “You ready for this?” I gave him an unsteady nod, but a nod nonetheless. His hand was warm against my lower back as we walked through the halls and waited for the elevator to take us down to the ballroom. And then it hit me. As soon as the elevator doors closed around us, it was like being trapped in a coffin. I grappled for the metal railing and squeezed my eyes shut as flashes of heat and cold clashed against my skin. “Ms. West—” Miles’s voice seemed like it was light years away. His hand cupped my cheek. It was flaming hot like a brand, and I jerked away. He said something in Mandarin that could have passed as a muttered profanity, and slammed one of the buttons on the control panel. Everything stopped. Latent memories of laughter, whispered comments, and cutting criticism choked me like weeds. I couldn’t breathe. Cool air swirled around my neck as Miles lifted the red hair off of my shoulders, carefully holding it in a makeshift bun. “Get on your knees.” I let out an exasperated breath. “Didn’t really think we were that close yet.” “Not like that, you adorable little perv.” He chuckled. “Trust me. Go slow so you don’t fall.” I held on to the rail and did as he said. Miles squatted down beside me. “Panic attack?” he asked gently. All I could do was nod. “Hold your breath.” He was calm as he ...

Something savory wafted nearby, and my stomach growled. Out of nowhere, Miles appeared and, without so much as a single peep, swapped my empty plate for a heaping slice of sizzling chicken pot pie. “Fuel up, Annie cakes.” He dropped into the booth beside Ophelia. “Sup, crumpets.” He slid her a ceramic Annie’s Pies mug and donned his best British accent. “Fancy a cuppa?” Ophelia’s gaze was searing. “Do you actually think that’s what I sound like or are you simply that daft?” “Be nice, Phee,” I muttered from my side of the table. Ophelia’s smile was feline. “Miles, will you please not be a complete knob and move your arse out of this booth so I can make a call?” I huffed. “What?” she said innocently as Miles eased out of the booth to let her by. “I said ‘please.’”

“Annie?” The three of us looked over and spotted a large posse exiting the yoga studio next door. A blonde broke free from the mass of exquisite male bodies. I shoved my plate into Ophelia’s hands. “Wren! Hey!” Wren Porter was an interior designer who used to be a cheerleader for the Rhode Island Red Cocks pro football team. She was a frequent customer at the shop, and only knew me as Annie. But if anyone could understand the double life I led, it was her. She and her now-fiancé had been all over the news when he careened off the field and accidentally tackled her during a preseason game. And speak of the handsome devil. T.J. Bryant Jr. loomed over her, a wall of muscle. Wren’s blonde ponytail was limp, stray strands sticking to her sweat-soaked face. “We were just about to pop into the shop. Are you leaving?” “I was just stepping out for some fresh air.” I eyed their exhausted crew. The Red Cocks' quarterback, Gideon Carmichael, stood next to his left tackle, Theo Jackson. Seth McBride, the backup receiver, was pushing damp hair out of his eyes. “Hello, handsome,” Ophelia mumbled under her breath. Seth, who had been looking like he was about to fall over, eyed her up and down like a man starved. The rest of the class exiting the yoga studio had thinned out. “What, uh—what are you guys up to today?” I asked. “Mandatory fun,” Wren chirped with a breezy smile on her face. She was the only one who didn’t look half-dead. “More like mandatory torture,” T.J. groaned. Gideon tipp...

I waited until the five of them were inside before turning back to Phee and Miles. Ophelia shoved the plate back in my hands. “Do I look like a butler?” “Wanna come on a walk?” I asked between bites. “Miles is taking me out for Lizard Time.” “First, no. You’re not a pet. Second. No.” Her eyes trailed off to the door where Seth had just walked inside. “I have work to do.” I waggled my eyebrows. “You fancy him.” Ophelia rolled her eyes. “He’s … fit.” Miles looked down, lifted his shirt, and poked his stomach. “I’m fit.” I snickered as I cut away another bite. “That’s her stodgy way of saying she thinks he’s hot.” Miles grinned. “Fuck yeah, crumpets. He’s fine as hell. Get you some.” Ophelia flicked her hand dismissively. “We don’t all get to sit around daydreaming about men with six-pack abs. I have work to do. Your itinerary and accommodations for the weekend will be sent to your mobile momentarily.” And with that, she strutted back into the pie shop.

“So, my perp has fancy tea preferences. What does that tell us?” Isla closed the screen. “That’s for you to find out, Sherlock. It’s likely that the threat is unknown to Ms. West—a fan or the like. Though it’d be less likely given her status, there’s the possibility that it’s someone close to her sending these packages. Someone in her immediate circle.” There was someone in Annie’s immediate circle who had a penchant for tea and all things fancy… And as much as I didn’t want Ophelia to be suspect number one for Annie’s sake, she was. “Just don’t get Whitney killed in the process. I need the next book in her Mafia series.” Aha! Even the great Isla Davenport had a weakness. “You know,” I said, slinking up to her. “If you can pull more than a drop of tea out of the evidence, I’ll see what I can do about getting you that next book.” Isla’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your angle?” I shrugged. “No angle. It’s exactly what it seems like. You want a book, I want my girl safe, and I want to keep K&A’s prestigious reputation of successful assignments in the black.” The tiniest of smirks curled up on Isla’s lips. “Deal. I’ll see what I can do.” “Nice doing business with you, Davenport,” I said, extending my hand. She shook it. “And I want that book signed.” “Want what book signed?” We both turned to the door. Javier Garcia’s burly former-Delta-force frame filled it to the max. He looked straight over my head at Isla. “What book, hermosa?”

Isla’s cheeks turned pink, but she maintained her composure, tipping her head toward me. “Zhou’s client. The author.” Javier just smiled, making Isla’s temporary bashfulness turn sour. “What?” she insisted. He wiped his thumb across his lower lip. “Nothing.” “If you have something to say, just say it.” Javier’s eyes flicked up and down, taking her in. “I didn’t know you were into those books.” Isla rolled her eyes. “Like you know what they’re actually about.” “I do now,” he stated casually as he leaned his hip against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “Kate spilled.” “Of course Kate spilled,” Isla muttered. I took a second look at the worn paperback Isla was trying to shield with her body. “Dude, is that Broken Halos? So fucking good. That scene where he—” “Ah!” Isla shouted. “Pretty sure you explaining anything from that book would be sexual harassment in the workplace. I’d have to call HR.” “We don’t have HR,” Javier and I said at the same time. I grinned. “We have Keller.” Somehow, that was way worse than HR. Keller didn’t believe in warnings or slaps on the wrist. He believed in the survival and resistance program he endured through SAS selection. Javier pointed to the book. “You read it?” “Of course I read it,” I said. “Well, I listened to the audiobook. But that totally counts as reading it. And it was fucking awesome, dude. You want a copy? It’ll totally help you out with the ladies. It’s basically a how-to guide for being a badass boyfriend and great in bed.” I l...

“We done here?” I asked. I was itching to get out of here and get Annie back to her apartment. Isla nodded. “That’s all I have for you—for now.” I pointed two finger guns at her. “You’re the best, Davenport.” I turned to squeeze by Javier. “You too, Garcia. Stay excellent.” “You eat?” Javier asked Isla. She stammered for a moment, then shook her head. “No.” Lie. The demolished pho was on her desk. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Wanna grab a bite? That food truck you like is parked across the street.” “Food? I’m down,” I said, smacking the top of the doorframe on my way out. I had no intention of going with them, but causing a little mayhem was fun sometimes. “No!” Isla and Javier shouted. I skipped down the stairs, twirling my keys around my finger and laughing to myself.

The plane bumped as we flew through a patch of turbulence. Miles let a quiet groan slip and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You okay?” I asked as I typed away. “Yup.” I believed him. Until a few minutes later, he did it again. I raised an eyebrow. “Do you need to use the lavatory?” Miles looked up from the book. “Huh?” He blinked, then shook his head. “What? No. Oh—nah. It’s just this chapter. It’s… gruesome.” I took a peek at the title. I hadn’t read that particular book, but I knew the author and she didn’t write “gruesome” books. “What about it?” He tipped the pages toward me, and I scanned the words to get a look at whatever unsettled him. “It’s just a sex scene,” I said quietly. “A pretty tame one.” Miles pointed to a particular sentence. “Why are his balls seizing? Why are the bosoms heaving?” He groaned. “It’s like they’re having a medical episode. Someone call those two a doctor.” I cupped my hand over my mouth to hide my giggle.

“Listen here, Annie Cakes. I know this one isn’t yours, but I’m scared for this guy’s sexual health. If you ever need notes on the male orgasm, I’m your man. Any question you have. Consider me your cock consultant.” He cringed. “That was probably over the line for this arrangement.” He held up three fingers in a scout’s salute. “I solemnly swear not to sexually harass you unless you explicitly ask for it.” I couldn’t contain my laughter. “Your boss must really have his hands full with you.” He grinned. “It’s my job to ensure that everyone’s heads stay out of their asses. And I take that very seriously. Miles Zhou: commander of fun. I know you haven’t met Keller, but trust me—it is a paramount responsibility. He might suffocate if he doesn’t extract his head from his bowels and come up for air once in a while.” Miles punctuated the statement with a tip of his book, then went back to reading. I got back to work, lulled into the zone by a false sense of security. “Dear God,” he groaned after twenty seconds of silence. Why did I think Miles could actually be calm and quiet? “The author’s understanding of the male orgasm sounds like a traumatic experience more akin to a kidney stone. Or possibly duct taping uranium to the scrotum. Romance novel men apparently don’t come, they’re just ejecting glowing plasma from scrotal radiation poisoning.” He turned the page and gasped. “I’m concerned for this dude’s health. Why is his—uh—byproduct described as stringy ropes?” He pursed his l...

Courage bubbled up inside of me like a spring. It painted words on my tongue and gave me the push to vocalize them. Before he could step back, I said, “Miles—” Our eyes connected in the mirror. “Do you think I should be Whitney all the time? You know—like Ophelia says. Do you think it would be easier?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Easier doesn’t mean better.” “Why would Norma Jeane become Marilyn if Marilyn wasn’t better?” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he squeezed my arms again. “Maybe you should be asking what Marilyn would have given to go back to being Norma Jeane.”

“Hi!” a pretty blonde said as she stepped up to my table and handed over her paperback. It was practically falling apart. I treated it with the utmost care as I opened the cover that was torn at the top and bottom of the spine. The cover was curled, pages were dog-eared, and the spine had white lines running up and down it. “Sorry,” she said nervously. “It’s my favorite book. I’ve had it for a really long time.” I laughed lightly. “That’s okay. I love seeing a well-loved book. What’s your name?” “Bridget,” she said. “Hi, Bridget! It’s nice to meet you.” I grabbed a pen and began the looping WW signature on the first page. “Between you and me, Like Whiskey is probably my favorite book that I’ve written.” Most people—me included—were nervous at events like this. But Bridget seemed a little more hesitant than most. “This book got me through a really hard time,” she said quietly. “It was my life preserver when I thought I was drowning. I mean, I know Hillary isn’t real, but reading her story as she walked through hell and back… It gave me hope that I could make it out too.” A man with a jawline that could cut glass and a tattoo that looked like an angel’s wing sided up to her. Bridget looked up at him and beamed. “This is my husband, Chase.” I smiled. “Nice to meet you, Chase. I’m Whitney.” I finished signing her book and handed it back. “I can think of a few books that are my life preservers. And I’m so honored that mine was yours.” Bridget handed me another book to sign—The ...

Willow laughed. Chase and Bridget smiled knowingly at each other. Chase turned back to me. “If I were a betting man, I’d say it’ll happen sooner rather than later.” He winked and tucked Bridget’s books into the rolling cart that he was lugging around for her. “Pleasure meeting you, Ms. West.” I smiled. “Likewise.” He took Bridget’s hand, linking their fingers together. “Who you wanna see next, darlin’?”

I stood, half hidden by a tall banner with the Whitney West logo, and shifted my weight between my feet. A gaggle of six readers in matching book club t-shirts congregated in a cluster around Annie’s table. She was fucking crushing it as Whitney today, and I was damn proud of her. A brunette in savage stilettos stepped up to the table, handing over a trio of Whitney books. “It’s so nice to meet you!” Annie said as she carefully opened the cover of the first book and uncapped her pen. “I’m Whitney.” “Hannah Jane,” the woman said. “I’m so excited to meet you. We love reading your books.” Annie’s eyes flicked up to the group. “Is this your book club?” Hannah Jane shrugged. “Kind of. I joined not too long ago. They started meeting at my friend’s bar—” she looked around for the aforementioned friend “—she’s around here somewhere. So anyway, Bridget and I would eavesdrop on their conversations and get the commentary and then read the books on our own.” She laughed. “We finally just asked if we could join.” Annie grinned. “I love that. I’m a lurker, too. I probably wouldn’t have gotten the courage to ask.” Hannah Jane took the books from Annie and clutched them to her chest like they were beloved. “Thank you so much.” The gaggle of women, with their books all signed, dispersed. The one with the lightsaber tattoo went to meet Lilly Matthews. A woman with hair the color of red velvet cake dragged her friend, decked out in a Red Sox cap, to stand in Willow’s line. Hannah Jane and an...

“How’re you doing, superstar?” I asked as I hefted the tote into the elevator. Annie slumped against the wall and punched the button for our floor. “I’m fine.” I raised an eyebrow. This time, I didn’t have to prod for more information or coax it out of her. Annie just closed her eyes. “I keep thinking about that first girl who stopped by my table.” “Bridget?” I asked, recalling the name I overheard. “Yeah.” Annie closed her eyes. “She said Like Whiskey was her life preserver book.” “That’s a good thing, Annie Cakes.” She let out an unsteady breath. “Yeah. But it’s about domestic violence.” Oh… Shit. “Why does that freak you out? You wrote it.” She swallowed. “People tell me how much that book meant to them a lot,” she admitted. “And as honored as it makes me feel, it keeps me up at night. I lay awake wondering if I did enough. If I make people feel safe enough. If I made them feel loved. If I made them feel worthy and wanted. If I told the stories right. I try my best, but—” “You always wonder if you did enough,” I supplied for her. Annie nodded. “And then sometimes you look at a reader and just know that they walked through it. That it wasn’t fiction for them. And it scares me. I can kill off my villains. I can tame the demons. And my heart breaks for the people who can’t. And then sometimes I think about how fickle it is that I just write these silly stories when there are people who live it.” The elevator doors parted at our floor. I picked up the heavy tote and carried...

“Books take people out of their everyday lives. They give them a moment to say, “wow.” It makes grown-ups believe in magic again. It makes us believe in possibilities. It makes us hold on to the belief that at any moment, we could meet someone who changes our life and existence completely. It makes us see the best in our enemies. It makes us hold our friends closer. It gives us compassion and empathy. But most of all, it gives us hope that no matter what, everything is going to be okay.” Annie was silent, but I knew she was listening. I held her closer, rubbing her back up and down through the terry cloth robe. “And that’s a beautiful thing. It’s incredible, really. But that’s not why I’m proud of you.” She wiped her eyes. “Then why?” “Because you showed up today, and that’s the pie. Everything else is just the ice cream on the side.”

“God, I hate these ducks.” Miles laughed, but he didn’t let go of my hands. “Quack, quack, motherducker. You’ve got books to sign.”

Another M&M appeared in my hand. I slipped it into my mouth, laughing while the reader in front of me recalled the time she dropped her car off for an oil change and one of my audiobooks started playing when the mechanics turned it on. I would have been mortified, but it seemed to have worked out pretty well for her. She had a growing baby belly, a ring on her finger, and a hunk of a man wearing an Ernie’s Garage polo by her side.

It had been fifteen minutes and forty-seven seconds since I opened my eyes. Fifteen minutes and forty-seven seconds of staring at Annie as she slept peacefully in my arms. Fifteen minutes and forty-seven seconds of her cheek pressed to my bare chest. Fifteen minutes and forty-seven seconds of calm. I brushed her hair away from her face so I could study her parted lips. Soft like silk. Supple like butter-soft leather. Sweet like cotton candy. I just wanted one more taste of her. One more moment of her lips on mine. Two kisses last night hadn’t been enough. We had been sitting beside a fountain when she kissed me. I couldn’t hear her breathy little whimpers over the pouring water. My hands were on her face, so I didn’t get to feel the way she moved when her mind wasn’t focused on anything except how good she wanted to feel. Slowly, Annie’s lashes parted and she looked up at me with bleary, tired eyes. I was lying on my back with her up against my side. The curve of her breast felt so good against my ribs. Her leg was tossed between mine. My hand was wrapped around her thigh. After deciding that waking up was a terrible idea, she closed her eyes again. I pressed my lips to the top of her head. It was the closest I’d let myself get to kissing her. “Time to get up,” I murmured into her hair. Annie’s lips turned down into a frown. “If I open my eyes, the ducks are there.” I laughed and stretched my limbs. “I solemnly swear to protect you from creepy waterfowl.”

Tell me your story. It lingered in my mind as Annie and I penguin-walked through the narrow aisle and found our seats in the back of the plane. Compared to the sweltering South Carolina morning, the plane was an ice box. “So,” I said as I pulled my travel jacket out of my backpack, then kicked the bag under the seat in front of me. “You wanna know how I became the great Miles Zhou.” Annie rubbed her hands together like a greedy little word gremlin. “Should I take notes?” “Only if you plan on making me an unbeatable book boyfriend.” “Look at you, knowing the lingo,” she said proudly. I unfurled my jacket and draped it over her torso like a blanket. “Chapter one. The hospital.” She laughed. “Okay, I don’t think you have to go that far back.” “Hey, I’m just trying to give you the whole picture. Can’t skimp on details.” Annie nudged me with her elbow. “Tell me your story.” “If you hadn’t guessed, I was a hyperactive child.” “No,” Annie gasped. “I would have never known.” I snickered as I downed a gulp of creamy goodness. Shit. Reading romance novels ruined those words for me. That sounded an awful lot like something an author would use to describe…

“Ho, ho, ho,” Miles said with a jolly temperament as he led me into a dark room filled with blue light and computer screens. “I come bearing gifts.” A woman sat behind a desk, her back to us as her fingers raced across the keys. She spoke in Arabic as her eyes darted back and forth across a metropolitan map. “Hold on,” she clipped in English before switching back to her conversation. Miles slid his hand down my spine, gently rubbing my back. “That’s Isla,” he said. “Former MI6. Fluent in Arabic, Berber, Russian, Portuguese, and German. She’s our in-house human computer.” “I can also kill you using anything on this desk and the food truck was out of al pastor, so I would proceed very carefully around me, Zhou,” she retorted in a thick British accent. She turned the computer screen black, flipped a light on, and spun around in her chair. “More mail from—” She clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide when she saw me. A squeal escaped her lips.

Miles’s fingers flexed against my back as if he was trying to find purchase on my skin. “Isla Davenport, this is Annie.” I lifted my hand and waved. “Hi.” She mumbled something colorful in, what I guessed was, Berber and pawed around her desk for something. I leaned into Miles’s arm. “Is she going to kill you with spreadsheets?” Isla clasped a worn paperback to her chest. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. West.” I laughed, then flicked my gaze to Miles. After that stunt he pulled in the parking garage, I was feeling a little defiant. “Just Annie is fine,” I said with a coy smirk. “As long as you can keep it a secret.” Isla mimed zipping her lips. It was effective until someone tall, stacked, and hella handsome appeared in the doorway with a Ziploc bag in hand. “Hey,” he said, looking clear over me and Miles at Isla. “You hungry? I have tamales.” Isla’s eyes widened. “I could eat.” Oh my god. They were totally into each other.

Isla cleared her throat, turning her attention back to me and Miles. “Right. So. More creeper mail. Lovely. Let’s see what you’ve brought me.” I stood to the side while Miles and Isla donned latex gloves and tore into the trash bag. Isla grabbed some kind of wand and waved it over the boxes. “She’s checking for explosives,” a feminine voice said, appearing beside me. She was in leggings and a sports bra. A sheet of sweat coated tanned skin. I didn’t know whether or not I was supposed to act cool with the possibility of a bomb being inside the box. I had ripped into the previous packages without a second thought. Fear built in my gut as I kept my eyes on Isla and Miles. “Probably good,” I managed to croak out. I offered my hand. “I’m Annie.” “Alona,” she said. Miles had told me about her. “Former Mossad, right?” I surmised from her accent. She blew air out of her nose. “I see Miles didn’t waste any time on spilling all of our histories.” “We’ve had to travel a lot,” I explained apologetically. “We have a lot of time on our hands.” She waved it off. We watched as Isla cut into one box while Miles cut into the other. They were careful not to touch anything all willy-nilly. Miles looked like a surgeon. Calm. Focused. Collected. “I’ve never seen him like this,” Alona said out of the blue. Just like the other packages, there was a single book inside. Isla thumbed through the pages and found the highlighted sections, taking photos of each page before loading the first book into a...

My heart bobbed up and down like it didn’t quite know what to do. Was I happy? Was I terrified? I squeezed my fingers. There was no tell-tale chill. Isla grabbed the book out of the machine and started thumbing through pages while Miles held a blacklight over them. “Don’t get your hopes up,” Alona said. “It could be in good condition or it could be too degraded or contaminated to pull anything useful. Or your stalker might not be in the system at all.” “Debbie Downer,” a male fake-coughed. His shadow filled the doorway, shading the corner that Alona and I shared. But I didn’t miss the way her eyes darkened at his presence. “Did you get bored counting your macros and chugging protein shakes?” Alona snipped. The burly mountain man grinned. “Ready for a rematch so soon? I figured you’d need at least a day to lick your wounds.” “I hope Keller sends you to a remote jungle and you get a non-consensual hug from an anaconda.” “Ahh, don’t be like that, sparky.” He leaned down, getting way too close to Alona’s ear. “If you want me to pin you down to the mat again, just say when.” Enemies to lovers, I thought to myself. Nice. When the man vacated his spot in the door, I tipped my head in his general direction. “What’s his story?” “Cole Crowder. Former Navy SEAL with a superiority complex. He’s a know-it-all who loves camping out on my last nerve, and is a general pain in my ass.” I filed that information away for later. It would make a great story. Alona’s lips turned into a feline s...

“I’ll take you up on that,” she said. “But just one thing.” I raised my eyebrows. Alona tipped her head toward Miles. “Like I said—I’ve never seen him like this.” I followed her gaze, smiling to myself as I took him in. “He’s calm. Focused. He’s at peace around you.” Pinpricks of heat flashed across my cheeks. I pursed my lips and looked down at my feet. “If I had to guess, I’d say that you’re his peace.” “Thanks? I guess?” Alona crossed her arms. Lines of muscle strapped her biceps. Yeah, she could definitely kill me with her bare hands. “Miles—he’s like everyone’s annoying little brother around here. Does he drive Keller up the wall? Absolutely.” Her eyes cut me like a switchblade, sharp and fast. “But he’s ours. I know he’s with you for protection, but if you hurt him, you’ll have me to answer to. And I will make you disappear faster than you can delete a word from a manuscript.” My mouth went dry. “Uh… Yes, ma’am.” “Annie.” Miles’s tone was sharp and dominating. My h...

“So,” Isla said as she motioned to one of the screens on the wall. “We found trace DNA. Looks like our mystery sender sneezed while highlighting one of the pages. No hits in the system, but our sender is a male.” Miles’s mouth was pressed into a tense line. He didn’t like that answer. Maybe it didn’t fit the narrative he had crafted in his head, or maybe there was something he wasn’t te...

“I hit a roadblock, but I think I worked it out. That should give me a few days of smooth sailing before we pack up for Dallas. Briar and James are falling for each other, but she’s still killing people. That puts a real damper on things.” “Will he escape her clutches unscathed, or will he fall prey to her feminine charms?” Miles narrated dramatically. I laughed. “I love Briar. She’s a great lead character. She’s so misunderstood. A murderer, yes, but she’s like Robin Hood. She doesn’t kill without a good reason. She’s getting justice for people hurt by the men she seduces. She drains them dry, gives their money and assets to their victims, keeps a little for herself, and then rids the world of them.” “That’s some vigilante shit right there,” Miles said as he stole a sip from my mug, grimacing at the bite of unsweetened coffee. “Sorry, no pink drinks here,” I said apologetically. “Is that the kind of love you’re looking for?” Miles asked. “The on-the-run, living outside the law kind of love? The Clyde to your Bonnie? Or maybe the Thelma to your Louise?” I laughed. “I’m no Briar Winslow. That’s for damn sure.” “No little black book full of names who have done you wrong?” “Well, I’ve gotten retroactive revenge by naming characters after my college professors and ex-boyfriends and killing them off. It’s cathartic.” Miles laughed. “Just as long as I don’t end up on your hit list.” “Nah.” I closed my laptop and wiped down the stainless steel table. “You’re book boyfriend materi...

“Her slick white froth oozed from her love canal?” I pressed my fist to my mouth and dry heaved. “Why is it frothy? Why is it oozing? Why is it a canal? This isn’t Venice. There’s not a gondola in sight.” I snapped the book shut. “I’ve tried and I can’t. My brain needs a deep clean. From now on, I’ll stick to reading your books.” Annie snickered from her spot by the window. Our plane was somewhere over the scenic hills of Kentucky, en route to Texas. “I’ll spare you the agony,” she said, sliding her laptop onto her thighs, lifting the tray table, and rummaging through the bag by her feet. With a flourish, she revealed a brand-new paperback. “Ta-da!” I grabbed the book from her hands like a feral raccoon nabbing a stale doughnut, then paused. “Wait, this isn’t one of yours.” “Nope,” Annie replied. “It’s Willow’s. You get the honor of the first read.” I flipped through the pages skeptically. “No frothy love canals?” “Zero froth. I promise. You’re safe.” Her pretty brown eyes narrowed on me. “But if you crack the spine, I’ll crack yours.” I shivered and gently opened the front cover.

I slid two fingers inside of her soaked core. Annie’s brows knitted together, and she exhaled in relief. “That feels so good.” I pressed the heel of my hand against her clit and kept my fingers inside of her. “Good. Now ride my hand, dirty girl. Show me how badly you want my cock.” Annie’s hips rocked slow and steady. Her heart beat rapidly as I lathed her tits with my tongue. Everything about her was magic. “Oh—oh!” Annie’s body jerked, then went still. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave me a soft smile. Everything came to a screeching halt as I blinked in disbelief. “Did you just fake an orgasm?”

My cheeks burned like a thousand bee stings. “Uh—no?” Something akin to anger flashed across his face. It was such a rare expression for Miles. So I freaked out and faked an orgasm. It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. I did it all the time, and no one had ever noticed. Not once. Miles trailed his fingers up my side. “What—what are you doing?” “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you’re a terrible actress and I’m calling bullshit on that little performance of yours.” His fingers scraped across my breast. “In my experience, when a woman climaxes—and I mean really climaxes—she’s sensitive. Her skin feels electric and she doesn’t want to be touched. She just wants to revel in the afterglow.” “You know, talking about other women in bed isn’t a great look,” I retorted. His remark was cutting. “The same could be said about faking an orgasm.” I pulled at the tie that bound my wrists as embarrassment slithered around me. “Can you—can you undo me?” “Sure,” he said casually. “If you tell me what happened.” “Miles—” Frustration was painted all over his face and I knew why. It was me. I was the problem.

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you! I’m Whitney,” I said as I reached across my table and shook a woman’s hand. She was nearly vibrating out of her Baylor University tank top. “Oh my god, I’m so excited to meet you,” the girl blurted out as she passed me a stack of paperbacks to sign. “She got me hooked on your books,” the girl said, pointing to the woman beside her. They looked like they could have been sisters, one with short hair in glossy black, and the other with a longer cut. The long-haired woman laughed. “And because she’s forgotten how to breathe, her name is Bristol.” I snickered as I opened the cover of the first paperback and signed a looping WW. “Don’t worry. I’ve been forgetting to breathe all day,” I said. “And what’s your name?” “Jo,” the woman with longer hair said. I talked books with Jo and Bristol while I signed their hauls. We posed for pictures and hugged it out before they moved on to Jordan Loft’s line.

I dropped back into my chair as I heard the unzipping of the Annie Pack. Miles slipped me a handful of M&Ms that I hid behind a tabletop sign. “So, that’s what you keep in that fanny pack,” Jordan commented from his spot behind his table. “I was wondering what you put in there.” I couldn’t see Miles, but I heard his snort and whispered comment. “I can fit a lot in Annie’s fanny.” I nearly choked on an M&M as a trio of readers stepped up. Jordan peered over at me. “You alright, Whit? Need some water?” “I’ve got it,” Miles said as he passed me a water bottle. I was almost certain he was glaring at Jordan. I cracked the top. “Are you gonna piss a circle around me?” “If I thought it’d work, I would. But considering he seems like the type to wrestle bears in the woods, I doubt he’d be deterred by a little piss,” he clipped before stepping back into the shadows. “Remember who you belong to, Ms. West.”

“Hi!” a pretty blonde said as she passed me her copy of Like Whiskey. “I’m Darcy.” My attention was captured by the two unfairly gorgeous men bracketing her on each side. The one on her right, a ripped man with piercing eyes, had his hand on the small of her back. The man on the left had straps of muscle and a powerful presence. His hand was in her hair, mindlessly playing with it as they stood in line. Oh my god. Were all three of them together? I tamped down the desire to grab the little notebook Miles kept in the Annie Pack to scribble out ideas. I wanted to write this. “I see you brought some muscle to carry your books for you,” I mused as I wrote out a little message in her paperback and signed my name. “Are you guys having a good time at the event today?” Darcy beamed between her two men. “So good. It was the perfect excuse to get out of Colorado and visit Dallas.” My eyes flitted between the three of them as I handed Like Whiskey back to her. The man on the right passed me a copy of Broken Halos. “This one’s my favorite. The audiobook is so good.” I took it from him and tried to sign my name, but the ink in my pen dried up. “Shit,” I mumbled. Out of nowhere, Miles passed ...

“He thrust his dick into her meat curtains?” Heads spun across the plane at Miles’s boisterous declaration. My cheeks burned like a blowtorch. I cringed, sinking lower into my seat, mouthing “sorry” to the lady with a toddler in her lap. Miles ripped off his reading glasses and dropped them on to the tray table in front of him. The decorative chain hit the hard plastic surface with a clatter. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Who thought meat curtains would be a good description of the happiest place on earth?”

“Were you traveling for work?” my dad asked Annie as he grabbed the plate of finished jiǎozi and replaced it with an empty one. “Yes,” Annie said with the kind of calm that was more nervous than placid. “What kind of trip was it?” he prodded. “I wouldn’t think a bakery owner would travel much for work.” Annie let out a shoddy breath. “It wasn’t for the bakery.” My mother’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh?” Beneath the table, Annie reached for my hand. “I… I write books. I own the bakery but I’m also a romance author. I was traveling for book signings in Dallas and Chicago.” The table went silent and Annie looked like she wanted to run for the hills. The regret of spilling her secret was all over her face. Emma’s eyes darted between the two of us. I could see her mentally putting the puzzle pieces together. “Wait.” The dumpling in her hand went flying and landed with a splat on the floor. She grabbed her phone and scrolled furiously through her social media feed before landing on a photo of a redhead sitting behind a signing table. She stared at the screen, then looked up at Annie to study her features, then back at the screen. “You’re Whitney West?” she whispered. Emma looked down at the screen again. In the background, she studied the man in the suit behind Annie—er—Whitney. She looked at me. “And you’re—” I dropped Annie’s hand so I could wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her into my side. The kitchen chairs creaked as she tucked herself into my ribs. “I was hired to keep h...

Annie let a quiet laugh slip as she worked the small rolling pin around, flattening another piece of dough. “Probably.” “I’m so excited for your next book,” Emma blurted out. “Wǒ yěshì,” Grandma chimed in, nodding in agreement. “My favorite book of yours is Broken Halos.” She looked at the pleated dumpling in her weathered hands with satisfaction. “Lorenzo is really something.” Her smile was coy. “Back in my day I liked things the way Amelia does.” She winked. Emma and I groaned in tandem. “I haven’t had nearly enough wine to hear that,” Emma said as she reached across the table and refilled her glass. Grandma snickered. “Maybe I should start reading these books,” my mom chimed in. “Bù,” Grandma snapped with a wave of a papery finger. Emma snickered. Annie leaned over. “Did she just tell your mom not to read my books?” “Yep.” My mom frowned. “Why not?” She looked at Annie. “What’s your next book about? I’ll read that one.” “No!” Annie, Grandma, Emma, and I said in a mix of Mandarin, English, and laughter.

“You know what I want?” I kissed up and down her arched spine. “I want you to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you’re not broken. I want you to know how incredible your body is. I want you to feel about yourself the way your readers feel about the fictional women you write. I want you to stop treating yourself worse than you treat characters that aren’t real.” I nipped at her shoulder. “You’re a force to be reckoned with. Don’t reserve the best parts of yourself for fiction.” I knelt behind her and grabbed the back of her thighs, licking up her slit. Annie jolted forward as a gasp escaped her lips. She shifted her weight to one arm and reached around in an attempt to cover her rear. “You are dangerously close to my ass.”

I grabbed her wrist and pinned it behind her back. “Here I was, dining on the best pussy I’ve ever tasted, and you have the audacity to deny me your body because you don’t think I want your ass too?”

“Everything okay?” I asked as I filled my mug. Energy radiated off of his being. “Of course.” I didn’t know how much I believed him. Miles tipped my chin up and pecked my lips. “I promise.” “What was that about?” “I need to check in with Keller and give updates, but I told him I didn’t want to leave you alone in the building. He’s on his way over. I’m gonna go downstairs for a few minutes to talk to him.” I stalled with a long sip of coffee. “About me as a client or me as your…” Miles grinned. “Say it.” I huffed. “Say it, superstar.” He pinned me against the countertop and attacked me with a ravishing kiss. “Say you’re my girlfriend. Tell me you’re mine.” “Kiss me like that again and I will.” He grabbed the back of my thighs and threw me on top of the counter. Coffee sloshed out of my mug, burning my hand. His mouth was possessive, claiming me with each tilt of his lips and swipe of his tongue. I panted, gasping for breath as he released me. “Okay—yeah. I’m your girl. Your girlfriend. Your pie making smut peddler. Take your pick. I just want to be yours.”

The shower head squeaked as I cut the water off and stepped over the lip of the tub. Showering before a fight always made me laugh. It was kind of like making the bed—it was just going to get messed up again. I grabbed the towel off of the bar, and ran it over my hair before wrapping it around my waist, grabbing my shit, and padding down the hall to my room. Our room. It had been just over three weeks since Annie was discharged from the hospital, and every night she had been in my bed. Her movement was still restricted, but she had been given the greenlight to shed the sling from her dislocated arm. The stitches in her lip had begun to disappear, and the bruises had faded. Still, the nightmares plagued her constantly, and she had yet to type a single word of her new book. The floorboards creaked as I snuck in. If Annie had managed to take a nap, I didn’t want to wake her. But I didn’t hear soft breathing. I heard laughter. “Oh my god, you have to write that!” Annie exclaimed. She was sitting at the small desk that I hadn’t used since high school. Her phone was perched on a little stand. Willow Winslet and Wander Whitlock’s faces were on the screen, laughing with her. The two ladies’ eyes went wide. Annie looked over her shoulder and took in my towel-clad, water speckled body. “Shit—sorry.” She quickly turned off her camera, but the call continued. “No!” Willow and Wander shrieked in tandem. “For the love of tequila, if you don’t turn that camera back on I’ll kill off your ...

“Me too,” Willow chimed in. “It’s selfish to keep the man candy to yourself. Show us or I won’t write that tattoo artist book you want.” I laughed and tightened the towel around my waist before coming up behind Annie and turning her camera back on. “Good morning, ladies. I hope the word counts are high and the edits are easy.” They melted in their desk chairs. Wander sighed happily. “What does a girl have to do to get kidnapped around here? I want one.”

“Guess what?” Annie said as she looked up at me. I pressed my lips to her temple. “What’s that?” “I wrote a little.” My heart skipped. “For real?” Her laugh was wary and hesitant, but accomplished. “I mean, it’s probably going to get re-written and I haven’t outlined yet, but—” I jumped in front of her desk chair and kissed Annie square on the mouth. “I’m so fucking proud of you. Look at you go, superstar.” I kissed her again, shifting a little closer. “That’s my girl.” Apparently going for the second kiss was pushing my luck. The towel unraveled and fell off my hips. Wander and Willow squealed so loudly that static burst over the speaker. Annie’s eyes went wide as she looked over my shoulder and saw my tattooed ass on full display on the video call. Her arm shot out, and she whacked her phone off the desk, sending it flying to the floor. The other two WWs squalled, shouting protest...

“Get back here!” Annie’s shout echoed through the house as she chased after me, determination etched on her face. I raced down the stairs, dodging boxes and unfinished bookshelves that cluttered my path. “We have to leave!” she yelled. “There’s no time for this!” Annie’s voice urged me on as I sprinted toward the kitchen. Shit. Annie had peeled off and gone through the dining room, cutting me off before I could get to the back door. She plastered her back against the door. “Hand it over.” “No!” I shouted as I pivoted and went for the front door. The dump truck was making its rounds and, by my estimate, I only had thirty seconds to make it outside before our trash was taken away. “I want a baby!” “We don’t have time for a baby!” she countered as she grew closer. Dammit. Why had I encouraged her to start running? A few more strides and I’d be home free, running toward the curb. “You’re ovulating!” Her voice rose four octaves. “How the fuck do you know that?” We faced off around the coffee table that was covered in boxes of books. “You don’t think I track your cycle? Do you think M&Ms just magically show up on your nightstand once a month? Face it—bookworm. It’s time! We got the house.”

“We got the house so we could have loud, raunchy sex without waking up your grandma! Not to add to the population!” I faked left and bolted for the door again. “Kids are fucking awesome! I want you pregnant!” “Miles, don’t you dare!” Annie leaped onto my back and snatched the pill packet out of my hand. Frantically, she popped out one of the little blue birth control pills and swallowed it down before tucking the rest safely in her bra. Ha. Like that would stop me. Those boobs were mine. “Are you forgetting that Keller has you and Malik leaving for that job in Europe while I’m on a writing retreat with Willow and Wander?” “Fuck it. I can beat your birth control.” I relented and threw her over my shoulder. “Time is of the essence, baby girl. Open those legs for me.” She squealed with peals of laughter. “We have to get to the bakery! Weren’t you doing some last-minute push-ups to make sure you look buff or something?” “And now I want to be doing you.” Her phone chimed in her back pocket. “That’s probably Phee wondering where we are.” “She can wait.” “She can wait, but the photographer can’t.” I smacked her ass. “Fine. But after the shoot, we’re revisiting this conversation.” “We can revisit this conversation when Ophelia and I sit down to make my publishing schedule for next year.”

The man who was running his hands through my hair jerked my head to the side and smeared it with a glob of gel. Annie snickered, watching me as she handed Willow a slice of apple pie and Wander a slice of peanut butter mousse. She grabbed a piece of strawberry pie for herself. “How’s it going over there, hot stuff?” Annie called. I sneezed as powder was fluffed over my nose. “Excellent.” “He is done, and he is gorgeous,” Mr. Hair and Makeup said as he handed me off to the photographer. “I need oil on him,” the photographer said without looking up from the camera. Every hand in the bakery went up. “I’ll do it!” Annie elbowed her way to the front of the pack and grabbed the bottle of oil. “Not fair!” Wander clipped. “You can do that whenever you want.” Annie snickered as she poured the mix of baby oil and water on her hands and began to rub it all over my chest. Willow whistled as she and Wander took seats to watch me get shot. I was beginning to think I’d actually rather get shot.