by Sienna Blake
“Well,” I told my mother, pride growing in my chest, “we did it. The Innocence Project has officially started. We got ourselves a brand new office, hired our first staff member and we got our first client. Roman was just with him.”
I let out a long breath when I thought over the last few years. I couldn’t believe we were here. “Can you imagine…a man everyone assumed was a criminal is now the one putting them away? I’m so proud of him. He is the man I always knew he was. And we finally found a way to turn that blood money into something good.”
After Roman announced he was alive, it came out that Giovanni had left a considerable amount of money for him. When I say “considerable”, I really mean he could have bought a small damn country with the money his father left him. While he’d been alive, Giovanni had managed to separate this sum of money away from the Tyrell empire just in case his empire ever fell. For months Roman refused to touch it. It sat in an account in his name until I had the brainwave to use it to fund The Innocence Project. The money allowed us to charge only what our clients could afford.
Roman would work the legal side. I would work the investigative side. Together we were a team. I had quit the police department and needed a job. I couldn’t work for the police force anymore. I needed to get out from my father’s footsteps and make my own path. The Innocence Project was perfect.
Anyway…happy birthday, Mom.” I stepped forward and placed her favorite flowers on her resting place.
Roman stepped out from between two gravestones like he had over two years ago, causing me to suck in a breath. He still knocked the wind out of me. He looked just like he did that first time, suave and powerful in his Armani suit, his dark hair swept back off his chiseled features. Perfect lips pulled in a smile just for me.
He didn’t hesitate this time. He strode up to me and wrapped his arms around me, kissing me, his tongue finding mine, holding me like I was the most precious jewel in the world. My body rushed with heat like it did every time he touched me, and I curled my fingers into his shirt.
He pulled away, rubbing his nose against mine. He whispered in that gravel and caramel voice of his, “Hello, Mrs. Tyrell.”
A thrill went through me. Mrs. Tyrell. I loved hearing him say those words. And I was proud to call myself that. I chuckled, wondering how long it would take for me to get used to that name.
We had walked into Waverley Cathedral together hand in hand a few months ago and were married by Father Laurence in front of my father, Nora and Nonna. All the people who mattered.
“Am I late?” he asked.
I grinned. “No, you’re just in time.” Like he always was.
He slid his hand onto my round belly and bent down so he could mumble against my bulge. When the doctor told us that I must have gotten pregnant on our honeymoon, in Paris of course, just after I stopped taking the pill, Roman practically beat his chest like a caveman. “And hello to you too, little Mercutio Espinoza Tyrell. I missed you and your beautiful mommy today.”
I rolled my eyes. “What if she’s a girl?”
“My beautiful Abigail Maria Tyrell, I hope you have Mommy’s looks.” He winked at me.
My grin widened.
“Have you been talking to your mother about me?” He straightened and pulled me back into his arms.
I rolled my eyes. “Not everything I say is about you.”
“Of course not. Sometimes it’s about what you think of me.”
I poked his firm chest. He pretended to bite my finger.
“Sorry I’m late, Julu,” a voice called out. My father appeared on one of the paths through the gravestones. “I had to stop for some pesky freeloaders.” He rolled his eyes but he was grinning.
“Really, Monty.” Nora appeared behind him, arm in arm with Nonna. Nora had taken to calling my father Monty. Only she could get away with that. “Anyone would think you don’t like us. When it was you who insisted on coming to pick us both up.”
Lately, I suspected that Nora and my father were getting really close. I caught their stolen looks when they thought I wasn’t looking. I think they hadn’t told me because they were afraid of my disapproval, but I was thrilled for them. I was going to let them sweat it out a little longer before I put them out of their misery and told them that I knew and that it made me happier than anything.
I grinned as my family, our family, walked toward us to celebrate my mother’s birthday with my husband, our growing baby and me.
My father gave me a hug, shook Roman’s hand and placed a small white cake box next to my peonies on Mama’s grave. “Pancakes,” he said as he winked at me.
I smiled even through a pang of sadness. Mama got her birthday pancakes after all.
“I hope you two weren’t making out in a cemetery,” Nora said, giving me a wicked look.
“No!” Roman said in horror. He flushed. I laughed.
I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. My mother would have loved Nora if they had ever met.
Nora wiggled her finger at Roman and whispered, “Freaky deaky,” before giving us both a wink.
“Good Lord, girl, you’re about to pop!” Nonna said as she enveloped me in a warm hug that smelled like apple pie. We were all going to Nonna’s place after this for dinner. I bet I knew what was for dessert. Roman’s favorite. “Roman, you’re not making this poor girl work all day, are you?”
“Er, she wants to work.”
“Roman,” Nonna said, sounding horrified. “You should be waiting on her hand and foot at home at this stage.”
“Of course, Nonna,” he said, sounding chastised. “But she’s never been very good at being told what to do.” He shot me a cheeky look over Nonna’s shoulder. I hid my blush. He’s always been very good at telling me what to do.
“Who are we missing?” Nora asked.
“Sorry, I’m here,” Father Laurence called as he jogged up the path towards us, his robe swishing around his ankles. There were more hugs all round as he joined us. He kissed my cheek and beamed at my belly. “Have you been taking those herbs I gave you?” he asked.
I almost laughed at the shocked look on both Roman and my father’s faces.
I nodded at the Father. “The morning sickness is all gone.”
“Well,” my father said, his chest deflating with relief. “We’re all here. Shall we begin?”
The six of us stood in a close huddle and sang “Happy Birthday” to the woman who birthed me, who loved me, and who, in a way, was the reason we were all standing here today. Even as the air was tinged with sadness for the ones who could not be here with us in person, I had never felt so happy.
It turns out that I was right all those years ago. Paris would never last. Paris was just a dream, a lovely dream. But this life, our real life, was so, so much better.
The End
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He has secrets. I do, too.
He contacts me only through notes − unpredictable and untraceable. When we meet, he can touch me, but I’m not allowed to touch him. When we make love, it’s only after I have been bound and blindfolded. It’s the only time I truly feel alive. Which is why I play along with it. For now.
Caden Thaine is the most sinfully beautiful man I have ever seen. But more than that, his touch sets me on fire. And dear God, do I ache for him.
I could never have imagined just how much our lives are bound. And that pulling at his tangled web of secrets would cause my own dark past to come back to try and reclaim me.
Will we survive? Will our love?
Adult romantic suspense. Book one of a two book series. No panties needed.
“Move out the way Sylvia Day!” ~ I Heart Books
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I used to think I was one of the lucky ones.
But at twenty-six, I’ve left my “perfect” life in New York behind—my perfect fiancé, my stylish friends, my high-flying marketing career—and moved to Ireland.
Truthfully, my perfect fiancé is now my ex after I walked in on him face-deep in my best friend’s p***y.
And my career? It’s over. Because that cheating ex-fiancé of mine…he owns the company I worked for.
I know. I know. Don’t screw your boss. Trust me, I’m never making that mistake again.
On my way to the remote Irish farm I’m now working on, my car hits a ditch. I’m rescued by the three sexiest men I’ve ever seen.
The three Irish O’Callaghan brothers.
Broad shoulders, strong arms, accents that make me wet just to hear them.
I want them. All of them.
They all want me.
Plot twist…
Turns out they’re my new bosses.
Warning: This is a sexy yet emotional reverse-harem romance, a full-length, standalone novel at 50k words. Three sexy Irish brothers who want nothing more than to please their special woman. All at the same time.
Sienna’s Quick & Dirty series consists of standalone novels which are hotter, dirtier and quicker than her other novels.
Out now
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Keep reading to the end for an excerpt…
Dedication
For someone who expresses her deepest thoughts and feelings publicly through her novels, I let few people into my inner circle. This small group is cultivated. But once you’re in, you’re in. I will love you and never judge you.
Never.
That’s my friendship promise to you, if you deserve it.
If you cheat on your partner, I’m standing by you.
If you join a hippie commune and never wear clothes again, I’ll support that.
If you reveal that your idea of fun is three men, hot candles and a hamster… I’m totally high-fiveing that shit.
Roman and Julianna’s love came from a conversation I had with a few friends about whether we could still love someone close to us who had killed another human being. I was adamant that I would. I would need to understand why it happened, but I would. Because that’s what I think love is.
So, this series is dedicated to my closest friends, you beautiful, imperfect beings. I love you and I’ll stand by through anything.
(Even visit you in prison.)
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Excerpt of Bound by Lies
Chapter 1
Bound is a loud, moralless pit hole slunk in the shadows of the warehouse district of this city, gritty exposed-brick walls, exposed ceilings and rusted pipes, and medieval furniture made of thick wood and black iron. The staff is costumed in structured leather, whalebone and PVC. Some of them wear masks to protect their day-time identities. Others wear their faces open and proud with painted red lips. Some adorn themselves with spiked collars or jewels on chains strung across from various body piercings like Christmas decorations.
The music is so wild it almost sounds like it has no beat. Just a furious epileptic noise that bangs through the bodies on the dance floor, a perfect soundtrack to the carnal stills of thrusting hips and flicking hair given up by the flickering strobe lights. It is a perfect place to meet like-minded people who have something to forget…
I lean my elbows against the bar, stirring my straw through my vodka and tonic, trying to pay attention to the guy on my left who bought me this drink. My mind is too scattered. This itchy, uncomfortable feeling clenches me like too-tight skin, and my unwanted memories are like a buoy. They keep bobbing up to the surface no matter how much I keep pushing them back under.
“You’re hurting me…”
God, I need a distraction.
I watch Barry or Bozo, or whatever this clown’s name is, waving his fingers around as he talks. I nod my head like I give a shit and wonder how long decorum dictates that I wait to suggest that he pay for a private booth. His brown hair is conservatively cut and combed to one side; he reminds me of a Ken doll. Especially when he flashes that expensively purchased smile of his. He wears a tailored pinstriped suit with a red silk folded handkerchief in his jacket pocket. Who the hell wears a frickin’ handkerchief in their pocket to a club? Corporate-douchebag-Ken does.
His right nostril is dusted with white powder and he has that gunky white residue at the corner of his mouth as most coke users do. Gross. I hope he doesn’t expect me to kiss him. I look down at the bar counter, shiny from polish and spilled liquor, because I just can’t keep looking at him. Otherwise I fear I’ll get put off to the point where I can’t do this. And I need this.
I place my lips around the straw and pretend to take a sip of my drink. They are generous with their shots here, so I can taste the sting of the vodka mixed with the sharpness of the lime on my lips as I draw up the cold liquid. I stop sucking without swallowing any liquid and let it all fall back down the straw. I don’t drink. Especially not when I’m on the hunt for a distraction. I don’t like losing control of my faculties. I won’t do it. I don’t like it. Most importantly, I can’t afford to.
At that moment something in the music changes and I look up. It’s then that I spot him leaning against the wall across from me. His giant form with overbearing shoulders and intimidating arms straining against his dark shirt makes it difficult not to notice. From here I can see that he has messy dark hair and dark eyebrows. I can’t tell what color his eyes are, but I’m desperate to find out. Black as night, I guess, to match his hair.
He’s staring at me, an intense stare that makes my lungs flutter, and making no attempts to hide it. I can’t help but smile.
I noticed him several weeks ago. He had been standing in almost that very spot fucking me from across the space with his eyes like he’s doing now. I thought he would approach me. He didn’t. He just watched me. He didn’t even come to lay claim after a good-looking suit sought to charm me into giving him some of my time. I left with the suit that night. Although later I was imaging it was him buried between my legs. Since then, I’ve found my eyes being drawn to that very spot where he stands now. It’s the first time he’s been back.
“Hey, sweetcheeks.” My attention is diverted back to Bozo. This wannabe lover is frowning at me, obviously ticked off that he isn’t getting his vodka tonic’s worth of attention from me. The dim bar lights flash off his hair like an oil slick, making it look like someone has spat all through it. I cringe when I imagine running my hands through it to pull at it. “You even listening to me?”
I smile and I can feel it dripping thick with fake honey. I pull in the corners of my mouth so that it forces dimples to my cheeks. “Of course I am, babe.” I giggle and place my hand lightly on his arm.
Bozo’s face relaxes
. Predictable fucker. He leans in close so I can smell a mix of rum and cigarettes on his breath. I rack my brain for why I even let him buy me a drink.
“Well, why don’t you drink up, beautiful, and we can go take this party upstairs into a private booth?”
This is what I want, isn’t it? I feel his hand slip onto the small of my lower back then slide down to feel the round of my ass. He presses his partial erection against my side.
Usually the touch of a sexed-up man ready to go gets me excited, but tonight, for some reason, it only serves to make me feel queasy. I swallow and try to fight this feeling from showing on my face. For some reason I look over to the wall again.
Mr. Tall, Dark and Fuckable is gone. I glance around in an attempt to find him. I don’t see him towering over the mass of bobbing heads in the crowd. My heart sinks into my stomach, making my nausea feel worse.
“Sorry,” I say, taking my arm off Bozo and stepping aside so his hand drops off my ass. “I just remembered I have to meet someone. Maybe next time.”
Before I can step away his fingers grab my arm, pulling me off balance. “Don’t play games with me,” he grunts, his breath coming out hard and fast like a bull. “You were all over me a second ago. You wouldn’t have come out here wearing no underwear if you weren’t up for it.” He runs his other hand up the back of my ass again to prove he was right. “I can smell that you want me from here.”