Joy Ride: A Virgin Romance (Let it Ride Book 3) Page 12

  Or maybe I’d misjudged him.

  “I know the risks.” In his own twisted way, had he been trying to protect me from an uncertain future? “I have a trust fund, thanks to your success. I’m privileged, and I can use those resources to live the life I want.”

  “I see.” He steepled his fingers. “And you’d like me to put in a good word for you?”

  For a second, I was tempted. With his help, establishing myself would be easier. But I’d never be satisfied unless I made my own way.

  “No. I want to get there on my own.”

  “Really?” His brows drew together.

  “I’m not going to use your name, or approach your publisher. No shortcuts. Instead, I’m going to be pulled out of the slush pile—like you were.”

  A slush pile is a stack of unsolicited manuscripts agents and editors receive. Very few ever got published. It was a gamble, but I wanted this victory on my own terms—anything less wouldn’t do. I’d always wonder if my success was because of my famous father, and I refused to live in his shadow.

  “What pen name are you going to use?”

  Well, it sure wouldn’t be Talin Zed.

  “I’m thinking about a play on my name. Maybe Emma Darcy?” Emma was another famous Jane Austen character. Besides, it sounded like a romance author’s name.

  “I like it. But what if you don’t succeed in publishing?”

  “Then I’ll go to grad school and get my doctoral degree, as planned.” If I tried and failed to be an author, I wouldn’t have any angst over the decision. It’d be something I decided, not a choice based on fear.

  “Okay then.” He nodded. “I wish you luck.”

  “You do?” I gaped at him.

  Dad chuckled. “Yes, I do.”

  “Thanks.” I hadn’t expected his support. What’s the catch?

  “Adults make their own decisions, Darcy, but they also deal with the consequences of their actions.”

  “I understand. Thanks for hearing me out.” I stood and walked to the door.

  “You know,” Dad said, halting my movement, “they say you aren’t a real writer until your work’s been rejected.”

  “Yeah?” I glanced back.

  “Don’t take what anyone says personally, even me, and keep pushing until you get published, Darcy.”

  “I won’t. Thanks, Dad.”

  It’s the closest thing to an apology I’d ever get. Maybe we’d never be close, but my father loved me, in his own way. And now I had a shot at the job I wanted, along with a wonderful boyfriend.

  Ian was right—I had a bright future ahead of me.

  “Oh, wait, there’s something else you should know.”

  “There’s more?” Dad gaped at me. Poor guy. He’d had a rough time.

  “It’s no big deal. I’m dating my professor, and we’re getting serious.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to writing.” I headed for the exit.

  “Darcy, we should talk about this. How old is he?”

  “Ian’s about ten years older, so it’s not a huge age difference. I’ll bring him over sometime soon. Bye!”

  And I scurried out the door before we could discuss it.

  Epilogue

  Darcy

  Five months later…

  “Please don’t tell me you’re canceling, Iris.” My cell phone had rung, and I’d answered immediately, afraid something had gone wrong.

  “Well, hello to you, too. And don’t worry, you’ll see me at the end of the week.”

  “I’m glad.”

  In three days, I’d pick her up from the airport. Iris had just about wrapped up her time at the Le Cordon Bleu and would be headed stateside this weekend.

  I couldn’t wait. We hadn’t seen each other in months. Kate, Poppy, Iris, and I were all going to be in New York at the same time, so it was high time for our girls-only weekend.

  “How do you like the new digs?”

  A month ago, I’d moved into Ian’s apartment. I’d been subletting another place since I moved out of the one I shared with the girls. It’d been an adjustment at first, but I loved living with him. Once I convinced Ian to sell or store all those old girlfriend paintings, of course.

  Although, I still had a half-dozen boxes I hadn’t unpacked yet. Did I mention I hate moving? I’d been forcing myself to unload one of them a day. Earlier, I’d come across something Ian would appreciate.

  Both of our creative careers were taking off. He’d sold several pieces since he started painting again.

  “I love it. He gave me my very own office.” Ian had purchased the apartment next door when the tenant moved out a few weeks ago. We’d split it in half—the first floor was his art studio and the second became my office.

  “Nice. Do you feel like a real author now?”

  “Yes, I submitted a proposal for another book in the series, and my publisher is interested.”

  After I sold For Love or Money, I’d feverishly written a sequel, about the contract killer’s best friend. It, too, had been accepted and was in production right now. I spent my days working on the third book, which should be done in a few weeks.

  “Congratulations, Darcy! I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” I couldn’t stop grinning.

  “How’s Zed takin’ it?”

  “Actually, he’s been pretty supportive. He says we should go to a writing conference together in the fall.” And he’d bought me a program called Scrivener. A lot of authors use it to keep track of research and notes, along with their manuscripts.

  “Wow. I’m impressed—didn’t think ol’ Zed could be generous.”

  “Color me shocked, too.” My parents were less than thrilled about my choice of boyfriend, but they’d get over it, eventually.

  At least they were preoccupied with my nephew, who was due soon. Things would never be good between Elinor and me, but I didn’t envy her as much anymore. And hey, the thought of her changing dirty diapers made me smile.

  “Hey, wait. Today’s the big day, right?”

  “Yes, it should be happening any minute now.”

  Last night, I couldn’t sleep. Ian and I had stayed up into the wee hours of the morning having an insomniac party. But we’d found very pleasurable ways to pass the time. Other than the occasional sleepless night, neither one of us had mental health issues. It’d been weeks since I had a panic attack. Ian kept a steady work schedule and stayed on top of his meds.

  “Then I won’t keep you, but you better save me a copy. I just wanted to let you know you’ll be picking up two people at the airport.”

  “Who’s the other passenger? A friend from school?”

  “Um, not exactly.”

  “Which means…?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Iris Davenport, you’ve been holding out on me. Did you hook up with a hunky Frenchman in Paris?” And here I thought she’d spent all her time slaving over a hot stove.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Again, I’m going to need some clarification.”

  “It’s a long story, Darcy. You’ll find out when you see me Friday.”

  I sighed. “I hate not being in the loop.” But I was glad she’d apparently found someone too. It seemed too good to be true—Kate, Poppy, and I had all found our matches. And I wanted Iris to be happy too.

  “Too bad. Au revoir, mon amie.” And then she hung up on me. The nerve!

  Well, fine, she could keep her secrets, for now. Whenever she got here, I’d get some dirt.

  But I didn’t have time to obsess about Iris’s love life at the moment. I had a lot going on today. Namely, my book baby would arrive any second now.

  Later, when I called down to the main desk to check for the third time, a package waited for me. I raced downstairs to retrieve it. The concierge just laughed when I grabbed the box from him.

  I was so impatient that I used my keys to slice open the tape holding it shut. Inside was For Love or Money, complete with a handsome mal
e cover model grinning at me. Sure, I’d seen a JPEG months ago, but I held a real book in my hands. Ian had been right about the feel of it. Yeah, it smelled amazing, too.

  I dropped the box and hugged it to my chest. This had to be a dream. I feared my alarm would go off any second and shatter the illusion.

  When I got back upstairs, my cell phone rang—it was Ian.

  “Did you get it?”

  “Yes, I’m holding the first Emma Darcy book.”

  “Congratulations. When I get home tonight, we’ll celebrate.” His voice dipped at the end.

  Somehow, I had a feeling our party would involve heated, sticky sex and then a soak in the brand-new hot tub he’d had installed. Sounded like a fantastic way to end the day to me.

  “I’ll hold you to it. How’s your show coming?”

  “Smashing. The gallery said there’s been a lot of interest in my work.”

  “That’s fantastic.” I couldn’t wait to see his show. “Oh, and just a reminder, the girls are coming over this weekend. Poppy’s done touring with Sebastian, Kate has some time off, and Iris will be home from Paris.”

  “Good Lord, I’ll never get any peace.”

  “Nope.”

  “Then I’ll have to enjoy my alone time with you this evening.”

  “Speaking of which, I came across something you might like.”

  “Oh?”

  “My old prep school uniform.”

  He sucked in a breath. “I see. Then it’s time we try out a roleplay.”

  “My thoughts exactly. I’m looking forward to our tutoring session later, Dr. Sterling.” Yeah, I’m ready to take the advanced class now.

  “As am I, Ms. James,” Ian said sternly. “See you in my office at 7:00 p.m. sharp. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  I smirked. “Yes, sir. I fully intend to earn my A.”

  “Trust me, you will. Class dismissed.”

  Free Ride is next.

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  Damned (Biker Romance)

  Trigger Warning

  This book contains graphic descriptions and/or flashbacks of sexual assault, molestation, violence, homophobia, and self-injurious behavior.

  Please read with caution.

  Chapter One

  She’s a hot mess.

  Duke watched Rose Weston as she sat eating dinner with her older sister, Daisy, and his club brother, Cowboy. Rose tried hard to hide it, but he could see the chaos bubbling beneath the surface even two tables over.

  Not that it was any of his fucking business.

  Hades, the Four Horsemen’s motel and diner, had quite a crowd tonight. The diner had a 1950’s feel to it with a black-and-white-checkered floor, red vinyl booths, silver stools, and Texas memorabilia on the walls like an old Route 66 sign and a Texaco star.

  Tonight, the place was packed for another one of their brotherhood dinners. Voodoo, a brother who served as the Hades chef and proprietor, barked orders at the prospects.

  Prospects, or potential members of the motorcycle club, had to be at the beck and call of all the full-fledged members to prove their worth. It was like pledging a fraternity, an illegal one specializing in vigilante justice. At the moment, they hustled to take drink orders and deliver food to the brothers’ tables.

  Duke did a perimeter sweep of the room, a habit left over from his Special Forces routine. He noted the weapons his brothers carried as well as the exits and entrances, which they always kept clear in case some escape and evasion became necessary or E&E in military lingo.

  He couldn’t help but stare at the train wreck of a girl again.

  She did her level best to look normal. Rose laughed and smiled often. She even managed to eat most of the food on her plate. But her eyes told an altogether different story. Bleak, shuttered, and chilly, they reminded him of an abandoned home. And she couldn’t quite disguise the pain in their depths.

  No one else seemed to notice, not even her sister. Maybe they were relieved she got home safe and didn’t look too close. Two months ago, Duke had pulled her out of a cage—a fucking cage. Some batshit crazy lawyer for the Raptors, a rival MC, kept her as a sex slave. Who knows what all the pervert did to her.

  Cowboy saddled him with protecting Rose, but Duke didn’t consider babysitting or counseling to be part of the job description. So he kept his distance and watched her like a fucking hawk, in case her former rapist came calling.

  Rose had decided not to move in with Cowboy and Daisy when his brother reclaimed his old house, and who could blame her? Pretending to be fine all the fucking time could be exhausting.

  Duke had given up on being normal years ago.

  And he couldn’t help but notice her. Her pain called to him on so many levels, and she fascinated the hell out of him, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

  While he appreciated her beauty, he usually went for older women, with loads of sexual experience and no inhibitions. Rose had long blonde hair which fell to the middle of her back and curled around her pretty face. She had wide-spaced, warm brown eyes, framed by pale lashes and even paler skin.

  She’d been thin as a lamppost, but she’d filled out again, her hips and breasts rounding out thanks to Voodoo’s cooking—although he couldn’t see her new curves in all their glory. Tonight, she wore an oversized pair of jeans and a long-sleeved Dallas Cowboys shirt she kept tugging at, trying to force the sleeves below her fingertips.

  That caught his attention. Something about the gesture bothered him.

  Abruptly, her companions finished their food, and Rose hugged her sister and Cowboy goodbye. After they left, she sat alone at the table. Rose idly moved the salt and pepper packets around in their tiny blue dish. Then she shook her head, as though trying to focus. She lurched to her feet, grabbed her bag, and headed out the rear of the diner.

  Duke forced his attention back to the hand-cut fries on his plate, slathering one with ketchup before bringing it to his mouth. He shot a glance at Shepherd, another of his MC brothers, who devoured a bacon cheeseburger. They sat at a table together against the wall.

  Voodoo stuffed the burgers with bacon, onion, and cheese, and they were tasty, though not his usual fare. Voo insisted on cooking because he couldn’t stand to eat inferior food. None of them argued about it. After all, how could they compete with an honest to God chef?

  “What the fuck are you starin’ so hard at?” Shep asked.

  “None of your business.” Duke was in a crap mood, as per usual.

  “Haven’t you figured it out by now? Everything is my business, brother.” He tapped his VP patch like it was the biker equivalent of the S on Superman’s chest.

  Shepherd could be a real nosy bastard. While he was only in his late twenties, he had the sharp instincts of a blue-haired biddy when it came to digging up dirt. He had no qualms about crawling through people’s private lives, so Duke rarely offered up much in the way of personal info.

  He liked his private life to stay well…private.

  “The hellion I’m currently fuckin’.”

  Duke nodded to the busty bottle blonde he had on tap. Fuck if he could remember her name, though. The hellion preened when his eyes rested on her, thrusting out her chest and fluffing her hair, the brown roots showing through. He’d dubbed her Chesty, due to her ample assets. Of course, she’d told him her name their first night together, but he’d been shit-faced and horny as hell after years in prison with only his own slicked-up hand for relief.

  The night of his welcome home from prison bash, she’d touched his thigh under the table and whispered it to him. He’d nearly come from her voice alone. He thought it started with an ‘L.' Linda? Leslie?

  Who the fuck knew? It was too late to ask now without looking like a dick.

  Besides, talking wasn’t their thing. Whatever her name was, she had a kinky streak he enjoyed exploring, and sh
e didn’t demand much of his time outside of bed. It was casual and fun, so it suited his needs fine.

  The VP followed the direction of his gaze and rolled his eyes.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “You got a problem with me gettin’ my dick wet?”

  “Pussy is a fine distraction, brother, but it ain’t a cure. It’s been known to cause more problems than it solves.”

  “Like you’d know? You got mothballs in your boxers. When’s the last time you got laid?” None of the brothers had ever seen him with a hellion. Ever.

  “No room for anythin’ but my own big, hairy set of balls.” Shep tucked a bit of a fuck you into his good ol’ boy grin.

  “Last time I checked, I ain’t got an affliction.” Duke leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “We both know you’re talkin’ out your ass now.”

  “Don’t even try to fix him, Shep. He was a psycho long before he went to prison,” Ryker interrupted.

  Duke glanced at Ryker and his old lady, Elizabeth, who sat at the table next to theirs. The asshat never missed an opportunity to run his big mouth. Ryker bugged the shit out of Duke. And his initial critical opinion dove to new lows every second he spent with the asshole.

  “Why don’t you go back to your date and shut the fuck up?”

  Judging by Ryker’s full plate and the empty shot glasses, he’d drunk enough Jack tonight to takedown a heavy metal guitarist—on an empty stomach, no less.

  “Ryker, let’s just have a nice evening.” Elizabeth placed a hand on his arm.

  “We will as soon as I take care of some business.” He leaned forward in his chair, a smirk on his face. “Speaking of girlfriends, you look awful cozy over there with Shep.”

  The VP muttered a curse.

  Duke dropped his burger. “What the hell are you babblin’ about?”

  “Oh, come on. You’re the one who’s supposed to be a brainiac. It’s a joke.” He widened his eyes. “Get it? You’re all intense, practically eye-fucking him.”

  A cold-eyed stare was Duke’s reply.

  “Jesus, learn how to take a joke. Like I give a damn who you fuck.”

  “Lay off the booze, Ryker, and eat your damn food.” Shep didn’t spare either of them a glance.