Logan (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel) Read online

  “Sounds good,” she agrees with a smile. “And my dad said you could have your job back.”

  “Thanks, but I wasn’t really happy there.”

  “Oh,” Brayden says, her face falling.

  “I think I want to be in court, prosecuting bad guys instead of defending them,” I explain.

  “Well, I’m glad you figured out what you want to do, but I’ll miss you around the office.”

  “I’ll go back and work at the firm until I have something else lined up,” I assure her. Slipping my hands into my pockets, I ask, “So what about you? Have you decided what you want to do?”

  “Yes,” she replies simply.

  “And?”

  “I want to be with you for as long as you can put up with me.”

  “Put up with you?” I ask with a chuckle. “You have no idea what I would do for you. I was so damn worried after our incredible night together that it was only temporary and that you didn’t want me…”

  “I want you.”

  “Then you’ve got me,” I tell her as I reach for her hips to pull her flush against me. “I’m crazy about you, Brayden, and I’ll do everything I can to make you happy if you just give me a chance,” I tell her.

  “I can already tell that you’re gonna be…a really great lobster,” she says with a grin.

  “I think you mean beaver,” I tease her as I lower my lips to hers.

  “Beaver, lobster, lover. I think you’re everything I could have ever ask for, Logan,” Brayden tells me.

  And then, we spent the rest of the night together, in my bed for the first of many nights to come.

  Epilogue

  Brayden

  A few months later…

  “You were amazing today!” I call out of the adjoining bathroom to Logan, who is undressing in the bedroom. “I have no doubt that the jury will come back with a guilty verdict tomorrow morning.”

  Logan had his first trial this week as a state court prosecutor. And, god, he was so damn sexy, laying into the defendant, who without a doubt embezzled money from his employer, a little old lady who has been running the car lot ever since her husband passed away last year.

  Since I’m his assistant, I got to help him prepare the case every step of the way and watch him in court. It turns out that I make a pretty damn good legal assistant. Or so Logan says.

  Tonight, I want to celebrate his success in a career that makes him happy. It doesn’t pay half of what he made in private practice, but Logan says it’s ten times as fulfilling, which is all that matters.

  Looking in the mirror, I run my fingers through my hair, fluffing it out over the shirt collar before I open the door to leave the bathroom. That’s right; I’m finally able to be in small spaces without having a panic attack. It helps to know that my superhero is just on the other side if I need him.

  “Holy shit,” Logan says when he looks up from where he’s stretched out naked on the bed with his hands behind his head. Sitting up, he says, “You’re even sexier in my shirt than I imagined."

  “Really?” I ask with a smile.

  Last night, Logan came out and shared one of his fantasies I had yet to fulfill — me wearing nothing but his dress shirt. So tonight, I grabbed the white one he wore today after he took it off and snuck into the bathroom to put it on, with nothing underneath.

  “That’s it,” Logan says as he comes off the bed. Heading to the closet, still completely naked he adds, “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “What?” I ask, looking down at the shirt in concern as my shoulders slump. “Is it the wrong color? What’s the problem? I don’t understand.”

  Logan pulls something from one of his coat pockets and then comes over and stands in front of me.

  “You’re too damn perfect, Brayden,” he tells me. “And I can’t go another day without asking you to marry me.”

  I’m not sure his words actually sink in until he goes down on one knee and then holds open a ring box with a diamond solitaire inside.

  Covering my gaping mouth with his shirt sleeve, it takes me several long seconds to remember how to breathe.

  “Fuck. Is it too soon?” Logan asks when I don’t give him an answer. “I’m not trying to trap you or control you. I swear, baby. I just want to love you the way you deserve and show you that I’ll always be here for you, no matter what —”

  Sitting down on his knee to grab his face, I bring Logan’s lips to mine and kiss him until my mouth remembers how to speak.

  “Yes, Logan. Yes,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his neck to squeeze him for thinking for even a second that I wouldn’t want to be his wife.

  “You left me hanging there for a minute,” he says with a smile.

  “Sorry,” I reply with a laugh. “I love you, and I swear I wasn’t hesitating. I just had no idea you were going to ask me.”

  “I’ve wanted to ask you for weeks, but I kept backing out, second-guessing myself.”

  “You shouldn’t have,” I tell him. “I think I’ve loved you since the night you carried me out of the jail when you told me that you had me, that I was safe, and you were going to take care of me. I knew you would too; there was never a doubt in my mind.”

  Resting his forehead against mine, Logan says, “I meant every word too. Then, now and forever.”

  The End

  Thank you so much for reading Logan and Brayden’s story!

  Sign up for my newsletter to receive updates on new releases and freebies: https://www.subscribepage.com/e0f7y9

  Keep scrolling for a bonus older man, younger woman romance!

  WRECK ME

  By Lane Hart

  COPYRIGHT

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue were created from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted and trademarked status of various products within this work of fiction.

  © 2017 Editor's Choice Publishing

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher or author. Only Amazon.com is authorized to offer this e-book for sale. Any other individuals, sites, or stores distributing or sharing a copy of this work are therefore in violation of a federal copyright infringement and should be reported to the publisher or author immediately.

  Editor’s Choice Publishing

  P.O. Box 10024

  Greensboro, NC 27404

  Edited by: All About the Edits

  Cover by: Addendum Designs

  Photographer: Andrei Vishnyakov

  Model: Konstantin Kamynin

  WARNING: THIS BOOK IS INTENDED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES 18+ ONLY. THE STORY CONTAINS ADULT LANGUAGE AND VERY EXPLICIT SEX SCENES.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  For the old man who robbed my cradle.

  Chapter One

  Riley Yates

  JUNE

  Tilting m
y face up toward the midday sun, I close my eyes and inhale deeply. The warm, salty air may not be the most appealing scent to most, but to me, it signifies that just on the other side of the sand dunes, running parallel to the road, is the Atlantic Ocean.

  I’ve only been to the coast once, four years ago, when I graduated from high school and tagged along with a group of equally broke friends. I think there were six of us staying in one hotel room, but the cramped quarters with a breathtaking ocean view was well worth it.

  “Are we there yet?” Allison, Sara’s roommate, shouts over the sea breeze from the front passenger seat of Sara’s convertible. The redhead is so pale, she’s probably worried she’s already sunburnt, even though the top’s only been down for half an hour. “The road is about to be covered by sand. How much further before we end up driving on the beach?” Allison grumbles.

  “Not much further, I don’t think,” Sara replies, sounding unsure as she lets her foot off the gas, peering down her nose at each passing house.

  Great. We’re probably lost again, but Malibu Barbie is too proud to admit she doesn’t know where her own family lives. All this time, I thought she was born and raised in California, but apparently, she has roots in North Carolina too.

  Back in Raleigh, Sara took the wrong exit, and despite me pointing that out when the app on my phone said so, she ignored me for thirty miles before admitting defeat, adding an hour onto the already four-hour trip.

  That just goes to show you how much Sara hates me. I mean, she seriously hates my freakin’ guts, from the top of her pale blonde head all the way down to her perfectly manicured toes. And I have no idea why.

  The only reason I got invited on this free beach vacation is because Cheryl, my best friend and roommate, is sitting next to me in the backseat. She’s good friends with Sara, since they were both business majors back at Madison University in Greensboro, where the four of us just graduated from a few weeks ago. Now, I’m sort of thinking I should’ve studied business rather than liberal arts because the job market has yet to be impressed with my degree.

  When we get to an actual dead end on Topsail Island, Sara begrudgingly turns the car around. We start to pass by the last beachfront house, a towering, two-story, royal blue home on stilts, but Sara suddenly slams on the brakes, nearly giving all four of us whiplash. She shifts into reverse and drives backward five feet to whip the car into the driveway.

  “This is it,” she says, putting the convertible in park behind the enclosed two-car garage.

  Most of the beach homes we passed had signs on them, displaying cutesy names like “Sandy Bottoms” or “Seas the Day” and this one is no different. As soon as I read the sky-blue words “Runnin’ Down a Dream” painted on the white wooden plaque, the familiar tune of one of my favorite songs starts playing in my head, making me smile.

  “Your family must be big Tom Petty fans,” I say to Sara.

  “No idea,” she replies, as she climbs out of the car and slams the door, “forgetting” to let me out of the backseat first.

  I look over to Cheryl with my jaw hanging open to see if she noticed the intentional slight. She rolls her amber eyes while trying to smooth her short, windblown locks behind her ears. “Just let it go,” she whispers.

  “Come on, let’s head inside to cool off before we start hauling in our luggage,” Sara suggests.

  Allison exits the car and pushes her seat up to let Cheryl and me out. I’m so excited to see the ocean for the first time in years, I decide to let Sara’s rudeness slide this time.

  The four of us trek up a set of wooden stairs to where the first-floor deck overlooks the beach and another set of steps leads right out to the sand dunes.

  “Wow,” I mutter in awe, leaning my forearms on the rail as I take in the view, the coastal winds whipping my long dark waves around my face. “This place is amazing, Sara. You grew up here?” I turn to her, trying once again to play nice.

  “Nah, I stayed with my mom most of the year and only visited a few weeks during the summer,” she replies.

  “How could you not want to be here all year?” I ask. I would happily set up a tent and park my ass on the sand below us permanently.

  Down on the shore, several people are sunbathing in lounge chairs, and kids are running through the waves and splashing around. Then I see him coming out of the surf, like he’s posing for a men’s cologne ad. The sun glistens off the droplets of water running down his sculpted pecs and abs, trailing lower to the sexy pelvic indentions dipping into his navy blue boardshorts. One of his thick, bulging biceps flexes as he runs his fingers through the front of his dark blond hair to get the wet locks out of his face before he reaches down to ring out the excess moisture from his neatly trimmed beard.

  “Holy shit, Sara! Charlie Hunnam, or his hot as fuck twin, is your neighbor,” I say, panting from the sight of the man on the beach and no longer noticing the sweltering summer heat.

  Sara sighs heavily and I see her lift a hand out of the corner of my eye. She waves casually to someone on the beach and then the hottie coming out of the water returns the greeting, a breathtaking smile stretched across his handsome face.

  “That’s just my dad,” she informs us, before turning and heading inside through the sliding glass door.

  Allison and Cheryl follow her right away with their jaws still gaping in disbelief, but it takes me a moment longer to get my feet moving as I try to come to grips with the fact that the sexiest man I’ve ever seen is old enough to be my father.

  …

  Brody Harrington

  After I quickly rinse off in the outdoor shower to get most of the salt and sand off me, I jog up the steps of the house and grab my towel from the deck chair to dry off. Wrapping it around my waist to soak up the wetness seeping from my shorts, I slide open the glass door that leads to the living room, excited to find and say hello to Sara and her friends.

  Even though I just saw my daughter at her college graduation a few weeks ago, it’s still hard to believe she’s all grown up. Sara’s no longer the little girl in pigtails who loved to build sandcastles and play in the ocean all day with me. She rarely keeps in touch, so I have no idea what her current hobbies are. It’s incredibly upsetting that my role in her life has diminished to nearly nonexistent. Holly, my ex-wife, who I’m grateful to still be good friends with, sent me a list of all the food Sara likes, but other than that, I’m on my own.

  “Hey, girls,” I say in greeting when I find them in the kitchen, filling up glasses of lemonade. I guess that’s one thing that hasn’t changed over the years so I’m glad I bought it for her this week. “Did you have a safe drive down from Greensboro?” I reach over to give Sara a hug. Other than her graduation, I haven’t seen her but one other time the past year, and I’ve missed her.

  “Ugh, Dad! You’re all wet!” she complains when I try to wrap my arms around her. She pushes me away, stiff-arming me with her palm pressed to my chest.

  “Sorry,” I tell her with a wince of embarrassment as I back away.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Harrington,” one of Sara’s friends says. When I glance over in her direction, I notice it’s the tall, curvy brunette who lingered on the balcony just a few moments ago.

  “You too,” I reply before looking away from her big blue eyes that stare a little too long at where the towel sits wrapped around my hips. “Let me, ah, go get a real shower and get changed, then we can catch up,” I tell Sara. “Maybe go out to dinner?”

  “Nah, the four of us just want to have a girls’ night out,” she replies, shooting me down once again. Her constant rejection is the reason I gave up trying to talk to her. I know I shouldn’t have, but when she doesn’t want anything to do with me, she pretty much made the choice for me. I thought that as she got older she would grow out of the teenage rebellious stage and stop pushing me away. Guess I was wrong.

  “Sure, you girls have fun. I’ll be around here so maybe I’ll see you tonight,” I say.

  “We probably won’t be in
until late,” Sara adds as I walk away and start up the steps to my bedroom and bathroom on the second floor.

  “That’s fine. You’re not kids anymore. Stay out as late as you want,” I call out to her as I make my ascent.

  Sara is planning to be here for a week so there will be plenty of time for me to try and chisel away at her defenses later. I was hoping she actually came down here because she wanted to visit with me. Now I’m starting to think my beach house was just a convenient location for a summer vacation with her friends.

  Chapter Two

  Riley

  Wow. I subtly wipe the drool from the corner of my lips after I watch Sara’s dad walk away. The man is even more attractive up close, wearing nothing but a towel around his shorts to display time well spent in the gym. And Sara was sort of a bitch to him.

  “He can come to dinner with us if he wants, or we can stay in tonight,” I speak up and tell her. “It sounded like he was really looking forward to spending time with you.”

  “Fine with me,” Cheryl agrees as she sips her lemonade.

  “Me too, whatever you all want to do,” Allison adds.

  “If he wanted to spend time with me, he should’ve tried harder the last twenty years of my life,” Sara mutters while putting the lemonade pitcher back into the fridge that is slam-packed full of fruits and vegetables, drinks, snacks, and beer; most likely because her father knew the four of us were coming and he wanted to be prepared. “And I want to go out tonight,” she says, making her final ruling as Queen Bee.

  Great, guess we’re going out, when all I want to do is stay right here to try and get another glimpse at masculine perfection in its finest form.