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“Thank you for the delicious lunch, dear,” Frances called as I bailed.
I waved at her but was unable to speak. I just walked out. I had my purse and no underwear, but I wasn’t going back in there to find them. Just get me out of here and home…just get me out of here and home…just get me out—
Oh my god I was leaving Ethan. We were done. He’d lied to me and I couldn’t trust him anymore. He said he loved me. Is that what lovers do? They lie?
I didn’t speak to Elaina at reception either when I headed for the elevators. I pushed the call button and realized he was right behind me. Ethan had chased me down and still I didn’t break.
“Brynne…baby, please don’t leave me. God, I—I fucked up. I love you. Please—”
He put his hand on my shoulder and I flinched. “No you don’t,” was all I could manage.
“Yes I do!” he yelled, his voice getting angry. “You can leave me but I’ll still be protecting you. I’ll still be watching over you to make sure you’re safe and that nobody can hurt you!”
“What about you hurting me?” I spat back at him. “And you’re fired, Ethan. Don’t ever contact me again.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened. I stepped in and turned around to face him.
He rolled his head up and opened his mouth in a pleading gesture that told me he was hurting. Not as bad as I was but he looked ragged and desperate. “Brynne…don’t do this,” he begged as the doors started to close me in alone.
I heard a loud bang coupled with one very comprehensible f-bomb shouted as the car started to take me down. Down to the street where I would hail a cab to drive me home to my flat. Where I would fall apart as soon as I could get inside, and where I would crawl into my bed and curl up and try to forget him. Ethan Blackstone. I was doomed to failure. I knew that. I would never be able to forget Ethan. Never.
The End
The Author
Raine has been reading romance novels since she picked up that first Barbara Cartland paperback at the tender age of thirteen. She thinks it was The Flame is Love from 1975. And it's a safe bet she'll never stop reading romance novels because now she writes them too. Granted, Raine's stories are edgy enough to turn Ms. Cartland in her grave, but to her way of thinking, a tall, dark and handsome hero never goes out of fashion. Never! A part-time teacher and a writer of sexy romance stories every chance she gets pretty much fills her days. Raine has a prince of a husband, and two brilliant sons to pull her back into the real world if the writing takes her too far away. Her sons know she likes to write stories, but have never asked to read any. (Raine is so very grateful about this.) She loves to hear from readers and chat about the characters in her books. You can connect with Raine on Facebook, email her at [email protected], or visit her blog at RaineMiller.com to see what she's working on now. If you enjoyed this book then you will be happy to know that Part 2 is on its way. I made the decision, as a fun insight into the male mind, to write the whole story from Ethan’s point of view. Please have a first look at Chapter 1 of All In, The Blackstone Affair Part 2 where the story of Brynne and Ethan continues with lots of passion, surprises, and of course, love.
Raine ?
Other Titles by Raine Miller
His Perfect Passion
The Undoing of a Libertine
Sneak Peek ~All In
The Blackstone Affair, Part 2
1
My hand throbbed along with my heartbeat. All I could do was breathe at the elevator doors and think about what to do next. Chasing after her was not an option so I left there and went into the break room. Elaina was in getting coffee. She kept her head down and pretended I wasn’t there. Smart woman. I hope those assholes on the floor do the same or they just might need to find a new job.
I threw some ice into a plastic bag and shoved my hand inside. Fuck, it stung. There was blood on my knuckles and I am sure on the wall next to the elevator. I walked back out to my office with my hand in the bag of ice. I told Frances to call maintenance to come and fix the bloody ding in the wall.
Frances nodded without missing a beat and looked at the bag of ice at the end of my arm. “Do you need an x-ray for that?” she asked, her expression like that of a mum. What I envisioned a mother would look like at least. I barely remember mine so I’m sure I am merely projecting with her.
“No.” I need my girl back, not a god damned mother-fucking x-ray.
I went through to my office and shut myself in. I pulled out a bottle of Van Gogh from the bar fridge and cracked it. I opened my desk drawer and fumbled for the pack of Djarum Blacks and the lighter I liked to keep in there. I’d been plowing through the smokes at a record pace since meeting Brynne. I’d have to remember to stock up.
Now all I needed was a glass for the vodka, or maybe not. The bottle would do me just fine. I took a swig with my busted hand and welcomed the pain. Fuck my hand; it’s my heart that’s broken.
I stared at her picture. The one I took of her at work when she showed me the painting of Lady Percival with the book. I’d used my phone to take the picture because I’d had to have it. Didn’t matter it was only the camera in my phone—Brynne looked beautiful through any lens. Especially the lenses of my eyes. The picture had come out so nice I’d downloaded it and ordered a print for my office.
I recalled that morning with her. I could just see her in my mind’s eye and how happy she was when I snapped the picture of her smiling down at that old painting…
~*~
I parked in the lot for the Rothvale Gallery and shut off the engine. It was a dreary day, drizzling and chilly, but inside the car it was warm and perfect. Having Brynne sitting next to me, dressed for work, looking beautiful, sexy, smiling at me, had me soaring, but knowing what we’d just shared together this morning was the topper. And I wasn’t talking sex. Remembering the shower and what we’d done there would hold me throughout my day—just barely, but knowing that I’d see her again tonight, that we’d be together, that she was mine, and that I could take her to bed and show her all over again. It was the conversation we’d had too. I felt like she’d finally let me in a little. That she cared about me in the same way I felt about her. And it was time to start talking about our future.
