was here to go psychotic at the mention of that word. Backing up from the shore, I find some dry sand and lower to my ass, knowing I’m going to need to be sitting.
* * *
Rose,
Isn’t it beautiful? My dad used to bring me here in the winter. Where you’re sitting is where I put my first wetsuit on and in front of you is where I rode my first jet ski. I cherish this place. I hope you will too. Up the road a few miles, there’s a private hangar. Inside is a private jet. The contact details for your private pilot are on the table in the lobby. You’ll want to visit Daniel as much as possible, and hopefully sometime soon his parents will agree to you bringing him here to visit you as well. The jet and hangar are in your name. The papers for the villa are now in your name. I know I said you can sell it if you want to, but I really hope you don’t. Because then I’ll have nowhere to live . . .
My fingers tense around the paper, crumpling it in my grasp. My eyes are dry as I read the letter again. “Where you’re sitting now . . .” I look down at the sand, my mind spinning. How does he know where I’m sitting now? The exact spot? My pulse rockets, and I dive to my feet, my eyes glued to his words. The note slips from my fingers, floating to the sand at my feet. And I stare at it. Trembling where I am, I just stare at it, my vision blurry from the onslaught of tears. Am I losing my mind? Have I got this all wrong?
I know I said you can sell it if you want to, but I really hope you don’t. Because then I’ll have nowhere to live . . .
My lungs scream for air as I spin on the spot. I can’t see through the tears that are springing into my eyes, can’t breathe through the blockage in my throat. Everything is a haze of yellow and blue. Except for one thing.
Danny.
“No.” My muscles disintegrate, and I fall to my knees on the sand, battling with my logic and prayers. He’s a mirage. I’m missing him so much, my mind is playing tricks on me. Yet the distant form of a man grows as he strolls casually down the shoreline, his hands in the pockets of his shorts, his chest and feet bare.
And then he’s perfectly clear and perfectly here.
My head lifts as he nears until he’s towering over me. His face is straight as he pulls his shades off. His skin tan. His black hair is longer than usual, his eyes bluer. More alive. At peace. His body sharper. My eyes land on a dressing just shy of his collarbone. A bullet wound.
He lowers to his haunches before me and reaches for my cheek, softly stroking away the trails of tears. “You remind me of someone I used to know,” he whispers, smiling mildly.
I break down, covering my face with my hands and sobbing into them. He’s not real. He can’t be real. I’m dreaming, or maybe even having a nightmare. I sniffle and peek through my fingers. He’s still there.
Astonishment.
Then anger.
I dive to my feet, knocking him to his ass. And I stare down at him as he looks up at me. “You bastard,” I choke, diving onto him, finding his lips, kissing him, relishing the familiar feel, the smell of him, everything. My hands and mouth are in a frenzy, getting as much of him as I can, my mind telling me that he’s going to turn to dust at any minute. That I’ll wake up.
“I’m here,” he murmurs into my mouth, rolling us so he has me trapped beneath him in the sand. Pulling back, he brushes my hair from my face and studies me for a few, quiet moments. He kisses me, a kiss like nothing I’ve had before. It’s so deep, so intense. So us. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “So sorry.”
“How?” I ask, my mind a mass of questions. I saw him in the water. I heard the FBI agent. I saw Brad when he got back from identifying his body.
“I would never have been left to get on with my life with you, Rose. There would always be someone vying for my blood. As I hung off the side of that boat, as I looked at you, I knew what I had to do.”
I shake my head, feeling like it could explode. Explode with happiness. With relief. “So you played dead.”
“No, I held my breath for fucking ever and swam for my fucking life,” he replies, full of sarcasm.
Good God, I’ve been through hell. Cried a thousand tears and more. Ached, hurt, and ached some more. “You could have told me, Danny.”
“You had to be seen to grieve.”
“But Brad . . .”
“He knows I’m alive, Rose.”
He needs to tell me how he pulled this off. “Tell me how.”
He smiles at my wonder. “After I made it to the shore, I switched clothes with one of the dead and loaded him onto one of my skis. Rode out a way and dumped the body. Then I tracked down Spittle. Made him a few promises.”
“Promises?”
“I was keeping hold of a few pictures.” He shrugs. I don’t need to ask what kind of pictures. “Spittle led the search and found the body. Paid Brad a visit, as you know.” He reaches for my face, stroking my cheek, his touch full of apologies. “Poor fucker looked like he’d seen a ghost when he walked into the morgue and found me waiting for him.”
I’m amazed. Speechless. The two bottles of Scotch Brad sank when he got back make sense for more reasons than one now. “And Esther?”
“She knows. But to everyone else, I’m dead.” He stares down at me, thoughtful. “And it was all so fucking easy, Rose. All of it easy, except one thing.”
“What?”
“Missing you,” he whispers, placing a kiss on my lips. “It was fucking agony being without you. Not seeing you.” He searches my eyes. “Feeling you.” His hand drifts between our bodies, cupping me between my thighs. My breath hitches, and he smiles. “Hearing you. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
My smile matches his, and with my hands in his hair, I nuzzle his scarred cheek, my eyes closing, my sense of smell taking a hit of his familiar scent. “I hate you so much.”
He breathes in and lets out the air on a long sigh. “I love you too.”
Also by Jodi Ellen Malpas
The This Man Series
This Man
Beneath This Man
This Man Confessed
All I Am – Drew’s Story (A This Man Novella)
With This Man
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The One Night Series
One Night - Promised
One Night - Denied
One Night - Unveiled
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Standalone Novels
The Protector
The Forbidden
Gentleman Sinner
Perfect Chaos
Leave Me Breathless
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The Smoke & Mirrors Duology
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The Controversial Princess
His True Queen
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The Hunt Legacy Duology
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Artful Lies
Wicked Truths
About Jodi Ellen Malpas
Jodi Ellen Malpas was born and raised in the Midlands town of Northampton, England, where she lives with her husband, boys, and a beagle. She is a self-professed daydreamer, a Converse and mojito addict, and has a terrible weak spot for alpha males. Writing powerful love stories and creating addictive characters have become her passion—a passion she now shares with her devoted readers. She’s a proud #1 New York Times bestselling author, a Sunday Times bestseller, and her work is published in over twenty-five languages across the world. You can learn more about Jodi & her words at: JEM.Website
* * *
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Contents
Copyright
Praise for Jodi Ellen Malpas
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Full Page Image
Prologue - Part 1
Prologue - Part 2
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Also by Jodi Ellen Malpas
About Jodi Ellen Malpas