Black Sheep Bargain, page 1
“Three months,” Nico said.
“Then we go back to business as usual. Until then, you are mine and I am yours. Better learn how to act like it.”
Athena hiked up her chin. “Can you act like it?”
His fingers trailed down her cheek and he rubbed a thumb over her bottom lip. The caress wasn’t gentle; it bordered on rough and she loved the eroticism of it.
“Can I act like I want you? Like my hands itch to get tangled in these beautiful curls? Or that my body is on the verge of taking you down to this floor and covering you like the animal you think I am?”
He slipped the tip of his thumb between her lips. Her tongue barely dabbed the skin before he withdrew.
Nico stepped back. She blinked against the abrupt return to reality.
“I think I have it covered,” he said, arching a dark eyebrow.
* * *
Black Sheep Bargain by Naima Simone
is part of the Billionaires of Boston series.
Dear Reader,
Coming to the end of a series is always a mixed bag of emotion. I’m happy and excited because, yes! Everyone will finally have their happily-ever-after. But I’m also sad because it’s truly over. I won’t be visiting this world and characters I’ve spent the last couple of years with. I’m bidding it farewell. Nope, that was not a tear!
When I first imagined the Farrell brothers, I knew there would be four of them, even though only three were mentioned in Barron’s will. There’s something mysterious, alluring and sexy about the black sheep, and he’s always been one of my favorite hero types. So I knew the fourth brother had to be the unknown, rejected black sheep of the family. And then throw in revenge fueled by love of family? That’s a hero after my own heart! And Nico Morgan just tugged on all of my heartstrings even though his outer shell is tough. But Athena Evans is no pushover. She’s more than his match, and writing their rocky but emotional and sensual road to love was so much fun.
I hope you enjoy this final chapter of the Billionaires of Boston world and fall in love with Nico and Athena!
Happy reading!
Naima
BLACK SHEEP BARGAIN
Naima Simone
www.millsandboon.com.au
USA TODAY bestselling author NAIMA SIMONE’s love of romance was first stirred by Harlequin books pilfered from her grandmother. Now she spends her days writing sizzling romances with a touch of humor and snark.
She is wife to her own real-life superhero and mother to two awesome kids. They live in perfect domestically challenged bliss in the southern United States.
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
Excerpt from Secret Lives After Hours by Cynthia St. Aubin
One
Whoever said “revenge is a dish best served cold” clearly possessed a lack of imagination.
When not administered immediately, the other person might forget they had it coming. Or they might have one of those “come to Jesus” moments where they’re not the same bastard who deserved their comeuppance.
Or worse.
The person might die.
Oh no. Revenge was definitely a dish served piping hot and shoved down the throat.
Nico Morgan stood on the sidewalk outside the Brighton bakery on Washington Street, traffic a cacophony of horns and squeals. Pedestrians flowed around him, separating like the tide, caught up in heading to work, classes or the local coffee shops.
But none of the other bakeries in this neighborhood could compare to the baked goods tucked in the glass cases of Evans Bakery.
The name was as simple as the food and family inside.
Well...most of the family.
Giving the brick building with the pristine white, green and yellow awning one last glance, he strode forward and opened the wide door. There was a painting of an elegant white cake and chocolate chip cookies on the sparkling glass. If his memory was correct—and his memory was always correct, since he never forgot a medication dose, a profit or loss, or a slight—Glory Evans ensured her staff cleaned this glass every morning without fail. And a couple times through the day if needed. The older woman’s motto had been, Dirty Windows, Dirty Ovens. His private investigator’s report had noted Glory’s death earlier this year, after she never fully recovered from her stroke a few years ago. And her granddaughter had now assumed responsibility of day-to-day operations.
As he stepped inside, the scents of sugar, vanilla, baked bread and freshly brewed coffee greeted him. Most people would find it odd that the sweet and nutty aromas had lust pumping through his veins. But then most people wouldn’t take one look at the woman pushing through the swinging kitchen door and associate those scents with her.
Athena Evans.
Nico clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes on the slender yet sensually curved manager of the bakery as she warmly greeted customers, holding conversations even though her slim arms bore the burden of a wide silver tray loaded with pastries. He tracked her slow but steady progress through the crowded space, tracing the familiar lines of her face, the delicate set of her shoulders, the seductive yet somehow innocent sway of her hips, the stride of those long, toned legs.
There wasn’t a damn thing innocent about Athena Evans.
He had personal and intimate knowledge of that.
Athena called out to the shorter woman behind the counter—her sister. Returning his scrutiny to her face, he caught the subtle uptick of warmth in her smile—hell, in her entire expression. That’s because Athena didn’t just smile with her mouth. Never had. It began there with a shockingly sexual curve, but it also softened the sharpness of her cheekbones, brightened her hazel eyes so they appeared more green than golden brown. It loosened her shoulders, relaxed the straight line of her spine.
It’d been one of the most beautiful things about her.
It’d also come to be one of the things he resented most about her.
Today, her sister was the recipient of that show of affection as Athena rounded the corner of the bakery case, tray held high, arms not showing the slightest sign of strain. His breath stuttered in his chest at that negligent display of strength. Desire pulsed in his veins as he studied the flex of sleek muscle revealed by the sleeveless yellow sundress that emphasized the beauty of her dark brown skin. With an ease that would’ve shamed an award-winning body builder, she set the tray on top of the case, not appearing winded or tired. Years toiling in the family bakery would build up that kind of stamina.
Besides, even if Athena were bone weary, she would never let on. That’s not what the perfect daughter, granddaughter or sister did.
And Nico counted on that futile pursuit of perfection to aid him in his own endgame.
It was the only reason he stood in his ex-lover’s place of employment three years after she ended their relationship, willing to face her “fuck you, now get the hell out.”
Oh, the things one was willing to do to for revenge.
Anything.
Anticipation swirled in his chest. Yes, because all the plans he’d worked on, existed for were slowly coming to fruition. But also because he stood in this shop, within feet of this woman. Electric currents raced over his skin. Waiting for her to notice him. To look at him so he could glimpse the shock, the hate, the... He was a succubus, greedy for any emotion, any reaction.
Three years.
Three years he’d gone without allowing himself even the sight of her. But now, with an unforeseen twist of fate, he needed her. No one else but Athena Evans would do. And he could indulge himself in her.
Until their business was done.
Then he would be the one to end it. To walk away.
Because three years ago, Athena had reminded him of a very important lesson. Never become attached.
Only trust the one person who will never let you down—yourself.
Athena removed the eclairs and doughnuts from the tray, talking to her sister and the customers at the counter. As she finished up, she scanned the lobby, and he braced himself. Objectively, he should’ve been wary of the trickle of eagerness that invaded him. But he ignored it, chalking it up to excitement over the imminent commencement of his plans. Not to the moment when she...
Her eyes locked with his. They widened.
Filled with shock, horror—and fury.
He smiled.
Without removing her gaze from his, she leaned down and said something in her sister’s ear. Whatever it was had Geneva Evans’s head jerking his way with a glare. His smile didn’t falter. Satisfaction burned so fucking bright inside him, it rivaled the iconic streetlamps outside his Beacon Hill home. Geneva nodded, and Athena emerged from behind the bakery cases and forged a straight path to him. This time, she didn’t pause to hold pleasant conversations with customers. No, she marched toward him, that affable smile nowhere in sight.
And when she stopped in front of him, smelling of su gar, butter and freshly baked bread, the cold glitter in her hazel eyes didn’t stop him from hungering to sink his teeth into that place where throat and shoulder met...and take a bite.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Then before he could answer, she gave her head a shake. “You know what? Don’t answer that. Because I don’t give a damn. Just leave.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to do that.”
“Oh, I assure you, I really do.”
“I need to speak with you, Athena. Five minutes. What’s five minutes compared to three years?” he asked, pausing as her lips twisted down at the corners. Anger slashed through his chest, but he smothered it. Maybe at one time he’d given a fuck that she’d walked out on him, but not now. He’d have to care about her to feel anything about it. “Trust me. You want to hear what I have to say.”
“Trust you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Those are words you might not want to lead with,” she muttered.
“Sticks and stones, and all that, Athena,” he murmured. “Or should I say, pot meet kettle?” He cocked his head. “We can stand here and trade compliments or you can follow me outside so we can talk, and then you can get back to your duties in the kitchen.”
He smiled, and it didn’t feel pretty. Probably because it wasn’t. When they’d been together, she’d enjoyed playing the role of Cinderella for her family, so he’d call it like he saw it.
“Still an asshole, I see.”
She returned his smile. It differed so much from the one she’d given her sister that he would’ve laughed if he didn’t know that would antagonize her further. Her earlier smile had contained love, warmth. This one was nothing more than a baring of teeth. Good. He didn’t need her affection for this. Preferred her animosity. At least then he knew where they stood.
At least then there was a little bit of honesty between them.
“Still choosing a life of martyrdom and blind devotion, I see,” he said smoothly, with only a tiny hint of bite. After all, it was her sense of sacrifice that would work in his favor. For once. He sighed, glancing down at his antique gold Omega Speedmaster Moonwatch. “Five minutes, and then I’m leaving. And, Athena...” He leaned down so their faces were inches apart. So he could pick out the golden striations in her green and brown eyes. “You’ll regret it if I do.”
Anger flared in her gaze, but so did uncertainty. Most likely because during the year and a half they’d been together, she’d never known him to exaggerate or threaten. He didn’t need to.
No, he promised. Then followed through.
“Five minutes.” She jerked her chin toward the back of the store. “In my office, not outside.”
Not permitting him a moment to disagree, she pivoted on her wedge heel and strode across the store. At a more measured pace, he followed, aware of the curious stares shadowing them. But all of his attention was focused on the woman in front of him. On the gorgeous halo of dark brown curls that grazed her tense shoulders. On the slender back that flared into rounded hips and the ass that deserved its own religion.
He jerked his gaze away. She—and her ass—no longer had the power to influence him. Yes, Athena was a gorgeous woman; he would be a liar to deny that. But he’d allowed that beauty to lead him around by his dick one time before. Never again.
Athena pushed through the wide, swinging door that led into the kitchen and veered to the left, toward a brightly lit hallway. Framed photos decorated the walls here, as they did in the bakery’s main room. Black-and-white pictures of the shop from the 1960s when it first opened as well as color images of the present day. Pictures of the family over decades, showcasing a shift in fashion and generations. The display proudly declared a heritage, a legacy along with a family business.
And he knew from their many conversations, Athena was determined to carry that tradition forward into the future. At any cost.
Pausing before a closed door, she slipped a key ring out of her dress pocket. She unlocked the office and entered, leaving the door open in silent invitation. Accepting it, he moved inside the small room that contained her scent and her stamp. Potted plants in the windowsills. More framed pictures of family on the desk. Cookbooks and tin boxes that looked familiar because they used to take up space on his bookshelves.
Opting to stand instead of taking a chance with the folding chair in front of her desk, he crossed his arms and met her steady gaze. She, too, stood behind the ancient, scratched desk.
“I’m sure you didn’t travel all the way over to Brighton to stare at me since you could’ve done that anytime in the last three years. So what is this mysterious important topic you need to see me about?” she asked with no small amount of sarcasm.
“Barron died.”
Her low gasp echoed in the room, and for just a second, sympathy softened her features, thawed the chips of ice in her eyes. Anger flickered in him like a struck flame, dancing to an unseen wind. She could keep her pity. He had no need of it.
And Barron sure as hell didn’t deserve it.
“I’m sorry, Nico,” she murmured.
A shiver stumbled down his spine, and only by sheer will did he not reveal his reaction to his name wrapped around her tongue. That same tongue might as well have been hugging his dick, that’s how eroticly the sound had struck him.
And it seemed sacrilegious that the first time she’d spoken his name in three years was to apologize for the death of the man who’d donated sperm to his mother over thirty years ago.
Fuck her compassion.
“I’m not,” he stated, blunt, hard.
She stared at him, and he met her gaze without flinching.
“How long?”
“Almost nine months.”
“Really?” She frowned. “I hadn’t heard. Not that I follow news from the corporate business world but...” She shook her head. “Still that’s big. Are you...okay?”
“Am I okay?” He smiled. “Oh, Athena, I’m ecstatic. The bastard is roasting in hell. It doesn’t get much better than that.”
If only his mother had lived to see it—that would’ve made Barron Farrell’s death sweeter.
After all the years of pain and suffering Rhoda Morgan had been through after he’d abandoned her with an infant, she should’ve stood by that graveside. It’d been her right, her due.
“Is that what you came here to tell me?” she asked, confusion coloring her voice. “That Barron Farrell is gone? Because while I hate to sound insensi—”
He waved a hand through the air in front of him. “No, I wouldn’t walk across a room to talk about Barron’s death, much less drive the twenty minutes from downtown to deliver the news. And while a part of me finds a great deal of satisfaction in him attaining his great reward, I’m also upset about it.”
“That’s understandable.” She nodded, and a gentle note threaded through her voice. “Your feelings toward him must be...complicated. There must have been things you wanted to say to him before he—”
Nico’s harsh bark of laughter interrupted her. “Complicated? My feelings for Barron Farrell were the simplest of all human emotions. Hate. Utter contempt. But you’re right. There were things I wanted to tell him before he died. Like what a heartless bastard he was. Like that he didn’t deserve to be called a ‘man,’ much less a father. And that one day he would know how it felt to have his world stripped of everything he loved. And I would be there to witness it. I would be the one to watch it all crumble around him.”
“But he stole that from you. By dying.”
Anger, scalding hot and brutal, slammed into him. “Yes,” he snapped. “He robbed me of my right to pay him back for every tear my mother cried, every dime she scraped together, every prematurely gray hair she grew.”
Fuck.
This wasn’t how he’d planned this discussion. Shoving his hands into his front pants pockets, he paced across the office, attempting to expend the agitation crawling through him. But the tiny room didn’t offer enough space, and he pivoted, retracing his steps until he stared at a battered gray file cabinet and a potted plant with overflowing leaves. Another framed photo sat on top. This one of Athena and Glory Evans outside the bakery.
