Hard fast and madly, p.1
Hard, Fast and Madly, page 1
Hard, Fast and Madly: Part 1
Whitley Cox
Whitley Cox
Copyright © 2018 by Whitley Cox
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-989081-11-2
Contents
PROLOGUE
1. CHAPTER ONE
2. CHAPTER TWO
3. CHAPTER THREE
4. CHAPTER FOUR
5. CHAPTER FIVE
6. CHAPTER SIX
7. CHAPTER SEVEN
8. CHAPTER EIGHT
9. CHAPTER NINE
10. CHAPTER TEN
11. CHAPTER ELEVEN
12. CHAPTER TWELVE
13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
18. CHAPTE EIGHTEEN
19. CHAPTER NINETEEN
20. CHAPTER TWENTY
21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
23. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
24. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
26. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
OTHER BOOKS BY WHITLEY COX
For the Small Human and the Tiny Human,
You are the beats of my heart, my reason for living.
Thank you, for picking me to be your mama.
The moon and back isn’t far enough for how much I love you.
PROLOGUE
Jake
Shit! Where the hell are my headphones? I could have sworn I packed them in my carry-on. Where the hell are they?
“This is the final boarding call for Flight 173 to Victoria,” the nasally woman called out over the loudspeaker.
Fuck! Shit! Fuck!
“Here!” I panted, thrusting my boarding pass into her tiny hand. “Sorry I’m so late.”
“Everyone is waiting for you, sir,” she reprimanded as she looked over my boarding pass and passport before scanning it. I rolled my eyes and nodded. No shit. “Have a good flight, Mr. Leeman.”
I gave her a nod of thanks as I chucked the empty container of NyQuil capsules into the trash can next to the reception desk. I’d tossed them back twenty minutes ago but in the panic of not being able to find my headphones, stuffed the box into my pocket. If I didn’t have my headphones, I definitely needed to be knocked out for the flight over The Rockies, and Gravol just wasn’t going to cut it. The box said take four every two to six hours. Seemed excessive, but whatever. Probably better to be overdosed than underdosed. I certainly didn’t want to remember this flight, no matter how short it was going to be.
I hate flying. And flying over The Rockies is even more nerve-wracking.
As I booked it down the jet bridge, my internal conversation was interrupted by heavy breathing coming up behind me. I craned my neck around, stunned for a second about how woozy and fuzzy my brain suddenly felt, only to see a spray of flaming red curls and a box of candy fall to the ground.
Bending down to grab them, I took in the cute little black flats and no-nonsense beige trousers only to be hammered in the chin with a very hard head springing up.
“Ouch!”
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” I saw stars and was beginning to think that there might be blood when the curls parted to reveal a beautiful flushed face and the biggest yellowy-green eyes I’d ever seen. She was tall, almost as tall as me, and her face was covered in an adorable smattering of freckles that just added to her beauty.
I blinked for a couple of seconds, letting the black spots fade from my vision. “Uh, yeah.” I rubbed my chin. “How’s your head?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“Sir, Miss, could you please board the plane?” the tiny little brunette with way too much eye makeup squawked.
“Oh, sorry,” we both said in unison. I let her go ahead of me and then I was literally like a moth to a flame, following her flowing mane of fire down through the aisle.
“I’m right here,” she whispered, stopping at row seventeen and scrunching in so I could move past. Her taut little ass stuck out into the aisle and was being ogled by the creepy mustached man in the row across.
I looked down at my boarding pass again and grinned. “Looks like I am too.”
She quickly stowed her carry-on in the overhead and tucked her e-reader and cardigan under her arm as she shuffled to her window seat, buckling up and then looking out the window while desperately pretending that the rest of the plane no longer existed.
I absolutely hate flying. Too bad Justin’s jet was being used.
I took my seat, then heard the main door seal shut.
Looks like the middle seat is empty. It’s just me and Flames all the way to Victoria, and she is doing everything she possibly can to avoid looking at me.
The jet lurched, and I felt my burrito from lunch do a somersault as it churned in my stomach and threatened to make an appearance.
Fuck, I hate flying.
White-knuckling the armrests, I made it through the demonstration of what to do if we crashed. I knew this was for our safety and necessary, but it almost made the whole experience worse. Just reminded you of what could happen.
Why did I decide to fly? Why didn’t I just rent a truck and drive? Because you hardly have any shit and it wasn’t worth the time, dumbass.
I caught Flames watching me out of the corner of her eye while pretending to read her book.
Holy Jesus, is she fucking blind? The font on her e-reader is enormous. There’s like twelve words on each page.
I leaned back as the plane left the runway and began to read over her shoulder.
Patience studied Drake with hooded eyes. Her hand trembled as she reached out and gripped his quivering member, curiously stroking him and marveling at how soft his skin was. Meanwhile, Drake wasted no time in relieving Patience of her shift, ripping the thin straps at her shoulders and sending the loose piece of fabric fluttering to the ground. Her nipples grew hard and crimson as the cool autumn breeze washed over her creamy flesh.
“Have you ever had a man put his mouth on you before, Patience?” Drake asked, his raspy drawl sending a shiver down her spine while the twitching hairs of his mustache had her aching to know what it felt like to have those whiskers rub against her body. Were they soft? Did they scratch, or did they tickle?
“N-no,” she panted, suddenly breathless, yet having not moved an inch. “Th-the vicar will be back soon with his Lordship, s-so we must make haste.”
Gently Drake took Patience’s hand and relieved her of her efforts, kissing the inside of her wrist and each finger before dropping to his knees and planting more sensuous kisses down her abdomen.
“Oh Patience,” he drawled, “I’m going to savor you. Ain’t no way a man can make haste with such sweetness.” And his fingers softly parted the downy curls on her mound, his mouth came forward and his tongue darted out with inquisitive little licks.
Holy shit! This chick is reading porn!
I tried to keep reading, but my seatmate caught me, shooting me a look of mild irritation mixed with embarrassment.
Don’t be embarrassed, honey, you read this stuff and I watch it. If only women knew that men LOVE it when we find out that they like porn.
The jet pitched and rocked, and I grabbed the armrests again, my breath ragged like Patience’s, while my heart felt like it was going to punch a hole in my chest.
The cover of the magazine in the front pocket seemed to be floating off the page. Was that the NyQuil kicking in or was I just sleepy?
I needed a distraction.
“Um, hi,” I said casually, “I’m Jake.”
“Hello,” she murmured, not bothering to look up.
“What’s your name?”
Her eyes darted across her e-reader as she hesitated. Still not bothering to look up at me, she finally whispered, “Uh, Sandra, Sandra Macey.”
“Nice to meet you, Sandra.”
Turning her body away from me, she brought her e-reader up again and began to read. “Yeah, you too.”
What’s this chick’s problem? I’ve done nothing wrong. Just trying to engage her in some harmless conversation. Pass the time. Make a friend.
I stopped myself from laughing. She’d turned away from me so I would stop reading over her shoulder, only now the e-reader was directly in my line of sight.
Hot damn, she was cute. I had to get to know her.
“Are you married?” Her head snapped around and she gaped at me, an incredulous look on her face, as if I’d just asked her if red was her natural color.
“No!”
“Okaaaay.” Why was she acting so skittish? “Dating anyone?” Figured there was no harm in trying to make a friend … or maybe more. I was leaving all my friends behind in Edmonton. Barely knew a soul in Victoria and needed to start somewhere.
“No!”
The plane tilted again, and the whole cabin shook. The seatbelt light flashed on overhead.
And that’s when the NyQuil decided to kick in. Then the plane, my world, the seat and the eyeballs in my head all started to spin and go blurry.
Fuuuuuuck.
“Good evening, folks, this is your captain speaking. We’re experiencing some mild turbulence as we make our way over The Rockies, so please remain in your seats until the seatbelt sign turns off.”
Motherfuck
Great, we were going over rigid mountains that were most likely covered in snow, so even if we did survive the terrifying plummet and managed to evade getting impaled by the shards of land sticking out into the air, we’d fucking freeze to death. Or get eaten by a bear or a pack of wolves.
Fan-fucking-tastic!
“You … uh … you wanna make out?” Jesus Christ, my mouth was now apparently working independently from my brain when scared shitless. God, what must she think of me?
That you’re a fucking nut-job creeper. Shut up now.
But it wasn’t me doing the talking anymore, it was the cough medication. Oh fuck, what had I done?
I fought the urge to put my hand over my mouth to shut myself up. I couldn’t get over my gall. With death practically imminent, all I could focus on was getting laid? Good luck getting out of this one. I could practically hear a door slam in my head as my brain left the situation entirely, floating away on a NyQuil-fueled cloud never to be seen or heard from again. The conversation was being entirely run by my penis. My penis on drugs. This wasn’t going to end well. This wasn’t going to end well at all.
“Excuse me?” She looked at me like I’d just sprouted another head.
“Fuck. Sorry. I hate flying and I think I took too much cold medicine. My brain isn’t working.”
“Clearly,” she said snippily, giving me the death stare.
I shrugged. Meanwhile, inside I was anything but relaxed and mentally berating myself for my stupidity. “I apologize. I’m not normally this big of a dick.”
Her posture softened just a touch, but her glare didn’t. “It’s fine.”
I let out a breath. “I mean you are crazy hot. And if you agreed that’d be cool. But I get it.”
Shut the fuck up, you moron! You’re creeping her out.
“You’re not serious?” she said slowly, trying to gauge whether I was a threat or just completely delusional.
I shook my head. “Only if you are.”
Take your socks off and shove them in your mouth. Just. Stop. Talking.
“You’re insane,” she said with a low hiss.
Jesus Christ, I’d apologized. What was this chick’s problem? I brought my voice down to mirror hers. “I’m not the one reading porn on my e-reader with hundred-size font. Are you blind?” I snapped back, my nerves taking hold of my charm and pummeling it into a pulp.
She glared at me. “It’s NOT porn.” She snorted. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I packed my glasses in my checked baggage.”
“Looked like porn to me.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“Hey!” I said, holding my hands up in surrender. “I think it’s hot. You’re not getting any complaints from me.”
She reared back in her seat and glared at me, her perfectly straight white teeth bared as if ready to strike. “Leave me alone!”
“Suit yourself, sweetheart.”
What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m never this big of an asshole. And certainly not to someone so fragile-looking as Sandra.
“Just leave me alone.” Her shoulders slumped, and she swallowed, the last word coming out as a whisper. “Please.”
Suddenly, as if flying through cotton candy, the plane leveled out and everything was smooth again. The seatbelt light flicked off, and a sigh of relief echoed throughout the cabin. I pried my cramping knuckles off the armrest and bent and flexed my achy fingers.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, too ashamed to look at her. “I don’t like flying, and it kind of turns me into an asshole.”
She shot me a side-eye but didn’t move. “It’s fine.”
Only then did I see on her e-reader the author of the book she was reading, Sandra Macey.
Well, fuck me! She gave me a fake name.
Chapter 1
Freya
Leaning over Stacey’s enormous belly, I gave her an awkward but affectionate hug. Her straight strawberry-blonde bob tickled my nose. “You call me if you need anything, okay?” I murmured against her ear, hating that I had to leave her, leave them, like this.
She nodded as we came apart, unshed tears welling up in her light brown eyes. Three-year-old Connor lifted his arms, beckoning to be picked up. I watched her hoist him up onto her hip with a grunt, his leg draped nonchalantly over his little brother or sister.
“It’ll be okay,” I reassured her, knowing full well that they were just words and we’d both just entered a giant storm. All she could do was continue to nod. “I’ve got to go. My cab is here.” I lunged forward and gave her one more quick hug and a peck on the side of her head, along with one on Connor’s cheek. His big baby blues blinked at me with open curiosity. Then with a smile and wave, I was out the door.
“The airport, please,” I said to the cab driver as I met him on the curb. He loaded my suitcase in the trunk and I climbed into the back.
What a weird week, was all I could think as we drove in silence the thirty minutes to the airport. I know I should have been chattier with the taxi driver, and normally I am, but my mind was racing after the whirlwind week I’d just had meeting Stacey and Connor.
Never in a million years would I have thought that Stacey and I would have become friends, especially given the way we were thrust into each other’s lives. Yet, there I was, leaving her home after a week getting to know her and her son, having arrived as a stranger, almost an enemy or a rival, and leaving as something I could only describe as akin to family. And in some weird convoluted way, we kind of were.
“We’re here, Miss,” the driver announced. I’d been so caught up in my thoughts that the last half hour just flew by. I paid him, grabbed my suitcase and rolled through the doors and up to the front desk.
I was just about to head through security when it hit me like a baseball to the face that I’d forgot to grab my father his favorite maple candy from the gift shop. He wouldn’t know if I’d forgotten to buy them, but I would, and it’d been a tradition for nearly thirty years. I couldn’t break it now. Finally, after about four different gift shops, I spotted a tiny box of the sweet little treasures and nearly had a stroke when I turned it over and saw the price. Airports are such a rip-off. But I bought them anyway, and that’s when I heard the announcement.
“This is the final boarding call for Flight 173 to Victoria.”
How the heck did I not hear the first, second and third boarding calls? Was I really that far off in la-la-land? I hurriedly paid for my overpriced candy and then started running.
“Hi!” I grinned, a tad out of breath but not too bad, silently saying a small thank-you to myself for getting to the gym as often as I do. I hadn’t even broken a sweat. “So sorry I’m late. I didn’t even hear your previous calls. I was across the airport at the gift shop. Thank you so much for waiting. I apologize again.”
“It’s fine.” The woman smiled politely, though the irritation in her tone was clearly detectable. I decided to kill her with kindness instead of stoop to her level.
“I’ll be sure to write a glowing review of the airline when I get home. And make special mention of,” I leaned forward to read her name tag, “you, Maria, and how helpful you’ve been. I really do appreciate you being so understanding.”
Her face transformed, and this time the smile reached her eyes. “Not at all. Have a wonderful flight, Miss Lapierre.”
“Thank you.”
I continued to speed-walk down the jet bridge, loathing the idea of being that one person holding up the flight for the other hundred or so passengers. I mentally prepared myself for a slew of glares and plastered on a big, apologetic smile.
Oh, thank goodness, I’m not the only Last-Minute Lucy.
I saw the back of a very tall man as he lazily made his way toward the plane doors. He must have heard me, because he spun around, and that’s when everything in my arms decided to plummet to the ground, making a godawful racket and delaying our flight even further. Hastily, I bent down to pick up my purse and candy, berating myself and my clumsiness, only my fellow tardy passenger must have attempted to do the same, and the back of my head bashed him in the chin.
“Ouch!”
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” I stammered, my own head a little sore. Dad always said I had the hardest Irish head he’s ever seen. I brushed my untameable mop out of my face only to look up into the face of a very handsome young man. I’d say twenty-five, maybe. With eyes the same color as the ocean on the postcards people send you from tropical havens like Barbados and Aruba. Messy brown hair brushing just over his ears and high-cut rosy cheeks, burning bright when I asked him if he’s okay. Combined with an intoxicating scent of fresh linen and just a hint of—was that cinnamon?—and the guy was practically perfect.
