Runaway: A One to Chase Prequel (One to Hold #6.5) Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  RUNAWAY

  First edition. April 23, 2015.

  Copyright © 2015 Tia Louise.

  ISBN: 978-0692429556

  Written by Tia Louise.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  “Runaway”

  Runaway

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  About the Author

  Further Reading: One to Chase

  “Runaway”

  A One to Chase prequel

  By Tia Louise

  Just in from Paris...

  Just in from Chicago...

  Neither Marcus Merritt nor Amy Knight are up for a wedding, especially when it drags one of them back home to old memories and a life left far behind.

  A random hook-up seems like a good distraction—it is a wedding after all. Isn’t everyone supposed to hook up?

  The latest Merritt-Knight pairing starts off with a bang, but neither party knows where this random is going to lead.

  A ONE TO CHASE short prequel. Due to strong language and sexual content, “Runaway” is intended for readers 18 and older only.

  One to Chase is everywhere June 25, 2015. #SexyLawyer

  For Mr. TL, my sexy lawyer,

  always.

  Runaway

  Amy

  Returning from Paris, the last thing I’m in the mood for is a wedding. Still, Derek Alexander is the closest thing I have to a third brother. He’s also my favorite of Stuart’s friends—and Patrick’s, I guess. Anyone who can get those two to put down their arms and stop fighting is a master in my book. Also, Mom insists I go with her so she doesn’t have to go alone. I suspect she’s hoping I’ll meet someone as always. The woman is living for more grandchildren these days.

  I’ve only been to Wilmington once, but it’s a precious little beach community. Sylvia, being the way she is, has found an exclusively plush bed and breakfast for us to stay in. It would be the perfect girls’ getaway, and I love spending time with my mother—except for the wedding part.

  “Melissa is the dearest thing,” she says as she unpacks her black and white-patterned Vera Bradley luggage. “She’s in marketing, so if you have a chance, let her know that’s what you do.”

  “I doubt she’ll want to discuss work on her wedding day.” I watch as she fiddles with the navy and red-patterned silk scarf tied neatly at her throat.

  She steps back and runs her hands down her sandy-blonde bob. For her age, Mom is still a beautiful woman. It helps that she’s Coco Chanel-elegant in all things, the result of her upbringing. She survived the same elite childhood as my brothers and I. The nice thing is she’s not cold-hearted, passive-aggressive, or a materialistic bitch like so many of my friends have for mothers. We had dear old Dad to fill that role.

  “How much time before the wedding?” I assess my long blonde hair and decide I won’t need to wash it. I would, however, like to freshen up.

  “It starts at six, so we should probably leave in a half hour.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  I step into the large bathroom and close the door. I haven’t had any time to come down from my sudden departure from Europe. I haven’t even given myself a moment to consider what Armand is thinking. I honestly don’t care to know.

  Sinking into the warm bath, I close my eyes and allow the lavender-scented water to relax me. Armand made the fuck-up. I was always completely honest with him. It’s probably the reason he hasn’t called since I walked out, not that I really care for that to happen either. No, he knew before he even said the words how I would respond. Now here we are, and I’m not looking back.

  Promptly half an hour later, I’m dressed and applying red lipstick as Sylvia fastens a chunky strand of pearls at her neck. She’s dressed in a beige, sleeveless shift with black accents at the shoulders and hips. Classic Coco. I on the other hand, am wearing a long slip-dress with high slits above each leg. It’s white with black leather accents, and I top it with a fluffy mohair vest. Very Valentino.

  “You look fresh off the Paris catwalk,” Mom says with a smile.

  I shrug. “Not much point living in Paris if you don’t indulge in the fashions.”

  We’re out the door and headed to the beach in less than five.

  * * *

  The wedding is a stunning showcase of our nation’s finest. I still can’t believe both my older brothers are veterans. Patrick most of all. Stuart was always fighting his natural tendency to be exactly like our father, but my favorite brother is so playful and fun. It’s still hard to imagine him carrying a rifle, much less actually using it to kill someone. Of course, I’m pretty sure his stint in the Guard was intended to satisfy our father’s chauvinistic requirements while avoiding deployment. Poor darling. Talk about backfires.

  “Looks like you came back from Europe a woman.” The familiar male voice surprises me with its cheerfulness. I turn to see my oldest brother actually smiling for the first time in my life.

  “Looks like you came back from Saudi a happy man.”

  He shakes his head. “I never went back to Saudi. That’s what made me a happy man.” I wait as he signals the bartender. A scotch neat for him, vodka rocks for me. “Have you met Mariska?” he watches me as he sips the amber liquid.

  “I haven’t, but she’s very beautiful.”

  “I asked her to marry me.”

  That almost makes me drop my drink. “Et tu, Brute?”

  “Yep,” he grins again. “Me too.”

  “I go away and everything falls apart.” Taking a long sip of vodka, I watch as he chuckles. He’s so fucking happy, I can’t believe it. Stuart does not chuckle. Only now it seems he does.

  “So what brought you back? I thought you loved Paris.”

  “Oh, I do love Paris.” I take another, longer drink, finishing off my vodka as my mind races to find a suitable answer. I can’t say the truth: Armand asked me to move in with him, and I caught the first flight home.

  “Even the City of Lights gets old after a while.” It’s not very good, and I can tell he doesn’t buy it. “And Mom’s not getting any younger.”

  Stuart accepts that lie a little better. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. It’s good to have the family together again.” He pats my arm. “Come over and meet Mariska.”

  “Mmm,” I nod, giving him a little wave. “Let me get a fresh drink.”

  He strolls away, and I turn and flag the bartender down. “Vodka rocks.” I slide a tenner across the counter. It’s an open bar, but tipping ensures better service. I’ll need a few more of these if I have to deal with all the love going around.

  Taking my drink, I turn my back to the bar and notice a tall, slender specimen of male waiting beside me. He orders a vodka rocks, and I quickly assess him. Dolce & Gabbana suit, fatigue-green and stainless Tag, light scruff on the cheeks. Interesting. Stepping back, he catches my inspection and pauses. I lift my chin and own it. After the house I grew up in, men don’t intimidate me.

  Apparently, I don’t intimidate him either. Even more interesting.

  He exhales a laugh, revealing nice white teeth. “Are you here for the bride or the groom?”

  “Hmm...” I realize I’m not sure how to answer that question. I’m equally acquainted with both. “Groom, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “I’m friends with both, but I knew Derek first.”

  “A
h,” he nods.

  “You?”

  “Bride.” Then he hesitates, taking a sip of his drink. “Actually, no, that’s not right. I guess my answer is the same as yours. Only in reverse.”

  He looks out at the dance floor where the happy couple hasn’t stopped slow-dancing since they arrived. Something wistful is on his face, and I can’t resist.

  “You have a history with Melissa?”

  Blinking hazel-green eyes back at me he seems to wake up. “We were childhood friends. It’s unexpected to see them all married.”

  “I’m never getting married.” Good god, Amy, over-share much? Looking down at my drink, I realize it’s nearly empty. I’m more relaxed than I realized.

  My companion doesn’t skip a beat. “Is that so?” he chuckles. “And what are you? Eighteen?”

  Irritation burns in my chest. Treating me like a baby is not a good idea. “I’m twenty five, and I guess that’s a compliment?”

  “Baby,” he exhales, turning back to the bar.

  “Old man,” I say, waving at the bartender and ordering another.

  “Old man?” The guy turns to the side and leans on his elbow facing me. “You think ordering another is a good idea?”

  “I can outdrink you any day of the week.” No idea what I’m doing right now.

  He gives me a player’s grin. “I’m a lawyer.”

  “So you’re an asshole who’s about to be outdrunk by a baby.”

  Something flickers in his eyes. It’s a spark I’ve seen before, and it usually leads to naughty places. “I haven’t played drinking games since college.”

  “Is that fear I’m hearing?”

  “Line ‘em up.”

  He slides a hand to his waist, moving his suit coat back to reveal a trim physique. Yes. Something naughty might be just what I need to get the funk of Paris off me. It is a wedding, after all. Isn’t everyone supposed to hook up?

  “I have a better idea,” I say, waving to the bartender again. “We’ll take the bottle.”

  The well-tipped server is happy to oblige, and I grab it, two glasses, and my black clutch. “This way, lawyer.”

  A small billiards room is off the main ballroom, and it’s completely empty. The reception party is focused on the room where the food, drinks, and band are located. Striding into the cozy, dim-lit space, I place the full bottle of vodka and two slim glasses on a tall table with two bar stools.

  “Do you play?” he asks, stepping over and sliding the cue ball across red felt.

  “Not billiards.” Cracking open the bottle, I pour two glasses mid-way. “You’re up.”

  Stepping to the counter, he lifts one. “Skal.” With a clink, he slams the entire contents back.

  “Swedish?” My eyes only pinch a little as I do the same.

  “No, I only figured if we’re shooting vodka, we should keep it real.”

  I’m pouring another drink feeling looser than ever. “So if you’re not Swedish,” I glance up and give him a playful wink, “Where is home? Here in Wilmington?”

  “Chicago.” He takes the glass, openly letting his eyes run all over my body. A warm tingle follows his inspection.

  “I don’t believe it,” I say, sliding the fur off my shoulders to give him a better look.

  “Why?” He moves a bit closer. “Too conventional?”

  “Chicago is where I live now.”

  “Now?”

  “I spent the last year in Paris.”

  His eyebrows rise. “The City of Love?”

  “I prefer City of Lights.”

  “Right.” He’s even closer. Close enough that I can smell the fresh linen scent of his cologne. “You don’t do love.”

  “I do other things.” It came out as more of a purr than I’d intended, but I’ll go with it. I feel good, and I want to bury my face in his delicious scent while I tangle my fingers in those caramel-brown waves.

  A pause. Our eyes hold each other’s a moment. “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Marcus.” I like it. Marcus the lawyer. “What’s yours?”

  “Amy.”

  “Pretty.” Unexpected warmth simmers in my stomach. “What’s your game, Amy?”

  The sound of his voice saying my name is a delicious vibration under my skin. What’s my game? It could mean anything, but I go with the less provocative interpretation.

  “International trade and finance.” I push my lips out just a bit over the S sound, allowing my eyes to stay on his mouth. It’s a nice mouth, and I love the feel of scruff against my bare skin. “I’ll probably focus on PR now that I’m home.”

  He’s not backing down, and a shimmer of excitement moves through my stomach. “Are you experienced at PR?”

  “Why don’t you find out?” My voice has gone a little lower. It’s enough for him.

  Another step forward, and our bodies are touching now. He’s warm, and that crisp linen fills my senses. Large hands slide up my hips, and I close my eyes, dropping my head back for him to kiss me.

  He trails his lips lightly up my skin, more taking in my scent than tasting me. It makes me wet. When he reaches my jaw, he pulls a little nibble in his teeth, and a noise comes from my throat.

  “You’re good at this,” I whisper, finding his eyes.

  “I like surprises.”

  “Surprises are one of my two favorite things.”

  His hands span my lower back, lifting me onto the stool, before his mouth covers mine. The slits in my skirt allow easy access to my center. His lips force mine open, and our tongues curl together. It’s not frantic and grasping, it’s controlled and confident. He tastes like cinnamon and expensive vodka, and I feel his erection pressing against my thigh. It’s fantastic, strong and demanding. Another shiver moves through me as my fingers quickly unfasten the buttons of his shirt. I’m enjoying this too much for a random.

  “Are you cold?” He breathes against my skin, tracing a burning trail to my ear. He pulls the top between his lips, and my insides clench.

  When I reach the bottom button of his shirt, I slide my hands down the front of his pants between us. “I’m ready to know you better.”

  Stepping back, he loosens and removes his tie, tossing it on the table. His shirt is open and untucked, and his lined chest makes my mouth water. Eyes dark, he returns to me and pushes my sleeve down my shoulder. I shrug it off and allow him to unfasten my bra.

  “Mmm,” he rumbles, cupping my breast and rolling my nipple between his fingers. “You are a naughty girl.”

  “I think I’m a lucky girl.” My voice cracks with desire as he pulls the dark bud between his lips giving it a hard suck that shoots electricity straight between my legs. More wetness. God, this is going to be good.

  “I think I’m the lucky one.” He kisses back up to my neck, scuffing my skin in a delicious way.

  I’ve managed to get his pants unfastened, and I slide one hand down his cock, curling my fingers around it. Damn, it’s thick. “Why don’t you get lucky then?”

  A rustle of pockets, and I help him open the foil wrapper. Our mouths reunite, and I push my breasts against him as he slides on the condom. Light chest hair tingles my nipples, and I’m heady with lust, anticipating the feel of him stretching me. Large hands return to my ass. I hold my breath a moment before he moves my thong and pushes inside.

  “Oh,” I exhale at the same time he mutters a “Fuck me.”

  Marcus lifts me off the seat and thrusts harder, going deeper. My legs are around his waist, and I arch so our moving bodies massage my clit. If we were controlled before, we’ve given in to flat-out carnal enjoyment now. It’s crazy and reckless and wild.

  He slams my back against the wall, and he’s hitting me hard, rocking us both in perfect rhythm. Sizzling electricity vibrates my veins and pleasure snakes up my thighs.

  Here it comes, my mind whispers. “Oh, god,” I gasp as my orgasm grows hotter with each thrust.

  “Harder,” I beg, and he complies. Again and again, he pushes into me until he groans
in my ear. He’s coming, and the noise of his climax pushes me over the edge. All at once the tidal wave bursts, flooding me with ecstasy.

  “Oh, yes!” I cry as the orgasm quivers in my thighs. It’s one of the best I’ve had in a while.

  “God, you feel good,” he groans against my neck, giving me two more deep thrusts as I ride out the aftershocks of pleasure, my insides tensing around his cock.

  A few more movements, and we’re on the way down. He’s still holding me securely in his strong arms and I like the way he feels.

  My insides immediately recoil at that thought. “To the bride and groom,” I laugh, pushing against his shoulders.

  He eases back, holding the condom as he pulls out, lowering me to my feet. I avoid his eyes as I straighten my top. Protection trashed, he fastens his pants as I straighten my thong and grab my clutch. I don’t have time to mess around. I’ve got to get the fuck out of here now.

  “I’d like to have you for breakfast,” he says, turning to me with a cocky smile. I’m annoyed that it thrills my insides.

  “Tempting.” I give him a wink.

  “Are you staying in the hotel? I’m on the tenth floor.”

  “I’m actually here with my mother. She’s at a B&B, so I need to be sure she has a way home.”

  I’ve made it to the exit, vodka bottle and glasses forgotten. He follows me into the ballroom and pauses. “Check on her. I’ll head up and order us some wine. See you in a few?”

  “Sure.” Stepping forward, I kiss his cheek. He captures my lips briefly, and I curse the damn flutter in my stomach.

  “Room ten-sixteen.” He holds my eyes then. His are deep hazel-green, and I refuse to acknowledge they’re damn sexy. He is a random.

  “Ten-sixteen,” I nod. “Got it.”

  He heads toward the lobby, and I only briefly hesitate before turning on my heel and making my way to where Sylvia stands chatting with Stuart and Mariska. I’ll meet them, say goodnight, and get back to the B&B. In the morning we’ll be gone. No shitting where I live.

  Surprises are nice, but my second favorite thing? Running.

  * * *