A Measure of Love

Praise for Sophie Jackson’s A Pound of Flesh Series

LOVE AND ALWAYS

“A quick, sweet, sexy, and heartfelt read.”

—Literati Literature Lovers

“The perfect continuation to what happens [in]
A Pound of Flesh
. This is a must-add to your Sophie Jackson collection!”

—The Novel Tease

A POUND OF FLESH

“Fantastic read!”

—Heroes and Heartbreakers

“Sophie Jackson created a story I will never forget.”

—The Literary Gossip

“Sophie Jackson is definitely an author to keep on your radar! Fantastic first novel!”

—Two Classy Chics

“For her debut novel Sophie hit it right out of the park. I loved this book. All of it, start to finish.”

—Naughty and Nice

“I love stories about forbidden romance, and this one completely pulled me in.”

—A Bookish Escape

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For you. Thank you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

What a ride this has been, and it wouldn’t have been at all possible without an amazing team behind me. To Micki and Louise and Simon & Schuster, and to Kate and Jo from Headline Eternal, I am forever in your debt. Thank you for all of your hard work and patience.

Special thanks to Lorella, the most amazing agent a girl could ask for. Thank you for your understanding, encouragement, and unending belief in me and my words. I’m not only a better writer but a better person because of you. Here’s to the next adventure!

Thank you to my family—I love you—my friends—your support is awesome—and everyone who has ever picked up one of my books. It means the world.

My heart is and always will be yours.

—Jane Austen

PROLOGUE

He was eight years old when he first saw her.

He stood, captivated, bicycle resting between his legs, as her family unloaded boxes from a U-Haul van outside a house down the street from his school. She twirled on the front lawn. Her blonde hair—sticking out from the sides of her head in pigtails—reached out like two helicopter blades as she whirled. She wore denim shorts, pink jelly shoes, and an even pinker T-shirt with a rainbow emblazoned on the front. She leaped and jumped, sang and laughed in the hot sun. She didn’t have a care in the world.

And she was just about the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

Looking back, he was pretty sure he fell in love with her that day. She was light, brightly colored, exciting, and new. She was laughter on summer days and adventures after school. Even though his brothers teased him mercilessly, he and the girl became fast friends, riding together on their bikes. The girl even had a skateboard, which she showed him how to ride. She climbed trees, threw rocks at dilapidated buildings, and stole candy from a shop because he dared her to.

She was the coolest thing ever.

They grew up together, fell out together, made up together, and shared their first kiss together when they were fourteen, when he realized he liked her in ways that made his body feel funny. She wasn’t just his best friend anymore—she was something more, something he thought about when he was alone and his brother
urged him to look at pictures in the magazines his mother had warned him about.

It was on her seventeenth birthday when he finally showed her just what she meant to him. In his truck bed filled with covers and pillows, he slipped into her under the stars, whispering his love for her, promising her that it would never stop. That he would always feel that way about her. That there would never be anyone else for him. She was all he needed, all he would ever want.

With their whole lives ahead of them, naked and panting in the summer air, clinging to one another, they had no idea that, despite their promises, life had other plans.

“Harder! Oh God, fuck me harder!”

Riley Moore grinned as he gripped the slim calves resting against his shoulders. “Not God.” He pounded into her just as she’d asked, hard and powerful. “Just me.”

Dammit, he needed this.

“Oh yes! Give it to me!”

Her hair splayed like a giant black puddle across his pillow as her back arched and she began clenching around him, milking him in such a way that with three more deep, solid thrusts, he came with a loud grunt. He collapsed onto her, panting and gasping into her neck and the sweat collected by her collarbone.

“Holy shit, Moore,” she gasped as her legs flopped back down to the bed. She placed a hand between her breasts and shook her head. “You need to call me more often, honey.” She patted him on the back of the head.

“Right back at ya,” Riley replied, lifting his head and removing himself from her body.

He pulled off the condom and threw it in the trash, before tossing a towel toward the breathless woman splayed across his bed. He watched her wipe her body down from her neck to between her legs. Carla was damned nice to look at and she gave head like a fucking vacuum, but that’s where their relationship ended. The sex-based arrangement they’d had for months worked for them both.

Riley smirked while he pissed into the toilet basin, the post-coital
glow wrapping around him like a warm hug. He flushed the john, washed his hands, and walked his naked ass back into his room. He nodded in appreciation when he saw Carla was already half dressed, fastening her bra. The zero emotional hurdles between them pleased Riley no end. She pulled on her white blouse and checked her makeup in a small hand mirror, touching the red marks Riley’s rough whiskers had left on her neck.

She side-eyed him accusingly and he shrugged in reply. She loved it. Most of the women who came to his bed did. Some even asked him to mark them, which he did without thought. It was sexy as hell to see his lust etched across his lovers.

He picked up his jeans from where Carla had yanked them off at the bedroom door and slipped them on, leaving them unfastened. Fluffing up her hair as she meandered past him, Carla headed toward her purse sitting on his side table. She pulled out her cell and pressed a couple of buttons, frowning.

“I gotta go,” she said, casually throwing the phone back into the depths of her bag. “Work beckons.”

Riley nodded, checking out her legs wrapped in a knee-length pencil skirt. Lord, she had great legs. The rest of her attire was all dull business. Riley wondered fleetingly how many other men had experienced the wild woman who lurked underneath the conservative outfit. Who knew accountants could be so much fun? Carla turned to Riley, who was leaning nonchalantly against the wall behind her, and let her index finger sneak down the center of his still-damp chest.

“Thanks again, Handsome,” she purred before kissing the side of his mouth. “Best lunch date I’ve had for a while. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

“I’m sure you will,” he replied with a wink. She smiled and, with one last flick of her hair, she left. Riley chuckled to himself before going back to the bathroom to wash off the scent of sex that covered every inch of his skin.

Within a half hour, he was back at O’Hare’s Body Shop working under a sweet 1965 Ford Galaxie, basking in the loud banging rock music of Guns N’ Roses and the contentment he always felt when he worked. He loved working with the vehicles that came into the shop—he always had since he was introduced to his first engine at the age of ten by his father. He’d learned everything there was to know about cars from his dad, who’d made his trade buying classics, tuning them up, and reselling them. Riley was the only one of Park Moore’s four boys who’d ever showed any interest in the business and Park did his best to prime him to take it over, including paying for Riley’s business degree at NYU.

Not that that shit had worked out.

Riley sighed and picked up a socket wrench, refusing to allow his tenuous relationship with his father to piss on his parade. Besides, he had only his own dumb ass to blame for it. Fifth-degree criminal possession of stolen property and a sentence of eighteen months inside Arthur Kill Correctional Facility killed all of Park’s hopes for Riley’s business future. That rap sheet wasn’t gonna go anywhere fast.