Reckless

A
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I
t was just a party
. A silly celebration with champagne and my best girlfriends. As I blew out the candles on my divorce cake, I said goodbye to my failed marriage and embraced my future with open arms.

I just didn’t know the future was going to come in the form of the mysterious stranger sitting at the end of the bar stealing glances all night.

And I didn’t know at the time, but my future even had a name . . . Dante Amato.

Over the weeks that followed, he pursued me with reckless abandon. He broke down my walls and ignored all the reasons we were completely wrong for each other. He made me feel something I hadn’t felt in years . . . something so real it terrified me.

But the moment I let him in . . . just when I begin to let myself fall for this dashing stranger, he drops a bombshell that changes everything.

D
ear Reader
,

F
or a limited time
, this Kindle version of RECKLESS contains a bonus novel, FILTHY (RIXTON FALLS BOOK 3), as well as a preview of PRICELESS, which will be an Amato Brothers x Rixton Falls crossover!

P
RICELESS (releasing
November 2016) will focus on Daphne Rosewood and Cristiano Amato! I’ve included FILTHY as a free bonus book because the subplot and series epilogue in FILTHY are somewhat of a prequel to Daphne’s story.

T
hat said
…you don’t have to read FILTHY to be able to enjoy PRICELESS as it will be a complete standalone!

I
f you’ve already read
FILTHY and/or want to skip to the PRICELESS preview, please use your table of contents for easy navigation.

x
oxo
,

Winter

M
aren

I
should have said no
.

This entire thing was Saige’s idea, and despite the fact that we’ve been best friends for a solid decade now, I honestly thought she was kidding when she insisted on throwing me a divorce party.

But no.

Saige was one hundred percent serious.

So here I am, cozied up in the corner of the chicest bar in Seattle at the ridiculously posh Hotel Noir, seconds from blowing out the candle on my . . .

. . . divorce cake.

My only request was that Saige not treat this like a bachelorette party. No party buses. No penis straws. No strippers. Just a classy evening with my girls, some chocolate cake, and the best champagne money can buy because, let’s face it, after wasting over a decade of my life with Nathan Greene, I’ve earned it.

“Blow out the candle! What are you waiting for?” Saige squeals into my left ear, raising her champagne glass and grinning wide. Rain slicks the dark, tinted windows behind her, and thunder rumbles above the gentle lounge music piped from ceiling-mounted speakers. “Fuck Nathan!”

Glancing down at the three-tiered chocolate cake with gold dust vanilla bean fondant and one flickering sparkler candle, my eyes land on the words, “Fuck Nathan.”

“It was either ‘Fuck Nathan’ or ‘Happy Divorce,’” Saige says.

“Or you could’ve left it blank.” Our mutual friend, Tiffin, crosses her legs and leans closer, lifting her flute to her mouth and shrugging.

“What’s the fun in that?” Saige swats her away and then tucks her wispy blonde hair behind her ears as if she’s about to do the honors. “Blow out the damn candles, Maren. It’s over. Bye-bye, cheating asshole. Onwards and upwards. May his philandering penis shrivel up and die a slow, painful death.”

Brushing my dark waves off my shoulders, I pull in a deep breath and lean forward, lips pursed, and blow. I extinguish the radiant light my first try, and it feels oddly . . . final. Tiffin, Lucia, Saige, Marissa, and Gia table clap and cheer and lift their glasses.

These are my people. We’ve attended birthing classes together and bake sales and PTA meetings. We’ve gone on double dates with our spouses and hosted sleepovers and backyard campouts together. Our kids are friends, and some of us are neighbors, past and present. But all that matters, in this moment, is that they’ve seen me at my best and they stuck with me through the worst.

“Thanks, girls.” I press my hands over my heart, my heart still hiccupping when I graze my left ring finger and find it bare. Too many times, I’ve caught myself thinking that I lost it. That I took it off while doing the dishes. And then I remember. A person doesn’t wear something for thirteen years and quickly adapt to the way it feels when it’s gone. It takes time to get used to that naked finger. It also takes time getting used to things like cooking for one less person and sleeping in a bed alone and inheriting the ‘
his’
side of the walk-in master closet. “It means the world to me that you’re all here.”

I pull my shoulders back and hold my head high. Tonight’s not about feeling sorry for myself. Tonight’s about moving forward. Shutting the book on a failed marriage. Welcoming the future with open arms. Embracing my new reality one day at a time.

“We love you, babe.” Gia lifts her glass again and gives me a wink. “We’re not celebrating your divorce; we’re celebrating your
freedom
. Remember that.”

I take a seat at the end of the half-circle booth we share. Everything in this hotel bar is dark as midnight, and ambient sconces provides just enough light for us to maneuver around. People pass by, mostly suits and traveling businessmen, and they all look like shadows. Had I told Saige to pick the most depressingly elegant bar in downtown Seattle, she’d have nailed it.

“What’s wrong?” Saige hooks her arm around my shoulders, and I’m engulfed in a cloud of Moet and Chandon breath and expensive perfume.

“Nothing at all.” I force a weak smile and take a sip from my flute.

Saige squints, tilting her head. “You’re lying.”

Exhaling, I say, “I’m just tired. Dash let Beck watch a scary movie last night and Beck had nightmares, and I was up all night and-”

“Sh, sh, sh.” Saige cups her hand over my mouth. “You’re not
Mommy
here. You’re Maren. And tonight, you’re a debutant divorcee with a killer ass and a one-track mind.”

I pull her salty palm from my lips. “I’m not sure about the one-track mind thing, but I have been doing lots of squats lately, so thanks for noticing.”

Saige rolls her eyes. “Stop being so
Maren
.”

“
So Maren
?” I echo, a single brow arched.

“Yeah,” she says. “Stop being so modest and prim and proper and perfect. Let your hair down. Get a little crazy. Have some fun.”

Saige scans the bar, though I’m not sure how she can see a thing in here because I sure as hell can’t.

“
Him
,” she says, leaning in and pointing to what appears to be a man sitting at the edge of the bar. I can make out a hint of a profile, but that’s about it. “You should screw
him
tonight.”

Laughing, I take another drink. “I’m not shopping for a one-night stand. Besides, you can’t just point and choose. It doesn’t work that way.
I
don’t work that way.”

Saige tilts her head backward. “
Please
stop being Maren for two point five seconds of your perfect little life and just trust me. That guy over there is smoking hot. Believe me, he was the first thing I saw when I walked in here tonight, and he’s damn lucky I’m a married woman because I’d have pounced all over that. He’s been sitting in that same spot for the last half hour, and he keeps glancing over here looking at you, but you’re too stuck inside your little Maren bubble to notice what’s happening around you. This could be the beginning of a very mutually satisfying arrangement.”

“You’re getting
way
ahead of yourself.”

I steal a glance his way, but he’s facing forward, elbows resting on the bar, minding his own.

Saige is delusional.

Taking another sip, I leave my stare fixed on him a bit longer, hoping my eyes adjust in the dark so I can make out a semblance of a profile. The longer I gaze, the clearer his outline becomes. Even from here, I see he’s attractive. He looks to be tall, his knees brushing against the underside of the bar and his broad shoulders filling a dark suit coat. His dark hair is clean cut and groomed. The man looks like every other suit-donning professional businessman in here, and he’s drinking alone. He’s clearly in town for business.

“Why don’t you walk by?” Saige brushes her shoulder against mine. “Or better yet, why don’t you go order another drink. Stand next to him. Say hello. Smile. Set the trap. Deposit the bait. And then walk away.”

Laughing through my nose, I shake my head. “I can’t. He’ll see through me. That sounds super obvious.”

“Who cares? It’s just for one night.” Saige stomps her red-bottomed heel. “You need to hook up with someone. You need to experience a penis that isn’t attached to a lying asshole for once in your life.”

Glancing down into my empty champagne glass, I exhale and nod. Nathan was my first everything.

First love.

First boyfriend.

First fiancé.

First husband.

First and only father of my children.

First breaker of my heart.

And while I’m not one to sit around feeling sorry for myself or waxing poetic over our glory days, I’m in no condition to go from humble housewife to roaring sexpot all because I blew out a candle on a divorce cake.

“I know you mean well.” I place my hand on Saige’s shoulder. “But I just . . . can’t.”

Saige pouts, and then she gets that gleam in her eye. The one I’ve seen a hundred times before. She’s horrible at taking “no” for an answer, and I know this from experience. Last year, her husband told her she couldn’t book a trip to Paris, so she brought Paris to Seattle courtesy of his Amex and by way of Chanel, Dior, and a thousand-dollar cake shaped like the Eiffel Tower.

She clasps her hands together. “Please, please, please?”

“Begging doesn’t work with my kids. You think it’s going to work with you?”

Saige’s baby blues hold steady on mine, and I catch Tiffin cutting into the cake beside me. These women got all dolled up and came dressed in their finest, braving the Seattle rain for
me
. Saige took the time to order this cake and throw this party for
me
. It’d be incredibly rude if I sat here like a wet blanket.

I glance over at the suit at the bar once more, only this time he is looking my way.

Holy shit.

My can’t flick away from his fast enough, and I’m grateful that the darkness hides the warmth burning in my cheeks.

“He looked over here, didn’t he?” Saige’s lips twist into a satisfied smile. “I fucking
told
you.”

“Stop.” I bat her away.

She’s gloating, and it’s annoying as hell.

“Go,” she says, her voice stern like mine when I tell one of my boys to pick up their Legos or take the trash out for the twentieth time. “Go to him.
Now
.”

My fingers wrap around the stem of my empty glass, and my heart pulses so hard in my chest I could very well pass out if I don’t take a moment. The mere thought of strutting over there and putting something on the table - that I’ve never put on anyone’s table but Nathan’s – is downright terrifying.

I’m not
that
woman.

Not that there’s anything wrong with being
that
woman.

I just wouldn’t know how to properly
be
her.

I wouldn’t do her justice.

Saige chews her bottom lip, staring hard at my ensemble.

“What?” I ask, staring down at my outfit. A white blouse is tucked into a black, high-wasted pencil skirt, and my look is finished with a pair of patent leather stilettos. The outfit was from a job interview I had a couple hours ago with a local temp agency, but I had enough foresight to throw the sexy pumps in the back of my car and ditch my conservative kitten heels before heading over here.

“Wait.” Saige reaches for my blouse and unbuttons the top two buttons. “Much better.”

Tapping my ass, she all but pushes me away, and I hear some of the girls cheering and laughing behind me.

I don’t have a choice.

I have to do this.

My throat constricts, and I’m not sure I could swallow if I tried, so I release a defeated sigh and take the first step in my journey, chuckling to myself when I think about how cheesy and symbolic this moment is.

If I laugh about it, it might also take my mind off the fact that I’m secretly terrified right now.

The neckline of my blouse is wide open, and my breasts are basically on display for the first time in a long time. Adding a slight sway in my hips when I walk, I lick my lips and hold my head high, eyes focused on the prize and fist tight around the warm glass I’ve been gripping the last ten minutes.

Everything happens in slow motion, and all sounds fade into the distance the closer I get. The clinking of glasses. The canned laughter of businessmen. The soft lull of the cocktail waitresses making their rounds and taking orders. They all become a soft, ambient hum.

My knees wobble with each step that brings me nearer, but I won’t stop. I didn’t come this fair just to-

Oh, shit.

He’s young.

He’s extremely attractive.

Like ridiculously, over the top good-looking.

But he’s
young
.

Stopping in my tracks and spinning on the ball of my stiletto-covered left foot, I make my way back to the table. My cheeks flush with warmth and the room spins. I’m equal parts embarrassed and disappointed, but I just . . . can’t.

“What? Why’d you come back?” Saige crosses her arms over her chest. “What the hell, Maren?”

Glancing around the table, I’m met with disappointed looks.

“He’s young,” I announce, fully expecting everyone to accept this as a perfectly reasonable reason to have aborted my mission.

“How young? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?” Saige’s brows are angled in and her lips are pressed flat, which is never a good thing.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him. I just took one look and realized that I’m way too old to be picking up twenty-something guys at a bar and hightailed it back here.”

Saige groans, banging her balled fist against her forehead. “Maren. You’re thirty-fucking-five. Even if he’s twenty-five, you’re still not old enough to be his mother, so who the hell cares? And even if you
were
old enough to be his mother . . . who the hell cares?”

“I wouldn’t even know what to talk to him about. We’d probably have nothing in common,” I say. “Plus, I have kids. What twenty-something guy wants to hook up with someone who smells like graham crackers and juice boxes? And he probably uses one of those cheesy dating apps and overshares everything on social media and has ridiculously high standards when it comes to women because millennials are so damn entitled.”

Saige places her hands on my shoulders. “Maren, I love you, but I
really
don’t like you right now.”

I laugh. “What? Why?”

“You were going over there to check him out and possibly say hello and to hopefully get the ball rolling for some sexytimes tonight,” she says, “not to interview him to be your next husband.”

“I don’t know about y’all, but I’m amused,” Marissa says in her Texas-transplant accent. “Tequila shots?”

“Please,” Tiffin says. “I’ll come with.”

The two of them slide out of the booth and head toward the bar, leaving Gia and Lucia chit-chatting amongst themselves and me to deal with Saige’s wrath.

“You didn’t even introduce yourself. You took one look at him, judged him, and then you scurried back here like you were above him,” she says.

“What?” I clasp my hand over my heart. “I’m not above him. Jesus, Saige. If anything,
he’s
out of
my
league. He’s beautiful. I’m just not what he’s looking for. I promise you that.”

“But you don’t
know
.”