Frayed

Book 4: The Connections Series

by Kim Karr

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; New Adult Romance

Synopsis

After losing his fiancée, Ben Covington is unsure he'll ever love again. But he's so deeply drawn to Bell Wilde that he's thrown for a loop. Maybe it's purely sexual chemistry that's igniting their spark...or maybe it's his second chance at love.




Bell Wilde has just gotten her life back on track and may not be up the challenge of Ben Covington coming back into it. However, once the spark is reignited...there's no stopping it. But even if they both manage to pull together their frayed hearts, a secret from Bell's past just might shatter them both.

Contains mature themes.

Release date: September 2, 2014

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 448

Sample

PRAISE FOR THE CONNECTIONS SERIES

ALSO BY KIM KARR

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Frayed Playlist

Praise

Also by KIM KARR

Title page

Copyright page

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Epigraph

 

CHAPTER 1

Come a Little Closer

CHAPTER 2

Past Lives

CHAPTER 3

You and Me

CHAPTER 4

Underneath It All

CHAPTER 5

Show Me What I’m Looking For

CHAPTER 6

Dig In

CHAPTER 7

Maybe Tomorrow

CHAPTER 8

Run Run Run

CHAPTER 9

Towers

CHAPTER 10

I’m Ready

CHAPTER 11

Show Me

CHAPTER 12

Still Into You

CHAPTER 13

Kinks Shirt

CHAPTER 14

I Choose You

CHAPTER 15

Show Me

CHAPTER 16

What Now

CHAPTER 17

Navigate Me

CHAPTER 18

Dirty Laundry

CHAPTER 19

Pain

CHAPTER 20

Little White Lies

CHAPTER 21

Away from the Sun

CHAPTER 22

Burn

CHAPTER 23

Stuck in the Middle

CHAPTER 24

Say Something

CHAPTER 25

Losing Sleep

CHAPTER 26

Sundown

CHAPTER 27

Counting Stars

CHAPTER 28

Talk Dirty

CHAPTER 29

Shape of Love

CHAPTER 30

Roar

CHAPTER 31

Start of Something

CHAPTER 32

Burn

CHAPTER 33

Best Day of My Life

CHAPTER 34

Dark Horse

CHAPTER 35

Say Something

CHAPTER 36

Our Song

CHAPTER 37

Come to Me

CHAPTER 38

Happy

 

About the Author

CHAPTER 1

Ben

The sign behind the bar reads:

WANTED . . .

THAT CRYSTAL ASHTRAY YOU FILCHED.

THE MONOGRAMMED TOWELS YOU TOTED OFF IN YOUR SUITCASE.

THOSE SCOTTISH-MADE LINEN NAPKINS YOU POCKETED.

IF YOU TOOK ANY OF THESE ITEMS IN THE LAST SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS . . .

WE WOULD LIKE THEM BACK.

PLEASE!

Resting my elbows on the slick surface of the bar, I gesture to the sign.

The bartender shrugs. “Don’t ask me, I only serve the drinks.”

A cute cocktail waitress slinks up beside me and slides her drink order across the bar. While she waits she crooks a finger and bends toward me at such at angle that her ample cleavage spills out. My eyes naturally fall to it, but I quickly force them away when the bartender’s voice booms over to us loudly.

“Lucy, gin or vodka in the martini?” he asks her sternly.

“Vodka.” But she doesn’t let her gaze wander and crooks her finger at me yet again.

“Rumor has it that management is looking to open a museum,” she whispers in my ear.

I straighten and lift an eyebrow. “Interesting way to go about filling it.”

“They’re even willing to give recognition to anyone who returns the items.”

I raise my glass. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I can show you what they’ve collected so far if you’re interested. I have time to take a break before dinner is served.”

Her body language and the seductive tone of her voice tell me she’s offering more than a quick glance in a closet. I admit to contemplating the offer. The devil on my shoulder reminds me what a bittersweet day today is and that getting lost for a while doesn’t sound so bad. But another, stronger, voice declares that the days of needing to get lost in women are long behind me.

My foot taps the stool rung at an increasing speed. “Maybe another time,” I tell her as nicely as I can manage, with a mental pat on the back.

A year ago I would have taken her up on her offer, unzipped my pants, lifted her skirt, and fucked her from behind without even thinking twice about it. She shrugs and bats her eyelashes at me as she puts her drink order on a tray. When she leaves she turns and winks, tossing over her shoulder, “I’ll be back. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

What is she, the fucking Terminator? I loosen my bow tie, not able to stand another minute of restraint. And once I can breathe, I blink away any second thoughts. At the sound of a soft sigh coming from the bartender, I lift my eyes toward him. He looks forlorn and so I’m pretty sure he’s crushing on the cocktail waitress.

“She’s never asked me to see the items in storage,” he mumbles.

“Take the lead, man, and ask her.”

He seems to contemplate the idea.

Leaving him to ponder my suggestion, I turn around and lean against the brass rail to survey the room. Legend has it that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences was founded here, that World War II military men used it as their recreation facility, and that John F. Kennedy’s nomination for president happened in this very space. The historic Biltmore Hotel has served great people who have done amazing things. And I can’t believe I’m here.

Turning back around, I sip the rest of my sparkling water and push the glass toward the bartender. “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime, and, sir . . .”

I look over toward him.

“Congratulations,” he says.

“Thank you. And hey, think about what I said—take the lead.”

He laughs before resuming his work. When he steps aside I catch sight of myself in the mirror behind the bar. For a minute I can’t help thinking about how damn lucky I am to have gotten a second chance at life. I was a dead man, a man who then lost sight of what mattered and then fell over the edge. But somehow after everything I went through, I was tugged back up by life and able to land on my feet.

A beep from my phone alerts me I have a text. I pull it out and smile at the screen—Dahlia London. I know her name is Dahlia Wilde now, but to me she’ll always be Dahlia London—the beautiful blond-haired girl with the tiniest of noses, heart-shaped lips, and a love of the beach that could only be matched by mine. She moved in next door when we were five and we spent our whole lives together. For the longest time I thought she was the one made for me. I even asked her to marry me. But then after things in my job went wrong, I entered the witness protection program . . . leaving her to think I was dead. When I came back years later, she was in love with someone else.

Time made me realize our love was one of comfort and familiarity, not true undying love. I don’t think I’ve experienced the latter, but I see it in her eyes. Sure, I struggled for a while before coming to terms with the fact that she has moved on, but we’re in a good place now.

I read her text.

I just wanted to say congratulations and I was thinking of you today.

With a smile, I type out my reply,

Thank you. That means a lot to me.

Switching my phone to vibrate, I slide it back in my pocket. She’ll always be important to me and I hope she’ll always be in my life, as a friend.

A hand on my shoulder pulls me from my thoughts. “You ready for this?”

I glance over. “Couldn’t be readier.”

Then Jason makes his way to the front of the room and his husky voice is amplified to fill the space. “I’d like to have everyone’s attention if I could please.”

The room becomes eerily silent and my nerves start to buzz.

He clears his throat. “I’m honored to be here today to present this award. For those of you who don’t know who I am, I’m Jason Holt, commander of an FBI special task force, and I am honored to be here tonight to present to you a man I know well—Ben Covington, California’s Journalist of the Year.”

The words of his introduction echo off the walls in the legendary Crystal Ballroom at the historic downtown Los Angeles hotel and it seems a little surreal. There’s a round of applause as I cross toward the stairs with years of reflection sweeping through my mind. When I finally reach the stage, I take the steps two at a time and stride across it heading toward my ex-brother-in-law. His eyes lock on mine and then he extends his arm, handing me the glass typewriter award, and suddenly everything feels so . . . real. With a handshake and a nod, he clears the stage and I’m left standing at the podium alone. It’s shorter than I had expected, and as I set the award on its shelf, I scan the room.

My eyes come to rest on the table before me. The circle of people sitting there are the ones who brought me home—not in the physical sense, but emotionally speaking. Serena, my sister, is seated front and center. Trent, my nephew, is at her side. Caleb Holt, my best friend for as long as I can remember, sits beside him. Then Kale Alexander, the mate I met in Australia who helped remind me of my love for writing. Beck Cavanaugh, who not only pulled me up from the darkness, but also shook me until I could see through it, is seated beside him. And finally closing the circle, Jason takes a seat beside his ex-wife, the same beautiful woman who is also my sister.

I clear my throat and begin. “In the movie Citizen Kane a reporter said, ‘I don’t think there’s one word that can describe a man’s life.’”

Lifting my eyes to the nods of people in the audience agreeing with me, I adjust the microphone and my voice grows stronger. “I’m sorry to say I don’t entirely agree with that statement.”

Nameless faces in the crowd furrow their brows, purse their lips, and stare at me. “Rosebud was the last word Charles Foster Kane muttered just before he died. In the movie a journalist tries to decipher what the millionaire newspaper tycoon meant. But in the end he gives up on his investigation and summarizes it by saying, ‘Mr. Kane was a man who got everything he wanted and then lost it. Maybe Rosebud was something he couldn’t get or something he lost. Anyway, it wouldn’t have explained anything . . . I don’t think any one word can explain a man’s life. No, I guess Rosebud is just a piece in a jigsaw puzzle . . . a missing piece.’”

Long, rectangular white linen-draped tables outline the elegant ballroom with larger round ones filling its center. Journalists from all around the state occupy the many seats. Taking deep calming breaths, I continue. “And as we all know, in the end of the movie it is revealed to the audience that Rosebud was the name of the sled from Kane’s childhood—it was a reference to the only time in his life that he was really happy. At the end of the movie we’re left with the image of the sled being burned in the furnace because people thought it was just a piece of junk lying around.”

Food is being ushered out to the tables around the perimeter of the room and I know my time is running short. With sweaty palms, I grip the wooden sides of the stand and try to clarify what I mean. “I’ve spent the past year thinking, what is my Rosebud? And although I agree one word cannot describe your whole life, I do think one word can describe your life in the here and now. I think that word will change throughout your life, but the important thing is not to dismiss what it represents. Don’t let life pass you by.”

Against the white backdrop of the walls and the golden reflection from the chandeliers above, a vibrant flash of red movement toward the back of the room demands my attention. But then again I always notice women with red hair. I squint, trying to see past the shadows of the bright lights. Suddenly my world stops and I hope I don’t gasp out loud in the wake of all the air leaving my lungs. Is it really her?

My heart races and time stops as lust explodes within me. Red hair flows past her shoulders, and a tight green dress hugs her sexy body perfectly. I’d know her natural beauty anywhere—that knockout figure that is sexy as hell. No matter how hard I have tried, I could never seem to forget the way her body felt pressed up against mine.

I don’t even have to see those otherworldly emerald eyes to know it’s her, I can tell by the way she moves. She’s S’belle Wilde. We shared only one unbelievable night together, but it’s seared in my mind forever.

Wetting my lips, willing my heart to beat at a normal pace, I try to bring my thoughts back to why I’m here. But I’m having a hard time tearing my eyes from her—I’m drawn to her. I begrudgingly force my mouth to recite the rest of my speech. And even though the words that I’ve rehearsed flow out easily, I can’t focus on them at all. My thoughts are locked on her.

I remember the night we shared together so long ago and how she rocked my world. I remember how we reconnected this past summer and how I screwed everything up by acting inappropriately with our mutual client. I remember it all as it flashes through my mind—the good and the bad, the hot and the cold. And I remember how much I craved her then, and I can’t deny that I still do.

When I pause for a moment I’m momentarily distracted by the way she cocks her hip when she gives orders to the waitstaff. She marches to another table in those high heels, and my eyes sweep her body, from the curve of her hips, to the fullness of her breasts, to the pout of her mouth. With a pencil tucked behind her ear, she pauses, biting her lip as if assessing the position of everything on the table with a precision that is sexy as fuck. I suck in a breath and refocus on why I’m standing up here. “Sorry about that. I have to say I’m a little nervous. . . .”

I glance across the many faces in the audience as the words spill from my mouth and my gaze locks on hers. Her lips tip down into a frown when she notices my stare and she hastily averts her attention. Good. At least I can focus again. I continue, but I can’t stop constantly canvassing the space around me for her position. When I spot her directing those around her at the carving station, my pulse thunders at the sight. I shift my gaze to follow her and notice some of the women in the audience dabbing their eyes with napkins. I can only assume my heartfelt words have moved them. When I notice S’belle pick up one of the black linen pieces of cloth and do the same, it takes my breath away. Not only does she seem to be impacted by my presence, but fuck me if she isn’t wearing my watch, the one I left for her this summer after she told me hers had broken.

As I finish my speech, a strange feeling runs through me. I’m not sure if it’s finality, closure, hope, or a sense of new beginnings, but whatever it is—I’ll take it. It beats the despair and isolation that have kept me company for the past year. I raise the glass typewriter in the air. “I leave you all with these final thoughts. . . .”

My last words come out softer as the syllables catch in my throat. Applause reverberates through the grand ballroom and I close my eyes for a few moments, absorbing everything. When I open them a grin crosses my lips. But my smile isn’t for the strangers who surround me or even for my friends before me. It’s for the redheaded girl in the back of the room whose gaze keeps flickering over mine.

Exiting the stage, I keep my eyes locked on hers and can’t help noticing that hers are locked on mine . . . blue to green, a reflection from so long ago, but a memory I’ve never forgotten. However, I can’t read her. Each glance tells a different story. She seems to be shifting between emotions. Like to hate, disgust to admiration. She’s a blend of confusion that echoes my own feelings. I’m pulled from my thoughts as I approach the table and my sister rushes toward me.

“Oh, Ben, I’m so proud of you. I wish Mom were here to see you.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say as I hug her. Again my words catch in my throat.

“Mom, don’t cry,” Trent calls over my shoulder.

I grab his head in a vise lock. “Glad you made it home, kid.”

“I wouldn’t fucking miss this for the world.”

“Better lie low on the swearing or your mother will use the liquid soap in the restroom to wash out your mouth.”

“Yes, I will,” she adds.

I swing my arms around them both. “How do you hear everything?” I ask her as we approach the table.

“Superpowers.”

And I think, Oh yeah, just like our mom.

Caleb extends his hand and pulls me toward him. With his hand slapping my back, he doesn’t say a word, but I can feel what he feels. We had ridden this roller-coaster ride together. Both of our lives had changed once I started my investigation. I may have been the one who had to give up his identity, but a part of him was buried alongside me for those years. We both felt guilt, remorse, sorrow, but now was a time for celebration.

I push him away. “If you cop a feel I’m going to have to deck you.”

His grin broadens. “I’ll try to control myself.”

On a serious note I say, “Thanks for everything.”

His eyes dart to mine and I see the lump in his throat. “What are you drinking? I’ll grab another round,” he says.

“Sparkling water.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I need to keep my senses around you. Wouldn’t want you taking advantage,” I joke.

Caleb hasn’t been around much the past year. He hadn’t seen how I let alcohol consume me. Let it erase the memories that were just too hard to bear. I don’t consider myself an alcoholic, but I know I function much better when I stay away from it.

Kale and Beck are deep in conversation when I squat between them. “What am I missing that’s so important I didn’t even get a congratulations?”

Kale’s eyes take on a glimmer. “Beck here is telling me about . . .”

My attention wavers the minute I see her again. She pulls her mass of hair back and bends down to examine one of the dishes being set out. When she straightens she catches me staring. We’re close enough that I know she sees it when I smile suggestively, but she quickly cuts her eyes elsewhere. I narrow in on the vision before me. I can see her flawless skin left uncovered by her sleeveless dress. I notice the way her neck and arm flow into a sea of glimmer from the sparkling lights above. I imagine grabbing her, pulling her to me, and bending to nip the smooth hollow where her neck and shoulder meet. She looks back at me and this time a slight smile crosses her lips. I’ll be damned if it doesn’t light up the whole fucking room.

“Don’t go there, man,” Caleb’s voice warns.

“Hmm?” I turn to look at him.

“Here’s your drink.”

Turning back toward Beck and Kale, I clasp Kale’s shoulder. “Great work. Stop in my office Monday. I want to hear all about it.”

“I see the way you’re looking at her.” Caleb won’t drop it.

“I’m not looking at her in any way,” I deny.

“The fuck you’re not. You’re practically licking her off the rim of that glass.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His hard glare cuts across the room to where she stands. “Yeah, I think I do. Just remember she’s forbidden fruit. Leave well enough alone. You’re in a good place right now—you don’t need to go down that road.”

“I hear you.”

He looks at me skeptically.

Glass in hand, I sip my drink and crunch on one of the ice cubes, thinking past wrongs and forbidden fruit—none of that matters when I remember the night we shared. I also know that my insides hum with every move she makes. But I don’t say anything else to Caleb, because he’s right; going down that road won’t lead to any place I need to go.

•   •   •

The night passes quickly with so many conversations with people I’ve never met. Beck left to pick his girlfriend, Ruby, up from work, and Kale followed him out, discussing whatever they are working on. Caleb was taking a red-eye back to wherever it is he goes, but said he’ll be back next month. And per his advice, I’ve gone out of my way to avoid S’belle, but it’s killing me to do it. I know there’s a huge chance she wouldn’t talk to me anyway after what happened this summer, but I also think there’s a chance she would and with Caleb’s words echoing in my ears, I’m not sure I should go there.

When my phone rings with a call from Aerie Daniels, I take the opportunity to slip away from the crowd. “Hello.”

“Hi, Ben. It’s Aerie.”

I open a door marked EXIT and end up in a quiet service hallway. With no one around I lean against the cool stainless wall behind me.

“Hey. Everything okay?” I ask.

Not only is Aerie my ex-fiancée’s best friend but she also works for me.

“I just wanted to apologize for not being there tonight. I’m leaving in the morning for that quick trip to New York City I told you about and thought I should get everything together for the November issue and go through it one last time.”

“Aerie, it’s going to be fine. Don’t stress about it.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?”

“I’m sure. Stop stressing. It’s all set and there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Okay. It’s just I’ve never been out of the office on trigger day. My plane lands first thing in the morning, so if anything—”

“Let’s bring out the desserts all at once.”

I hear a familiar sound—soft and sexy—nearby. Jerking my head to the right, I greedily take S’belle in. The way her body moves with each movement, I can’t suppress the memories that always surface when I see her. I remember everything about that night. Her perky tits that hardened the minute I caressed them, the way her mouth opened and her eyes closed when I touched her in the most intimate places, the feel of her hands seductively sliding over my body, the way she smelled, the raspy tone of her voice when she pleaded for more. My head begins to spin with fresh justification about why it’s okay to just talk to her. She exits the small space quickly, though, through the next set of doors, and again the hall is quiet once more.

“You there?” Aerie’s voice calls through the phone.

“I’m here.” I manage to make my own voice sound normal.

“Okay, then. I’ll check in when we land.”

“Sounds like a plan. And, Aerie, for fuck’s sake, have fun.”

She responds with a laugh, “Language, Ben, language,” and then she hangs up.

I shake my head and shove my phone in my pocket. Just as I’m about halfway to the door, it swings open again.

“Ben,” she greets me in a velvety soft voice.

I can’t even tell whether I’m more startled or happy to see her there. But when a flush runs up her neck and her breathing steadily picks up, I want to think she’s as impacted by my presence as I am by hers. Her reaction surprises me, but I’m even more surprised to see warmth in her gaze. My eyes drink her in with a thirst—her hot body, her beautiful stare. My nose catches a faint whiff of her lemony scent. She smells amazing and I almost spasm on the spot. Just as I open my mouth to speak, the door opens again.

“Did you find the serving spoons?” a guy much too young to be in charge asks.

“Grabbing them now,” she answers, chewing on her lip before moving across the hall to the counter and picking up a handful of silver ladles.

He holds the door open for her and she glances at me one last time before walking toward him. And as I watch her, the way her body moves with ease as she leaves, I can’t help thinking back to that night so long ago. The fantasy come to life that I’ve never been able to forget.

I filled my hands with her beautiful breasts as I slammed into her from behind. Moans of passion that I weren’t sure if they were hers or mine. My body shaking, hers quivering. I had been drunk, but I felt completely sober when my hands roamed her body and my lips followed. Her pussy was so sweet and I wanted more. Without any inhibitions, a string of my deepest darkest sexual desires left my mouth. I saw her smile at my words. She whispered how she wanted to answer them. And as I stood, I grabbed her neck and brought her mouth to mine. I felt my dick throb and I wanted more.

The way I felt when I was inside her was unlike anything I had ever experienced. But I force myself to blink the thought away. It’s not how I should be thinking. But fuck, seeing her again makes me horny as hell and makes me think about things I know I shouldn’t.

As I head back to the party, I tell myself that I need to leave the past in the past. But the words just don’t feel right.

CHAPTER 2

Bell

At first glance he had me aching for him. Just one word from him and I was purring. He exuded passion—I felt it the first time he touched me. If you met him, he would make you feel the same way too. I promise. Charming, elusive, full of sex appeal—nothing has changed. One look from Ben Covington and I know what he wants, and it’s not as though I don’t want the same thing too. But I also know all too well the pleasure I would feel would only be followed by a stabbing pain in my heart. That’s just the way it is with him. The only way it can be after everything we’ve been through.

I try to shake the memories he evokes, but they won’t budge. They just keep rushing back, flooding me further with want and need. I can’t help remembering how he made me feel. How I thought I ruled the world. How I even thought I had a superpower. It wasn’t as glamorous as Emma Frost’s telepathic manifestation or Wonder Woman’s ability to fly, but it was cool nonetheless. My superpower was that I had a way with words. Somehow my uncanny ability allowed me to talk myself into or out of just about anything—an extension on a late paper, a citation for illegally parking, admission into a sold-out club—it didn’t really matter what it was; if I wanted it I got it.

But I cursed that ability after the night I spent with him. Cursed him for everything, but especially for leaving an impact on my soul that felt as if it would last forever. Yet on seeing him tonight, hearing his moving speech, the feelings tumble through me as I set up the dessert table, making me question everything. I’m beginning to think I was wrong. Maybe wiggling my way into the fraternity party as a makeshift sorority sister and then into his bed wasn’t actually a curse. But if it wasn’t, then what was it?

•   •   •

“Bonjour!” I said to the girl with a name tag that read Claire pinned to her white lace blouse.

Medium-brown hair tumbled to her shoulders in smooth waves and was held back by a black ribbon headband. She wore a very short plaid skirt with red tights and ankle boots. Flawless and polished, she was perfectly put together. I had to blink twice because she looked so much like the character Blair Waldorf from Gossip Girl. She stood with a huge grin on her face behind a pink-draped table with a golden triangle and the letter Z emblazoned across it in the student center at the University of Southern California. It had only been two weeks since I traded in the City of Lights for the City of Angels. The night was cool, but since the rain had let up I had decided to get out and stop by the recruitment fair. Clubs, fraternities, and sororities populated the room. With so many choices, I had no idea which booth to visit first. I stood back and watched and it was Claire’s enthusiasm that caught my attention. So I moved closer and stood in line as she talked to a group of girls about joining her sorority. They giggled and jumped up and down when she gave them a piece of paper with an address on it and told them she’d meet them there.

Her gaze lifted at my greeting and she quirked a smile. With a gleam in her eye she said, “Hi. Are you from France?”

I gave a slight laugh. “No, California but I spent my freshman year in Paris.”

“Ah .