An off limits merger, p.1
An Off-Limits Merger, page 1
She closed her eyes and a niggling sense of familiarity flickered in the back of Bran’s skull.
Had they met? No way in hell he would’ve forgotten her.
“Hey, baby girl,” he said, voice low, shifting closer to her.
“Don’t call me that.”
She probably meant to snap at him. But the words emerged as a low rasp.
“Okay,” he said, deliberately softening his voice. “What should I call you then? What’s your name?”
Her lips parted.
“Tatum Haas.”
That nagging sense of familiarity finally clicked into place.
Tatum Haas.
The daughter of the man Bran was in Boston to see.
Well, damn.
He shook his head and straightened, stepping away from the woman who’d gone from pure temptation to off-limits in the blink of an eye.
Yeah, who was he kidding? She was still pure temptation.
Dear Reader,
The legend of the brooch is working its magic again! Or is it? Dun-dun-duuuun. Oh wait. This is romance. Of course, there’s a happily-ever-after! But oh, the journey there. Sigh.
The second and final book in the girls’ trip duet brings Tatum Haas and Bran Holleran’s love story. Confession time: I have a thing for widowers and widows. I love writing all the angsty emotion and then their eventual return to joy. Tatum Haas loses her fiancé on the eve of her wedding. Not quite a widow, but close enough. Still, complicating her grief is the swirl of scandal that surrounds his death. And when a sexy older man enters her life, she’s drawn to him despite his being a client of her family’s business and the heartbreak and loss that has made her more than a little skittish about any romantic entanglement. But she can’t deny her desire for Bran, even though it may cost her more than she could possibly know.
Passion, love and secrets abound in An Off-Limits Merger! I hope you fall in love with Tatum and Bran!
Happy reading!
Naima
An Off-Limits Merger
Naima Simone
USA TODAY bestselling author Naima Simone’s love of romance was first stirred by Harlequin books pilfered from her grandmother. Now she spends her days writing sizzling romances with a touch of humor and snark.
She is wife to her own real-life superhero and mother to two awesome kids. They live in perfect domestically challenged bliss in the southern United States.
Books by Naima Simone
Harlequin Desire
Her Best Kept Secret
An Off-Limits Merger
Billionaires of Boston
Vows in Name Only
Secrets of a One Night Stand
The Perfect Fake Date
Black Sheep Bargain
HQN Books
The Road to Rose Bend
Christmas in Rose Bend
With Love from Rose Bend
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
You can also find Naima Simone on Facebook, along with other Harlequin Desire authors, at Facebook.com/HarlequinDesireAuthors!
To Gary. 143.
To Connie Marie Butts.
I’ll miss you forever
and love you longer than that.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Excerpt from Working with Her Crush by Reese Ryan
Prologue
Tatum Haas laughed, reaching for the bottle of Riesling and refilling her near-empty glass. The happiness inside her resembled the golden wine. Light. Sweet. Perfect. She’d been waiting for this night since her first meeting with Mark Walker at one of the endless fundraiser galas that demanded Tatum’s attendance because her mother sat on the committee. That event where they’d met, though, had been different. She’d found the man who would change her life forever.
Yes, that night—and all the wonderful, sweet and romantic evenings and days following—had led her here. To the evening before she would finally be Mrs. Mark Walker.
She couldn’t contain her smile as she lifted her glass for another sip.
Everything was...perfect.
“I know what that smile means,” said her best friend, Nore Daniels. “You’re either thinking about Mark or this right here...” Nore teased, picking up her fork and diving into the decadent plate of seafood pasta in front of her.
Tatum grinned.
Still chuckling, Nore jabbed her fork in the direction of the hotel suite door. “You’re the only one with a key to the suite, right? Dara will sense you having fun, or—” she gasped dramatically “—eating a carb, and your soon-to-be mother-in-law will bust up in here and shut this down. That woman can sniff out joy like a great white smelling spring breakers on a beach. And the result is the same. Carnage.”
Tatum shouldn’t laugh; it only encouraged Nore. And Dara Walker would be her mother-in-law as of tomorrow. But hell, Nore wasn’t wrong. Dara had been over-the-top with the preparations for the wedding. And this girls’ night with her best friend and maid of honor had been her only respite—or escape.
“No worries. There’s only one key to this room. And I might’ve told everyone we’re staying at the Four Seasons instead of The Liberty.” Tatum picked up her fork and twirled the pasta around the tines before slipping the food into her mouth. And closed her eyes on a hum. “This is obscenely good.” She dug back into her plate. “That it’s damn near the first thing I’ve eaten in a month without Mom watching me probably has something to do with it.”
How sad that at twenty-eight and almost a married woman, Tatum felt pasta was her form of rebellion. She shrugged, as if she could dislodge that irritating, disloyal thought.
“Sneaky. I like it.” Nore squinted at her. “And your mother is a lovely woman, but she doesn’t know shit if she’s trying to make you starve yourself. You’re gorgeous just the way you are.”
Tatum smiled. “Mark believes that, too.”
“I adore Mark,” Nore said, “but the most important thing is you know that.”
Tatum stretched an arm across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand. “I do. I promise.”
And this summed up why they’d been best friends since college. Through ten years, living in different states and all the other messes life had thrown them, nothing could diminish the friendship and love they shared.
“Oh before I forget.” Nore jumped up from the couch. “Be right back.” She raced from the living room, disappeared into the bedroom they were sharing for the night and reappeared a couple of minutes later carrying a small white box wrapped with a silver bow. “For you. I hope you didn’t think I forgot.”
Tatum softly laughed, accepting the present. She didn’t need to lift the lid to know what lay inside. Delight bubbled inside her. “I didn’t think you would,” she murmured, removing the bow and then the top. “I’m not going to lie. Wearing this is one of the things I’ve been most looking forward to about tomorrow.”
During a girls’ trip that summer, Nore had dragged Tatum to a pawn shop with the intent of selling the engagement ring from Nore’s jerk of an ex-fiancé. Instead, Nore had spotted this gorgeous and unique brooch. Gold and silver were molded into tiny delicate flowers of turquoise, pink and ruby red, and diamonds and seed pearls dotted the petals and vines. They created a border around a stunning portrait of a woman. While a wide-brimmed hat hid most of her features, her back and regal profile were visible, as was the smooth light brown skin of her cheek, mouth, chin and elegant neck. It was definitely a statement piece, and her best friend had taken one look at the Victorian brooch and bought it as a wedding gift for Tatum. Her something old and new.
“What’re you doing?” Nore laughed as Tatum pinned the jewelry to her sweater. “Isn’t it some kind of bad luck to wear that before your wedding day?”
“Please.” She waved off Nore’s question, brushing a finger over the enamel portrait. “Something this beautiful and with such a romantic legend attached to it couldn’t be bad luck.” Tilting her head, Tatum grinned. “So tell me again how it’s just a fairy tale?”
Nore rolled her eyes but nothing could hide the happiness that emanated from her as if a beacon shone from under her skin. “All right, so maybe the legend isn’t sentimental bullshit. I mean, could someone make an argument that finding the brooch and me meeting and falling in love with Joaquin was purely coincidental? Sure. But you know what, Tate?” A soft smile curved Nore’s mouth. “How we came together? How we pushed through? It’s been nothing less than magical to me. So, yes, I’m a believer in whatever enchantment or love that brooch holds. And I also believe it’s found its rightful place with you.”
Tatum traced the jeweled flowers, thinking of the beautiful tale attached to the piece. According to the saleswoman, the daughter of a Barbadian Parliament member had traveled with her father to London. Once there, she’d fallen in love at first sight with
“Thank you, Nore. This means the world to me. And so do you.”
“Nope.” Her friend shook her head, wagging her finger. “No, ma’am. You’re not going to have me up here crying and looking haggard tomorrow. Feelings. Ew.” Nore scrunched her nose. “Hell no, I—”
The peal of Tatum’s cell interrupted Nore, and still grinning, Tatum picked it up, glancing down at the screen. She barely contained her grimace when Dara’s name filled the caller ID. Her mother-in-law-to-be must’ve figured out Tatum and Nore’s disappearing act.
Preparing herself for the upcoming nice-nasty tirade that only a society maven could deliver, Tatum pressed the answer button and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hi, Dara,” Tatum greeted, smothering a laugh as Nore rolled her eyes. “I’m so sorry about the hotel mix-up—”
“Tatum.”
Everything in her went still. As if a primal part of her recognized that something important had happened. But also that the “something” would be earthshaking. Life altering. And her brain was granting her one last moment of normalcy before her world shattered around her.
“Tatum,” Dara repeated, her voice huskier, still trembling.
“Yes. I’m here.”
Nore’s gaze sharpened, a frown drawing her dark eyebrows together.
“Honey, I need you to come to Mass General as fast as you can, okay?”
Tatum’s pulse spiked, and acidic fear flooded her mouth. If the mention of the hospital hadn’t sent her heart racing, then the honey from Dara Walker would’ve—the reserved older woman never used endearments.
“Dara,” Tatum whispered. Then swallowed, tried speaking again, but her voice didn’t emerge any stronger. “What’s wrong? Is it...?” She couldn’t voice it. Because that would make this burgeoning nightmare real.
“It’s Mark, Tatum,” Dara said, confirming Tatum’s biggest fear.
Her nightmare.
“No.” Tatum shook her head as if Mark’s mother could see the gesture. As if the motion, the objection would somehow unravel Dara’s words. Make them untrue.
“Please, Tatum. Get here as fast as you can. He’s in surgery, but I don’t—” Her voice cracked.
“I’m on... I’m...” Tatum’s suddenly dry throat wouldn’t allow her to finish the sentence.
Nore reached out, plucked the phone from Tatum’s stiff fingers.
“Hi, Dara. This is Nore. What’s going on?” She paused, her worried golden-brown gaze fixed on Tatum. Alarm flared in her friend’s eyes as she listened to Mark’s mother. “Don’t worry—I’ll get Tate to the hospital. We’ll be there in ten minutes. See you soon.”
Sheer panic propelled Tatum to her feet. She shot out of the chair, gripping the edge of the table to steady herself, and Nore grasped her elbow.
“I got you. You go to the door and the elevators. I’ll be right behind you with your shoes, coat and purse. Right behind you, Tate.” With a gentle but firm shove, Nore pushed her toward the suite door.
Tatum didn’t remember leaving the suite or arriving at the hospital. The next couple of hours passed in a blur of low voices, dread, anxiety and confusion. She and Nore sat in a small private waiting room along with Mark’s and Tatum’s parents, as well as her sister, Mia. Maybe Dara called them, or even Nore had on their way to the hospital. Tatum had ceased to be aware of anything but the fear that wrapped around her lungs in a brutal, suffocating grip.
Please, God, let Mark be okay. Please let him live. I can’t lose him. Not when we’re just about to start our life together. I didn’t get to say I love you to him...
Surging to her feet, she scrubbed her hands up and down her arms. Just as she paced to the window, a low voice spoke from the other side of the room.
“Mr. and Mrs. Walker?” A petite Black woman in scrubs and a surgical cap approached Dara and Leo, her lovely features calm, composed.
Mark’s parents rushed over to the doctor, and Nore appeared at Tatum’s side while her parents formed a steady wall on the other. Go over there, a voice screamed inside her head. Go be with them. But she couldn’t move.
“Yes.” Leo Walker curved an arm around his wife’s waist.
“I’m Dr. Jennifer Danner. I operated on your son.” She met the Walkers’ gazes, and the compassion in the doctor’s eyes ripped a hole in Tatum’s chest even before she continued speaking. “I’m sorry. He didn’t make it. Your son suffered massive brain injury from a ruptured brain aneurysm. We tried everything we could to save him but he’s gone. I’m very sorry.”
A horrific wail rebounded off the walls of the waiting room, and Dara collapsed in Leo’s arms. That terrible, agonized sound echoed in Tatum’s head, her chest, her belly. Her own knees liquefied beneath her.
Time ceased to matter, ceased to exist. There were only those two words.
He’s gone.
He’s gone.
The pain ripped through her.
He’s gone.
He’s gone.
“Oh fuck.”
Nore’s stunned yet furious whisper sliced through the smothering blanket of grief. Blinking, Tatum stared at her friend’s dark frown as she peered at the cell in her hand. Her tongue couldn’t move to ask her what was wrong, but just as she thought the question, Tatum noticed her sister peering at Nore’s phone, shock suffusing her expression as well. And when Mia glanced at Tatum, uncharacteristic pity in her dark gaze, grief temporarily shifted to dread.
Her cell vibrated in the pocket of her cardigan, and for a moment, Tatum considered not looking at it. Nothing good waited for her on that phone. Yet, her numb fingers closed around the steadily humming cell.
A social media notification with Mark’s name underneath it. God, that hadn’t taken long. But they couldn’t know he was de—They couldn’t know that yet since they’d just received the news, right? No, all they could report was he’d been rushed to the hospital...
She pressed her thumb to the screen.
“Tate, no. Don’t—” Nore grabbed her hand.
But it was too late.
Funny.
Just seconds earlier she’d believed the pain pulsing through her like a raw, open wound was the worst pain she’d ever experienced. She’d been wrong.
TheSpilledTea, a popular social media–based tabloid company, had been thorough.
Pictures of Mark on a gurney.
Images of his parents, of Tatum and Nore arriving at the hospital.
But it was the story underneath that sent her spiraling into agony.
Mark Walker, heir to one of the largest communications corporations in the country. Fiancé to Boston socialite Tatum Haas.
Anonymous 911 call by mysterious woman.
Found naked and unresponsive in hotel room.
Eve of wedding.
Obvious signs of sexual tryst.
No. She hadn’t believed a more brutal pain than loss existed. But when a woman discovered the man she loved, the man she’d been prepared to devote the rest of her life to had spent his final moments inside someone else... Well, she understood two things in that moment.
One, she’d been fooling herself. She’d never experienced true agony until now.
And two. When your heart had been betrayed and broken, that so-called thin line between love and hate evaporated.
Oh no. Fuck that thin line.
Hate and love were so inextricably melded, she couldn’t separate one from the other.
But hate...
Hate had an edge.
One
Ten months later
A. Armani suit. Wool.
B. Barbara Harrington. CEO of Mouton Publishing.
C. Cartier watch. Panthère de Cartier, to be exact. A twenty-thousand-dollar price tag.
Tatum scanned the throng of guests crowded into the gilded ballroom of the historic hotel as she unhurriedly wound a path through them. Huge crystal-and-gold chandeliers were suspended from the cathedral ceilings, reflecting light off the many jewels adorning hair, ears, necks, even dresses. Narrowing her eyes, she swept her gaze over the ringed balconies high above the floor. Satisfaction whispered through her.
