Love Me Read online

  Love Me

  Love The Way You #3

  W. Winters

  Amelia Wilde

  Contents

  Kiss Me

  Playlist

  Prologue

  1. Zander

  2. Ella

  3. Zander

  4. Ella

  5. Zander

  6. Ella

  7. Zander

  8. Ella

  9. Zander

  10. Ella

  11. Zander

  12. Zander

  13. Ella

  14. Zander

  15. Ella

  16. Zander

  17. Zander

  18. Ella

  19. Zander

  Also by W Winters

  About W Winters

  Connect with Amelia Wilde

  Copyright © 2021 by Willow Winters & Amelia Wilde

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  Cover Design by Lori Jackson Design

  Kiss Me

  From USA Today best-selling authors W Winters and Amelia Wilde comes a sinful romance with a touch of dark and angst that will keep you gripping the edge of your seat … and begging for more.

  * * *

  I should have known when I couldn’t keep my eyes off her that this would be a mistake.

  * * *

  I was hired to protect her, this woman who’s lost everything yet there’s an obvious fire that blazes behind her beautiful gaze. She stares back, daring and tempting me. It calls to a side of me that’s darker and longs to tame her.

  * * *

  We both have secrets, we both have a past we’re not ready to face. More than that, we both want to get lost in each other, falling into a forbidden game of control and power. Of submission and dominance.

  * * *

  The moment she agrees to my terms, I know I’ve crossed a line. One of many rules I’m willing to break. No one can know, not a soul, but secrets in the life I lead never last for long.

  Playlist

  Sweet but Psycho - Ava Max

  Turn Down for What - DJ Snake and Lil Jon

  River - Bishop Briggs

  Unsteady - X Ambassadors

  Overwhelmed - Royal & the Serpent

  Are You with Me - nilu

  Sit Still, Look Pretty - Daya

  Scars To Your Beautiful - Alessia Cara

  Issues - Julia Michaels

  Prologue

  My mother used to say, “If you can’t stop thinking about someone, it’s because they can’t stop thinking about you either.” It bears noting, though, that my mother was a fucking lunatic. She stalked a man and killed his wife because she was in love with him. Having no idea, he married her and shortly she became pregnant with me. It wasn’t until years later that he discovered the truth.

  * * *

  I was only seven years old when the trial was broadcast.

  Cameras rolled and my sadness was caught on film. With interview after interview, journalists said the nation was entranced. As my fairy-tale life fell apart, what was left of me went viral. Every household knew my name, and the public begged for more. More of my twisted life; born into wealth and power, yet the daughter of a murderer. More of who I was.

  * * *

  My first kiss was photographed and the images sold to every major tabloid.

  The first time I had sex, the world knew immediately after.

  I talked about it with everyone.

  I didn’t know any better.

  It’s simply the way it was after my life imploded. I lived for sharing everything about my life with my followers, and they loved me for it.

  * * *

  I made my own happily ever after, and then it was ripped away.

  In a single moment, my life changed forever.

  * * *

  I broke. There was nothing left after I’d loved and lost.

  And then he came into my life in a way no one else ever had.

  * * *

  He was my protector, my therapy; he became my everything.

  It’s a dangerous situation for so many reasons.

  * * *

  I’m starting to believe the things my mother used to say … which scares me because I know I’ve already broken down and lost everything once.

  * * *

  But when he looks at me like that …

  When he tells me it’s going to be all right …

  I believe the things my mother used to say. If you can’t stop thinking about someone, it’s because they can’t stop thinking about you either.

  Zander

  The Firm is an elite, full-service private security company for high-profile clients and those who require the utmost discretion. Please inquire directly for assistance with booking. All sensitive matters will be handled with complete confidentiality.

  * * *

  There are two things I can’t stand for anyone to be when they enter a courtroom: late or rattled.

  Being late never looks good, but people get lax about it. They tend to brush it off. What’s a few minutes in the grand scheme of things? Could be nothing.

  Could be everything.

  As for being rattled—there’s no place for emotion in a courtroom, not from my position. Calm, logical … even ruthlessly cold is far preferred over rattled. Being focused is a personal rule of mine no matter what a judge says or what some lawyer pulls out of his back pocket. Not coincidentally, steady focus is also the number one rule in my profession. When we’re with clients this directive is absolute.

  I don’t slip up when it comes to this charge. There are other areas of my life that require strict focus. The last time I slipped up, there were consequences.

  I was late. I was rattled.

  Today, hurrying up the wide stone steps at the county courthouse, I’m both late and rattled, which only serves to piss me off even more. The bitter autumn wind bites against the exposed skin on my neck as I grind my teeth and pull open the heavy floor-to-ceiling door after rushing up the marble stairs. I hustle as quickly as I can to make up for lost time, while still keeping my pace and gait professional.

  The entire time I scold myself, adding anger on top of annoyance.

  And it gets worse. The hearing today is an important one for The Firm. It’s the most important hearing we’ve ever attended, according to my brother Cade.

  I rush through the metal detector and snatch back my phone on the other side. The brightened screen’s full of messages from my older brother. Cade owns the company; among other businesses, he created The Firm. He took on the responsibility of having the final say in which clients we take on, which is a hell of a lot harder than leaving it up to the group. He wants to know where the hell I am. With a steadying exhale I shake off everything from earlier this morning; namely, the hell of the phone call that lasted far too long. Rounding the corner and making my way to the elevator, I ignore the buzzing of my phone in my suit jacket pocket.

  One last pause outside the courtroom doors to correct myself. I’m not taking the news from the phone call, and the memories that come with it, into work with me. I can’t. That cursed entity needs to go back in the locked box where it lives most of the time. Calm focus. Eyes on the client. Don’t fuck it up.

  The door to the courtroom opens beneath my hand with a muffled squeak. Although adrenaline courses through my veins at knowing I’m surely disturbing the ongoing hearing, I keep my outward appearance unperturbed. It’s one of the smaller courtrooms, which makes it even more obvious that I’m late. Nothing I can do about it now except
stride in and take my place.

  Damon’s the only one to turn his head and watch me walk up the center aisle, even though the rest of the team’s scattered along the last two benches too. Cade has a front-row seat to the proceedings. He’s angled forward in his chair, breathing down the neck of the client’s lawyer. Silas sits next to him, dark eyes trained on the judge, silent as usual. Dane’s on his other side, with Damon behind him. Just as Damon and I make up a pair when it comes to relying on someone from the team, Silas and Dane have each other.

  As silently as possible, I tuck in my tie and take the seat next to Damon, arguably my closest friend after the shit we’ve been through. He doesn’t waste any time to lean over, pitching his voice low. “What did they say?”

  My voice is deathly quiet when I respond, “I don’t want to talk about it.” My blood chills at the recollection and the back of my throat dries up. I don’t want to think about a damn thing that involves that call. Sure as hell not right now.

  Damon knew the call was this morning. I’ll tell him the details later. For now, I need all my attention on the back-and-forth between the judge and the lawyer. This conversation is why we all need to be here. Our presence is proof we can handle this particular case and client. It’s a deal that will set this company down a path my brother has been after for years.

  I scan the judge’s face. He’s familiar and I know him by name. The wrinkles around Judge Martel’s eyes and his thinning, combed-over white hair are proof of his experience on the bench. Ever self-possessed, with his lips pressed in a thin line, it’s impossible to decipher which way he’s leaning. My gaze quickly moves to the back of our lawyer’s head, and then—

  A pair of dark eyes.

  Peeking at me from up front.

  Instantly my body heats. The depths of their darkness stir something inside of me. The stunning stare is both intoxicating and pinning. As if I’ve been caught. But not by a predator, by prey.

  It’s only a moment that our eyes meet and lock, but something thumps through my chest like a heavy book falling to the floor. Then she faces the judge again.

  The client. She’s the client. Eleanor Bordeu. Born into wealth and a high-profile individual, but I hadn’t even seen a photo of her. The simple white blouse that drapes along her curves is obviously expensive, yet it doesn’t compare in the least to the woman who wears it. “Strikingly beautiful” would be putting it mildly. Her elegance is in the details; from the way she holds my gaze, to the manner in which she breaks it just as easily, squaring her shoulders to retake her place before I interrupted.

  The moment is gone as quickly as it came and I surreptitiously clear my throat, adjusting in my seat.

  Bringing me back to the present, Damon presses a thick folder into my hands. “Maybe you should read the file this time. The rest of the paperwork came in this morning.”

  I accept the folder but keep it closed and lay it on the bench beside me. “You know I’m not going to do that.” I speak just above a murmur, as does he. Both of us are careful not to disrupt the hearing.

  He noticeably shrugs. “I know. Cade wants you to have it anyway.”

  My gaze instinctively moves back to the client and I rub a knuckle into my chest to try and dispel the lingering shock from … whatever the hell that was. A strange anomaly. Not something that ever happens with clients. Not something that ever will again. I drag my focus back to the hearing at hand.

  “—client is only being held because of a temporary lapse of judgment. We believe this is an appropriate transition out of institutionalized care.”

  The judge turns over a sheet of paper, the mundane sound carrying through the quiet room. “There’s mutual agreement between the parties, yes?”

  “That’s correct,” answers the representative for the Rockford Center. His name is Aiden and from what our lawyer tells us, he’s more than happy to comply. He stands a few inches shorter than the lawyer, his thick head of hair at odds with the crew cut the lawyer wears. I’ve met our lawyer a few times now. He’s a good guy, which is rare to find in that profession; at least it seems to be that way since we’ve come to New York. We’ve been working with him on this transition for at least a year now. In our line of work, it’s beneficial to have a lawyer on retainer. In our case, it’s a whole team of hotshot lawyers, given the profile of the clients we take on. Cade is well versed in the law and has kept up with his license to practice, even though he graduated with his JD and passed the bar ages ago. Still, we rely on the best to represent us and Cade is more than willing to admit the legal team we have is better at what we need than he’ll ever be.

  “The Rockford Center is prepared to relinquish custody to The Firm.” My spine stiffens and I sit straighter as the judge scans us in turn.

  I’m certain the judge is aware this is a first for us. The Firm started as a high-end protection service. Given the team’s background and expertise, we’ve pivoted recently in our niche. It’s not something I agreed with, and this situation … this isn’t what I signed up to do years ago. But here I am.

  From my experience, some judges have piss-poor poker faces, but not this one. I can never tell what he’s thinking. That uncertainty is only reinforced as Judge Martel scans the documents in front of him. “The Firm has representatives present, I see.”

  “We do, Your Honor,” answers Cade as he half rises. His tone is professional but his deep baritone still gets the attention of the judge as if he’s caught off guard. My brother, and boss, continues, “We are more than happy to answer any questions or address any concerns you may have in order to help make your decision.”

  “Mr. Thompson, the Rockford Center is prepared to relinquish custody. Have you been made aware of the requirements for this transition?”

  “Yes, we have, Your Honor.”

  “Are you prepared to present your plan for the client’s home modifications?”

  “Absolutely, Your Honor.” Cade stands fully and passes a stapled stack of papers to our lawyer. He takes them up to the judge, but the client—Eleanor—doesn’t move. She’s so still, her chest barely rising and falling with each breath. I search for subtle movements in the curve of her neck, in her shoulders. Her hair is twisted into a prim bun at the nape of her neck. She appears quite polished, but also as if she’s scared for any bit of her presentation to go astray. That’s exactly what it is, a presentation. If I had to guess, she’s been in this position before. Maybe not in front of a judge, but in some other way.

  This is why I don’t read client files before I meet them. What you see on paper doesn’t tell you what they need. Half the time it clouds your assessment. The black letters on white paper don’t do justice to the grays of morality. Every shade matters because they all come with a story. A reason. A thread that makes up the fabric of who they really are when no one else is looking.

  I trace a path down the loose, white shirt she wears to her slim-fitting black dress pants. The shirt has a keyhole detail at the very top on the back of her blouse, a few inches below the dark twist of her hair.

  Before I can stop myself, before I can swing my attention back to the judge where it belongs, I think of touching her there. My fingertips on soft skin. Would she shiver? Would she lean back into it?

  As if she can hear my thoughts, she turns her head and her somber gaze meets mine.

  Oh, shit.

  I yank my eyes away from her. Back to the judge. Outwardly, I’m wearing a professionally neutral face. Inwardly, I feel the hum of an electric shock. That phone call shook me up more than I thought it did. It’s not the client. Not Eleanor. My reaction has nothing to do with her.

  The judge finishes reading Cade’s plan, detailing what’s already been done to accommodate the guidelines, and the mood in the room shifts. “Mr. Thompson, do you have adequate personnel to ensure two individuals are on hand around the clock?”

  “We do, Your Honor.”

  “And you’re equipped to provide appropriate security?”

  “Yes, Your Ho
nor.”

  “The Rockford Center has signed off on the proposed plan of care?” The judge’s eyes flick to Aiden. The man’s navy blue suit hangs well on him. With his slicked back hair, it’s hard not to notice he took great effort in his appearance for today.

  “We’ve met extensively on the proposal. The Rockford Center has full faith in The Firm to provide care.”

  The judge taps the papers with his knuckle. “I’d say we’ve moved beyond providing care and into full guardianship. I’ve never signed off on a transfer of custody this extensive. Your company will not only be responsible for providing personal care. The level of mental health services needs to be comparable to, or exceed that of the Rockford Center.”

  “Your Honor, we are equipped to provide those services.” Anyone else would think Cade was sticking to the rules of engagement—calm focus. But I’m his brother. I see the tension in the side of his jaw. He wants this to go well. We all do. And not just for the company.

  I’ve made it a point not to know all the details of Eleanor’s past. She deserves a clean slate with me, just like any other client. But the situation itself is different. The judge isn’t exaggerating when he says he’s never done this before. There’s never been a custody transfer from the Rockford Center, or anywhere like it in the state, to a private company. Eleanor’s case will be the first.