Timeless Passion Book 2 Read online

  Timeless Passion

  Book 2

  By USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author

  KB Winters

  Copyright © 2015 KB Winters and BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 KB Winters

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  Timeless Passion Book 2

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Chapter One — Grant

  Chapter Two — Megan

  Chapter Three — Grant

  Chapter Four — Megan

  Chapter Five — Grant

  Chapter Six — Megan

  Chapter Seven — Grant

  Chapter Eight — Megan

  Chapter Nine — Grant

  Chapter Ten — Megan

  Chapter Eleven — Grant

  Chapter Twelve — Megan

  Chapter Thirteen — Grant

  Free Book!

  More From KB Winters

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Chapter One — Grant

  Everything was flawless. Opulent. Just as it should have been. I looked around the room, it was stunning, and vibrant—there wasn’t one thing I would’ve changed.

  Well, maybe there was one…

  I glanced down at the table, catching a glimpse of the empty place setting beside me with a silver name card that read the three words that made my heartbeat still for a moment inside my aching chest—

  Ms. Megan Sinclair

  She was supposed to be here, beside me, on my arm.

  But she wasn’t—and for fuck’s sake, I needed to get over it.

  I threw back the rest of my glass of celebratory champagne, ignoring the fact that I hated champagne and cast my gaze around the elegant banquet room where hundreds of Timeless Timepieces employees and investors were celebrating the official launch of the Shock Watches line. The project had all but consumed my life over the past few weeks. After tweaking, obsessing, testing, and researching, I’d finally pulled the trigger on the project. Within the week, boxes of shiny, brand new watches would leave the manufacturer and begin the shipping process to stock the glass display cases of thousands of high end department stores and boutiques all around the world. It had taken a bull rush effort to get them out on time, but it was finally completed, and tonight was supposed to be the night when everyone’s hard work was rewarded and celebrated.

  Which—as I looked around again, it appeared they were. Everyone besides me looked happy and relaxed. People were gathered in small pockets, dispersed throughout the large space, chatting with animated hands and expressions of joy, dancing, and fully taking advantage of the open bar policy. I knew I should join in the festivities. It didn’t send a good message if the CEO and mastermind behind the project was tucked away, sulking. I needed to put a smile on my face and play along.

  I smiled, but it was like the muscles in my face wouldn’t hold it, letting the corners of my mouth drop back without my permission. It was easier to fake it when someone came over to offer their personal congratulations and compliment me on the final product. I chatted along with relative ease and soaked up the ass-kissing they offered, trying to keep my mind focused on what they were saying rather than thinking about their ulterior motives. The lavishing of compliments was quite boring and monotonous.

  In the back of my mind, I knew I shouldn’t take credit. The watches that would soon be for sale were birthed by Megan’s beautiful mind and the revamped marketing campaign surrounding the launch—everything from the box shapes, colors, and promotional materials, to the banners hanging above the stage—were all greatly influenced and enhanced by her talented eye. The entire time I’d been planning the event, I had her in mind. I’d planned on bringing her up on stage—ignoring the protests she was sure to make—and show her off to the entire room as Timeless Timepieces’ rising star.

  But she wasn’t here for me to brag about.

  And, as far as anyone in the room knew—everything was my idea and had only come to life because of my careful direction and creativity. Normally, I would have loved the feedback, and relished the excited buzz in the room. After all, it was the reaction that I’d been dreaming of since the idea for the Shock Watches line had even come to me, but somehow, it felt hollow and less than satisfying.

  In an effort to distract myself, I let my eyes roam around the room, taking in the selection of women available. The guest list for the event was a mile long, and there was no way I knew even half the people in the room. Nearly every man in the room had some glammed up woman hanging from his arm, her face and hair made up to perfection, laughing a little too loudly at everything they said.

  However, there were plenty of unattached women wandering the room as well, in little clusters or single by the bar chatting it up with the muscle bound bartender as he flexed a little harder than necessary with every lemon and lime wedge.

  Since receiving Megan’s resignation, I’d been buried in work and hadn’t given much thought to my next move outside of the office. For a brief moment, I’d found myself inserting Megan into my future plans. My mind automatically started thinking of all the things I wanted to do with her—to her—and hadn’t yet made accommodations for a plan B. A backup plan wasn’t my style—if I wanted something bad enough, I would find a way to make it happen.

  Megan managed to prove that theory wrong. It wasn’t so much that she’d quit the job, that stung, but it was the way she’d done it. After everything we’d been through, she didn’t even have the fortitude to walk into my office and say it to my face—choosing instead to hide behind a vague email message. That alone spoke volumes about her true feelings and character. I’d read the email at least a hundred times and finally, once I’d deleted the message, I’d told myself to move on, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t. Being alone at the launch party brought it all back to the surface again, and reminded me I needed to pull myself back together, and the easiest way I could see that happening was to find another face to fill my fantasy life.

  My gaze landed on a striking brunette—one of the bartenders adoring fans. She’d be an easy score. Her body language showed all the signs of wanting some action, and with an ass like hers, I knew I could more than deliver. As a fringe benefit, it would be fun to scoop her right out from under the meathead bartender’s watch. I mentally mapped out my plan of action when a man in a dark suit stepped to her side and dragged her away from the bar. I recognized him from one of the buyer meetings. He was much older than she was and for a moment, I wondered whether she was a gold digger or a call girl. As he marched her across the room, she threw a longing look back at the bartender, and I couldn’t help but laugh under my breath.

  Gold digger.

  Next up was a platinum blonde who was dressed like she was auditioning to be the next leading lady in a Bond flick. All cleavage and curves busting out o
f a slinky black evening gown that was cut so low in the back you could see the slight curvature of her ass cheeks peeking out when she moved. She wandered the room, nursing a cocktail, her eyes looking for something…or someone…when she caught me watching her. A slow, seductive smile curved on her full lips and she headed my way, her eyes not leaving mine until she reached my table and gave herself permission to unabashedly look me up and down, noticeably lingering on my crotch.

  “Mr. Christiansen, you look lonely over here,” she purred, slinking into the vacant seat next to me. Megan’s seat. “Is there anything I can do to…entertain you?” she asked, her voice not leaving even a shadow of a doubt about the meaning of her question.

  A server passed by with another tray of champagne and I snagged two glasses so swiftly and seamlessly that the server didn’t even notice and walked right by. I offered one of the glasses to the blonde. She was a little much, for my normal tastes, but I needed something to get my mind off of Megan, and there was a good chance I could find some distraction in the flesh she had on display for me—and every other man in the room.

  She took the glass and clinked it to mine, letting a soft chiming pass between us. “I’m Gretta.”

  “Grant.”

  “I know.” She tongued the rim of the glass like an expert before taking a small sip of the bubbly contents.

  I took a swallow from my own glass, again ignoring the too sweet flavor, and focusing on the heat building in my stomach. I wasn’t a light weight by any means, but I’d been too busy to sit down and eat a meal all day, despite my assistant bringing me a hearty lunch from my favorite deli. Cara always had an eye for detail and had apparently noticed my lack of appetite over the past week, insisting on bringing me large meals every three hours to try to coax me into eating. She hadn’t asked, but I’d already decided to blame it on anxiety over the event if she ever brought it up.

  My eyes raked over Gretta, not hiding my appreciation of her body. She was a beautiful woman, and in what was starting to feel like another lifetime, I would’ve jumped at the chance of taking her home with me at the end of the night. She had all the vibes of a girl who would let me do absolutely naughty things to her all night long and leave the next morning without pining and asking when she’d see me again. It was always easy with women like Gretta, no fuss, no muss, just a hot, sweaty night of fun and release with no lingering feelings or expectations.

  “So, handsome, I have to admit, I’ve had my eye on you all night, and you look like someone just ran over your puppy. This is your big night, why so sad?”

  I let a slow smile melt across my face. “I’m not sad, gorgeous. It’s just been a long week.”

  She looked doubtful, but played along. She reached across and rubbed the muscled part of my shoulders through the heavy fabric of my suit jacket.

  “Ooh, you’re tense. You know, I have a room here at the hotel for the night. Maybe we could go upstairs and I could help you work out some of these kinks.” She slid a keycard to me under the table and I pocketed it without a second thought. Her lips were parted as she waited for my response.

  Fuck it. Why not?

  I leaned in and slid my hand across her ass. “I have to make a speech. When I’m finished, I’m going to meet you upstairs. I want you naked, on the bed, with the lights on when I get there. I want you to touch yourself and get nice and wet for me. Understood?”

  I backed off and a rush of heat filled me at the dark, lusty look in her wide eyes. “Uh-huh.”

  My hand slowly slid from her hip, then she got up and I watched as she left the room, an extra sway in her hips as she went, leaving every man she passed hard and longing in her wake.

  Moments later, I was prompted by an assistant to take the stage to deliver my speech. A hush fell over the room as I took my place at the mic. “Thank you everyone for being here tonight. So far the response to the new line has been overwhelmingly positive, and I can hardly wait to see where Shock Watches take the Timeless Timepieces brand as we blaze a new trail into the future to make my grandfather’s company bigger and stronger than ever before. So, thanks again, everyone!”

  The crowd roared—mostly a sign of their blood alcohol levels than my speech giving skills—and I exited the stage to a mob of people eager to shake my hand, and then I entered another round of ass kissing. They all said how proud my father would be of me. I smiled my way through, giving each well wisher a moment of my time, but with each mention of my father I found myself sinking lower and lower. I didn’t need the reminder of his passing on a night when I was barely keeping my head above water—lost in a sea of regret over losing Megan.

  I shifted my mind away from it all, and forced my thoughts to picturing the busty blonde spread out on a hotel bed, fingering herself while she waited for me. I wanted to get up there and forget everything—but had to put in the time with the investors, buyers, and friends who had come to celebrate. I ended up having a few more drinks, and by the time I got up to Gretta’s hotel room, I was slightly wobbly on my feet.

  I used the keycard to let myself in, and found Gretta had followed every last one of my instructions. She was spread eagle on the bed, wearing nothing but her black stiletto heels and a smile. She slid her fingers between her legs and rolled her hips slowly for effect as soon as she saw me.

  I unbuttoned my pants, desperate to free my throbbing cock. She moaned louder as I started to strip. “God, Megan, I’ve been waiting for you all night!”

  She sat up on her elbows. “Megan? Who’s Megan?”

  Shit. “Megan? Oh, no, she’s no one.” My voice slurred and the room was starting to spin. How many drinks had I had? Damn. I’d lost count.

  Gretta sat up the rest of the way. “Are you married?”

  “What? No?” I wobbled as I struggled to remove my foot from one leg of my pants. “No, not like that. She’s my—” words failed me, my tongue heavy and clumsy in my mouth as my brain tried to unravel my tangled feelings long enough to give the blonde a reasonable excuse.

  “You know what? I was fine with this being a casual thing. I’ve heard the stories about you, but I’m not so sure I want to be a stand-in for someone else.” She rolled from the bed and gathered her dress from where she’d discarded it on the floor.

  I reached for her and grabbed her arm. “It’s not like that, I—” my breath caught and I had the overwhelming urge to sit down. I sank to the edge of the bed and leaned forward, bracing my hands against my knees.

  “It’s fine, you don’t look like you’d be much fun anyway,” Gretta said, the sound of her zipper emphasizing her words. “I think you should go.”

  I stared at her, nearly in shock. I’d never been rejected by a woman, and I sure as hell had never been accused of being unable to perform. I stood from the bed, fastened my pants and left the room without another word. It wasn’t worth it—she wasn’t worth it. For a moment I thought about returning to the party, but decided against it and hit the button for the lobby when I stepped inside the elevator.

  I called my driver on the way down to the lobby, and as soon as I stepped outside my car pulled around to the curb, and I slid into the backseat. As the car started to pull away from the hotel a wave of nausea rolled over me, and I cursed myself for letting the alcohol get the best of me.

  What the hell had I been thinking? I wasn’t in fucking college anymore. Damn. I tried to stay awake as I stared out the window, watching the lights of the city flash by in a colorful blur, but all it did was make me think about Megan and how I’d wanted her to be here—with me—where she belonged.

  Chapter Two — Megan

  “It’s been two weeks, it’s over, Megan. It’s time that you stop thinking about him, because it’s pretty fucking clear, that he’s not sitting around thinking about you.”

  It was a good speech. Strong. To the point.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to get it to stick inside my head for more than a few minutes before I was back to thinking about Grant again. It was like somehow
he was wedged into every corner, every subject in my mind. I could be anywhere, doing anything, and suddenly—bam!—there he was again. My last near meltdown had occurred in the produce section of the health food store on campus. I’d been contemplating between two different bunches of bananas and the varying shades of green, when something caught my eye. I looked up and saw what I thought was the flickering of Grant across the lot. I’d run out of the store, my hands still full of bananas, only to find some doppelganger, that upon closer inspection, really looked nothing like Grant, other than the same haircut and a dark suit. Before I could even catch my breath, the store owner had chased me down and demanded payment for the fruit, and distracted me from a complete breakdown.

  Since that moment, I’d spent every last spare brain cell trying to convince myself that Grant was like any other guy, that he was a flash in the pan and that soon—any day now—I would wake up and the dull ache in my chest would disappear.

  The only thing keeping me from going completely insane with the internal tug-of-war with myself over whether leaving Timeless Timepieces, and therefore Grant, was sheer busyness. My life had become a tornado of activity, and although I tried to stay calm, and focus on the eye of the storm—it was hard not to feel swept away by the madness.

  Things at home had settled down for the most part. Robbie and Phillip still weren’t speaking to me because they blamed me for “making” my dad demand that Robbie pay him back for the insurance deductible that he’d paid out after Robbie totaled the car. Phillip took his side on the matter, and my dad was even giving me a bit of a cold shoulder lately. I hadn’t stopped long enough to ask why, but my best guess was that he assumed I was the one keeping the animosity going between the three of us siblings.

  In the past two weeks, since sending Grant my resignation email, I hadn’t been home for much more than a place to sleep and occasionally a meal. However, on Thursday night, my dad had insisted on holding a family dinner over the weekend, so Saturday night—even though I had mountains of homework, piles of dirty clothes scattered on my floor, and needed to finish my artwork for the gallery showcase—I found my way downstairs to help him put the final touches on a good old fashioned spaghetti dinner.