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Beautiful distraction, p.25
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       Beautiful Distraction, p.25

           J. C. Reed

  “Because I would have insisted that we get married soon so I can have you all to myself before I have to share you with a brat.” His smile softens, and I remember why I fell in love with him.

  He’s funny, witty, and a little bit outrageous, and that’s exactly what I need in my life.

  Someone who doesn’t take himself too seriously.

  Someone who can make me laugh and let me be myself.

  “You’ll be a great dad,” I whisper.

  “I hope so.” His hand reaches for my fingers and gives them a light squeeze. “I’m going to spoil our kid to bits. And then there’s also Uncle Cash and Ryder. And my dad. They’ll go nuts when they hear this.”

  I have no doubt about that. They’ve already been asking when we’d start a family.

  “Come on.” I jump up from his lap and try to pull him to his feet, which, given his height and weight, is an impossible task. “I have great plans for you. After the stunt you pulled, I have to reward you.”

  “I’ll take my reward happily. We could do it right here, right now.”

  As his hands begin to roam my body, removing layers of clothes, until I’m naked and panting, his erection filling me, I see the strap of a handbag slung across one of the chairs.

  Someone must have forgotten it.

  It’ll only be a matter of time before they come back to get it.

  They’ll catch us red-handed.

  It wouldn’t be the first time.


  “Kellan,” I moan his name as wave after wave of pleasure rocks my body. “Let’s go home.”

  “Home?” he asks, his voice hoarse, his smile naughty. I swear it’s the most mischievous I’ve ever seen. “We’re already home, Ava.”

  His lips descend upon mine again, and it’s like the world stands still and everything around us is spinning. Our worlds crash, collide, blur in one single moment.

  We couldn’t be more different: Kellan Boyd, a famous singer, and me, a normal girl from NYC.

  But love happens.

  One crash.

  One beautiful distraction.

  A cowboy who meets a city girl.

  That’s how the ball started rolling. That’s how it all began. How the biggest sacrifice ended in the greatest reward. I can’t wait to become Ava Boyd.

  Life out here might seem a bit boring, but there’s nothing boring about my future husband.

  There’s something I need to tell him, but I can’t remember what it is. All I can do is make a silent promise to be the greatest wife he could ever have, because Kellan Boyd is one in a million.

  And he’s mine.

  ----THE END----

  Loved Ava and Kellan’s story? It doesn’t have to end!

  Each one of the Boyd brothers will get his own story.

  Cash Boyd ➙ Wild For You

  Ryder Boyd ➙ Yet untitled

  Don’t miss their release. Subscribe to the J.C. Reed Mailing List to be notified on release day:

  Also, fans of An Indecent Proposal will be happy to hear that all subscribers will receive the free novella, Half Truths. It’s available exclusively for readers who subscribe to my mailing list.


  Coming this spring:


  by J.C. Reed

  (free bonus novella for all newsletter subscribers)

  Cash Boyd’s story…coming next:


  by J.C. REED

  (standalone novel)

  Also coming late spring:


  by J.C. REED

  (standalone novel)


  First and foremost, thank you to my family for allowing me to follow my dreams. Your support through my writing journey has been amazing. You are my inspiration, my motivation, and my reward.

  Thank you to my amazing friend Jackie. Your encouragement and funny comments throughout the book have been a journey in themselves. You make the unbearable part of writing bearable. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

  Thank you to Larissa for this awesome cover and for being with me since the very beginning of my writing career.

  I hope you never retire, because I’ll still need you for many years to come.

  Thank you to Kim Bias. You’ve always been a good friend to me. Thank you for ensuring that my work is ready for the world to read.

  My huge gratitude goes to my beta readers, reviewers and bloggers. I’m most grateful for all who have supported me.

  Thank you to my cats and my dog who I swear thinks she’s a cat. You have been most my patient and superb companions while writing late at night.

  Most of all, thank you to all my readers.

  Thank you for reading and enjoying my stories, and for loving my characters. I cannot wait to share my next book with you.




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  I was sitting at the bar, sipping on my second margarita. My knee-length pencil skirt brushed the empty stool next to mine, my fingers tapped on my thigh to the rhythm of the music coming from the invisible sound system. This wasn’t the kind of establishment I usually frequented, but my boss had been adamant that I meet Mayfield in his preferred environment. And so I agreed, albeit with trepidation, at the outlook of entering an expensive gentlemen’s club where beautiful girls breezed around in classy lingerie, and the two drink minimum rule had already cost me more than my weekly grocery shopping.

  Judging from the countless twinkling lights and polished marble floors, the place oozed style and money. Even though it was still empty, I had no doubt it would fill up soon and earn the owner a fortune. A racy girl that looked like she belonged on the cover of FHM magazine climbed up a pole and dropped down into a split to ‘warm up’, as the DJ announced tonight’s program to the few punters in tailored suits. I sighed with impatience, and sank deeper into my slouch on the luxurious bar stool overlooking the soft leather couches and mirrored walls near the entrance.

  Mayfield was late. In fact, very late. I didn’t appreciate lateness, and particularly not when I should’ve been home by now, unwinding with a glass of wine after a long day of sucking up to the big guys in real estate. The job was meant to be a filler until I could get my hands on a position with a company like Delaware & Ray, but as filler jobs go, they’re a dead end. And two years later I was twenty three, stuck and overworked with no promotion in sight.

  Maybe it was the way the guy walked—full of confidence and cockiness—but the moment I saw him entering the bar I knew he was the kind that would bring me nothing but trouble. So I buried my gaze in my drink, avoiding the stranger’s curious look. The hairs on the nape of my neck prickled. I turned slowly, realizing he was standing behind me. His hot breath grazed the sensitive skin of my cheek as he leaned over my shoulder to whisper in my ear.

  “You stick out like a sore thumb. I’m not sure whether that’s a good or a bad thing.”

  His voice was low and hoarse. Scorching.

  Bedroom voice… the words echoed somewhere in the back of my mind.

  My heart jumped into my mouth, which I attributed to the fact that I didn’t like strangers leaning over me. And particularly not those with a deep, sexy ru
mble of a voice that had just a hint of a Southern accent. Fighting the urge to jump up from the bar stool and put some much needed distance between us, I straightened my back and turned to face him, ready to hit back with a biting remark.

  Holy cow.

  He was dazzlingly gorgeous. Forget gorgeous. He was beautiful. Utterly, totally, mind-blowingly stunning. On a scale from one to ten, he was a hundred.

  For a few seconds I just stared at him as my abdomen twisted into knots and my pulse quickened. The guy was hot and, judging from his wicked grin, definitely not the kind of man you bring home to meet your parents. He was tall, at least a head taller than me. Maybe six feet two. His wet, dark hair was a tad too long and disheveled—like he had run his hands through it. His coat, now damp from the rain that had been cascading on downtown New York for the last three days, did nothing to hide his broad shoulders and muscular build, nor his insolent stance. In the dim light of the bar, his electric eyes shimmered like emeralds.

  I had never seen eyes like his. Dark green. Smoldering. Ready to undress a woman with a single glance. Already I felt naked in spite of several layers of clothes. His gaze traveled down the front of my shirt appreciatively, and lingered on my legs for longer than was polite. My skin prickled from his gaze. I tucked a stray strand of curly hair behind my ear and moistened my suddenly dry lips. The effect he had on me was both unnerving and exciting. I crossed my arms over my chest and bit my lower lip hard to regain my speech. He regarded me with raised eyebrows and unconcealed amusement, as though he knew what a single glance from those eyes did to me. But it wasn’t his obvious arrogance that made me instantly angry. It was the way his spread fingers lingered intimately on the small of my back as though they had caressed the spot before. As though they belonged there.

  “Why would you say that? Because I’m not wearing a skimpy G-string and stilettos, and my boobs aren’t half falling out of a leopard print bra?” I asked through gritted teeth, ignoring the delicious pull gathering somewhere in my abdomen.

  “Jett Townsend.” His lips twitched. “Mayfield couldn’t make it, so you’ll have to make do with me. But don’t worry, you and I will get on just fine.” The skin around his stunning eyes crinkled, and his mouth quirked up in a grin, flashing perfect dimples. Why did I get the feeling there was a double meaning to his words?

  “Brooke Stewart,” I said. My gaze lingered on his pale blue shirt and faded jeans with a stringy fringe that brushed his cowboy boots, and I couldn’t help the scoff forming at the back of my throat.

  “Wine?” I asked, ready to order.

  “I’d rather have Sex on the Beach.” He winked at me with a devilish grin. I figured his words could be interpreted in two ways, but judging from his flirtatious smile, I doubted he was talking about the cocktail. Heat began to pour through me at the unwelcome image of us having sex on sand and water. My skin tingled from the magnetic pull between us.

  What the heck?

  I peeled my gaze off him in the hope the instant attraction was nothing but a figment of my imagination.

  “So, Brooke. Tell me all about yourself.” He leaned forward, flashing me a drop dead gorgeous smile.

  I inhaled a sharp breath, suddenly fuming. How dare he call me by my first name? And most importantly, how dare he look so darn sexy doing it?

  “May I remind you this is a business meeting and not a date?”

  He raised his brows. “Do you want a date?”

  “What?” My cheeks caught fire, and my heart pumped just a little bit harder. “That’s not what I meant. I—”

  His eyes twinkled with humor. “Apparently, you like what you see, and so do I. So…” He shrugged and trailed off, leaving the rest to my imagination.

  I hated hot guys, and particularly those who knew just how gorgeous they were. “Trust me, there’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” My lie sounded ridiculous and he knew it. I could tell by the irritating, self-assured yet gorgeous grin he was sporting.

  My temper flared.

  This was supposed to be an initial attempt at finding out where our companies stood in terms of a potential partnership. The fact that Mayfield Properties would send someone who couldn’t even dress to suit the occasion was laughable. Why would Mayfield want to be represented by someone who clearly lacked any knowledge of what is acceptable when dealing with a potential business partner? Or maybe Mayfield didn’t value our cooperation, and this was his way of telling me to fuck off. Either way I wasn’t pleased, and I had no intention of making a secret out of my displeasure. Mayfield was known to be a real son-of-a-bitch. He was also known to take no crap from anyone. If I wanted to make it in this cutthroat business world dominated by men, I had to mirror his tactics, or give up on a career which was already going nowhere.

  “Look, I appreciate your coming, Mr. Townsend, but I’d rather speak with at least a regional vice president. Please tell Mr. Mayfield to call me once he’s ready to reschedule. Good evening to you.” Grabbing my purse and coat from the polished counter, I jumped down from the barstool and headed for the exit when strong fingers curled around my upper arm. I froze in my tracks.

  “Don’t forget your umbrella. We wouldn’t want that pretty face to get soaked,” Townsend whispered in my ear, sending another delicious tingle through my body. What was it with this man and whispering? Couldn’t he just talk like normal people? I reached blindly around me and yanked my umbrella out of his hand. Without a look back I marched out of the bar, keeping my head high. Only when I reached the parking lot twenty feet from the bar’s main entrance did I stop and finally let out a long breath.

  The night air had cooled down. I shrugged into my coat and hurried to unlock the door to my Chevrolet. It was an old thing, but it had been a graduation gift from my stepdad, so I loved it. Even though it was a pain driving in the city, I preferred it to being stuck in a cab with a male driver I couldn’t trust.

  I jammed the car into first gear and pulled out of the parking lot. My gaze brushed over the stranger towering in the bar’s doorway, watching me a moment before I drove past.

  Did he follow me out? My heartbeat sped up but I didn’t halt. If anything, I floored the accelerator and the car spluttered forward. The engine lets out a drawn-out protest, but I didn’t care. Whatever Townsend’s business was, I decided he was a creep, and I had no intention of ever seeing him again. I was definitely not the kind of woman who’d ever succumb to a hard body and dimples to die for.

  I reached my tiny apartment in Brooklyn Heights in less than an hour and parked the car opposite from the five-story building that had been my home ever since graduating from college two years ago. The street was damp and deserted. The street lamp in front of the building cast a golden glow on the steel door, which led into a narrow hall with a lobby area. Minding the large rain puddles, I fished my keys out of my bag and let myself in, then rode the elevator up to the fifth floor.

  My roommate and best friend, Sylvie, wasn’t home. Ever since she landed the investment job of her dreams, she barely ever made it home before midnight. I had been taught to put one hundred and ten percent into everything I did, but Sylvie took working hard to a whole new level. She went so far as to sacrifice her hobbies, friendships, and health by doing unpaid overtime in an attempt to gain recognition for all the extra effort. Any attempts I ever initiated to make her realize just how unhealthy her stress level had become were futile so far, but I wasn’t going to give up.

  Dropping the umbrella into a brass holder and my handbag and coat on the old coffee table in the hall, I kicked my shoes off and headed for the kitchen to pour myself a much-earned glass of wine. I was halfway through my second glass when the key turned in the lock and Sylvie’s blonde head popped into my line of vision.

  “What a surprise!” I sat up and pointed at my glass. “Want one?”

  “You better have a bottle.” She slumped onto the couch next to me and put her long legs up. I scanned from her striped skirt that rode just above her knee up to her face and damp, blo
nde hair. Something was different. Her mascara was smudged. The skin beneath her blue eyes was swollen and red as though she had been crying, which was impossible. Sylvie wasn’t the crying kind. In all the years we had been best friends, I never once saw her shed a tear. She never looked anything less than perfect and happy.

  I sat up, instantly feeling something was wrong. “What happened?”

  “I got the boot.”


  She took the glass out of my hands and drained it in one big gulp. “They kicked me out. Said something about not needing another intern. Blah blah.” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “Oh, crap.” I shook my head in disbelief. “But you worked so hard.”

  “I know, right? But you know what? I am okay. C’est la vie. Time to move on.” She jumped up, and a smile spread across her lips. “Let’s get plastered.”

  I narrowed my gaze. There was something in the way she avoided looking at me that raised my suspicion. “Wait!” I grabbed her arm and pulled her back down on the sofa. “You’re not telling me everything.”

  She rolled her eyes again.

  “Spill it,” I said.

  She pressed her mouth into a tight line.

  “Sylvie,” I prompted.

  “Fine. I slept with the boss.”

  My jaw dropped. “No.”

  She nodded. “I did. His personal assistant, who’s best buddies with his wife, started to suspect. So the bastard got the jitters and decided to get rid of me.”

  “Is that even legal?”

  Was it?

  Sylvie shrugged. “Probably not, but it’s a small world, and I need this reference if I ever want to land another banking job.”

  “The bastard,” I mirrored her words. Sylvie was the brightest person I knew. She had graduated in the top of her class, and any firm would have been happy to have her. “You’ll find something else in no time.” I had no doubt about that.

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