Read Online Books/Novels:
This Is Love (This is #3)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
1088912206 (ISBN13: 9781088912201)
Never fall in love.
After that, I lost count of the number of times I lost myself in his arms.
They call me Private Mark for a reason—my whole life is a secret.
Boy, was I ever wrong.
I had no idea that while I was falling in love, she was trying to convince herself we were temporary.
She was wrong.
Now it’s time to convince her she wants us too and to show her that the crazy, wild thing we have … This Is Love.
|Books in Series:|
|Books by Author:|
Ten Years Earlier
“Happy Birthday,” Karrie says, holding up a glass of champagne with a smile. I raise my glass of champagne with my own megawatt smile and clink it against hers. “Twenty-one and legal.” I nod and bring the glass to my lips. Karrie has been my best friend since I transferred to America from France when I was a senior in high school. We clicked as soon as I bumped into her on the first day.
“Merci.” Thank you, I say in French. Even though I’ve been in New York for five years, I still slip into my mother tongue. I take a sip and then close my eyes as the sweet bubbly hits my tongue. “God, this is so much better when it’s legal.” I laugh.
“So, what are you doing tonight that you couldn’t go out with me?” Karrie asks with a smirk as she takes her own sip.
I shrug my shoulders and try not to smile as though I’m hiding something. “Nothing.”
“Nothing, my ass,” Karrie says, putting down her glass and leaning over to me. “Is it your mystery guy?” she whispers.
“He’s not a mystery guy,” I say, taking another sip to hide my eyes.
“You have been with him for over two year, yet I have never met him,” Karrie points out.
“He’s busy with work,” I tell her, swallowing down the champagne that a minute ago was sweet and is now a touch bitter and sour. “Besides, I need to make a dent in my American Express this month, and no one does it better than you.”
“Changing the subject now, are we?” She smirks and then holds her hand up to get the bill. “I do need to get myself a graduation present,” she says, pushing herself from the table to sign her name on the bill. “Let’s go shopping.”
We spend the next six hours doing all of Fifth Avenue, and when I kiss her goodbye, she gives me the biggest hug with promises to call her tomorrow. As I make my way back down to my apartment, I spot something out of the corner of my eye and turn, not sure if I actually saw it. But I did, and my heart sinks.
I stand here for a minute taking in the scene before turning and walking back to my apartment. The doorman, Harold, spots me and smiles. “Ms. Vivienne,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “I heard happy birthday is in order. Or as the French say, Joyeux anniversaire.”
I smile at him. “Merci or, as the English say it, thank you.” He grabs the bags in my hands. “I am expecting more,” I tell him as he walks me inside the marble entrance toward the waiting elevator.
“I will have all these brought up with the rest,” he tells me, and I nod at him, knowing he’ll be up in about twenty minutes.
He pushes the button for the sixteenth floor, and I watch the numbers go up one by one. My head is going around and around with everything I just saw. When the elevator opens on my floor, I walk out into the hallway and come face-to-face with my red door. Once I get into the apartment, I walk down what I call the gallery hallway. It is why I bought this apartment; the way the molding was all down the wall reminded me of France. I pass the kitchen on my right and the hallway to the bedrooms on my left as I walk into the huge living and dining room with a wall of windows that faces Central Park. Bouquets of roses scattered throughout the room are all from the same person, except one from my grandmother in Paris and another from my parents.
The phone beeps in my pocket, and I reach in and grab it.
I’m running a bit behind, but I’ll be there by seven.
I swallow, letting my purse fall to the floor beside me while I walk to one of the couches and sit down. I don’t get up when I hear a knock on the door, knowing the doorman will leave the bags in the hallway. I stare ahead as the light in the room ever so slowly fades until the glow of the moon is all that remains. My eyes focus on the stars outside, looking at one that seems to be blinking. Or maybe it isn’t, and it’s just me.
I hear the key in the door and grab my phone to see the time is 9:35. I put the phone down and hear his steps coming down the gallery. He turns on the light and spots me sitting here. I look at him, this man who I love with everything I have and would do anything for. He’s wearing the same suit I saw him wearing this afternoon except he doesn’t have a tie on.