Surrender (Careless Whispers #3)(82)

It’s the saying that connects to the tattoo on his arm, the same one etched into the War Room table, and I know now why it’s so familiar. Kayden is a warrior, as was my father. As am I now, and perhaps have been every moment of my life, even before I understood that was who, and what, I am. And warriors always win at all costs or die forgotten.

“What about The Jackals?” I ask, my mind looking for any loose ends. “Any bumps there?”

“Disbandment is effectively underway,” he confirms. “In three months that organization will be gone and forgotten.”

He motions to the car and we climb back in, and it’s not long afterward that Chris and Sara are tucked away in our spare bedroom. After we watch their door shut, Kayden motions toward ours. “Now we lock away the necklace.”

He leads me into the bedroom closet, where he pushes aside his clothes and presses a button. The wall moves, and a door opens.

“It’s like in the movies,” I say.

“Better than the movies, because it’s ours.”

He flips on a light and we walk down a long set of winding stairs that ends in a huge stone room lined with wine bottles in racks. “A wine cellar?” I ask.

“By design.” He hits another button, and one of the wine racks lowers into the floor and a safe emerges in its place. “Each wine case has a safe. That way if someone finds one, they won’t find them all. Or so we hope.” He presses his finger to the steel door and it opens. He then removes a velvet box and sets the necklace inside it. We both stare down at the butterfly.

“It’s really gorgeous, isn’t it?” I ask. “But three hundred million dollars? That’s insanity.”

“It creates insanity.” He closes the box and places it in the safe, sealing it away along with a chapter of our lives. The safe is then lowered and the wine rack returned to its prior position. “Now, it’s really done.”

He steps to me, his hands framing my face. “But we’re just beginning, and I plan to live every day with you like we’re dying. And to kiss you like I will never kiss you again.”

And so he does. He kisses me, and it feels like a kiss from a dying man. A kiss to last forever, whatever our forever may be.





Dear Readers:


I can’t believe it’s over! I’m already imagining the wedding, and a chance for Ella and Sara to sit and talk for hours. They need to talk about those journals! And about the wedding . . . well, you know Ella might need to have a gun strapped under her dress, and actually have to use it. That would be so fun and pretty sexy, too. And you know Niccolo would have to show up with a gift, and a problem. Oh yes, he would. Maybe that follow-up story will happen. I’d like it to happen. If not, perhaps I’ve now sparked your ideas for what comes next—and a reader’s imagination and excitement are the best compliments a writer can have. I already miss Ella and Kayden and I hope you will, as well. And then there’s Sasha and Adriel—those two need a story! Whatever happens, thank you for taking this journey with me.

And if you haven’t read Chris and Sara’s story, and even want more Blake Walker, you can find them all in the Inside Out series.

xoxo

Lisa




Can’t get enough of the sizzlingly sexy and provocative adventures from New York Times bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones? Keep reading for an excerpt from the first novel in her bestselling Inside Out series.





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I am still standing in the middle of Chris Merit’s display, in stunned disbelief, when something snaps inside me. I am hot and confused and feeling like the world is spinning around me. I’ve spent money I don’t have on the ticket for the night, but I can’t get out of this gallery fast enough. I run for the door, not literally, but I might as well be running. This heat I feel is unexplainable, considering the gallery is chilly, and I need air desperately. I need to think. I need to figure out what is going on inside me, because it is nothing I know as familiar.

Exiting to the street, I welcome the cool night air washing over me. I turn quickly to my left, intending to head for my car, when the strap of my purse catches and snags on the brick of the building and somehow it snaps open. The contents spill to the ground. With exasperation, I squat, trying to retrieve my items. This is so my life, and there is a tiny part of me comforted by my familiar clumsiness, by something that feels like me. I mean, who else can manage to catch her purse on a wall, of all things?

“Need some help?”

My gaze shoots upward to find Chris Merit at eye level, and for a rare moment in time, I can’t find the words to ramble with my nerves. While I’d felt comfortable with him inside the gallery, I am dumbstruck now that I know who he is. He is brilliant. He is also incredibly good-looking and he’s squatting down on the ground with me, which somehow feels wrong. This night has me feeling as if I am in the Twilight Zone. There is no other explanation for how bizarre it is.

“I . . . ah . . . no,” I manage. “Thank you. I got it. It’s a little purse. Doesn’t hold much.” I scoop up my lipstick and a tiny wallet, and slide them back inside the bag before pushing to my feet.

He grabs my keys and stands, towering over my five feet four inches by a good foot. I hadn’t realized how tall he is when he’d been sitting beside me at the Ricco event, or how earthy and deliciously male he smells, but the wind lifts and the scent tickles my nose. He is different from Mark, not so sophisticated and debonair, more raw, and yes, like his scent, earthy.