Owned: An Alpha Anthology
Read Owned: An Alpha Anthology Online
Authors: Anthology
NINA LEVINE – JANI KAY – CALLIE HART – PEPPER WINTERS – LYRA PARISH – CHELLE BLISS – LILLIANA ANDERSON – LESLEY JONES – LILA ROSE
Individual novellas are Copyright © 2014 by the author who wrote them. Copyright pages can be found at the beginning of each novella.
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Authors’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Anthology Formatting: Lyra Parish and Nina Levine
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OWNED: AN ALPHA ANTHOLOGY/ 1st ed.
Thank you so much for downloading this anthology. There are several novellas inside that are complete and a few are previews of full novels that will be released at a later time. The stories with an asterisk beside them on the contents page are previews. All others are finished.
The Owned: An Alpha Anthology will only be available for a limited time and is intended for a mature audience.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
NINA LEVINE - ALL YOUR REASONS
**PEPPER WINTERS - FORBIDDEN FLAWS
LYRA PARISH - SINGLE: VOLUME 1
LILLIANA ANDERSON - DEEP COVER: CASE 001
All Your Reasons
Book 1 in the Crave Series
by Nina Levine
Cover designed by Louisa @ LM Creations
http://lmbookcreations.wordpress.com/portfolio/
Stock Image from iStockphoto
Editing by: Jenny Sims
WARNING:
For Mature Audience 18+
Contains Adult Sexual Situations & Language
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2014 Nina Levine
Published by Nina Levine
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Nina Levine is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians or artists mentioned in this book.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
ALL YOUR REASONS BY NINA LEVINE
1 - Presley
As I take the call I’ve been waiting six months for, the people around me carry on with their lives as mine stands still. It’s funny how that happens. How, in the blink of an eye, your life can change so completely and yet everyone else is unaware. If they were to look at you, they wouldn’t know anything had changed.
I’m in the middle of running a photography shoot, and I’ve got people everywhere. In amongst the noise and chaos, my world is being tilted, and I’m struggling to focus on what’s being said.
"Presley, are you listening to me?"
His question pulls me back into the conversation. "It’s too late now, Lennon. I needed you to say this to me six months ago."
He sighs and it’s as familiar as an old cardigan. It’s the same sigh he’s used on me numerous times throughout our marriage, the sigh that tells me how frustrated he is with whatever I am asking of him. "How can it be too late? We’ve been married for three years, that’s not something you just give up on. I want you back, and I’ll do anything to make that happen."
The pain his words inflict tears another hole in my heart. "The reason it’s too late is because you should have been willing to do anything to make our marriage work while we were in it or when I told you there was a problem. But you didn’t. You were too busy with your work to care about me and telling me six months later is not enough. You need to accept this is over and move on."
"That’s not gonna happen, baby. You’re mine and I’m coming home to show you how wrong I was."
"You’re coming back to Australia?"
"That’s what I just said. I’ll be there next week. Once we finish up with the tour."
Now it’s my turn to sigh. He just doesn’t get it. "And that’s why we’ll never work," I say softly.
I know him so well I can almost hear his brain thinking and I can picture his brows pulled together in confusion as he asks, "Why?"
"Because if you truly loved me and wanted me back, you wouldn’t be waiting for the bloody tour to end." I take a breath before adding, "Don’t come back, Lennon. I don’t want to see you." I bite my lip as I prepare to end the call.
Darla, my assistant, is watching me closely, and she raises her brows, questioning if I’m okay. She knows the last thing I need on this shoot is for my concentration to be challenged. And she can probably tell from my body language and facial expressions that’s exactly what’s happening. She’s worked with me for a long time and been my friend for longer. She knows me well. I nod at her to indicate I’ll be okay, because I will be. This isn’t the first time my husband has screwed with my concentration. I’m well versed in dealing with it and getting through my work, in spite of it.
Lennon’s patience gives way. I’m surprised he’s lasted this long with that short fuse of his. "Presley, you don’t know what you want half the time," he snaps. "We’re meant to be, and you’ll see that when I get there."
"Goodbye, Lennon," I say and hang up because otherwise we could be going back and forth all day. He just doesn’t listen. I knew it while we were together, but since we broke up, it’s become even clearer to me.
Darla approaches. "You okay, boss?"
"That was Lennon," I say.
Her eyes widen. "What did he want?"
"Apparently, after all this time, he’s decided he wants me back. Says he’s coming home in a week or so to show me how much."
"That bloody asshole!" She’s never been a huge fan, not after she saw the way he always put our marriage second to his career.
"I feel like this truly is the end now, you know?" I don’t know why I feel sad about this all of a sudden. I’ve spent the last six months trying to get over him, and I’ve started moving on, but after that conversation, it feels more final. I look at Darla with resignation. "I don’t know, maybe deep down I still hoped he’d come and fight for me, but what he’s doing doesn’t feel like enough. Does that sound stupid?"
She madly shakes her head. "No, it doesn’t, and you’re right… this is all too little, too late."
I slowly nod. "Yeah, it is."
We stand in silence for a moment, both lost in thought about the demise of my marriage. Eventually, Darla claps her hands together. "Okay, back to work. We’re going to get this shoot finished and then we’re gonna go out and get drunk."
I shake my head and grin mischievously at her. "No, you might be going to get drunk… I’m going to get laid."
Laughing, she agrees, "Yes, you are. And I might just do that, too."
* * *
I finish applying lipstick to my lips, place it back in my purse, and then run my fingers through my long, blonde hair, messing it up as I go. The straight hair trend shits me to tears; give me messy, wild hair any day over that perfect, boring look. Stepping back from the mirror, I assess my outfit for tonight; skintight black leather pants, heels, and a slinky red sleeveless top. I’ve finished it off with an assortment of bracelets and my silver Tiffany heart tag necklace.
Yeah
, I grin,
tonight I’m going to score.
"Presley, babe, you made it."
I divert my attention from the mirror to the voice behind me. Shit, I’d forgotten she’d be here tonight. Jade Garcia. Supermodel. Shallow bitch from hell.
God, give me strength
.
Before I can reply, her food deprived friend interrupts. "You’re the photographer from today’s shoot, aren’t you?"
Full points to the vapid supermodel wannabe. I bite my tongue on so many witty remarks and instead, simply reply, "Yes." Well, okay, perhaps they weren’t witty, so much as catty. I can be one of the cattiest bitches you’ll ever meet. That could be why I don’t have a lot of friends. That and the fact that I truly dislike most people I meet.
Jade starts gushing to her friend. "Presley is one of the best photographers I’ve ever worked with. They had to pay a small fortune to get her to work on this shoot."
I tune her out; I’ve heard it all before, and I’m over it. I’m also over working with models and clients with no imagination. This shoot bored me to fucking tears, and I won’t be in a hurry to work with them again.
"I’ve got to meet another friend, Jade. I’ll see you around," I say as I begin to make my way out of the ladies’ room.
She raises her eyebrows. "A Valentine’s date?"
"God, no!"
"You don’t like Valentine’s Day?"
"What’s there to like? A commercialised day that puts pressure on people to buy shit that supposedly proves how much they love their partner. I’ve never celebrated it and don’t ever plan to," I reply, noting her stunned expression.
"Wow. I’ve never met a woman who doesn’t love Valentine’s Day." Her previous awe of me has been replaced with disdain. If I’d known it would be this easy to change her opinion of me, I would have shared my thoughts earlier.
I shrug. "Well, now you have. Love’s an everyday experience; it’s something shown in the mundane things you do for your partner. It’s not found in a fucking overpriced bunch of flowers picked up on the way home from work because you know if you don’t get them that day, of all days, your life won’t be worth living."
Jade’s eyes are glazing over; I probably lost her at mundane.
"I’ll catch you later," I say as I push open the door and exit the room, not waiting for her response. With a bit of luck, I’ll never have to see her again.
The cool air of the club hits my face and I welcome it after the heated stuffiness of the crowded ladies’ room. It’s Friday night and pumping in here. Everyone is celebrating the end of the work week. I’m celebrating the beginning of my holidays. Three months of no work. Three months of doing whatever the hell I want.
Bliss.
I make my way to the bar and order a bourbon and Coke. After slamming it down in two gulps, I motion to the bartender to pour me another.
"Hard day, sweetheart?"
Turning to see who is speaking to me, I am momentarily speechless while I take in piercing blue eyes and gorgeous features. Whoever this man is, he has the ability to turn me on just by being near me because I am turned way the fuck on right now. As electricity sparks through me, I imagine running my hands through his dark hair and laying kisses along that chiseled jaw. Need and desire swirl together and I decide that he will be mine tonight.
"Hard week, more like it," I answer him just as the bartender brings me another drink. Before I can get cash out of my purse to pay for the drink, the guy lifts his chin at the bartender, who nods and walks away without taking payment. I’m still trying to find cash in my purse and the guy puts his hand over mine, stilling it.
"Why was your week so bad?" he asks, his hand still on mine.
I move my hand away. "Thanks for the drink."
He flashes me a smile that shoots more electricity through me. "You’re very welcome. Now tell me about your week."
I sigh. "I’d rather not talk about it. Let’s just say that dealing with pretentious, self-centred people for twelve hours a day, five days in a row, is enough to make me consider moving in with the Amish and adopting their way of life."
He chuckles. "I hear you. It sounds like we’ve been dealing with similar people all week."
I cock my eyebrow. "Oh, no. I fucking win this one, dude. I’ve been working with models who couldn’t work out their left from their right half the time."
He nods, another smile forms on his face that would melt my panties if they weren’t already melted. "You win. I could think of nothing worse than working with models."
My gaze sweeps over him, taking in his jeans and black t-shirt that both hug his body. He’s rocking muscles I am fighting not to drool over; muscles I need to hold my hands back from because all they want to do is touch. Those muscles are covered in tats, and I squint to try and read what one of them says. It looks like a quote written in cursive on his forearm, but I struggle to work out what it says.
He sees me looking and holds his arm out as he tells me what it says. "Fate loves the fearless."
I grab hold of his arm and position it so I can read it better. The moment I touch him, I feel it, and I know he feels it, too, because his eyes show it. There’s an undeniable spark between us, and as soon as it hits me, my body lights up at the thought of sleeping with him.
As I let go of him, he leans his face close to mine and asks, "You feel that?"
Not letting go of his eyes, I nod. The slow burn of desire is eliciting a hunger in me I haven’t felt for a long time. And I sense he wants me just as much as I want him. "I do," I finally answer him, slightly breathless.
The beat of the music surrounds us, and the crowd threatens to drown us, but I am lost to the moment and almost unaware of everything else as we search each other’s eyes. I’m sure I detect warmth and kindness in his. Odd that I’m getting all that when I’ve just met him, but I would swear it on a bible.
He slowly moves his face away from mine and drinks some of his drink. As he places the glass back on the bar, he says, "I’m Jett."
"Presley."
A smile tugs at his lips. "Your parents are Elvis fans?"
"My mother is and my father is blinded by love. She could have called me Elvis and he wouldn’t have blinked."
This inspires a laugh out of him. "Your parents are still happily married?"
"Yeah, go figure. How many marriages do you know of that are still going strong after thirty years?"
His eyes twinkle. "My parents are still happy after thirty-five years. I guess you and I are like some weird science experiment. It kinda sucks, really."
Frowning, I ask, "Why?"
He throws the rest of his drink back, his eyes still twinkling. "When you don’t come from a fucked-up family, you can hardly blame your issues on your parents, can you? Nope, you and me, we have to own our fucking issues."
I burst out laughing. "You are so right. Shit, pass me my drink, I can’t cope with this knowledge."
Shaking his head, he holds my drink away from me. "Bad idea, sweetheart. You have no one to blame your alcoholism on except yourself. I suggest you give up alcohol straight away and find a new vice that’s not as socially unacceptable as alcohol addiction."
Oh, this is fun. I raise my eyebrows. "What do you suggest?"
He doesn’t even hesitate. "Sex addiction. Take that shit up. Much easier to hide from public view. And a lot more fucking fun than dealing with hangovers."
"I wouldn’t know the first thing about taking that up. You think you could help me with that?"
He pulls a face like it’s the hardest question he’s ever been asked. Nodding, he says, "Sure. You want to get started now?"
My core clenches at the thought, and I lean into him and say, "You’ve no idea how much I want to get started on that now, Jett."
He sucks in a breath, and his hand curls around my neck. "You sure? Because once I’m finished with you, you’re going to have an addiction that will be hard to kick."
"I’m more than sure. But if my newfound addiction gets out of hand, you might have to step up and help me break it."
"Oh baby, I can’t think of one good reason to break that kind of addiction. No, I’ll just step up and feed it. Can’t have you fighting cravings, can we?"
