Forbidden Fix: Executive Toy, #6

By Cleo Peitsche

Lindsay has made a terrible mistake.

Her billionaire bosses are ensnaring her grandfather in an elaborate scheme, but Lindsay knows it’s too late. By confronting her grandfather, she accidentally revealed the one thing he can use to control her: her sister.

She loves her bosses and her new life with them, but she won’t abandon her sister again.

Romeo, Slade, and Hawthorne are powerful men, and they convince her to trust them just a little longer. They won’t let anything happen to her.

Then, everything shatters again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pouch Productions
• Release date: May 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513023236

Cleo Peitsche

If Cleo isn't writing (or reading!) erotica, she's probably sitting on her balcony, watching the wind blow through the trees. She loves snowstorms, piña coladas, horses, and pasta primavera. If she won the lottery, she would hire an assistant to take care of the technical side of e-publishing so that she could write all day.Some random facts about Cleo:1. Thinks life's too short to forgo HEAs and HFNs.2. Sprained an ankle joining the mile-high club. (Never again!)3. Favorite writers include Cormac Mccarthy, Junot Diaz and Rachel Caine.4. Gets weak-kneed for bookish guys who know how to fix things with their hands. *swoons*

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sighing, I settle into one of Slade’s overstuffed sofas, my body sinking into the pillows.

They smell faintly of woodsy aftershave and mint. The combination reminds me of last week’s mojitos and making out in the dark.

I’m surrounded by quiet luxury, creams and beiges and light blues, and plenty of natural morning light thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows framed by graceful drapes.

Even though I usually find the secluded mansion soothing, all I can think about is the email from my sister that showed up twenty minutes ago.

She needs my help.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t even know she’s in trouble.

I barely had time to read her message before Hawthorne, wearing only boxers that sat low on his hips, exploded through the bedroom door. Even though I knew he’d come to get me out of bed and not join me in it, my heart pounded.

I’m not going to blame Slade for not getting you up, he said in a tone that suggested otherwise, but you take the longest to get ready and you haven’t even started. Then he left as abruptly as he’d arrived. After freshening up in the bathroom, I threw on a tight skirt and shimmery blouse and then headed directly to the living room.

My bosses are nowhere in sight, though.

I dig my bare feet into the plush white rug under the coffee table. My toes disappear into the carpet’s soft pile.

If only all of me could vanish so easily, how much simpler everyone’s lives would be. I promised my bosses I wouldn’t run again, but it’s tempting to go back on my word, throw my stuff in the car and take off. There are a million towns that could swallow me whole—

Footsteps come down the hallway, and I guiltily jerk upright.

Slade enters the room, two mugs in his hands. The vanilla-nutty aroma of fresh coffee follows him. He’s ready for the office, his tie perfectly knotted, cufflinks in his white shirt. His baby-fine dark hair is slightly damp. When it dries, it will fall into a debonair swoop across his forehead.

Did Hawthorne happen to wander by? he asks in his deep, rumbling voice. He sets a mug on the table in front of me.

His hazel eyes meet mine as he straightens, and I shrug. Maybe he’s going to take a personal day.

But he won’t. I’m not lucky enough to get a day free of Hawthorne’s eternal disapproval and snide remarks.

I start to reach for the cup but Slade shakes his head.

Careful. It’s hot. He smiles, his aristocratic features turning warm. And I think, This man loves me.

It’s not just a guess. He came out and said it several weeks ago, but I still can’t wrap my mind around the idea. It was the first time I’d heard those words since I was a kid, since the death of my parents.

Maybe I’m imagining things, but you seem a little preoccupied, he says. You can talk to me, even if it’s just to complain. You’re going through a lot right now.

It’s nothing, I say. And anyway, the three of you are doing so much already.

We’d like to do more. He smiles gently.

Really, there’s… I look into his eyes, and I can’t lie to him. I can’t shut him out, either. Given how invested he is, it wouldn’t be fair. This morning—

Romeo strides into the living room, a frown troubling his handsome face. Where the hell is Hawthorne? he asks, glancing at his watch.

Like Slade, he’s also dressed in a dark suit and a white shirt, but his dark hair is completely dry; he’s probably been up and working for hours.

All of my bosses are large and solidly built, but Romeo is massive, like a rugby player.

I watch as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. Even when he’s scowling, he’s hot.

The almost angelic beauty of his face is at odds with his size as well as his last name. Wood Bison. Apparently it’s an old name, going back centuries. And he’s built like a bison, I think, with his powerful shoulders and aura of invincible strength.

But his face… Romeo’s strong features are perfectly symmetrical, and that fits his personality, too, because he’s refined and cultured. Every inch a gentleman. Well, most of the time…

Moments later, Hawthorne makes his appearance, carrying his shirt and a pinstripe suit jacket. His pants are on, but the belt is unbuckled.

Better not think about that belt…

Instead, I focus on the perfection of his broad chest and sculpted abs.

I’m not late, he says, his voice a rumbling growl. Piercing blue eyes dare us to contradict him.

We need to be out of here in twenty minutes. Romeo’s voice is even deeper, and the room is suddenly charged with testosterone. If I stay here, I know what will happen—I’ll get worked up and my bosses will ignore me. They’re clearly in work mode already.

We need to reach an agreement about the Silicon Valley opportunity, Slade says.

Hawthorne picks up my coffee and takes a sip.

Sure, help yourself, I say.

Should I have spit it back into the cup? he asks. The man has perfect diction, so I can never pretend that I misheard, that he said something else.

Normally I’d snipe back at him for being so… so Hawthorne, but now that my bosses are assembled here, I can deal with my sister’s email in privacy.

Better go get my shoes, I blurt.

My cat joins me as I walk down the long hallways. I scoop him into my arms, and he’s purring so hard that his entire body seems to vibrate.

I call him Bandit because of the dark mask around his eyes. Hawthorne says he’s three-quarters furniture wrecker and one-quarter raccoon. Which is why we’re all staying at Slade’s place, even if it’s inconveniently far from the office—Bandit uses his dedicated scratching posts here but nowhere else.

At the door to the bedroom, I gently lower Bandit to the floor.

Sorry, I whisper. Can’t have you distracting me.

He meows as I close the door, and a little jolt of guilt hits my stomach. Ever since Bandit got sick and spent the night at the vet, I’ve felt guilty about leaving him. It layers on top of the guilt I feel about having left my sister.

My phone is on the nightstand. I take it into the bathroom and close that door, too.

Tremors shake my hand as I open my secret email account.

Slumping on the edge of the bathtub, I read the email, then read it again, this time trying to imagine my sister’s voice.

Lindsay,

Sorry I haven’t written, and this is going to be short. I’m very busy with classes, and I’m trying to snag a full-time job. Don’t worry, I’m not leaving school. I’ll take classes at night. Maybe that sounds crazy, but honestly it’s a good opportunity to get my career started while my classmates are drinking and hooking up. I had three interviews this week but no offers so far. It’s not surprising as I always seem to say the wrong thing.

Grandfather insisted that I tell you hello. I don’t know how he found out that I email you. I acted like I didn’t know what he was talking about. It was really awkward.

Anyway, I’ll write a longer email soon. You could always tell me how things are with you (hint, hint). You could always call, you know. (I’ll never stop writing that!)

Love, Layla

My hands shake with frustrated rage.

The first problem is that our grandfather is threatening me. I’m sure he’s always known that Layla and I sometimes have contact, but this is the first time he’s had her relay a message.

He’s reminding me of how much power he has over her life.

Like I could forget.

But what he’s doing to Layla… No nineteen-year-old college student wants to work full time, especially when there’s money set aside for her education.

I ran away from home when I was sixteen, and Layla was only twelve. In the intervening years, I’ve tried to keep distance between us, for her own good; our grandfather’s problems with me didn’t seem like a good reason to upend her life as well.

Should we have run away together?

I was so young. As Romeo once pointed out, I could barely take care of myself.

It’s something I repeat to myself a lot, but I’m twenty-three now. I could have gone back for her when I was eighteen or twenty.

Or I could have fought our grandfather.

Instead, I kept running, kept hiding. With the help of my bosses, I’m trying to fix that, to regain control of my life.

But for the moment, Layla clearly needs my help. Education is important—I never even finished high school, and every word on my résumé is a lie. When Layla enrolled in the local university, I was so proud of her, so optimistic for her future.

And, it must be admitted, it made me feel that letting her have a stable childhood was the right decision.

I’ll be damned if I’m going to let our grandfather rob her of her education.

I’ve got almost $300,000 in cash. It’s actually Hawthorne’s money, and I intended to return it all once I was able to replace the bit that I used.

He’ll still get it back; it’ll just take longer. A lot longer.

Layla’s worth it.

Even though I’ve never used her number, I memorized it ages ago. I carefully tap it into the phone. Before I hit the call button, I pause, my ears straining.

Slade’s middle-of-nowhere house is large and sprawling, and it never creaks.

What if Romeo is just outside? I would never know.

What if Hawthorne is in the next room, his ear pressed against the wall? Suddenly I can see him, can see all of them listening, disappointment etched on their faces.

I know I’m being paranoid…

With a start, I realize that I’m waiting for them to pound on the door, demand that I open up.

I want them to stop me.

The realization floods me with burning shame. I’m dying to talk to my sister after all this time, but I’m terrified of it, too, of the questions I still don’t have good answers for.

Maybe I’ll go right to voicemail. Maybe I should just send an email.

Standing, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It’s startling how much I look like my mother. She was much prettier; I’m the quieter version.

The pink collar of my button-down shirt is partially flipped up. I push back my long, platinum blonde hair and adjust the fabric.

It’s easy to see her looking out from my pale blue eyes. She would be so disappointed if she knew what a coward I’ve turned into.

Licking my lips, I tap the call button and bring the phone to my ear.

The phone begins ringing, each long buzz making my heart pound harder.

To keep my hands busy, I plug in the curling iron. She’s not going to answer—

Hello? Layla’s breathless, confused, surely wondering what kind of idiot would call her so early.

Layla? I say, my voice breaking. It’s—

Lindsay? So much hope infuses that one word, my heart breaks into a million pieces. Where are you? she gushes. I heard a rumor that you came through town, but I didn’t want to ask. Is it true? Were you here? Are you still here?

All the things I want to say to her, all the excuses I haven’t yet invented, all the little lies I wrote over the years… None of it matters.

She doesn’t hate me, doesn’t resent me, not

Reviews for Forbidden Fix

[Kel · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Great Series. Great Writing. I loved all the books.