Every Time I Fall: The Raeven Sisters, #2

By Anna Karington

This is a stand-alone novel that includes explicit content and a HEA.

Rock bottom has just made a new friend: Janet Raeven. Unemployed and recently divorced from her abusive husband, she’s trying to get her life back in order. Despite her mother’s insistence that a man can cure her of all her problems, she knows that’s the last thing she needs right now.

Enter multi-millionaire Hayden Lancaster. He’s hot. He’s charming. And everything about him turns her on. Her attempts at fighting her attraction to him fail miserably. She can’t get him off her mind, and she’s having a hard time keeping her clothes on when he’s around. As she submits to her attraction, he draws her into his over-the-top lifestyle of fancy cars, lavish parties, and exotic vacations. But along with this lifestyle comes a long list of exes and one-night-stands. Janet can’t compete with these models, beauty queens, and heiresses, and the more she encounters, the more it seems Hayden is luring her into his life so that she can end up just another ex-lover. He claims she means more to him than the others, but if this is a game, she’s losing, and this defeat might just be too much for her to handle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna Karington
• Release date: Jan 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781519965325

Book preview

Every Time I Fall

(The Raeven Sisters, Book II: Janet & Hayden)

by

Anna Karington

A NOVEL BY ANNA KARINGTON

Edited by Alicia Notarainni

Every Time I Fall © 2016

Published in the US

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, situations and incidents are the product of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

The Raeven Sisters

Every Time He Leaves (Lana & Jarek)

Every Time I Fall (Janet & Hayden)

Chapter One

Thank you all again for coming today, Ezra says at the podium. I’m one of several people who attend this particular weekly group session at Havershim Way’s Church of New Hope.

Hope. That’s what I need right now.

It’s been thirteen months since I started this program, and ten months, two weeks, and three days since I’ve had a drink. If anyone had told me how hard this was going to be, I’m not sure I would have set out on this quest for sobriety. It’s not that I don’t want to get better. It’s that it hurts so much. I always figured the day I realized I needed to change my life, a powerful epiphany would carry me through this journey. However, there are those days where I find it’s hard to shake off the impulse to go to the grocery store and pick up a bottle of wine or a pack of beer. It’s just wine and beer, after all. I know better, though, so I find myself wandering the alcohol aisle, dreaming of a different time.

Not a better time. Just a different one.

We’re going to have a great meeting tonight, Ezra says, but before we do, we want to go ahead and hand out our chips.

The door to the room opens and a man steps in. All eyes shift to him, and not for the first time since I joined the group, I feel like we’re in a cult.

I’m embarrassed for him, especially as he gazes around uncomfortably, probably wanting to die as much as I would if I was in his position. I don’t recognize him, and I suspect by the look on his face that this is his first time. This isn’t the way someone should be introduced to an AA meeting. Had I faced this mass of people my first time, I would have never returned.

The man’s face turns red, and he whirls back around. Sorry, he mutters.

No, no, Ezra says.

A woman with wide eyes and a beaming smile, she has a knack for disarming people. She’s one of the reasons I come here. Although, as friendly as she can be, she seems like the kind of woman who has been slightly dishonest about her nine years of sobriety. I hate to throw stones, but her constant reminders about nine years without even a little solitary, singular drop are always so insistent they sound as if she’s the only person she’s trying to convince. Perhaps that’s a terrible thing to think, but I do. And no one here seems to fault her for her weaknesses. We’re all in this together. None of us have been entirely honest about our sobriety. As far as everyone here knows, I’ve been sober for over a year…not ten months, two weeks, and three days.

The man whirls back around, his lips pressed together. A giant of a man whose head nearly touches the top of the doorframe, he’s at least six feet tall. With broad shoulders that stretch the buttons he wears, he’s dressed far nicer than anyone here, as if he’s coming to a service rather than this meeting. In a beautiful white shirt with navy blue pinstripes and a thin silver tie, he might be overdressed, but he looks good. And considering the bulky, surely designer watch he wears, I imagine the whole look costs more than my salary. Well, my old salary.

Sorry, the man says. I think my GPS directions took me…

Oh, yes, Ezra says. Don’t worry about it. That happens to almost everyone the first time.

His GPS, like my own, took him to the old shoe factory down the street. I only arrived on time at my first meeting because I left thirty minutes early, fearing that my own incompetence would prevent me from finding the place. When I discovered my mistake, I turned around and had to look through the mass of trees that concealed the church from the road.

Welcome to the club, Ezra says. Feel free to take a seat wherever.

Please not next to me. I reach into my pocket and massage my fingers against my keys, a habit that crops up whenever I get nervous. I don’t consider myself antisocial, but I’m weird about people sitting next to me. Always have been. It’s a social trait I never quite became accustomed to, but I always feel as if I’m supposed to talk to the person or associate with them in some way. But then there’s something about an environment like this that discourages that kind of talking while a meeting is going on. It seems like such a silly hang-up, but I feel there’s some manual that I never received. Like someone should have taught me how to greet the person or if I was supposed to say bye to them even if we hadn’t spoken the entire time we were seated together. To accommodate my neurosis, I usually wait until everyone is seated before I find a chair. That way I don’t have to worry about any confusion. It’s easy enough to do here, but not as easy to handle during parent/teacher conferences or meetings with other teachers.

Unfortunately for me, I’m next to one of the only seats available in the room, and it’s closest to the door.

The man steps in and makes his way up the raked platforms that our chairs are set on. He sits in the chair beside me.

My muscles tense. My nerves are on edge.

An aroma he emits, some cologne, sets me at ease. It’s a pleasant fragrance, though I can’t place it.

Not only am I wildly uncomfortable sitting next to someone, I’m annoyed that he’s so damn attractive. I can’t tell if it’s the heat he emits or if my body is reacting to having this massive alpha male sitting next to me. If he so much as glances my way, I’ll die.

He doesn’t notice me, though. He looks straight ahead as Ezra continues her spiel leading up to the chip-delivering ceremonies.

When the meeting comes to an end, I hop up and scramble out of the room. I still feel a powerful heat across my face, and I know it’s because the whole time I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m never like this. I haven’t felt so hot for a guy since sophomore year of high school when Lucas Quagmire made out with me at homecoming.

I head through the parking lot, and when I approach my car, I reach into my pocket for my keys, but I don’t feel them.

Ma’am! Ma’am!

Ma’am? I turn and see the guy from the meeting. He has my keys in his hand, which he holds out to me.

Oh my God, I say.

You left them in your seat.

That was so clumsy of me. They must have fallen out when I was—

Shut up! Everyone doesn’t need to know how crazy you are!

Thank you.

His gaze feels harsh, as if he’s scrutinizing me. To someone dressed so well, I must look underdressed in my skirt and blouse, something I usually wear to school. I wish I had dressed up, though an AA meeting really isn’t a place where I’m looking to meet a man, so it’s not like I was searching my closet for something to impress a man with.

He winces slightly and smiles a familiar smile. I know the look because I’ve known enough guys in my life to understand what it means. Even worse, it stirs something within me. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. Something I worry about because they are the same sensations my ex-husband Kirk stirred within me so long ago.

I made a vow to myself, though, that I wouldn’t date anyone—wouldn’t even go looking for a man—until January 1st. I’ve been working on goal-setting with my therapist, Dr. Laurel. She suggested I put off dating until I feel like I can come into a relationship as an independent woman, which is something I haven’t felt like since I was with my ex.

Despite my worry about that smile on his face and the look in his eyes, I know nothing will come of this. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s scaring off a good man. If he’s nearly as much of a catch as he looks, I’ll ruin this in no time. I have a tendency to mess up these sorts of exchanges because I’m too afraid to speak to guys I’m interested in. They pretty much have to fall over themselves to get me to talk, because if they look like this guy, I can never find the words. It’s a terrible curse, and it’s amazing I’ve ever had boyfriends at all. My two sisters, Lana and Kelsey, are much better at dealing with boys. They’ve had long strings of relationships that vouch for their ability to know what they want and go after it. That’s not me. I’m the type of girl who needed to marry young because I was so scared of ever having to face being single again.

My name’s Hayden, he says, extending his hand.

Hayden. Oh, you look like a Hayden.

I don’t even know what a Hayden would or is supposed to look like. I can’t even think of any Haydens I know, but that name just fits that face and build so well.

Hi, I say.

Hand! Shake his hand, you crazy girl!

I shake his hand and smile. He looks at me as if I have something on my face.

What?

Sorry, he says. I guess it’s fair if you don’t want to give your name at Alcoholics Anonymous.

Um…oh, no. It’s Janet. I was…I don’t even…I mean, it’s not real AA. More like AA-lite, so it’s not a big deal.

Why are words still coming out of my mouth? I want to shut myself up, but it’s too late. The damage is already done. And my face is on fire.

I’m sorry, he says, looking around uneasily. I didn’t mean to catch you off guard like this. I guess he assumes I don’t want to be around him, because he darts off quickly, heading through the parking lot.

A part of me wants to call out to him: Hey, hottie! Get back here! But another part of me is just so embarrassed that I’m such a moron when it comes to meeting new people.

On the drive home, I can’t help but imagine Hayden kissing passionately up and down my body as he takes me. He was such a beautiful man. Not the kind of man that’s ever been attracted to me. It’s been so long since I’ve had sex. Even when I was with Kirk, in the end, we didn’t do much. Since he had girls lined up on the side, he didn’t need me. And I was just glad I was spared the responsibility of having to tend to those needs for a man I really didn’t even like anymore—a man I resented for keeping me in the waste of a life that I had before.

Chapter Two

When I return to my apartment, my roommate Chelsea is sprawled out across the couch, watching some reality show. I’ve watched the show with her before. Evidently, the stars are celebrities, though I’ve never heard of any of them, except from Chelsea when she offers recaps.

She smiles and waves, a spoon in hand for a cup of yogurt she’s eating. Hey, she says, a sparkle in her eyes.

Since we moved in together, we’ve become good friends. She substituted at my school for a while, and after we agreed to room together, she became a waitress at the Cheesecake Factory a few blocks from the apartment complex. Since she is an avid concert-goer, we’ve attended several concerts together. She’s the kind who knows her way through a crowd. She’ll bounce up and down and make a riot. Scream at friends who are yards away. I’m the quiet one. With two very opinionated older sisters, I learned early on I didn’t need to share my private thoughts with everyone. Some things need to be bottled up. Even if they hurt.

Walking into the kitchen that abuts the living room, I open the fridge to grab a snack—a container of yogurt. I nab a spoon and join Chelsea on the couch.

So…any cute guys there tonight? she asks.

She knows I’m not looking to hook up with anyone right now, but it’s all she ever thinks about. For a person who’s working on becoming an independent woman, she’s probably the worst roommate to have. I could go to the grocery store, and when I returned, she would ask if there were any cute guys there.

There was this one guy. A rush of heat washes over my face. As attractive as he was, I’m sure this reaction just stems from how long it’s been since I’ve slept with a guy. My body is enjoying the closest thing I’ve had to a sexual encounter in a long time.

Oh, really? She looks genuinely surprised. Probably because most of the time I’m not all that interested in anyone. She’s introduced me to every available man she knows, and it just hasn’t worked. The kinds of guys she’s friends with are a bunch of jobless hippies who want to smoke pot all day, and as chill as I like to think I am, that’s a little much for me.

Yeah. He was new. Very handsome. Like eight feet tall. His name’s Hayden.

Oh, you got his name? And his number?

Just his name.

So you plan on getting it next time?

Chelsea, if I have to tell you I’m trying not to date right now one more time…

Janet, don’t listen to that quack. She’s a lonely, bitter old woman who doesn’t understand what it’s like to have needs.

Dr. Laurel and I are about the same age, and she has always been very reasonable about my sexual needs. She’s even encouraged me to use a vibrator to make sure I’m fully satisfied. But Chelsea doesn’t know any of these things, so I can understand why her perception of Dr. Laurel is of this eighty—year-old woman with a dried up uterus who’s telling me to cross my legs and pray the feelings away.

I think I’m going to head to bed, I say.

Okay. Goodnight!

Chapter Three

Hey there, Janet!

Alex, my bestie from my sorority days, throws her arms around me. A six-foot goddess with dirty blonde hair that falls in waves down her chest, even after having a kid, she still embodies the image of her pageant queen past—one she walked away from in college because of how boring that world had become to her. But leaving that life behind her didn’t keep the boys from treating her like a beauty queen. Meanwhile, I was lucky if one of the hot guys that was into her talked to me to get close to her. When she didn’t show interest, some were willing to settle for a brunette a half—foot shorter and with a quarter of Alex’s confidence, but that never lasted long.

As she releases me from her loving embrace, her daughter Sarah, eight-and-a—half, her bright blue eyes sparkling and her inherited dirty blonde hair locked in a pink scrunchie, throws her arms up for her own hug, which I promptly provide. I’ve babysat several times when Alex has been racing to a deadline or just wanted to take a break with her hubby, so I feel entitled to hugs.

Alex and I sit on a nearby bench while Sarah scampers around the park playsets. It was so much better when school was in, Alex says, surely knowing that it wasn’t that much easier for me when that was the case. I love the free time, getting to sit at home. I mean, my work hours are practically when she’s gone anyway.

She’s pretending she’s active the entire time her daughter is gone, but I know that’s not how things work in Alex’s world. She makes time for things like reading her latest book club novel or working in the garden in her backyard. She doesn’t spend her time exclusively devoted to her media empire, consisting of her blog and published how-to Mommy book.

Alex worked for years as a journalist for Women’s Issue. She was a culinary arts major who wound up in journalism when she realized she would be dirt poor if she tried to find a career in the arts. Her father, a wealthy lawyer who has represented some of the biggest CEOs in the country, got her a job with one of his buddies, the owner of a top-performing women’s magazine. Her life’s been set ever since. She met her husband, Rod, at that same job, and now Rod’s a successful tax attorney and rakes in enough money that, if she wanted, she could spend all her free time writing a knitting blog that had two followers.

After Alex and I finish catching up, we head to a nearby café. Sarah makes goofy faces, trying to capture all her mother’s attention while Alex attempts to finish telling me how excited she is about her trip to Greece in a few weeks.

Please let Mommy just finish this one thing, okay? Alex begs. I dig into my purse and fish out a little game I made up for my own students, one that I’ve used to distract kids when they’re particularly hyper.

Here you go, Sarah, I say. Something for you to do.

Thank you, Auntie Janet! She leans forward in a familiar way. I bend down, permitting her to kiss my cheek. Then she runs off and plays with my toy.

Alex spews stories about her previous trips to Greece, something I can’t relate to since I never get to go anywhere exotic. That’s her style, and though I love her, I can’t help but be jealous. I never have money to do anything like that. And my sister is off with her hubby right now, visiting Paris, London, Barcelona, and wherever else her incredibly hot and uber-wealthy husband takes them.

As Alex finishes her story, she glances around like she’s forgotten something. She stares at Sarah, who sits on the bench beside ours. She holds the wooden box in one hand and opens one of the flaps on the front with the other.

The way Alex looks at her, she appears concerned. Is something wrong? I ask.

Sarah, you really like that, don’t you?

Sarah turns to us and nods. I love it, Auntie Janet!

What is it again? Alex asks.

It’s a game I use to help teach kids about stories. There are little flaps and they unlock them with the different clues that lead to the others. It tells a story and helps them learn about problem solving.

Alex straightens her posture so that she looks like she does whenever we attend parties with some of her more hoity-toity friends. Sarah, can I see that? she asks.

Sarah eyes her as though Alex is trying to interfere with her playtime, but then hops off the bench and takes it to her mom.

It’s just a stupid thing I came up with to help the kids out, I say. It’s not a big deal. I have a few who weren’t very good with problem solving that I’ve been working with.

Would you mind if I posted about it on my blog?

What? I’ve never looked at her blog before, but I can’t imagine my silly little invention would be appropriate for it.

I think a lot of people would love something like this for their kids. Maybe if they like it, you could even come on and talk about how you came up with the idea.

Come on a blog? How would that even work? However, she’s a blogger, so she must know what she’s talking about.

She pulls her phone out