The Courage to Love

By Billi Jean

Nicole Masterson will do anything for her husband—anything but stay living without him.

Can two people find love through lies and secrets? Nicole Masterson discovers that true love doesn't happen to the faint of heart. Instead, she finds that to hold her husband, she'll have to expose not only who she really is but also what she really wants—and needs.

Ian Hutchinson had loved his wife long before he was assigned to protect her. His marriage was a cover, a means to keep her safe from the insane gangster Devon Blackmore. But, for Ian, it was always much more.

When Nicole dies in a plane crash, Ian's world falls apart—until he hears a rumor that Nicole is alive. He grabs it—and her—with both hands and offers her not only his heart but also the truth.

Can Ian and Nicole keep this fragile love alive with Devon Blackmore also aware that she lives?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
• Release date: Aug 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781786864154

Billi Jean

Billi Jean was born in California but didn't stay put for long. She's lived in New York, Indiana, Missouri, Arizona, Colorado, Florida, Massachusetts and Vermont. She's lived in and worked from ranches to beach-side coffee shops to the woods in western Massachusetts. Now living and working in China, she continues to write for Totally Bound Publishing. Billi Jean has been writing since high school when she couldn't wait for Robert Jordon to write his Wheel of Time series faster. As an adult, she still finds herself drawn to fantasy-adventure stories, but with an erotic romance flair. Her books are extremely hot, with a focus on strong characters that are shoved into fast-paced adventures. Her unique style of incredible journeys infused with hot passion leave her fans hoping for more.

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The Courage to Love

ISBN # 978-1-78686-415-4

©Copyright Billi Jean 2018

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright August 2018

Edited by Jamie D. Rose

Totally Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2018 by Totally Bound Publishing, UK

Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.

Love’s Command

THE COURAGE TO LOVE

Billi Jean

Book eight in the Love’s Command series

Nicole Masterson will do anything for her husband—anything but stay living without him.

Can two people find love through lies and secrets? Nicole Masterson discovers that true love doesn’t happen to the faint of heart. Instead, she finds that to hold her husband, she’ll have to expose not only who she really is but also what she really wants—and needs.

Ian Hutchinson had loved his wife long before he was assigned to protect her. His marriage was a cover, a means to keep her safe from the insane gangster Devon Blackmore. But, for Ian, it was always much more.

When Nicole dies in a plane crash, Ian’s world falls apart—until he hears a rumor that Nicole is alive. He grabs it—and her—with both hands and offers her not only his heart but also the truth.

Can Ian and Nicole keep this fragile love alive with Devon Blackmore also aware that she lives?

Dedication

Thank you to all my readers. I hope this one hits the mark.

Billi Jean

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

ChapStick: Wyeth Corporation

Sig Sauer: Sig Sauer Inc.

Martini: Martini and Rossi Corporation

Kool-Aid: Kraft Foods

Microsoft Word: Microsoft Corporation

Swiss Army: Swiss Army Brands Limited

Oscar: Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences Corporation

Facebook: Facebook Inc.

Hello Kitty: Sanrio Company Limited

Coke: Coca-Cola Company

Doritos: Frito-Lay North America Inc.

GQ/Gentlemen’s Quarterly: Advance Publications

Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson Corporation

Godzilla: Toho Co. Limited

Audi: Audi Aktiengesellschaft Corporation

Glock: Glock Gesellschaft MBH Limited Liability Joint Stock Company

Jason Bourne: Robert Ludlum

Jeep: FCA US LLC

Wheaties: General Mills IP Holdings II, LLC

Sex with Me: written by Jahron Brathwaite, Matthew Samuels, Adam Feeney, Anderson Hernandez, Chester Hansen, Robyn Fenty

Boston Red Sox: Boston Red Sox Baseball Club LP

Playboy Bunny: Playboy Enterprises International Inc.

Dodge: Chrysler LLC

Velcro: Velcro Industries B.V.

Chapter One

Nicole Masterson stared at her husband and knew her marriage was over. His handsome face was tense with emotions she couldn’t read. His jaw was covered in the dark shadow of a night’s worth of whiskers and his eyes were red from either lack of sleep—or who knew what. Drugs? A night of wild sex? His short brown hair was tousled, not combed it into submission. Even his clothes were rumpled, as if he’d thrown them on the floor then picked them up and dressed without the care he normally displayed. Perhaps he was too rushed leaving his lover.

None of that mattered now. Thinking about him with another woman, imagining his low groans as he rose above another lover was over for her—so was her marriage.

That knowledge grew into a painful shard of ice in her throat, burning her with a chill she feared might never thaw.

She couldn’t understand how she could feel such pain, not when she knew the truth.

Steven had betrayed her.

He sat across from her now, the cocky grin gone, his expression stark as he focused on her with a single-mindedness she’d forgotten he possessed. She supposed it was better than glancing at the tabletop between them.

The high-gloss breakfast table that could seat over a dozen was empty but for the startlingly explicit eight-by-ten color photos of him in the middle of a bed, fucking another woman.

Nicole thought she should be proud that the woman was a beauty. At least he’d not ripped her heart to shreds for some prostitute he’d paid to blow him in his car. No, he’d done it in style, judging by the look of the room, in one of the most expensive hotels in Manhattan.

Now, sitting there at her table, in her house, he wore one of the ties she’d bought him for Christmas last year. It was loosened, as was the button-down white shirt under his tailored suit. Did I buy him that jacket too?

He’d been gone all night, only returning this morning. She imagined he had the freshly showered look of a man who’d spent the night with another woman. She could smell the alcohol coming out of his pores. He filled her with such hatred. She could barely stand to meet his eyes. But she did, until she couldn’t any longer, then she closed them and tried to gain the balance she would need for the ordeal ahead.

I want you out. She opened her eyes and gestured to the private security she’d hired just days before. They’d come with the highest of recommendations, but she’d still had them checked out by her people, all the way back to their childhoods. She didn’t trust them, but she didn’t have to for them to do what she needed. The two behind Steven took a step closer.

Please help Mr. Masterson to the door. His things are packed and in his car.

Both men nodded and moved their muscled bodies to either side of her husband’s chair. She stood at the same time as Steven, but he didn’t stop her or deny the truth spread out on the tabletop. It surprised her, although she wasn’t sure what he could have said to explain the woman he was making love to in dozens of the high-definition images. The pictures explained it all—everything except why.

She walked out of the breakfast room, leaving a piece of herself behind with each step—a part that had experienced more joy, pleasure, pain and torment than anything else she’d ever endured before. That was saying a lot. Her childhood had been spent in one boarding school after another until she’d been shipped off to college. She’d then graduated right into running the biggest empire in the world—one her father had built with his bare hands.

Mrs. Masterson, there is a phone call for you. Cynthia, her personal assistant, had appeared at her side like a ghost.

Cynthia was ancient. Her salt-and-pepper hair was up in the bun she’d worn since Nicole had been a child. Her blouse was perfectly pressed, her skirt crisp. She wore demure pearls at her throat and small matching ones decorated her ears. Her slim figure was the same, without a sign of age, other than the slight hollowness in her cheeks and the lines on her still-pretty face. She’d been her mother’s personal assistant. When her mother had passed on, Cynthia had become Nicole’s. Sometimes Nicole wondered if the woman realized that she wasn’t part of the estate.

Nicole took the cell phone but kept walking, never breaking her normal, quick stride.

Nicole Masterson.

Mrs. Masterson, David Gallagher, returning your call.

Lawyers, in her opinion, always cut right to the chase. Is everything in order?

Yes, the divorce papers are complete. We sent them by courier today. They only await your signature.

Very good. I’m on my way into the city. Please send Mr. Masterson’s copies to his attorney. Advise them of the repercussions of not signing by three o’clock today.

Yes, Mrs. Masterson. Jason Weaver has already written that he has a nine o’clock meeting with your husband.

She stumbled and caught herself with barely a pause in her stride but stopped at the top of the stairs. If Steven had set up a meeting with his attorney, that meant he had known this was coming—known the divorce would be filed today, known about the photos, known she’d be aware of everything. For how long? Does it matter? No. It changes nothing. She straightened her pinstriped suit jacket and glared at the entryway spread out below her. An enormous display of Christmas flowers decorated the white marble circular table in the exact middle of the black-and-white-tiled floor. It was the only sign of Christmas she’d allowed this year.

And? Will he sign?

Yes, according to Jason, he will.

Steven would gain nothing, then—nothing but whoever the new woman was in the pictures. Perhaps someone even richer, for all I know. Someone warmer, kinder, more centered on him and not running an empire. The ice cut deeper, making it difficult to swallow. She reached up and touched her throat, surprised when it didn’t hurt.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now that he’s betrayed me. Now I can move on.

Excellent. Please remember that I will return to Nicole Mikulski-Andros.

Yes, of course.

Shorten it. I will go by Nicole Andros. Is there anything else? She headed down the stairs. Her helicopter would be waiting for her on the lawn. She took her winter coat from Cynthia and accepted her assistance getting into it, automatically pulling her hair free while she waited for her attorney’s response. Yes? Is there something else?

No…only are you certain—?

I’ve been certain of every decision I’ve ever made since I was twelve years old, Mr. Gallagher. Now, if there is nothing else?

One million is a lot of money. We might win a case. He was unfaithful—

One million is cheap if you consider that I never have to see him again. Now, please send the documents to my office. Thank you for the quick work on this, Mr. Gallagher, she added then ended the call.

The lawn was brittle with frost, the air still tingling with the chilly early morning breeze she usually loved. Now, she merely walked fast and ducked inside her helicopter, with too many things ahead of her to focus on the splendor of the winter day.

She adjusted her seat belt and nodded to her men when they shut the door, sealing them in the warmth.

Good morning, Mrs. Masterson. Jake, her pilot, smiled politely back at her. Jake had been with her for several years. Each morning that she took the flight into the city, he was always ready and waiting. He’d even flown her to Miami once on a spur of the moment shopping trip, she remembered suddenly.

Good morning, Jake. I hope your family is well.

They are, Mrs. Masterson. My wife sends her wishes for a Merry Christmas, and a thank-you for the generous gift.

Of course. Thank you, Jake. She turned back to face Cynthia and settled her mind on the matters ahead. Everything had to be in place—everything—or else this would turn into a messy business. Nothing was worse than chaos.

Cynthia appeared as calm and cool as ever, but the house could be on fire and she would no doubt refuse to sweat.

Are the board members in place? I would hate to cancel this meeting because someone wasn’t where they should be.

They have been advised of the meeting. Cynthia patted her gray hair into place, not that one curl would dare disobey her. No one is aware of what is to occur.

Good…very good.

The previous week she’d added ten new security members to her payroll. Three of them were already in place in the ‘copter. Five more were at the office. The other two were overseeing her already-substantial security. From now until she left the US, the new men would be essential if her plan was to be successful.

You have surprised me, Cynthia added, adjusting her seat belt to her liking, then her skirt and blouse, before folding her hands demurely on her lap. I would have expected something like this from your father, but I, like so many others, have underestimated your strength.

Nicole tilted her chin, more than a little shocked at Cynthia’s declaration. So many people candy-coated what they said to her. It wasn’t often she heard honesty. She’d once believed Steven was such a person—that he always spoke honestly—but that hadn’t proven to be the case. Even he’d lied and pretended and schemed to get what she would have gladly given him. If only he’d loved her…

Cynthia’s gray eyes were as steady as they’d been since Nicole had been a child. Nicole’s mother had once claimed that Cynthia was one of the few people in the world who knew her and loved her all the same. Many people believed her mother and Cynthia had been lovers, but Nicole knew better. Her mother had never taken a lover other than her father. And her father had been one of those unique men who loved, truly loved, his wife. He’d never once strayed. Nicole often thought that their love had ruined her chance of happiness, because she wanted only what she’d seen shining in her parents’ eyes. She knew, even before Steven, that the chances of finding such a thing was close to impossible. Most people didn’t even try. But she wasn’t going to settle for anything less. Her parents had been more pragmatic. They’d known the odds. They’d worked hard to prepare her for any and every disappointment they could think of, including a cheating husband and a scheming board of directors.

I don’t surprise myself, she murmured, realizing she’d once again lost herself to her thoughts, unless you consider that I let a man into my life who betrayed me from the first moment he looked into my eyes.

Cynthia cleared her throat and surprised Nicole once again by speaking quietly. Often, we don’t recognize danger until it’s too late. Cynthia’s tone held a note of sadness. Not once in all the time Nicole had known her had she ever seen Cynthia with a man—or a woman. When you were little, you used to climb trees. I couldn’t stand to see you up there like a monkey, but your mother forbade me to stop you. She insisted you learn, even if that meant you breaking your arm.

Nicole remembered the broken arm. It had been on a rare holiday at home. She’d been around seven or so, happy to be free from the constant routine of boarding school. The arm had healed, but she’d grown cautious, perhaps learning—as her mother had wanted—that she must think before she acted. She’d been at the bottom of that tree for hours, curled up on the hard ground, hurt and alone. It wasn’t until she’d gotten up, brushed off her tears and walked home that she’d been found. Even then, it had been another few hours before they could get her medical care. She remembered the broken arm and the lesson learned—be careful and always have someone near when doing something dangerous.

Like firing three of your board members for illegal trade operations and siphoning money.

The arm was a lesson I took to heart.

Yes, I believe so. Cynthia cleared her throat. How long will you be gone?

Forever, she wanted to say but bit back the response. Nicole’s grief and hurt tried to take over but she pushed the feelings down, refusing the rush of agonizing emotions. Soon, though, so I can say and do anything I want. But not now. Not yet.

A few weeks. She kept her voice low, focusing on the flow of Manhattan traffic crowding the narrow streets below. The plan was solid. Today she was leaving her past behind her—her husband, her company, a life she’d never wanted. Tomorrow she would wake to start a new life—a new name, a new job and maybe someday a new husband.

Her heart pinched. After so much suffering, she wouldn’t have believed she could still be caught by surprise, but it was there. If she let it, the pain would swallow her whole and there would be nothing left. She took control ruthlessly, corralling it until it was under wraps and hidden from view—much like she’d been forced to hide herself all these years. I even hid from Steven.

The self-disgust and fear nearly cracked her composure. She fought hard and beat back the emotions, knowing as she did that she was merely buying time. As soon as I get on the jet, I’ll let them go. I’ll cry and scream and sob, and when I’m done, when all the pain has been released, I’ll start to try to find happiness…or at least free myself from this agony.

I’ve left everything in place, along with a detailed list of contact numbers if things do come up.

Yes, I have them.

Good. I’m trusting that you report anything, absolutely anything, that arises that shouldn’t. It was what she was supposed to say, and, as she was supposed to, Cynthia nodded.

Of course.

The sky was heavy with steel-gray clouds, but no rain fell to soften the view of the city. At times she felt both isolated and surrounded. The city, she supposed, made most people feel that way. The few times she had been isolated in remote locations she had found a peace—as if she’d finally been able to exhale and relax. It was never like that in the city, not with so many people watching her and depending on her—or worse, waiting for her to make a fatal error so they could break her.

Jake landed them with ease. After a quick good-bye, she was hustled off the roof and, within minutes, inside and heading down the brightly lit and elegant hallways of her father’s empire. The flow of work beat steady as she walked. Everyone, from the lowest clerk to the highest-earning staff on the payroll, was known to her, along with their families, close friends and, for some, their enemies.

By now, everyone above a five-digit salary range knew of her pending divorce and the existence of ten new security guards. The three at her back were a solid, soothing force she drew on. Many things in life could be bought, but the sense of security a team of professionals gave was beyond measure.

I want you to check the boardroom prior to the meeting, she reminded the head of the team, a Mr. Roger Dale.

He nodded once but his dark eyes never stayed on one spot for long. He was in his mid-forties, a retired secret service man for President Bush senior. He’d served in three wars, been shot down in enemy territory and survived. The other two were the same—bold, strong and obviously on the job. All three wore dark suits with thin ties, ear plugs to communicate with each other and almost identical no-nonsense expressions.

If anything is detected, I want it dismantled and its existence explained before our meeting in one hour.

Understood. Mr. Dale motioned to the men beside him. Mr. Smith will stay with you. I will lead the team through the boardroom, along with a sweep of the floor.

That wasn’t done yesterday?

It was. Today is today.

She kept walking. She’d hired professionals. She knew when to let them do their jobs. When I’m alone and not given the resources to have any near, who’s going to keep me safe? She had a plan, but it was sketchy, possibly because she hoped she could leave all this behind and, when she did, also the need for security. One of the real reasons for such measures was an insane criminal who thought her parents had cheated him out of his estate. Getting to her, he thought, would get him his empire. She could have told him that such methods were crazy, but she had a sense that Devon Blackmore was, in fact, quite mad.

Her office assistant Joseph Sullivan stood when she approached. He pushed his glasses up from where they always slipped down his thin nose and stared, wide-eyed, at the security, then focused on her like a lifeline. She would miss him. He’d always made Steven grin at his nervousness. Steven had always teased her over how in love her assistant was with her. But that had been before, when Steven had still been with her, still stood by her side and not vanished from her life, bit by bit.

She focused on Joseph, alarmed at the memories and pain that kept springing up like dandelions in a well-manicured lawn.

It’s okay, Joseph. A few extra measures today. She took the folder he automatically placed on her open palm. Come with me. I have some papers I need couriered over to Mr. Gallagher’s office. The folder held her divorce agreement. She scanned it then set it down on her desk so she could scrawl her signature on the lines indicated by the yellow sticky tape arrows. Her heart couldn’t still be working. It wasn’t possible with the pain slicing through it. She reached up and rubbed the center of her chest, but the painful future without Steven’s warm strength stretched horribly in front of her. She wanted to rip the papers to shreds, throw them in his face then scream and hit him, to beat on his chest and demand to hear why he would let anyone—any woman but her—ever touch him.

Straightening, she handed the file over, aware that her fingers were trembling. She didn’t glance at Joseph as he took them. She kept her focus down and flipped open the next file.

Mr. Smith was sweeping her room, but she ignored him and the way Joseph seemed on pins and needles next to her.