Crossing the Line: The Lord Brothers of Manhattan, #1

By Zoey Locke and Z.L. Arkadie

Paisley has been attracted to gorgeous billionaire Hercules since high school, but she's accepted that they'll never be more than friends — until giving in to their desires just one last time changes everything… This sizzling romance is a recent release! 

He calls me PG, and my heart skips a beat.

Nobody calls me that but Hercules Lord, a man I've had a crush on since high school.

He and I could never be together, though. A romance between us is strictly forbidden. The Lords are old money, and my family, the Groves, is new money—and the Groves and the Lords don't mix. The hate between our families runs deep. Deep enough to create an invisible line in the sand that neither of us ever dared to cross.

But that's never stopped us from staring at each other from across a crowded room. And we've always been cordial.

Oh... There was that one night seven years ago. I bet Hercules doesn't know he's my first.

Yet here we are again, gazing into each other's eyes.

Tonight feels different.

We've grown up.

Our desire for each other wants to defy our restraint.

But truly, really... What will happen if we cross the line?

This standalone must-read billionaire romance has plenty of angst, steam, and twists and turns to keep you turning the pages; it also ends with happily ever after.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flaming Hearts Press LLC
• Release date: Jan 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781952101595

Zoey Locke

Zoey Locke is an alter-ego of Z.L. Arkadie, who writes fun, slow-burn billionaire romance novels featuring interconnected stand-alone books. She likes to write series with characters that have something in common, and they can be brothers, sisters, or cousins. Zoey keeps it light, funny, and, yes, hot. When Zoey's writing, you'll be sure to get your favorite romance tropes. Like enemies to lovers, grumpy/sunshine, friends to lovers, second chances, and boy falls first!

Book preview

ONE

A HAPPY ACCIDENT

PAISLEY GROVE

Dear Hercules Lord,

All roads lead back to you.

Forever yours,

PG

I t's you. The words barely slip past my lips in a delicate whisper. I'm caught, trapped by his piercing gaze, and I can hardly believe I'm standing before Hercules Lord. His eyes, as intense and charming as ever, still possess the ability to see right into my soul. They're incredibly seductive, just as I remember.

How many years have slipped away since our last encounter? Seven, eight, or something in between? Memories rush back to me, a tidal wave of recollections from the last time we found ourselves in a situation like this. It was Boston. We had unexpectedly crossed paths at a New Year's Eve party, ultimately ending up at his place.

And here we are, once again, fate intertwining our paths.

PG, Hercules utters, each syllable tasting of familiarity.

My face flushes warm, and my voice barely manages a quiet, Hi. Quickly, I clear my throat, determined to keep my composure the next time I speak.

What a... His voice trails off, the words hanging in the air like lingering perfume. Pleasant surprise.

So, the two of you know each other? my newfound friend, Lake Clark, inquires. It's easy to forget that Hercules and I aren't alone now.

It's a struggle to pull my attention away from his face, a masterpiece of rugged handsomeness. His dimpled chin and sharp jawline are adorned with neatly trimmed, silken stubble. His eyes, as captivating as a star-studded sky, lure me in, and his lips are as inviting as forbidden fruit. From our high school days through college and until now, he's aged like the finest wine. Hercules Lord is, without a doubt, a stunningly attractive man.

I finally shift my focus to Lake, who looks absolutely radiant tonight. She's clad in a silky white halter dress, the material elegantly showcasing her smooth shoulders, which appear as tender as fresh cotton under the warm glow of the stylish venue's lights. Her dark, wavy hair, cut to the chin, beautifully frames her graceful swan-like neck.

I'd only just arrived at Lake and Kirkie's engagement party when I noticed her. She was absorbed in conversation with a man whose imposing figure was reminiscent of an ancient marble statue. From afar, I admired his form, choosing to wait until their discussion ended before I approached. Yet, an unexplainable pull drew me towards them. An irresistible compulsion had me bridging the distance between us sooner than I'd planned. That's when I saw his face.

A sudden realization strikes me, and I clutch my rapidly beating heart. Wait. Is Hercules 'Kirkie'? I ask Lake.

Hercules furrows his brows in confusion. What's a 'Kirkie'?

He's so incredibly handsome when he's puzzled.

No, no, no, Lake responds, her head shaking with each negation. She gently places her long fingers on Hercules's well-toned bicep. Mason is 'Kirkie'.

Hercules's look of confusion deepens. Mason is 'Kirkie'?

Lake places a hand next to her mouth, whispering as though sharing a secret. It's what I call him when he's not around.

Ah... Hercules throws his head back in laughter.

As Lake explains how Hercules is Mason's—'Kirkie's'—best man, best friend, and boss, I struggle to maintain focus. One thing is for sure: I've dodged a bullet. If Lake had introduced the man I've always had a monumental crush on as her fiancé, I wouldn't have known how to react, or what to feel. I probably would've fainted.

So, how exactly do you know each other? Lake's inquisitive finger oscillates between Hercules and me, much like a windshield wiper in motion.

High school, we answer simultaneously.

I offer him a broad smile, receiving an equally warm one in return. My cheeks are flushed, likely painting a picture of dusty rose blush across my face. It's slightly embarrassing. I want to seem like someone who doesn't revert to high school infatuations at the sight of the man she's never entirely managed to forget. I'm nearly thirty, for goodness' sake. I should be better at maintaining my composure around him.

Wearing my most confident smile, I say, Well, we met in high school, but we last encountered each other during my final year in college.

Hercules flashes a mischievous wink. Yes. That's our story.

Lake's smile grows slowly, her eyes studying us like we're two rare specimens she must glean every possible detail about. So, you have a story?

What? I manage to choke out. My mind whirls at the mere thought of our past - all the tales of Hercules and me, Paisley.

So, you two have a story. Does that mean you were together at some point? she asks.

Hercules crosses his muscular arms high on his broad chest. Clarify 'together'?

With a pointed look, Lake retorts, You know perfectly well what I mean by 'together,' Hercules. Stop evading.

Hercules responds with his signature charming, lopsided grin - a sight I remember all too well. We're old friends, Lake.

Lake turns her expectant gaze toward me as if seeking confirmation. I find myself at a loss for words, too taken aback to reply to her unspoken question.

Yes, we are old friends, I confirm, keeping the explanation of our complicated history straightforward.

Hercules and I lock eyes, sharing knowing smiles that reveal a shared past.

Lake opens her mouth to say something more, but Hercules thankfully redirects the conversation. Turning to her, he says, Hold on. Does Mason know you call him 'Kirkie' behind his back?

Oh no, you didn't just call me that in public, did you, babe? A tall, dark, and undeniably handsome man enters our trio, positioning himself between Hercules and Lake. Once situated, he loops an arm around Lake's waist.

Lake giggles as she shares a kiss with her fiancé before asking where he's been. The pair of them make a captivating couple. He carries a certain allure, and ever since I've known her, Lake has always come across as perhaps the most content woman in the world. She's perpetually smiling, forever optimistic, and ready to see the silver lining in even the most challenging situations.

Your cousin's a pill, he declares.

Lake grunts in agreement, signaling her concurrence.

But I'm already lost again, locked in Hercules's gaze as Lake introduces me to her fiancé. I take a deep breath, my chest rising prominently, and then I let it out slowly, trying to keep my composure under Hercules's captivating presence.

Are you the Paisley Grove? Mason asks.

I'm tempted to look over and gauge the emotion behind Mason's startled and slightly displeased tone, but my gaze is captivated by the breathtaking woman who has looped her arm through Hercules'. She dons a shimmering silver body-con dress with a daring neckline, and its short hemline reveals more than it conceals.

When our eyes finally lock, hers gleam with mischief, though her lips betray no emotion. In that instant, a realization crashes over me like a tidal wave. My heart sinks—this woman is staking a claim on the man I've never stopped dreaming of.

TWO

THE PARTY MUST GO ON

PAISLEY GROVE

H ere you are, the statuesque woman purrs in a high-pitched, sultry voice that seems rehearsed.

I have to admit, she's a sight to behold. I'll also confess that her presence seems to diminish my own, making me feel as if I've shrunk an inch or two. Still, I greet her with a friendly smile, and in return, she looks me over as if I pose no threat to her.

So, you are Paisley Grove, Max Grove's sister? Mason asks again.

As I turn to Mason, I feel like I’m gazing through him. I'm in a somewhat detached state right now. It's disconcerting to see Hercules with another woman. Perhaps, deep down, I've always nurtured the hope that he and I might have a fairytale ending someday despite the deep-seated hostility between our families.

Yes, I am, I manage to utter, forcing my lips to cooperate.

Mason shoots a surprised look at Lake and then at Hercules. Given his close friendship with Hercules, he's likely aware of our families' long-standing rivalry.

By the way, Lauren, Lake interjects, her grip on my forearm tightening as if she senses my desire to flee the party. This is Paisley, my friend. As she speaks, Lake casts a beseeching glance at Mason, a silent plea for him to be cordial. Clearly, 'Kirkie' picks up on her silent message, indicated by a resigned roll of his eyes. And Paisley, meet Lauren, Lake concludes.

Lauren responds by pressing her heavily rouged lips together, snorting dismissively, and clinging even tighter to Hercules. Her actions convey an unambiguous message: she has no intention of extending a hand in greeting.

Hercules casually extricates himself from Lauren's possessive hold, crossing his arms over his chest. So, how did you two become friends? His eyes are alight with curiosity as his gaze flits between Lake and me.

Lake begins to recount the tale of our unique friendship. She was my last interviewee for the day, as I was on the hunt for an artist to design the signage and branding for our company's annual 'Endow the World with Technology' benefit. Throughout the entire morning, my older brother, Max—CEO of Grove Industrial Technologies (GIT), a role he shares with our Uncle Leo—had been relentlessly hounding me. Despite my current role as the head of public relations, Max firmly believes I should be leading product development. Given my exceptional skills as a computer programmer, a talent that's significantly contributed to our company's status as a multi-billion-dollar corporation, Max is convinced that product development is where I truly belong. Throughout the morning, he'd been warning that he was on the brink of replacing me as PR director, asserting that we needed a genuine professional in the position, someone who wouldn't drop the ball as frequently as I apparently had.

Then, in a surprising turn, Lake abruptly rose from her chair, clapped her hands, and said, I've got a feeling you need to get out and get some fresh air. Am I right?

I was taken aback by her boldness; it was a clear breach of the typical interviewer-interviewee protocol. All the previous candidates had been eager but timid, practically falling over themselves in their attempts to impress me. Grove Industrial Tech's reputation as one of the best places to work for the past decade had made it a coveted place of employment. My initial impulse was to brush off Lake's suggestion with a polite, albeit insincere, assurance that I was perfectly fine. But the truth was, I wasn't fine. The walls of my office seemed to have been steadily inching closer all morning, leaving me feeling trapped. Instead of maintaining the facade and proceeding with the interview, I nodded and replied with a terse, Yeah. I could use a break.

Alright then, she proposed, tilting her head towards the exit. Let's make a break for it.

Lake and I ended up strolling and chatting like old friends. She guided me through shops I didn't even know existed, and we browsed art galleries, where she proudly showed me some of her pieces. I ended up purchasing two of her oil paintings, abstract pieces that touched something deep within me. One now adorns the wall in my office, while the other has found its place in Max's space after it caught his fancy. The time we spent together flew by and before parting, I offered her the job. Since then, we've spent countless hours, both in and out of work, talking about everything from art and technology to food and shared acquaintances. Our conversations seem endless.

Wouldn't you agree? she turns to ask me, a playful glint in her eyes.

My smile stretches so wide that my cheeks begin to ache. Absolutely.

Hercules' smile mirrors mine, making my cheeks flush with warmth. It's as if he's genuinely pleased about my connection with Lake.

I even know her favorite color, Lake chimes in, her gaze twinkling with mischief.

I chuckle lightly. And I know yours.

She says, Black, simultaneously as I say, Yellow.

Hercules' gaze briefly travels down and then back up my body. There's something about the way he's looking at me that makes my heart skip a beat. I would've guessed red, he muses, his voice dropping an octave.

I glance down at my formfitting and somewhat provocative red cocktail dress, borrowed from my cousin Treasure. Should I confess that it doesn't belong to me?

Before Hercules can comment further, a commanding voice echoes over the loudspeaker, insisting that the soon-to-be-married couple report to the front immediately.

That's my cousin, Amy, Lake murmurs into my ear with a roll of her eyes. I was pressured into making her my maid of honor.

With an arch of her eyebrow towards Mason, Lake guides him through the crowd towards the large windows where a microphone stand is set up. As they navigate their way through the gathering, they are met with applause and well wishes.

My anxiety rises as I realize Lake and Mason's departure has left me alone with Hercules and Lauren. Taking a moment to compose myself, I close my eyes briefly before turning to face them. Predictably, Lauren promptly clings onto Hercules's arm again, making a pointed show of their relationship.

Despite my best efforts, I can't muster a smile. Excuse me, I manage, moving away from them as quickly as decorum allows. I melt into the crowd, eager to put some distance between myself and the scene I've just escaped.

Hours later, the celebration is in high gear. Cocktails are being liberally dispensed from the open bar, and amiable chatter fills the room, ricocheting like a lively volleyball game. If one thing's certain, it's that New Yorkers know how to throw a party. After Lake and Mason shared heartwarming speeches, professing their love for each other, the music kicked off. The couple began the dancing, and gradually, more attendees joined them before the magnificent floor-to-ceiling windows.

Observing people dance against the backdrop of the illuminated city skyline is artistically pleasing. I'm sure Lake orchestrated the scene that way intentionally; it's such a uniquely creative touch.

I've claimed a seat on a stool at one of the high, circular tables dotted around the venue's edge. I'd prefer to call it a night and head home, but leaving early would incur Lake's wrath. Besides, tonight is about her, not me. I've resolved to maintain my distance from Hercules. I can't stomach even the briefest sighting of him and Lauren together.

From time to time, a man takes the seat next to me, inviting me to dance, but I decline each offer with polite grace. So far, Hercules and Lauren haven't taken to the dance floor. I can't help but wonder how well Hercules dances. Given the elegant way he moves and carries himself, I wager he'd be an alluring dancer.

In my mind, I've dissected his body language with Lauren. Whenever she latches onto him, I sense discomfort in his demeanor. However, I can't be entirely sure—after all, he didn't pull away from her. If he had any interest in me, he would've found a way to extract himself from her grip. Maybe his earlier friendliness was just that—a courteous gesture, reminiscent of our high school days.

Hey. Suddenly, Lake bounds onto the stool next to me.

Her arrival startles me—I didn't notice her approach. Hey.

Lake drapes an arm around my waist. Rise and shine, sexy lady in red. It's time to dance. Her voice is playful and her eyes are gleaming with excitement. She's clearly feeling the effects of a few cocktails, judging by her bubbly demeanor.

I don't dance, I declare, my voice rising above the energetic tune.

Everyone dances, Paisley!

After her persistent persuasion, I finally surrender and leave my seat, allowing Lake to usher me to the dance floor. It is her party, after all, and refusing a dance with the bride-to-be would be outright discourteous.

Once we've found a spot among the gyrating crowd, Lake begins to dance, her arms rolling in the air while her hips sway towards the floor. Her movements are smooth and natural. With a raised eyebrow, she encourages me to follow suit.

My cheeks burn as I look around nervously. I'm being watched. Most of the observers are men. I can't help but think that it's due to Treasure's bold red dress I'm wearing. I shouldn't have worn it. As per Treasure's usual antics, the dress is drawing all the attention—she relishes in being the center of attention, unlike me. The scrutiny is making me anxious.

Come on, Pais! You can do it. Let loose! Lake urges,