Lucky Fall Read online

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  A Totally Bound Publication

  Lucky Fall

  ISBN # 978-1-78184-939-2

  ©Copyright MK Schiller 2014

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright January 2014

  Edited by Rebecca Douglas

  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. Unauthorised 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 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  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.

  This story contains 59 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 8 pages.

  Paramour

  LUCKY FALL

  MK Schiller

  A woman who thought she was finished with love meets the one man capable of changing her mind.

  Julianne Brenan was living her life like a nun without a church. Suffering from a betrayal she let define her, she chooses to live in solitude. Then a chance encounter on her birthday with a younger, handsome, billionaire leads to a night of passion like she’s never experienced. Victor Ivanov releases all her inhibitions and makes her feel alive. Julianne is thankful for the experience and chooses to cherish the memory of Victor’s gentle but demanding touch. But Victor has no intention of being a memory for Julianne. She’s a beautiful but bashful bookseller, and he’s no ordinary billionaire.

  Dedication

  Dear fellow romance lover, thank you for reading my first novella. I want to thank my dedicated editor, Rebecca Douglas for her diligent efforts in improving my writing and the staff at Totally Bound for their faith in me. As always, thank you to the bloggers, readers and my family whose support is the reason I write. I hope you enjoy Julianne and Victor’s story and never stop looking for the happily ever after.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

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

  The Times: The New York Times Company

  The Love Boat: CBS Television Distribution

  Armani: Giorgio Armani S.p.A.

  Animal Planet: Discovery Communications, Inc.

  Mysterious Ways: Bono, U2

  Chapter One

  “I can do this,” I kept repeating like a silly, silent mantra, trying to give myself a much-needed boost of courage. I chewed my bottom lip anxiously, hoping I could pull off the six-inch stilettos I’d purchased on a whim. I couldn’t remember the last time such dangerous heels graced my feet. As it was, the clicking sounds they emanated against the Carrara marble floors echoed throughout the lavish Excalibur Hotel lobby, grating on my nerves. Why I was here again? I hadn’t celebrated my birthday in three years, not since that horrible fortieth that would go down in history as the worst day of my life.

  Libby had insisted, though. She was the only friend I’d kept after the divorce, and that was because John couldn’t stand her. She was too blunt and honest, even for me at times, but I loved that I always knew where I stood with her. My other friends had all made a show of it, until I’d heard snippets of conversations that included my ex-husband, John, and the sugary arm candy who’d taken up residence in the house I’d painstakingly redecorated. Who was I kidding? She wasn’t just sleeping on my sheets and using my jetted tub—she was living my life, and I had to accept that. I had a new life now and it was high time I started enjoying it, beginning with this dinner.

  Libby had definitely gone all out. The swanky hotel was right off Broadway and everyone in New York from the Bohemian-chic Greenwich crowd to the power-hungry Wall Street types were dying to get in. We’d been able to snag a reservation in the five-star restaurant because Libby’s brother was a food critic at the The Times and had connections.

  “Julie, darling, over here,” Libby greeted from the plush settee in the hotel lobby. She motioned to me, showing off her interesting French-style manicure, done in two shades of lime green. She was definitely a personality.

  I walked over with slow, steady steps, telling myself to take in the sumptuous surroundings, but really it was because my heels scared me to death and Libby seemed miles away. Although I was nervous, I had to admit that I felt sexy for the first time in a long time. The fancy chignon actually worked well with my long brown hair, making every wayward wisp appear accidental, when in fact they’d been planned with painstaking precision. The low cut black evening dress I’d almost taken back because it was too daring clung to my curves just enough to be seductive without giving away the goods. What the hell—I looked hot for once and needed to hold my head up high.

  I squared my shoulders, increasing my gait, and returned the smile of a beautiful young man who stood with his hands on his hips. He was wearing an expensive black suit and a silver diamond-pattern tie that was modern, but also seemed reminiscent of an earlier era. There was something suggestive in his sexy grin and as I neared him, my anxiety increased exponentially with each step. His intense gaze swept over my body in a stimulating way, pausing on my come-fuck-me heels.

  Then my foot faltered. I went hurtling, my feet rolling on a collision course I had no control over. I crashed into a muscled wall of impenetrable black suit. He must have shifted to catch me. Shit!

  He pulled me away by my arms. “Are you all right, miss?” he asked in a sexy British accent.

  Miss and not ma’am—I liked that and it didn’t hurt that the voice was deep and unmistakably British, causing every word to drip with an air of intelligence that made it downright sexy. I stared up at him, completely embarrassed, but also mesmerized. The voice fitted the man. He was young, tall, with dark hair that was short enough to be professional, but long enough to tug. He had thick lips…the kind you could kiss for a long time without chapping, and sapphire-colored eyes that were so bright, they were brilliant.

  He looked at me with genuine concern, and I tried like hell to make some sort of feeble attempt to respond before he got the impression I was mute.

  “It was my fault. I lost my balance,” I muttered.

  “No, It was my pleasure,” he replied without pause. “Would you care for a seat?”

  “No really, I’m fine.”

  “Yes, you are,” he said, lowering his voice and it took me a moment to recognize the come on. It had been so long since I’d heard one. Thankfully, I was smart enough not to read into it. “Are you dining or staying here?”

  “Dining,” I replied, trying to keep my breath steady as his masculine scent washed over me. It wa
s fresh linen, but heady like musk—clean, pleasant and complexly feral at the same time. He was still holding my arms in his strong hands, circling his thumbs over my skin, slowly caressing me. I backed away, trying to maintain what little dignity remained since my graceless act.

  “May I escort you?” He held his arm out in a gesture I’d only seen in old movies and episodes of The Love Boat. Was he for real? This was New York, not New Amsterdam. Plus, he was like half my age. Okay, maybe half was an exaggeration.

  “Thank you, but I think I can make it on my own now.”

  “I’d hate to have this fine establishment’s reputation tarnished by a slip and fall.”

  So that was it. He was just being friendly. I wished he hadn’t told me that part.

  “I assure you it’s not the floors, but rather my clumsy feet. This hotel is perfect, and the last thing I would do is mar its pristine reputation.”

  He shrugged, smiling for the first time, showing off a set of gleaming white teeth that made him look menacing…in a good way. “The great advantage of a hotel is that it is a refuge from home life.”

  I nodded, matching his smile. “George Bernard Shaw couldn’t have said it better. In fact, I believe he did say it.”

  His grin widened and there was a glint in his eye, as if he enjoyed being called out. “Ah, so you’ve caught me pilfering another man’s words. Beautiful and smart—an irresistible combination.”

  I took in a deep breath, surprised by his arsenal of compliments. “It’s an occupational hazard.”

  “Oh, you’re a writer?”

  “No, a reader, but books are my business.”

  “Then please join me for dinner. We can discuss our favorite Shaw characters, and I can continue to get lost in those big brown eyes of yours. I think they’re really quite unique.”

  He thinks my eyes are unique?

  “Brown is the most common eye color.”

  “There is nothing common about you.”

  “I don’t even know your name,” I whispered, realizing Libby was probably staring at me so hard she was burning a hole in my dress.

  “Let’s remedy that. Victor Ivanov.” He reached out his hand to shake mine.

  I clasped it, and as soon he curled his fingers around mine, he flipped my hand before brushing it under his lips. The surprising act combined with the supple curve of his mouth caused my traitorous body to shiver.

  “Julie Brenan.”

  He arched his eyebrow as if awaiting more information.

  “Julianne Brenan,” I corrected, not sure why I wanted him to know my full name, but it slipped out of my mouth, hanging in the thick air between us.

  “It’s as lovely as its owner.”

  I swallowed, wondering if my underwear would sustain any more of his flattery. “You have a Russian name and a British accent. There must be a story there.”

  “There is, but I would rather use it to lure you into accepting my invitation.”

  “I cannot join you, Mr Ivanov. I’m meeting someone.”

  “It’s Victor. Who is getting the pleasure of your company tonight? Another man?” he asked with an amused smirk, but his eyes grew darker and narrowed at the same time. “Boyfriend, husband, or inconsequential date?”

  “Why do you want to know?” I batted my lashes, hoping it looked beguiling and not like something had flown into my eye. I couldn’t believe I was actually flirting back. If the art of seduction were equated to paint on a canvas, I’d end up with stick figures at best. He made it easy though, like it was a natural predisposition of my thought process.

  “I prefer to verify the stakes before placing any bets.”

  “And what are you wagering, Victor?”

  He pulled my hand with just enough force that my feet followed. He bent, tilting his head so his sweet mouth hovered next to my ear. “That you’ll end up in my bed tonight with your tongue, hands and all your other delicious parts entangled with mine.”

  A flush of heat coursed through my body so fast, I thought I was having a hot flash for a second. I sucked in some air and tried desperately not to fan myself.

  “Do you need a room, because it’s a good thing we’re at a hotel.”

  The voice was familiar, but I wasn’t able to register it since I was in a dream-like trance staring at the beautiful lines of Victor’s face. It was Victor that broke our contact and smiled at Libby. Damn…I’d actually forgotten about her. I’d forgotten about everything, except for the tall, muscular man in front of me who filled out a suit perfectly. Libby gave me an impish smile and shook her head. I knew this little exchange would be the fodder for our dinnertime conversation.

  “This is my friend, Libby. Libby, this is Victor Ivanov. He just rescued me from splitting my head open.”

  Victor was completely composed, while I was a quivering mess. He shook her hand, and I was extremely happy he didn’t kiss it, surprising myself with my sudden possessiveness.

  He turned back to me, placing one of my strategically placed wisps of hair behind my ear. “I was doing a public service. A head as beautiful as yours should be preserved at all costs.”

  My heart beat so wildly, I was sure the sound was echoing much like my heels had.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr Ivanov,” Libby replied, giving him an up-and-down stare that lasted far too long to be decent. “Would you care to join us for Julie’s birthday celebration?”

  I grimaced, silently cursing Libby for mentioning it, but Victor kept smiling.

  “I’m sure he’s busy,” I said, with panic. The last thing I needed was this gorgeous hunk of a man sitting across from me as I chomped down on filet mignon.

  “I’m afraid I must decline, but enjoy your evening. Happy birthday, Julianne. I hope you fare better with the food than the floors.” He nodded before walking away.

  Hearing him say my full name caused a slight pounding in my chest. First, he was eliciting hot flashes and now he might cause a heart failure. Either way, I might just die a happy woman.

  “Did I cock block you?” Libby said, giggling like a schoolgirl, pulling me toward the restaurant entrance. I laughed so hard my shoulders shook. Fifty-year-old Libby using that expression was priceless.

  “He’s far too young for me.”

  She looked back once. “Honey, all you need are a bat and two balls and you have yourself a game.”

  “Libby!” I yelled, but it was lost as she opened the doors to a private room in the restaurant and a half-dozen people shouted ‘Surprise!’ at me. Damn, Libby!

  I stared at her, in shocked confusion. I recognized the people but they were all Libby’s friends. I knew why she’d done it though. I’d been a complete recluse since my divorce, and she tried like hell to get me to socialize again despite my steadfast philosophy to live the rest of my life like a nun without a church.

  “Don’t be mad. You only turn forty once.”

  “I’m forty-three.”

  “I know, but we have some making up to do.”

  I put on my best tight smile and greeted all the guests. Jeff actually stood up to kiss my cheek, which was awkward. Libby had set us up on a date—my first and only since the divorce. We hadn’t clicked at all. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t talk about John and I hadn’t. But it was Jeff, who’d spent the evening rehashing the pain his ex had put him through, as if she’d personally accosted him in a dark alley, leaving him injured and penniless, to die alone. The bitterness in his voice had reminded me that I needed to move on before I sounded like that. The problem with men my own age was that they were all divorced and disillusioned, and if you found one that wasn’t… Well, there was a reason he’d never gotten married in the first place.

  Looking back, in some ways it was good that John and I never had kids. We’d wanted to once, when we were young and heartsick. We’d both been able to, but ironically, the combination of us wasn’t compatible. We’d talked about adoption and surrogates, but somehow time had slipped through the hourglass, and John had found excuses why we shou
ldn’t. That should have been my first clue our marriage was doomed to fail. Funny, I could pick up any small tidbit of foreshadowing in any novel I read, no matter how well the author tried to hide it, but I was completely oblivious when it came to my own life.

  I chatted amicably with everyone, staying on light topics. Almost every single person told me I looked fetching for my age, which seemed like a backhanded compliment of sorts, but I smiled and nodded graciously just the same. A great deal of fanfare was made when a bottle of fine wine was delivered to our table as our dinners arrived, compliments of Mr Ivanov.

  Libby studied the label intently, smoothing out her salt-and-pepper hair before holding it up like a game show hostess. “Jesus, Julie! This is at least eight-hundred bucks.”

  I did a double take, knowing she was probably very accurate in her pricing. Her parents had owned vineyards, and she’d grown up with an education that rivaled most sommeliers.

  “Who’s your secret admirer, Julie?” Myrna Kemp asked.

  I shrugged. “Just a man I bumped into.”

  “I wouldn’t mind bumping into him. He has good taste,” she said, downing her glass.

  “It’s more like fell,” I explained. “I fell into him.”

  “Lucky fall,” Myrna said with an air of cool, hostile smugness that only women were capable of.

  “It’s kind of showy in my opinion,” Jeff replied, studying the bottle.

  “You know, Sandy and John are having a wine-tasting party.”

  And there was the reason I didn’t like Myrna Kemp. She wasn’t even friends with my ex, but she was just a little too happy to mention him in my presence. It was as if she enjoyed my discomfort.

  “Well, bully for them. Jesus, Myrna, it’s one thing to invite yourself, but there’s no need to be such a catty bitch.” Libby never was one for mincing words.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it,” she slurred slightly, letting me know she’d had one too many.

  “Should we send it back? It’s far too expensive.”

  Libby grabbed the bottle, pouring a quick glass. “You can’t. It’s opened, and even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t let you.”