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Close To The Edge
Zara Cox
Some lines should never be crossed…unless it's wickedly worth itThe moment he meets sublime coding prodigy Lily Gracen, Caleb Steele knows his ‘never get involved with a client’ rule is going to be broken. But not until he stops her stalker. Caleb might be in charge of Lily’s safety, but when they're locked down in her Silicon Valley mansion she’s the master. For keeping his hands off Lily is bringing Caleb close to the edge of his control…
Some lines should never be crossed
...unless it’s wickedly worth it
The moment he meets sublime coding prodigy Lily Gracen, Caleb Steele knows his “never get involved with a client” rule is going to be broken. But not until he stops her stalker. Caleb might be in charge of Lily’s safety, but when they’re locked down in her Silicon Valley mansion she’s the master. For keeping his hands off Lily is bringing Caleb close to the edge of his control...
“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”
—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author
ZARA COX writes contemporary and erotic romance. She lives in the Garden of England—aka Kent—with her hubby and two kids. She loves to read and travel. In 2017 she managed to visit her number one bucket list destination—Hawaii—and is now actively pleading with her husband to live there! She loves to hear from her readers and you can get in touch with her via Twitter (@zcoxbooks (https://twitter.com/zcoxbooks)), on Instagram (zaracoxwriter (https://instagram.com/zaracoxwriter)) or Facebook (zaracoxwriter (https://www.facebook.com/Zara-Cox-Writer-210922862391617/)).
If you liked Close to the Edge, why not try
Beddable Billionaire by Alexx Andria
Getting Lucky by Avril Tremayne
Forbidden Pleasure by Taryn Leigh Taylor
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://millsandboon.co.uk).
Close to the Edge
Zara Cox
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07132-1
CLOSE TO THE EDGE
© 2018 Zara Cox
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Version: 2018-06-12
To Grace Thiele,
for being the physical manifestation of Lily Gracen.
Contents
Cover (#u90439c01-c2a2-5912-9176-89f761c5f30c)
Back Cover Text (#u7cc90da5-dcb9-5c99-adaa-53add34cb079)
About the Author (#u791db355-7b79-5928-905a-ffb07b1d270d)
Booklist (#u18349019-c953-53c2-ba19-9cd81119c45a)
Title Page (#u3edf0180-7cd9-5e1c-ae55-3d4d1e63e25f)
Copyright (#u32ce73fa-5bf4-57ac-abbc-a3ede22feb27)
Dedication (#uefdfc2b7-afba-5b68-8d9c-62161e5b8c4d)
CHAPTER ONE (#u5edf8879-d5ea-5e4b-b985-b77749f47c3e)
CHAPTER TWO (#u447a85c7-830e-599f-b5a7-8cbe4558d8e1)
CHAPTER THREE (#u8188f241-20ea-58e2-be75-410fb5b2acc9)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u7c39f72f-0896-53a0-923a-5ab00c656a41)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#udea9900a-deea-5404-b610-7f92341bf7a4)
Caleb
THE QUICK GLANCE at my wrist was a bad idea. I knew the moment my gaze dropped to the black-and-azure face of my watch that I’d added another half hour to this circus.
Shit.
“Oh, am I wasting your time? Do you have somewhere important to be?” the whiny voice demanded.
I sighed.
The ability to turn circumstances, good or bad, to my advantage was what had earned me my renowned status. But no one starts life thinking they were going to do what I do, be what I am.
A fixer.
I wasn’t complaining, though. I was great at my job. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t this damned good... Oh, who the hell was I kidding? Most days I loved my job. Tonight, not so much. The 2 a.m. calls were the worst. Especially when they interrupted a very promising pre-fuck blowjob.
But hey, what was a small case of blue balls when the siren song of work beckoned? As evading tactics went, it was an effective way to hold the demons at bay.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and glared at the glassy-eyed man-child straddling the banister in front of me. “Yes, actually. I do have somewhere else to be. So if you’re going to jump, get it over with so I can get on with my night.”
Christ, you’ve surpassed yourself this time, Steele.
My client’s slack-faced shock confirmed my thought. “Are you fucking serious?”
“As Zachary Quinto’s eyebrows. This is the fourth time I’ve had to deal with your...unhappiness this month alone. Normally, I would’ve washed my hands of you or dragged you to rehab. But I promised your father I’d look out for you. The only thing you’re addicted to is laziness—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. The band kicked me out!”
“Because you set your GPS to Cabo instead of your studio in Culver City. Last month it was Vegas. The month before it was Atlantic City, right?”
“I can’t just turn up and sing! I need inspiration,” Ross Jonas sulked.
“And you think you’re going to find that by jumping off this balcony tonight?” I shrugged. “Go ahead, then. I can have you in a nice corner slab in the morgue by sunrise.”
His jaw dropped again. “Holy fuck, you’re something else.”
I closed my eyes and wished those words were coming from a different mouth, preferably the scarlet-painted female one I’d left in my bed. When I opened them again, Ross was still there. Shame.
I wasn’t twisted enough to wish my client dead but I wanted this over and done with.
He wasn’t going to jump.
We’d been through this dance enough times. He chose this suite because there was a deep pool conveniently situated six floors below. And if by some exceptionally bad luck he didn’t make it, I had four guys on the ground floor of the Beverly Hills Hotel ready with a giant inflatable to catch his sorry ass because sadly, this wasn’t my first rodeo with a pseudo-suicidal client.
I would’ve dropped him as a client a long time ago, for his selfish antics for starters, and because I never took on suicidal clients, not even ones who were faking it. I wasn’t ashamed to admit suicide was a red-hot button for me. But Ross’s father was my first client, the guy who’d given me a break in a cutthroat place like LA, then gone out of his way to recommend my services to others. And when Victor Jonas had all but begged me to look out for his son, I’d agreed unconditionally.
The worst Ross, only child of rich, overindulgent parents, would suffer tonight if he did jump, was having the wind knocked out of him.
Whereas I was destined to suffer a stronger resurgence of the nightmares I fought each night, not to mention the cold shoulder of a pouty redhead if I didn’t wrap this up fast. “Yes, I am something else. And you have ten seconds to shit or get off the pot.”
I straightened from my leaning position against the French doors and moved toward him. He glanced furtively behind him and paled. “Fuck,” he muttered.
Two feet away I stopped and crossed my arms. “Listen to me. You keep flirting with death like this and one day you’ll succeed. Do me a favor, Ross. Put a little bit of the effort you use to jerk me around into doing some actual work. You might be surprised at how good it feels to reap the results of your hard work.”
The belligerence drained from his face. “But I’m out of the band.”
“Call your guys in the morning. Beg if you need to. Humility goes a long way if you truly mean it,” I said. I had no clue whether that was true or not. Humility wasn’t exactly a strong suit of mine. “And while you’re at it, try showing up when you say you will. Deal?”
When he nodded I stepped back, staying alert as he slowly climbed down. Relieved, I followed him back into the suite he’d checked into for the purpose of pulling this shitty, dangerous stunt.
I breathed through the fury and resisted the urge to tear another strip off him. “One of my guys is going to stick around, make sure you get to Culver City nice and early in the morning. Sound good?”
I slapped him on the shoulder and headed for the door. With any luck, my date would still be warming my bed.
“Hey, Caleb.”
I turned around. “Yeah?”
“Would you...really have watched me jump?”
My face tightened. “If you wanted to, I couldn’t have stopped you.” I paused a beat. “Did you?”
He shook his head sheepishly. “No.”
My anger spiked another notch. “Pull a stunt like this again and I’ll push you myself.”
I left him standing in the middle of the living room, shoulders hunched, pondering that.
My jaw tightened as the elevator rushed me to the ground floor. Unfortunately, the memories Ross had triggered weren’t as easy to leave behind as I exited the five-star hotel.
For my mother it’d been third time lucky. Or unlucky, depending on which side of the fence you stood on. My steps faltered as the acid-sharp pain that always accompanied the memory of her death plowed through me.
Damn Ross Jonas.
With a deep breath I walked out, handed a twenty to the valet attendant holding out the keys to my Bugatti and slid behind the wheel.
Before I could pull away, my phone beeped. Tugging it out of my pocket, I found a centerfold-worthy picture gracing my screen. The accompanying message flashed seconds later.
This is what you could’ve had tonight. Call me never!
