Prologue
Jack Farrelly wished, not for the first time, that he wasn’t such great friends with Logan Pride. If not for his loyalty to Logan, he’d have packed a tent and headed into the wilderness for a bit of R and R. Instead, the cherry on top of his shit-cake of a day was attending the annual New Year’s Eve costume party Logan hosted at his pub, The Den.
“What are you supposed to be?” his friend demanded as he arrived, sauntering over in a pair of red swimming trunks and nothing else. The theme this year was, ‘dress as your favorite fictional character’, but Jack hadn’t had the energy after running into his ex earlier—which had thrown him out of whack—so he’d rocked up in his usual.
“Bear Grylls.”
Logan rolled his eyes, and swept his tousled blond hair off his forehead. “Not a fictional character. Come on, man. Make an effort.”
Jack looked pointedly at him. “You’re a fine one to talk. You look like you just rolled in off the beach.” Logan had been a professional surfer in a previous life, and now taught classes when he wasn’t busy at The Den. “Who are you supposed to be?”
He gestured down at himself. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m Mitch Buchannon from Baywatch.”
“Is that the show with Pamela Anderson in her golden days?”
Logan grinned, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “Now you’re getting it.” He jostled Jack with his elbow. “Come on. Grab a beer. First one’s on me.” As they made their way through the throng, navigating between the bar leaners that ran from the door to the classic old-school counter, where the drinks menu was scrawled across a surfboard—Logan’s personal touch—he asked, “So, what’s up with you?”
Jack grunted. “Claudia is in town.”
Logan pulled a face like he’d tasted something bad. “She staying long?”
“God, I hope not.” He hadn’t asked, had just gotten away from her as quickly as possible. Since they’d broken up two years ago, he had seen neither hide nor hair of her, and that was the way he preferred it.
Logan rounded the bar, filled a pint glass, and pushed it over. Jack took a healthy swig then set it down to scan the room and pick out familiar faces. Logan’s brother, Kyle, sat in the corner with their mutual friend, Tione, but Shane—the other man in their circle—was notably absent, most likely because he hadn’t been able to find a babysitter.
A customer called Logan’s name, and he shuffled along the bar to serve them. Beer in hand, Jack headed for the corner table to join his friends. He was halfway there when the door opened and a woman appeared, silhouetted against the dim evening.
His heart stuttered. The woman—she must have been a tourist because there was no way he’d have forgotten a face like hers—surveyed the room, her chin raised, very much the queen she’d come dressed as. He took a moment to appreciate her outfit, as did every other heterosexual man present. Khaleesi Daenerys Targaryen, the mother of dragons. Her eyes, a glorious blue, passed over him, then flicked back, resting on his face. He met her gaze and held it. Of their own accord, his feet carried him to her side.
Khaleesi’s blonde hair fell over her shoulders in pale waves, and she wore her iconic battle costume, a fitted black leather dress with a cape attached. Her lips were baby pink and glossy. Jack wanted to capture that mouth with his own and devour her. He’d never been a big Game of Thrones fan, but Khaleesi was the woman of his dreams. Gorgeous, strong, take-no-prisoners. This woman, with her shoulders thrown back and her face tilted up, gave every impression of having walked directly out of his fantasies.
“Khaleesi,” he rumbled, his voice gravelly and rough. “Do you have a date?”
She raised an imperious eyebrow. “Why is that any of your business?”
He put his hand to his heart. “Because if you don’t, I’d like to rectify a terrible wrong by buying you a drink.”
The corners of her glossy lips lifted, and a bolt of arousal shot straight to his groin. He shifted, and remembered Kyle and Tione, who were no doubt watching him from the corner. He couldn’t get an awkward boner in front of his mates.
“As it happens,” she said, “I don’t.”
“Excellent.” He cupped her elbow and escorted her past the partygoers, many of whom turned to stare, into a private room out the back. Logan wouldn’t mind him using it. Not under these circumstances. When Khaleesi gave him a questioning look, he said, “I have an in with the owner.”
They sank onto the couch, and she gave him a cheeky little smile that sent a pulse of heat due south. “So, handsome man with an ‘in’,” she said, the tip of her finger tracing a line down his chest. “Who are you playing today?”
He willed his eager dick to play it cool. “Bear Grylls.” His voice emerged even raspier than before. Being turned on tended to do that to him.
She nodded thoughtfully. “I see that. Manly, outdoorsy, hot as hell.”
Her caress drifted lower, and his abdominals quivered in response. He clenched his jaw, trying to figure out how she’d managed to get him raring to go with no more than a gentle touch. “You think I’m hot?”
She cocked her head and grinned at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Eh, you’re not bad.”
“Not bad.” He huffed. “I’ll show you not bad.”
With that, he reached over and dragged her onto his lap, enjoying the soft exhale that proved he’d caught her by surprise. She settled onto him, and he looped his arm around her waist, holding her close. Those glistening lips parted, taunting him.
He grinned at her. “What do you say to that?”
“I say Bear Grylls better kiss me before I tell him off for taking liberties with my body.”
Taking liberties with her body? Who talked like that?
He wondered what part of New Zealand she came from; he couldn’t pick up her accent or way of speaking. Then his brain refocused on the pertinent word—kiss. She wanted him to kiss her. His erection leaped gleefully beneath her bottom. Whoever she was, and wherever she was from, tonight his Khaleesi was up for some fun, and he was more than willing to assist.
Brooke couldn’t believe this was actually happening. After making goo-goo eyes at Jack Farrelly for two years, he’d finally noticed her. All it took was an inch of makeup, eyelash extensions, and a first-rate costume she’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity to show off.
A little effort, a few flirty words, and here she was, in his lap.
Oh, happy days.
His big, calloused hand went to the back of her head, and she reveled in the feel of it. He was such a vital guy, almost larger than life. Brooke wasn’t one to play the role of delicate, wilting flower, but she was overwhelmed by his presence. His hand smoothed down her hair, and his face angled toward hers. Her breath caught, then she released a happy sigh as their lips touched.
He groaned against her mouth. “Christ, that sound is sexy. I bet you’d be loud with me inside you.”
Heat flushed her neck, but she didn’t have it in her to be embarrassed. Not when the evidence of her effect on him throbbed hot and steely beneath her. She drew his mouth back to hers and kissed him again, tasting a hint of beer on his breath. His hold on her waist tightened, and she moaned, loving the sensation of his muscled arm banding around her body.