The Devil’s Set Bundle, Vol. 1 (Books 1-3) E-Book

Ember Casey

• Herausgeber: Ember Casey
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Heart-pounding adventure meets breathtaking romance in this gripping new boxed set from USA Today bestseller Ember Casey.

"Holy amazeballs … This is not your average romance; this is a romance full of action, anticipation and thrill." - Alison S. Parkins Book Reviews on Claiming His Treasure

MEET THE DEVIL’S SET: Treasure hunters. Adventurers. Bad boys.
They’re on the hunt for the biggest treasure of their lives—and one by one, they’re about to discover that love might be the greatest adventure of them all.


For the first time, Books 1, 2, and 3 of the thrilling Devil’s Set series are available together in one bundle:
CLAIMING HIS TREASURE (Book 1)
Jackson North has never been able to forget Charlie, the only woman he’s ever loved. But when she’s caught up in the Set’s latest hunt—a dangerous chase through Croatia’s islands and the sweeping Adriatic—he’s forced to make a choice: does he protect the woman he loves or take the second chance with her that he’s always wanted?

HUNTING HIS JEWEL (Book 2)
Leonardo “Leo” Moretti is breaking all the rules. After an injury puts him on the sidelines, he defies orders and follows a clue that leads him across the wild tropics of the Caribbean. But his plans go awry when he rescues the beguiling, doe-eyed Ruby from her Honeymoon from Hell.

PROTECTING HIS PRIZE (Book 3)
Xavier Price has spent the last several years getting over Penny, his ex-wife. But when the Set’s latest hunt leads them to the wilderness of Yellowstone National Park—and right into Penny’s path—he learns that the heat they shared years ago still burns wild and hot. Can he protect her while convincing her that he’s no longer the enemy?


Are you ready for a case of wander love? This thrilling, fast-paced bundle is perfect for those who want some international adventure with their romance!

Leseprobe

The Devil’s SetBundle

Vol. 1

EMBER CASEY

This Boxed Set Includes:

CLAIMING HIS TREASURE (Book 1)

HUNTING HIS JEWEL (Book 2)

PROTECTING HIS PRIZE (Book 3)

Claiming His Treasure

Copyright ©2015 Ember Casey

Hunting His Jewel

Copyright ©2019 Ember Casey

Protecting His Prize

Copyright ©2019 Ember Casey

EPUB Edition

All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Covers designed by Cormar Covers

You can contact Ember at [email protected].

Website: http://embercasey.com

BUNDLE CONTENTS

Claiming His Treasure

Book 1

Hunting His Jewel

Book 2

Protecting His Prize

Book 3

BOOKS BY EMBER CASEY

THE DEVIL’S SET

Claiming His Treasure

Hunting His Jewel

Protecting His Prize

Defending His Heart

THE CUNNINGHAM FAMILY

His Wicked Games

Truth or Dare

Sweet Victory

Her Wicked Heart

Take You Away

Lost and Found

Completely (short story)

Their Wicked Wedding

A Cunningham Christmas

Their Wicked Forever

THE FONTAINES

The Secret to Seduction

The Sweet Taste of Sin

The Lies Between the Lines

The Mystery of You

The Thrill of Temptation

STANDALONE NOVELS

The Billionaire Escape Plan

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O’er the lands and o’er the seas

The Devil’s set of hunters goes

In search of gold and jewels like these;

The treasures that will tempt men’s souls

Claiming His Treasure

Book One

DESCRIPTION

Charlotte “Charlie” Carver knows she’s in trouble when Jackson North shows up at her door in the middle of the night, nearly a year after he unceremoniously broke her heart. She’s always suspected her ex had secrets, but she never thought those secrets would put her in danger—until violent men show up right on Jackson’s tail, and suddenly she’s caught up in an adventure unlike any she ever imagined.

Jackson has never been able to forget Charlie, the only women he’s ever loved. He’d do anything to protect her—but he’d also do anything to help his team find the fortune hidden by eccentric billionaire Vincent Rinaldi. Unfortunately, the key to finding Rinaldi’s fortune rests in a gift Jackson gave Charlie back when they were together, and now she’s tangled up in his dangerous life whether he likes it or not.

Soon, they’re on a wild chase through Croatia’s islands with Jackson’s teammates, the notorious Devil’s Set. Career treasure hunters, the Set has seen their share of danger and adventure, but they’ve never encountered a hunt like this.

As they pursue the ultimate treasure, Jackson and Charlie face one danger after another—but the biggest threat might be the one targeting their hearts. Neither wants to admit that there’s still a sizzling connection between them, but sometimes, the hunt is too intoxicating to resist…

PROLOGUE

Prague, Czech Republic

There was nothing like a cold beer and a good fuck to help a man unwind after a hunt.

Jackson North leaned back on his stool and took a long, slow sip of his lager, letting it sit on his tongue as his eyes traveled up and down the bar. The dimly lit public house was lively tonight, and he picked up snippets of conversation in at least five languages as he scoped out his potential company for the evening. There was no shortage of attractive women in this particular hole in the wall, but he was in the mood for something special. A good hunt always left his body thrumming with a distinctive sort of hunger.

He wasn’t the only one on the prowl tonight. Beside him, his teammate Toshi was chatting up a pretty German girl with blue streaks in her hair. Jackson had heard a duck speak better German than Toshi, but the girl seemed to find his mistakes charming. She laughed and ran a finger down one of the tattoos on his arm as she corrected his pronunciation.

“I think he’s just making up words,” said Leo from his stool on the other side of Jackson. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he laughed and shook his head at their younger teammate.

Jackson grinned. “I’m pretty sure I heard some Pig Latin in there.” Not that he blamed Toshi for having a little fun. Nothing got a man’s blood going like the sort of expedition they’d just finished. They’d escaped with only a handful of injuries this time—one of their members had needed stitches, and Toshi was sporting one hell of a black eye, which he seemed to have used to his advantage tonight—and the prize had been worth every cut and bruise. The drinks would flow freely tonight.

Jackson raised his beer toward Leo. “To another successful venture.”

His partner flashed a smile and returned the gesture with equal enthusiasm. “To another generous haul.”

They clinked their glasses, but as Leo drained his pint, Jackson found his eyes wandering again. As much as he enjoyed toasting with Leo—and hell, if the fellow didn’t make an excellent drinking partner—his cock was interested in a different kind of celebration.

And then, as if the sex gods had finally decided to bless this night of victory, he spotted her—a girl who was everything he could have asked for. A girl who, even across this dark, smoky bar, brought his entire body to attention.

She was tall and full in all the right places, and the tight top and fitted jeans she wore showed off every last curve to perfection. Long, honey-colored waves flowed down her back. He’d always been drawn to hair like that—hair that made women look like they’d just come from a good fuck. Even better when he was the one doing the fucking.

An image flashed in his mind—the memory of hair of a similar shade and texture, spread like an amber fan across his pillow. Even now he could smell that hair, sweet as ripe strawberries, though it had been months since the last time he’d buried his face in those strands. His dick throbbed at the memory.

Fuck, man. Get it together. The girl on the other end of the bar might look a little like Charlie, but there was no reason for him to lose himself in nine-month-old memories. He was already hard, for chrissake.

He looked down the bar at the girl again. As he watched, she turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder to where he sat. Her dark eyes sparkled, and she flashed him a warm, flirtatious smile before turning back to her drink. A subtle invitation, and one his body most definitely wanted to respond to.

She doesn’t look so much like Charlie after all, he told himself. Her eyes are too dark. And her mouth too wide. Charlie’s eyes had been a soft, innocent gray. And her mouth had been small and round, with lips that felt like silk against his skin.

But he wasn’t going to think about that. Charlie was safe on the other side of the world. She was better off without him, and he was better off forgetting her for good.

You can start by tasting something new, he told himself. He forced himself off of his stool, determined to put the past behind him.

As he made his way toward the beauty at the end of the bar, though, Charlie’s face flashed in his mind again. He stopped dead in his tracks.

What’s the point? Every moment he spent with his fingers in this new girl’s hair, he’d be thinking of her. Every touch of this girl’s fingers, every sound of pleasure he fucked from her lips, would be compared with those of the girl he’d left behind.

Abruptly, he spun around and returned to his seat.

Leo raised an eyebrow. “Change your mind?”

Jackson shrugged as he waved the bartender over. “Thought I had a taste for something, but I was wrong.” He ordered another round before glancing behind them. “Are the others still not here?”

His teammate shook his head. “Haven’t heard from them. Don’t know what the hell’s taking so long.”

Frowning, Jackson rubbed the side of his neck. Since joining their ranks, he’d seen the Devil’s Set take on their share of challenges—their expeditions often required both physical expertise and cunning, and the team had both in spades—and he’d have trusted any of his teammates with his life. But for some reason, he had a sour feeling in his gut. There were a hundred reasons why his teammates might be late, but his instincts told him something was off.

“I think I might step out for a bit of air,” he said. “My drink better still be here when I get back.” He glanced toward Toshi, who’d moved from flirting to face-sucking with his new acquaintance. “And make sure our friend here doesn’t get pick-pocketed while he’s distracted.”

“On it,” Leo said, his mouth turning up.

A moment later, Jackson was outside, and he took a deep breath of the warm night air before heading down the street. He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so restless. Maybe it was just the fact that all those old memories of Charlie were surfacing again.

No, it’s more than that. Charlie had been haunting his dreams for months now. It was his late teammates causing this prickly feeling in his stomach. It wouldn’t hurt to check in on them, if only to calm his nerves. And a walk in the night air would help clear his head.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he made his way down the cobblestoned avenue. Around him, Prague was bustling with life, even at this hour. Some intoxicated American backpackers were loudly slurring their way through a pop song as they stumbled down the sidewalk. An electronic beat pulsed out of a nightclub on the next block. Laughter spilled from the open door of a restaurant.

Movement caught his eye as passed a darkened doorway, and he jumped, instinctively reaching for his gun. But it was only a couple caught up in a passionate embrace. They were so absorbed in each other they didn’t even notice him.

Get a hold of yourself. You’re jumping at shadows. He let his gaze linger on the couple for a moment, just to prove to himself that they were no threat, but the longer he watched, the more the thoughts of Charlie began creeping back in. He’d kissed her like that once, hidden in the shadows of a doorway, deaf and blind to everything but the feeling of her body against his.

Shaking his head, he forced himself to continue down the street. He didn’t have time to indulge in silly memories. He needed to find his teammates.

Roth, the leader of their little team, had booked them all into a guest house just around the corner. It was a small but clean establishment, and Roth seemed to know the owner, which meant they’d probably be safe to discuss some of the more sensitive matters of their business. But tonight was about celebrating, which was why Jackson was so confused as to why it was taking everyone else so damned long to get to the bar. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it.

When he reached the guest house, he found the door to the street wide open. On its own, that shouldn’t have meant anything, but when he stepped inside, the back of his neck prickled. He yanked his gun out of the back of his jeans and surveyed the area.

The main room was empty—at least he thought so at first. As he peeked behind the small check-in desk, he found the proprietor of the establishment sprawled across the floor, dead.

No, just unconscious, he realized with relief when he bent down to press his fingers against the man’s neck. But someone had knocked him out cold. And that someone might still be here.

As if in response to that thought, something crashed on the floor above. Jackson jumped up and tightened his grip on the gun. There were plenty of thieves in a big city like this, but most committed petty crimes of opportunity—picking pockets, scamming tourists, and the like. No one barged into a guest house and knocked out the owner unless they were after something specific. And anyone who targeted the Set wasn’t playing any games.

He was at the base of the stairs in two strides. But before he could charge up, two men—men who were certainly not any of his teammates—came bolting down.

They were on him before he had a chance to raise his gun. He threw himself at the short, stocky one on the left, trying to block him, but they had momentum on their side. The man shoved Jackson back against the wall, and the two intruders barreled out the open door.

He recovered quickly. In a flash he was after them, chasing them through the streets, pushing past backpackers and drunken revelers after his quarry. He was the fastest member of the Set, and if anyone could catch these men, it was him.

He’d recognized the short, stocky one. It was one of Nash’s men, and this wasn’t the first time their paths had crossed. The Set had never gotten along with Nash’s team—and no wonder, since there were only so many people who did what they did in this world, which meant sometimes they found themselves in direct competition for the same haul—but for the most part, the crews gave each other a wary sort of distance. Which made this even more alarming.

They shouldn’t be here. Roth had received reports that Nash’s team was working on a haul down in Cambodia—was that simply a ruse? Besides, the Set had only been in Prague for a handful of hours. How the hell did Nash’s fellows even know where they were? What the hell were they after?

He didn’t have the time to ponder those questions now. Up ahead, the two men came to a corner, and they split up, each going in a separate direction. Jackson cursed.

He followed the stocky one. Somewhere else he might have raised his gun and fired a few warning shots, but there were too many people here. His feet pounded against the cobblestones, but the crowds kept slowing him down. And his target was smart—constantly changing directions and ducking around buildings and crowds. Those split seconds the guy was out of Jackson’s sight might as well have been hours. Little by little, the bastard pulled ahead, until Jackson turned a corner and suddenly couldn’t see the man at all.

Cursing, Jackson slowed to a walk. Where the hell had the little rat gone?

Only one thing was for certain: if they’d hurt any of his teammates, this would be war. And nothing in the world would stop Jackson from hunting down each and every one of Nash’s men and making them pay.

CHAPTER ONE

Atlanta, Georgia, USA

One week later

There came a point, in dealing with late-night work crises, when stabbing one’s eyes out with a pen started to look like a viable—even preferable—alternative to spending even another moment staring at paperwork. Charlotte Carver had passed that point about two hours ago.

Her vision blurred as she gazed down at the pile of files in front of her on the coffee table. Her temples throbbed. Her throat ached. And out of the corner of her eye, her laptop screen appeared to flicker. Was that normal? Or had her mind finally cracked? She rubbed her eyes as she stumbled to her feet. She needed caffeine. Immediately.

The fifteen-foot walk to her kitchen felt a lot longer than it should have. Her gaze flicked to the clock on the microwave as she fumbled with the coffee maker. Midnight. How the hell was it only midnight? It felt like she’d been awake for two days straight.

You nearly have, she reminded herself. After all, her boss had called her at two o’clock this morning to inform her of her giant fuck-up. And even though it was Saturday, she’d spent half of it in the office and the other half of it on her couch surrounded by paperwork. From the looks of it, she’d be pulling an all-nighter—assuming she didn’t pass out on the floor.

Ah, the adventures of working for Ingarry Insurance. She let out an exhausted, bitter laugh as her coffee pot burbled to life. Just when she’d thought her job couldn’t get any duller, the universe had decided to prove her wrong in the most spectacularly awful way possible: Oh, you hate your job? Let’s see how you feel when you’re about to lose it! Time to stop taking it for granted, hm? Oh, and by the way—fuck you.

She might be brain-dead with exhaustion, but she’d gotten the message loud and clear.

She rubbed her forehead as she waited for her caffeine fix. The kitchen spun a little, and she steadied herself on the counter as her gaze darted around, looking for somewhere to focus. She finally decided on the large map hanging over her cluttered dining table, and she felt a small but welcome bit of peace as her eyes roamed over the map’s hand-drawn lines.

She had a thing for maps the way Mrs. Greaves next door had a thing for cats. Old maps or new, topographic landscapes or Mercator projections—she collected any and all of them, and hung them on her walls for inspiration. This particular one held a special place in her heart—she and her mom had found it together in an antique shop. The thick paper was yellow with age and fraying at the corners, and some of the original ink had faded, but it was gorgeous. The cartographer, whoever he—or she—was, had filled the land with tiny illustrations of beasts and filled the oceans with serpents. When she was in college, she used to stare at it and imagine the day she’d have the money and freedom to go see all of those places for herself.

Now? She was two weeks from her thirtieth birthday and the only time she’d set foot out of the country was when her cousin had gotten married in Ottawa. The only adventure she’d had in recent memory was that disastrous blind date three months ago where the guy had tried to bring his pet iguana to dinner with them.

One day, she told herself. But she’d been telling herself the same thing for years now. One day she’d see the world. One day she’d find a job that didn’t threaten to suck her soul right out of her. One day she’d do something exciting. Something crazy.

But in the meantime, she still had credit card debt from her mom’s funeral and a student loan balance that didn’t seem to be getting any smaller. Charlotte didn’t have any extra money to be throwing at lavish overseas adventures. And funds might be even tighter if she couldn’t fix her fuck-up with the Richmond Museum’s claim tonight. She was lucky Mr. Elliot hadn’t fired her on the spot.

She was trying to motivate herself to go back to the couch and continue working when a knock sounded at the front door.

She froze, her hand on the coffee pot. Who the heck would show up at her door at this hour? Her boss still had plenty of things to shout at her, she knew, but he hadn’t had any problems so far with expressing his thoughts over the phone.

She’d seen enough crime procedural shows to know that late-night knocks usually ended up with somebody getting murdered. But when the pounding came again—more insistent this time—she knew that her visitor wasn’t just going to go away. She grabbed the steaming pot of freshly brewed coffee—just in case she needed a weapon—and made her way slowly to the front door.

“Who is it?” she called when she reached the foyer.

The reply was soft and slightly muffled. “It’s me.”

She froze in her tracks. No. It’s not possible.

She crossed the rest of the foyer and threw open the door.

There he was. Every last infuriating, delectable, heart-breaking inch of him. On this of all nights, Jackson North had decided to show up at her house, and he leaned against the door frame grinning at her as if he’d completely forgotten the fact that, only nine months ago, he’d walked out of her life without even a goodbye.

She was tempted to throw the coffee at his head.

Unfortunately, she found herself too stunned to move. Her heart thudded against her ribs as she fumbled for something to say. “Why—what are you doing here?”

“What, can’t an old friend stop by?” he said, still wearing that grin. Looked like he was as cocky as ever.

And as attractive as ever, she thought, though she quickly shoved that observation back down. He’d gained some muscle since the last time she’d seen him—the white T-shirt he wore was stretched tight across his new, broader frame—and his sandy brown hair was a lot shorter, too, buzzed down close to his scalp on the sides. But that wasn’t the only change in him. He looked tired, slightly weathered—as if he’d sailed to the ends of the earth and back. But his brown eyes still shone with the same devilish gleam, the one that had warned her from the very first time they met that this man would be trouble.

“It’s midnight,” she said, still trying to make sense of his sudden appearance. Still trying to calm her breathing.

“A little late for coffee, isn’t it?” he said, nodding toward the pot in her hand.

“I’ve had a long day.” And I’m about to have an even longer night, with or without this added complication. “I don’t have the time for this. Why are you here?”

He straightened. He’d always towered over her, but today—maybe it was the extra muscles—he seemed even taller.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“No,” she said automatically.

There was only one reason a guy showed up at his ex’s door in the middle of the night, and it wasn’t to exchange pleasantries. While she could definitely have used a little stress relief right now—and God, would sex with Jackson bring all kinds of relief—he was the last person she wanted back in her life, even for a night. He’d broken her heart. Touching him was not an option—unless he gave her an excuse to punch him, which she would gladly take.

But there was something strange about the way he was acting. He glanced behind him before leaning closer. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal, Charlie, but I can explain everything inside.”

“Explain what?” She blocked his path. “You aren’t coming through this door unless you tell me why you’re here.”

He threw another glance back toward the street, then leaned even closer—close enough that for a brief, heart-pounding second, she thought he was going to try to kiss her. Instead, he moved his lips to her ear, and her chest tightened as his warm breath hit her skin.

“This is going to sound odd,” he said, his voice so soft that she could barely hear him, even considering his nearness. “But I need to borrow an old gift I gave you. Or better yet—let me buy it off of you.”

She blinked. Whatever she’d expected him to say next, it wasn’t this. “What?”

“For your birthday last year,” he said. “You know, I gave you that old atlas. I’d like to buy it off of you.”

That didn’t make things any clearer. “Why?”

“It’s a little complicated.”

Complicated didn’t even begin to describe this situation—or the things his sudden appearance seemed to be doing to her body. Her galloping heart had ridden all the way up into her throat, and she pushed him away.

He was no longer wearing that cocky smile. Instead, there was a seriousness in his expression that made her stomach tighten.

Even when they’d dated all those months ago, there’d always been something dangerous about Jackson—something she knew she should avoid, but that drew her in all the same. She’d never dated anyone who made her feel so restless. So alive. Sometimes he’d be away for days at a time with only the vaguest of excuses, and often as not he’d return with injuries and bruises he’d never explain. She never asked. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

But it was hard to keep the questions out of her head now. What was he involved in? And what did an atlas have to do with anything?

“Is it worth money?” she asked finally. She’d sold almost everything of real value she had to help with bills after her mom passed, but she’d never suspected that atlas might be worth anything significant. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“Please, Goose. I’ll pay you whatever you want for it.”

Maybe it was the use of his old pet name for her, or maybe it was the look in his eyes—desperate, and unlike anything she’d ever seen in his face before—but she found herself stepping aside and letting him into her home.

The moment he was inside, he turned and locked the door behind them.

“Where is it?” he asked.

“Wait in there,” she said, setting the coffee pot on a side table and gesturing toward the living room. “I’ll go grab it.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then he nodded and went into the other room.

What are you doing? Charlotte asked herself as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. You shouldn’t have let him in. And he hasn’t even given you a real reason for why he’s here. But the look she saw in his eyes haunted her, and she knew, no matter what was going on, that she wouldn’t have had the heart to turn him away. Because you’re an idiot. And he still affects you, even after what he did.

There was a lump in her throat by the time she stood in front of the bookcase in her room. She found the atlas easily. Bound in leather with gold embossing on the spine, it stood out amid her collection of ratty paperbacks and well-read travel books. The atlas was designed to look like an antique, but inside, it was quite modern. While there were a handful of prints of gorgeous, hand-drawn maps like the one in her kitchen, most of the images were contemporary and up-to-date. She’d spent hours poring through the pages.

The knot inside of her twisted as she let the atlas fall open in her hands. She’d loved this gift. Not just because it was from the man she’d thought herself madly in love with—an acknowledgment that stung, even now—or because it added to her ever-growing collection of one day maps. But because she’d been able to tell that the previous owner of this atlas had loved it too. Jackson had purchased it used, and the previous owner—whose name was an illegible scribble on the bookplate inside the front cover—had left his mark on every page. On some pages, it was little notes; on others, it was mysterious stains; and on still others, it was small sketches of birds or constellations or, in one case, a naked woman.

This atlas had a heart, and she felt like the previous owner had been a kindred spirit. She liked to imagine that he’d carted this book around with him on his wild adventures, and every mark on these pages was a souvenir. Maybe that faint brown blotch on page 103 next to the map of the United Kingdom was a drop of some fine British tea, or that tear on the corner of the map of Nepal came from the wind whipping the page out of his hand on the side of Mt. Everest. She knew every mark in this book, had invented a dozen stories for each.

She didn’t want to let it go.

But maybe it’s better this way, she told herself. Even after all this time, look how much Jackson still affects you. It’s better to cut all reminders of him out of your life completely.

She repeated that to herself as she descended the stairs. She’d give him the atlas and get him out of her house. He didn’t deserve any more of her time than she’d already given him. He doesn’t deserve the atlas, either, said a small voice in her mind, and while part of her agreed, she just wanted this over with so she could get on with her life.

But when she reached the living room, she felt herself waver once more. Just the sight of him in her house again was enough to take her breath away, to bring a whole flood of emotions and memories back to the surface: Jackson kissing her for the first time. Jackson holding her close and brushing away her tears when she’d learned her mom’s cancer had returned. Jackson making love to her and then spending hours afterward sharing whispered secrets in the dark.

And then, at last, came the memory of that final morning, when she’d rolled over in the predawn light and found his side of the bed empty. Normally they’d woken up at the same time—often still tangled up in each other—but that morning her gently grasping hand had brushed against nothing but a scrap of paper.

She’d read that note so many times in the following days that the words were still burned in her mind:

Charlie—

This wasn’t how I wanted to do this. There are a hundred things I know I should say, and a hundred more I want to say but know I shouldn’t. But the truth is I know none of them will make this right. I knew the moment I met you that this would be a mistake, that I’d only end up hurting you, but I couldn’t help myself. I was selfish. I still am. Which is my only consoling thought—that you’re absolutely better off without me. I wish I could give you a better explanation than that, but I can’t, and for that I’ll be forever sorry. I can only say that I hope you find happiness. I hope you live all of your dreams, big and small. And I hope you find that man who can love and support you the way you deserve to be loved and supported. I’m sorry I ever let you believe that man might be me.

Her eyes burned even now, remembering those words and the sharp confusion that had followed. Remembering the pain that had swept through her when she’d tried calling his number and found it disconnected. Jackson hadn’t just left her—he’d completely disappeared. Removed every trace of himself from her house and her life.

All except one, she thought, looking down at the atlas. But it looked like he was here to finish the job.

But before she could take another step into the room, she realized he was looking at her—staring, more accurately. As she was staring at him. Her cheeks went hot and she quickly glanced away.

Jackson cleared his throat. “Rough night?”

She risked a glance up, confused, then realized he was gesturing toward the papers scattered on her coffee table.

And end tables.

And floor.

In fact, the whole room was a disaster. She had files stacked on every flat surface, and among them sat the half-empty cartons of the Chinese food she’d forced herself to order when she’d realized she hadn’t eaten all day. She also counted at least four coffee mugs on various end tables.

And that was just the room—that didn’t even take into account how she looked. She’d pulled on her sweats the moment she’d gotten home from the office, knowing she’d be up all night at this. Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head—though she was just realizing that a number of tendrils had come lose and hung like wavy octopus legs down her ears and neck. The only makeup she wore was the mascara she’d thrown on on her way out the door this morning, and considering how many times she’d rubbed her eyes in the last hour, she wouldn’t be surprised if that was all over her face by now. No wonder Jackson had been staring at her.

It doesn’t matter how you look, she told herself, crossing to the coffee table and clearing off her things. Why do you even care what he thinks anymore? The weak part of her mind answered immediately: Because when the guy who dumped you shows up at your door, you want him to know exactly what he’s missing. The only thing Jackson would be thinking right now was, Thank God I escaped this when I did.

The atlas was still tucked beneath her arm, but now that it was time to give it to him, she was having trouble handing it over.

“Charlie…” he said softly, in a tone that was almost apologetic. It made her heart ache unbearably.

She had to be strong. Just hand it over and push him out the door before she dissolved into a pathetic mess of tears at his feet.

“Here,” she said, thrusting out the atlas without looking at him. “Just take it.”

But he didn’t. And when she glanced up to see why, she found he wasn’t even looking at her anymore, but rather toward the back door. His shoulders were rigid and his jaw was tight.

She followed his gaze but saw nothing. “What are—”

Before she even realized what was happening, he’d grabbed her and clamped a hand across her mouth.

“Shh.” The sound in her ear was little more than a breath. Her back was pressed against Jackson’s chest, her body trapped within the tight circle of his arm. Her heart was beating in her ears, and she was afraid to even breathe. What was he doing? What the hell was going on?

The last time she’d been this close to Jackson was the last night they’d spent together. He smelled the same, and her body reacted the same way to his nearness—in a terrifying explosion of familiarity and desire. But he felt different now, felt stronger. She could feel the raw power in his arms around her, and she wasn’t sure whether that frightened or excited her.

But before she could analyze that reaction too closely, she heard it—the small click click of someone fiddling with a lock.

He held her so that they both faced the back door. Currently, the blinds were closed, so they couldn’t see out into the darkness of the backyard. But she could see the lock moving slightly, trying to come undone. Cold washed down her spine. Someone was trying to break into her house.

Jackson’s mouth was still at her ear.

“I want you to take the atlas and go out the front door,” he said. “Get as far away from here as you can. Don’t stop for anyone.” Just as suddenly as he’d grabbed her, his arms dropped.

She stood there, stunned, then whispered, “What about you?”

“I’ll find you. Go!” He practically pushed her toward the door.

She still had no idea what was going on—What the hell had Jackson gotten her involved in?—but she saw the look in his eyes. Behind the fierce determination in his expression was something that almost looked like fear. She wasn’t going to question what he’d told her to do.

She raced toward the door, pausing only to reach down and grab her purse from the floor. As soon as she got out of here, she’d be calling the police.

The moment her fingers touched the handle, she heard the back door fly open.

“Run!” shouted Jackson when she started to look back.

She did.

She threw open the door and bolted out into the night. Almost immediately, she heard a shout from around the side of the house—and then a crash from her living room, but she didn’t dare look behind her. Her car was parked right next to the mailbox, but even as she fumbled for her keys in her purse, a dark figure came running at her across the lawn. She didn’t have time to find them.

She turned and raced down the street, gripping the atlas for dear life. Footsteps pounded behind her—one pair? Two?—and she couldn’t think of anything but get away, get away, get away. When she reached the end of her street, she turned down another. And then another. She knew she should scream for help, but every ounce of her air was going toward running faster, harder. When she opened her mouth, all that came out was a strangled croak, and even that made her chest hurt. Soon she was gasping for breath, and even still the footsteps were gaining.

She never stopped. Never slowed. She ducked around cars and behind hedges until she was lost in her own neighborhood. Finally, just when she thought her lungs were going to explode, she found herself at the neighborhood’s clubhouse. Everything was locked at this hour, but she threw herself behind the building’s air conditioning unit and dropped down to the ground, hiding as best she could.

For several long, terrifying seconds, she heard nothing but her own pounding pulse. Then footsteps approached—two pairs, for sure—and she held her breath as they neared and then passed her, circling around the side of the clubhouse.

Those moments after they faded away were the longest of her life. She was too afraid to move, even though the strap of her purse was twisted around her arm and the atlas was pressed uncomfortably into her hip. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from gasping for breath, even though her lungs were still begging for air. Her mind whirled.

She’d known Jackson was trouble, but she’d always thought it was more in the guaranteed-to-break-your-heart sort of way—and her experience had certainly proved her right in that respect. But this? This was beyond any of her imaginings. She had people breaking into her house and chasing her through the streets and she didn’t even know why.

A twig snapped behind her. She jumped—but it was too late. A figure appeared above her, and before she could scramble away, he grabbed her and pulled her back. And a hand clamped across her lips before she ever had the chance to scream.

CHAPTER TWO

“It’s me,” Jackson breathed in Charlie’s ear. “Don’t worry, it’s me.”

Almost immediately, he felt her body relax in his arms. But though she seemed to realize she wasn’t in any immediate danger, her chest still heaved against his arm and her pulse still fluttered like mad where he gripped her at one wrist. She was terrified, and no wonder.

Still, tangled as they were and with his face partially buried in her hair, his body was half convinced they were in a very different sort of situation. Her lips were soft as butter beneath his calloused fingers, and her hair smelled just as he remembered—like strawberries and cream. He was hard as a rock before he even realized he’d nestled closer to those silky strands. The last time he’d had his face in her hair, he’d been buried deep inside of her. This was always his favorite position—being curled around her from behind with her neck within easy reach of his mouth and her breasts within reach of his hand. There was nothing to muffle the sweet little cries that would come from her lips, and nothing to stop him from teasing that tender nub between her legs when he could tell she was about to come.

This isn’t the time for this, you moron, he thought. What the hell are you thinking? He released her abruptly. Nash’s men were still out there looking for them. He needed to get her somewhere safe. And fast.

“Do you still have the atlas?” he asked her under his breath as she rolled over to face him.

She nodded, her gray eyes wide with confusion and fear beneath the light of the moon. As he lifted his head to glance around them, she let out a little gasp—and he found her staring at the side of his face. He raised a hand to his cheek, and his fingers came away sticky with blood. Shit. He must have hit something during his scuffle back at the house. Fortunately, further investigation suggested that it was only a mild cut, though he’d need to make sure the blood didn’t get in his eyes. He’d knocked out the guy who’d come bursting through the back door, but there appeared to be at least two others still out there looking for them. He glanced back down at Charlie.

Don’t worry, Goose, he thought, tucking a honey-colored tendril of hair behind her ear. I’ll keep you safe, I promise. He hoped she could read the message in his eyes—it was too dangerous to speak more than absolutely necessary.

He couldn’t believe Nash’s guys had caught up with him so fast. That could only mean one thing: what Roth had feared was true. They’d been betrayed—most likely by one of their own. He’d need to update his leader as soon as possible.

It was several moments before he dared to reach out and touch Charlie’s arm again, and the contact still sent a jolt of need through him.

Control yourself, you horndog. This wasn’t the time to think about how much he wanted her, but fuck, was it hard to focus on anything else. He’d had nine months to forget her. Instead, he’d somehow built up nine months of fantasies that his body was aching to reenact.

But he had no idea when Nash’s men might circle back around. Right now, they needed to get out of here.

“Come on,” he whispered, helping her to her feet. “Follow me.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her around the side of the building. Her fingers gripped his, strong and sure, even though he knew she must be terrified. He wanted those fingers around his cock. Or digging into his back as she screamed out his name. But first he needed to get her somewhere safe.

He’d parked his rental car around the corner from her house, at the end of a cul-de-sac. When they reached it—via a path around various hedges and across at least one backyard—the street was otherwise empty. Nash’s guys had parked in front of Charlie’s house, and most likely they were back there now, waiting for one or both of them to return.

He pulled Charlie behind a large hydrangea bush while he scoped out the street. After convincing himself that the coast was clear, he glanced over at her. Her tender mouth was set in a hard line, and she had the atlas clutched to her chest. He saw her purse dangling from her other arm, and he let out a breath of relief. That would save him a trip back to her house, at least.

“That’s my car,” he whispered, pointing. “When I give the signal, make a run for it, okay?”

She gave a single nod.

He gave the street one more good look before squeezing her fingers and tugging her out into the open.

They ran. He was much faster than Charlie, but she kept pace well, and he only released her hand when they reached the car and they had to bolt to their respective sides of the vehicle. Within seconds, he had the key in the ignition.

Unfortunately, a single car engine roaring to life in the middle of the night was hard to miss in a quiet neighborhood like this, even from a street or two away. Which meant they didn’t have much of a head start.

But Nash’s men weren’t his only problem right now. As soon as he slammed his foot down on the gas, Charlie pulled her cell phone out of her purse.

“What are you doing?” he asked her as he squealed down the street.

Her thumb tapped against the screen. “Calling the police.”

“Don’t,” he said. “That’ll only make this worse.”

His eyes were locked on the road, but he could feel the disbelief rolling off of her.

“What’s going on?” she asked him. “Who were those guys and why are they after you? Why are they after me?”

“They’re after the atlas.” He shot a look in the rearview mirror. No sign of them yet.

“But why?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her glance down at the book in her hands. “People don’t break into houses and chase people down for an atlas.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” he admitted.

“How?” When he didn’t answer immediately, impatience crept into her voice. “How, Jackson? What the hell are you involved in?”

“Charlie, I don’t think—”

“I have the right to know.”

She had a point. As much as he wanted to keep her out of this, it was too late for that now. She was involved, whether he liked it or not.

And as if to drive that point home, a car suddenly appeared behind them, going way too fast to be anyone but Nash’s men.

He cursed and tore around the next turn, sending Charlie sprawling halfway across his lap. He had to lose them. Charlie sat back up and quickly clicked on her seatbelt, and he heard her breath hitch slightly when she glanced back and realized what was going on. He wanted to reach out and calm her, but that was impossible right now. The least he could do was fill her in on what he could.

“I never told you much about what I do for a living,” he said, his voice calm in spite of the fact that his grip was like steel on the steering wheel.

She looked at him. “You told me you worked in imports and acquisitions.”

In spite of himself, he smiled at the description. “And that’s correct, in a general sense. The truth is that I work for a team that travels around the world finding and acquiring items of a certain value.” He’d reached the neighborhood’s entrance, and he took a quick right onto the main road. But the other car wasn’t far behind. The headlights lit up his rear-view mirror.

Charlie was twisted around, watching the road behind them. “I still don’t understand.”

And he still wasn’t quite sure how to say this. “We’re a very specialized team. That means we have the skill to find and retrieve things that most people would consider impossible—or at least not worth the extreme effort and risk it would take to get to them in the first place. Artifacts, long-lost works of art, sunken cargo—”

“Like a pirate.” The doubt was clear in her voice.

“Not like a pirate at all,” he said, though he felt a grin creep on at the image of himself with a parrot on his shoulder. “Most of us prefer the term ‘treasure hunter,’ but I think even that is—”

“Jackson, this isn’t the time to joke.”

The fear in her voice smacked the grin right off his face. He glanced in the rear-view mirror again. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like his last two sharp turns might have gained them some ground against their pursuers. He risked a glance over at Charlie.

“I’m not joking,” he said softly. “I’m dead serious about this, Charlie.”

Her huge gray eyes turned his way, but she said nothing.

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” he rushed on, “but it’s the truth. The team I’m on hunts down items of value. Sometimes we’re hired to do so by museums or local governments or wealthy collectors. Other times we catch wind of something and conduct our own investigations.” He tore through a traffic light just as it turned red, then whipped around the next corner.

Charlie seemed to be absorbing this latest bit of information. “And this atlas is somehow involved in that? Who are these guys chasing us?”

“Unfortunately, my team isn’t the only one out there. And if we’re right about this latest hunt, that atlas might help us find the biggest haul of our lives.”

“How big?”

“Big enough that a lot of people would kill to get it.” His gaze flicked to the rear-view mirror once more. There was no sign of the other car behind them, but that didn’t mean they were in the clear.

For a few minutes, they rode in silence. Charlie seemed to be processing everything she’d just heard, and he was focused on getting them as far away from their pursuers as possible.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” she said finally. “Why did you give me this atlas in the first place if it was this important? And why is all of this happening now? It’s been almost a year.”

“That’s the thing,” he said. “I had no idea.” He remembered the night he’d given her the atlas—the way her eyes had lit up like he was giving her the world. He saw the way that, even now, her fingers curled protectively around the book’s edges, and it made his chest ache with an emotion he didn’t want to analyze.

“That atlas belonged to a man named Vincent Rinaldi,” he continued. “I bought it at his estate auction.”

“Was he someone famous? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him.”

“Not famous, no—at least not outside the treasure hunting world. But he was rich. Incredibly rich. He was also what you might call an eccentric.”

She let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Are you sure you aren’t making any of this up?”

“It sounds like a joke, I know,” he said. “And trust me—it gets even more ridiculous. Vincent Rinaldi was…well, he was a little touched in the head. There are a lot of different kinds of treasure hunters out there, Goose. Some will slit your throat as soon as look at you,”—he caught her throwing a glance behind them—“and others just want to play at being adventurers. Rinaldi was one of the latter. He was, for many years, the laughing stock of the treasure hunting community. He’d follow all sorts of rumors and stories and pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into dives for sunken ships or digs for Inca gold. I’ve even met a fellow who once swindled him into paying ten thousand for a plain old map of Australia.”

“And this atlas was his?” she asked. There was something almost tender in her voice as she looked down at the book in her lap.

“Yeah,” he said, suddenly feeling like a jackass again. Why’d she have to love that damn atlas so much?

“As I said, I bought it at an auction,” he continued. “Rinaldi died last year. Left everything to Alyssa Berry, his fiancée. According to reports, there was very little cash left, so she mostly just got a bunch of treasure-hunting equipment. State-of-the-art stuff, but not exactly anything a young bride-to-be wants or needs when her intended dies. She turned around and auctioned most of it off immediately. My teammates and I made a few purchases. Mostly tools and stuff, but some of us picked up a few of his personal things—his old journals and notes and that sort of thing—just for fun. Rinaldi was a loony, but he was one of us, you know? He was a legend, in his own way.”

“And the atlas?”

“I thought of you the moment I saw it. I knew you’d love it.” And now I’m going to take it away again like a heartless bastard. He tried to assuage his guilt by reminding himself that it was safer this way, that as long as she had the atlas, she was in danger—but it didn’t make him feel like any less of a shithead.

“Why now?” she asked softly. “What’s changed?”

His eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror. For a split second, he thought he’d seen the headlights again, but it was a false alarm. Pull it together, man.

“Alexei—that’s one of my teammates—he was looking through some of Rinaldi’s old travel journals,” he said, still keeping an eye on the road behind them. “I’ll give Rinaldi one thing—the man kept great records. Wrote down everything he encountered, every detail of his expeditions. Of course, most of his instincts were wrong, but he had an adventurous spirit. And there was something interesting about the last journal he kept before his death.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lean a little closer to him, her eyes bright with interest. “In most of the notebooks, he was clearly just writing for himself—making notes of things for future voyages and all that. But in the last one, he kept addressing his fiancée. He was writing to her.”

He cast another glance behind them, but he was beginning to think he might have lost their pursuers after all.

“It took us a while to figure out what was going on,” he continued. “We’re still unraveling bits and pieces. But it was clear that Rinaldi knew his health was suffering. And the details he provided were odd—he was no longer giving thorough accounts of his expeditions, though it was obvious from what he did write that he was still traveling regularly. Sometimes he seemed to be writing in riddles, almost as if his mind was going—even though it was his heart that was supposedly killing him. And then one day, Roth—that’s our team’s captain—figured it out. Rinaldi wasn’t going on expeditions during that last year. He was creating one. Making his own treasure hunt, and leaving the clues for his fiancée. She rarely went with him on his expeditions, and she must have thought that he’d wasted his entire fortune on his hobby. In fact, it appears that he just decided to leave it to her in the most spectacular way possible.”

Charlie leaned back in her seat. After a moment, she said, “This sounds like a bad TV movie.”

“I haven’t even gotten to the best part. Our first clue about his fortune was a riddle he wrote toward the end of his journal.” He hated himself for knowing it by heart—because honestly, it might have been the worst bit of poetry ever written in the history of the world—but the entire team had studied it so many times, from so many angles, that it was hard not to have it memorized. He cleared his throat.

“It said,

‘The greatest treasure God ever gave me

Was that first look upon your face.

The greatest treasure I can leave you

Might be hunted from that place.’ ”

Naturally, Charlie laughed—a real laugh this time, and his cock was suddenly reminded of the last time he heard that bright, sweet sound from those lips. He’d been on top of her, and his tongue had discovered a spot behind her ear where she—

Headlights flashed in the mirror.

Focus, you idiot! he yelled internally at himself. He pressed down on the gas, but the car behind him turned onto a side street. False alarm.

“Obviously, Rinaldi wasn’t much of a poet,” he said, trying to bring his attention back to the subject at hand. “You can see why we thought this was a joke for so long. But the more we looked into it, the more we realized that we might be onto something. There was a lot of speculation about where all of Rinaldi’s money went. His fiancée was supposedly furious she received so little.”

“Sounds like true love.”

“She recovered pretty quickly—I think she married some French billionaire about two months after Rinaldi’s funeral. Which is why we don’t feel the need to rush to her with our suspicions about what he did with all that money. I’m not sure she ever even opened his journals.”

Charlie slid her hand over the cover of the book in her lap. “Where does the atlas come in?”

“That riddle seems to suggest that we need to find the place where he first met Alyssa. One of his earlier journals hints that he met her when he was sailing off the coast of Croatia, but that’s still a lot of area to search. And even if we narrowed it down to an island or a port, how do we know where to go from there? Fortunately, he left a clue for us—for her. At the very end of his last journal, on the inside of the back cover, he scribbled, ‘If you have trouble, my love, remember—trusted maps will always steer you true.’ ”

“And he trusted this atlas.”

Strangely, she didn’t pose it as a question, but he answered it anyway. “We spent days studying his other maps—the ones we had, anyway—including a couple of the Mediterranean and the Adriatic. But he mentioned that atlas several times in his journals. He loved it. Took it with him all over the world.”

“I knew it.” Her voice was full of wonder.

“Knew what?” He glanced over at her, and he could have sworn he saw her blush—though that might have been a trick of the passing street lamps.

“I knew he loved this atlas,” she admitted, and there was something so sweet, so innocent in her voice that he felt his body stir again. “He left that love on every page. I didn’t know him—didn’t even know his name—and I always imagined he was some grand adventurer, traveling around the world and facing everything with wonder.” She shook her head. “I know that sounds stupid and cheesy, but—”

“No,” he said quickly, gently. “No, I understand.”

She smiled, but she was no longer looking at him, and he knew her well enough to sense her embarrassment. He’d known when he came here that it would be difficult seeing her, but he’d expected that challenge to come in the form of the burning hunger for her that had never quite left his system—a hunger that even now throbbed through his veins, just being close to her again. He’d always been drawn to her, and he’d known he’d have one hell of a time not grabbing her and pushing her up against the wall at first sight, but he hadn’t fully anticipated the depth of the tenderness he’d still feel. She didn’t belong in the middle of this mess.

“What about the men chasing us?” she asked. “If you—or your team—just figured this out, then how do these men know?”

“That’s what I’d like to find out,” he muttered. But in his gut, he knew the truth. They’d been betrayed by one of their own—and there was only one person who could have done it. They were lucky that nothing else had been compromised—and that no one had been seriously injured—in the incident in Prague. The appearance of Nash’s guys here meant their enemies weren’t planning on letting this one go.

Just get Charlie away from everything as soon as you can, he told himself.

“If I’d known any of this about the atlas, I never would have given it to you,” he said. “I’m going to make sure you get somewhere safe. Do you have family or friends you can stay with? Your mom, maybe?”

Her silence made him realize his mistake immediately.

How the fuck had he forgotten? “She’s not… Fuck, Goose. She isn’t…?”

“In December,” she said, her voice suddenly cold. Distant.

Fuck. He’d known when he left that Charlie’s mom was sick, but he hadn’t thought about the inevitable outcome of that.