All I Want is You (Hearts on Fire Book 1)
Read All I Want is You (Hearts on Fire Book 1) Online
Authors: Ashley Mullins
ALL I WANT IS YOU
BOOK ONE of the HEARTS ON FIRE Series
ASHLEY MULLINS
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Ashley Mullins.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or redistributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission of the publisher.
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ALL I WANT IS YOU is the first book of HEARTS ON FIRE, the new series by author Ashley Mullins.
When 21-year-old struggling author Ellie Sparks is approached by a gorgeous stranger outside her New York City apartment, she has absolutely no recollection of the role he once played in her past. She’s even shocked he knows her name. With a publishing deadline looming and an eviction notice on her door, the last thing she needs is a distraction.
Don't know Jake Harlow? Wait a second…
The 26-year-old publishing megastar is only the hottest bachelor on the planet. Dark, sexy and driven, his brilliant green eyes and panty-melting smile have given him his pick of beautiful women. But when he finally finds Ellie, she's everything he didn't know he needed.
She tries to remember her past. He wants to bury his. Then, one incredible kiss changes everything.
Their attraction is undeniable, but will their desire be enough to shed the demons of Jake's past and find their happily-ever-after?
Jake pulls her stiff nipple gently with his lips for a moment, then seizes it between his teeth with a force she doesn’t expect. The rush of stinging pain shocks her body, then eases into a pleasure she didn’t know could feel so good. “God, that does things to me.”
“
I want you to have it all, every experience…
” Jake says as he moves lower, hovering over the soft, bare flesh of her stomach with his warm breath.
She tangles her fingers in his hair, wild sensations permeating every inch of her core, pleading for him to go lower and lower until he’s face to face with the button on her jeans.
He rips it loose without hesitation— intense hunger guiding every movement— and pulls her zipper down with equal voracity. His eyes slide even further, down to the lace of her panties. “
And I’m going to give it to you.
”
Ellie wants to look herself over, straighten herself up, but she can’t. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t blinked, since the tall, dark-haired man walked in, his black suit coat slung over his shoulder.
Her eyes scan his crisp, white button-down shirt and settle for a long moment at the top, where two loose buttons expose a patch of well-tanned skin. She imagines what it would feel like to touch his warm, muscular chest just below.
She knows he’s way out of her league, but continues a thorough review of him anyway, exercising an extreme level of scrutiny, studying him for flaws, anything that would bring him down to her level.
But his hair is smooth and black and offsets a pair of brilliant green eyes. His nose is thin, his jaw chiseled, a light stubble grooms his chin. His features are pronounced. And strong. His suit, immaculate. Nothing is out of place.
He walks in her direction, inspecting the newly installed paintings along the corridor walls. They’re more than you’d expect in an average New York City apartment building, but somehow he seems disappointed.
She watches him view each piece— like a gallery— stopping and turning, inspecting each landscape, shaking his head, moving onto the next. But her preoccupation is not with his dismay as much as it is with the curves of his firm and sexy backside. Her eyes hang upon his every move.
Suddenly though, he’s not walking anymore. Something has struck him about a particular frame.
Her eyes dart back up his hips, past his mid-section, to the suit coat now draped over his forearm, then— to her shock—
his
eyes are locked on hers.
HOLY. CRAP
. Warmth floods her face. She jerks her head around toward her apartment door. Did he notice her gawking at him? Did he know it the whole time?
She reaches for the doorknob and tries to twist it, but fails.
COME ON!
She shakes it again, desperate for a different result.
She raises her hand to cover the bright orange notice on the door— her latest source of embarrassment and self-doubt— but gives up instead, realizing how little the gesture would do for her.
Defeated, she slides her hand along the door frame. Her eyes follow it down. Her head tilts toward the floor. The hallway is devoid of noise, except for the swoosh of the man’s shoes as they glide across the carpet. But that goes silent too, and suddenly, she realizes he’s stopped. Right. Behind. Her.
He’s close enough that his warm breath sends wild sensations across the back of her neck. It’s unexpected, and welcomed by her tense body.
He leans in even closer, and whispers in her ear.
“The best way to get past shame is to not give a fuck.”
Wait. What?
She shifts her stance, starts to turn around. Her lips part to speak, to tell him how rude he is, but nothing comes out. Her mind is cloudy—jumbled by his words.
She realizes she’s been given license however, liberated to say whatever she wants. “That’s perfect,” she replies, “I don’t believe I have any fucks left to give.”
His lips curl into a mischievous grin. His eyes grow wide as they roam south of her neck. “Somehow, I don’t believe that,” he says.
ASSHOLE
. She plants her index finger on the center of his forehead and pushes it back up. “You know, usually you can tell if someone is honest by the look in their eyes, the expression on their face… not by the size of their chest.”
“Your pendant,” he points and laughs. “Your expression tells me nothing about that.”
Her eyes dart downward. Her face flames red. Between the loose buttons of her shirt, the unusual pendant— a two-and-three-quarter-inch shotgun shell— hangs exposed. She frantically pushes the little red tube back inside and closes her shirt over it.
“So now you know I’ve got demons,” she says without looking up.
He makes no response. Instead, he just stares and waits for her to continue.
Her eyes trace his shirt buttons up to his face. She imagines ripping them loose, one at a time, or all at once, exposing his broad chest… but his silence irks her.
She tucks a few loose strands of blond hair behind her ear. “What I meant,” she says, “is that not everyone’s perfect, you know?”
“Yes, I do,” he says. “I’m sorry the conversation went that direction. To make it up to you, let me reassure you then.” He pauses and reaches out to her. His hand brushes over her shoulder, then gently presses her skin, just under the sleeve of her t-shirt. He squeezes her lightly. “Your demons can’t be any worse than mine.”
“Oh, you have no idea—”
“I do,” he interrupts. “And now I have to prove it to you.”
Ellie stands frozen, unsure what to say or do next. Not sure who this stranger is or what he might be trying to prove. She’s cautious— somewhere between intrigued and nervous— but wants to trust him. “I might let you do that,” she finally admits.
He lowers his head, fixes his gaze on her. “That’s what I needed to know.”
Ellie watches the perfect form of his backside as he turns and begins to walk away, his pants hugging every curve.
When he gets to the set of double doors at the end of the hall, he reaches for the handle, then pauses and looks back at her. “By the way,” he says, “do you find them stimulating?”
She smirks, and one of her eyelids twitches. She knows she’s caught, but doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply.
He smiles in return, exposing a straight set of clean, white teeth. “You’re right,” he says, “You really can tell a lot from someone’s eyes.”
He points to the paintings. “You know, I think I
will
leave them in place, then.”
“Oh, right…um…” Ellie presses a finger over her lips and looks away from him.
“Jake,” he says to her. “My name is Jake Harlow.”
“That wasn’t fair, Jake...” she looks back at him. “I’m Ellie.”
“I know,” he says and walks through the set of double doors.
The rattle of them closing shakes her heart.
***
Ellie turns to face the problem in front of her— the locked door of her apartment. She can’t help but glance over her shoulder, hoping that somehow Jake is still there, or that he’s reappeared. She still has questions. Did he really know her name or was he agreeing his little trick wasn’t fair?
With no way to know, she pulls her cell from her pocket.
“Yeah, Ell,” a hesitant voice answers.
“Can you just give me one more chance?” she asks.
“There’s nothing I can do,” Isaac says. His tone is sympathetic, but firm. “This is the third month in a row you’ve been overdue.”
Ellie shakes the door knob again. She fights back tears. “Please, I won’t let you down… I promise.”
“I don’t know, Ell. I really shouldn’t do this,” he says. “I don’t allow my other tenants to go halfway through a month without paying.”
“But I’ve got nowhere to go,” her voice cracks, “and I really need to get something. Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“I just don’t—”
“Please, Isaac,” she says. “My story’s due in two days. If I don’t get my notebook, I’m totally screwed… I’m begging you.”
She paces back and forth, grabs a fistful of her hair.
“Listen, Ell,” Isaac finally says. “I like you, so I’m going to give you one last chance. You’ve put up with all that construction noise next door, so, I guess I could throw you a bone.”
Oh, thank God
.
She releases a long breath.
“Thank you so much, Isaac. I promise you—”
“I’ll give you twenty-four hours, Ell… and you need to come up with this month’s rent plus ten percent late penalty… and then I’ll change your lock back. Got it? That’s the best I can do.”
“Can I at least get—” she says.
But it’s too late. Isaac’s no longer there.
Ellie slumps to the floor, her back against her apartment door. She pulls her knees to her chest, hangs her head over folded arms. Whatever relief she felt is gone.
She has twenty-four hours
Ellie’s friend Naomi wears a white robe over her dark, wet skin and holds a tube of red lipstick in her hand. Even without makeup or formal dress, she’s gorgeous. At five-eleven, she towers over Ellie’s five-seven frame. She’s thin, buxom and has a body that Ellie would kill for. They’ve been friends since Ellie moved to New York six months ago.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” She asks Ellie.
“Not want to,
have
to,” Ellie says.
“Okay, but as your friend, I have to advise against it,” Naomi says.
“What do you mean? You’ve been asking me to go to work with you for weeks now.”
“Not because
I
want you to go,” Naomi shifts her stance. “The new owner won’t shut up about you.”
“I’ve never even met him,” Ellie says. “Don’t even know what he looks like.”
“Well he sure acts like he knows you. Maybe he just wants to fuck you, then.”
“GOD. Shut up, Naomi. Not every guy just wants to have sex, you know.”
“Maybe in your world,” Naomi laughs.
“Well, it’s not important, anyway. I might not even be available,” Ellie says.
“Yeah, well, as your friend,” Naomi pauses, “you’ll want to wait ‘til you see him to make that decision.”
Ellie’s eyes fix on her. “I already met a guy, actually.”
“Ha!” Naomi stops applying a line of black mascara, turns to her and raises a brow. “Details?”
Ellie flashes a mischievous smile. “Tall. Dark. Handsome... All-American back end.” She smacks her own backside.
“Where?” Naomi asks.
“Moving in next door.”
“Mm-hm,” Naomi shakes her head. “There you go. Will never work... way too close.”
“You’re probably right,” Ellie forces the words out. “He wouldn’t go for a girl like me, anyway.”
Naomi turns and puts her hands on Ellie’s shoulders. “Nonsense,” she says. “He’d be crazy not to!”
“I can’t even keep an apartment, never mind a boyfriend,” Ellie says.
“We’re about to fix that,” Naomi says.
“Right…” Ellie sighs. “Do you still have the gift?”
“The what?”
“The bag you gave me for my twenty-first birthday. The clothes?”
Naomi walks out of the bathroom to her closet and returns with the bag. She smiles and hands it to Ellie. “This is going to look killer on you.”
Moisture builds in Ellie’s eyes. She takes a deep breath, reaches in, and shuffles the contents around. “It’s all here?”
“Stockings and all,” Naomi says.
Ellie wipes a tear, before it has a chance to meet her cheek. “Good,” she lies.
***
Ellie’s legs tremble as she eyes the stage. Everything about this scene feels cheap and disgusting to her. At best, the men will only stare and wonder what went wrong. At worst, they’ll point and laugh and humiliate her because of her inexperience. Her white button down shirt conceals her now, but she knows what’s expected. There’s no turning back if she wants to keep her apartment.
She stands, next in line, looking down in disbelief at the short plaid skirt and long white stockings she never imagined she’d wear in public. Now, she’s using them to pay her rent.
Palms sweaty, she slides her hands down the sides of her skirt. As she does, the single button that holds it together releases.
Holy crap,
her mind races
.
This can’t be happening.
But it is— and her skirt falls to ruins on the floor. All that’s left, below the knotted tails of her shirt, is a tiny thong that barely covers… anything.
She can feel the eyes of men upon her, can hear their laughter. Someone yells at her, “Gimme some of that ass, baby.”
Her skin crawls. She wants to tell him to fuck off, but she can’t blow this— she only has one shot. Instead, she turns her head to the side and crouches down, choking back a veritable flood of tears, frantic to gather her skirt back up, desperate to throw it around her waist and snap it back together.
What the hell was she doing here anyway? She’d be better off homeless, and alone, away from this desperate mess.
When she stands back up, the world stops moving. The room freezes.
The skirt slips from her hands.
Ten steps in front of her, a tall figure stands half in the dark. The slick gloss of his shoes shine under the overflow of stage light.
Her pulse races— a woman remembers a man’s shoes.
He steps forward. His chiseled jaw-line revealed, his steady gaze cast fully upon her.
The cold room itself begins to fill with warmth—not because her heart’s on fire, which it is, but rather the source of its ignition. The sparks that are Jake Harlow’s eyes brighten even the darkest corners of this filthy place.
He takes another step in her direction. Everything else in the room crawls.
He’s three steps from her now.
Two.
One.
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” she says.
He kneels down, eyes reeling her body in, his face mere inches from her waist. His warm breath on the inside of her thighs sends a magnificent pulse straight to her core.
The rest of the room disappears.
His hands make their way around her waist, not touching, but hovering with a closeness that makes her know she’s helpless.
“No one was,” he snaps her skirt back into place.
Somehow she’s disappointed.
He stands up, his lips now close enough to take hers simply by leaning forward.
To her surprise, his hands find her hips and force her around to face the dressing room door. “You’re not dancing here,” he whispers in her ear.
She looks back. “But, I—”
“The answer is no,” he says, and walks her through the door. “Not here.”
“But Naomi said—”
“I don’t care what Naomi said.”
“Just wait a minute,” she tries to turn around, “She told me the owner wanted—”
He grips her arms tight, moves her forward. “I
am
the owner.”
He kicks the door closed behind him.
Inside, a crowd of girls gathers around mirrors, fussing with their hair, their glitter, adjusting their breasts. They all at once turn to face Ellie and Jake. The room goes silent.
“OUT,” Jake points to a door on the other side of the room.
The women moan and carry on.
Jake takes a step toward them. “I said GET OUT.”
Naomi eyes the door. The rest of the girls file out.
“I told you to bring her down here, not bring her down here TO DANCE,” Jake says.
“My mistake,” Naomi groans and hurries out.
Jake turns back to Ellie and points to a red velvet couch. “Sit down.”
“I don’t want to,” she says. “I’m going back out there.”
“No, you’re not,” he replies.
“I need to finish this night.”
“Not here, you’re not.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I think I do,” he says.
“No, you don’t. You can’t possibly understand…” she takes a breath, “the situation I’m in.”
“You don’t need to worry anymore,” he says.
“Worry about what?”
“Your problem. I know what your problem is… and I’m telling you, you don’t have to worry.”
“This is ridiculous. You don’t even know me. Who do you think you are? You can’t just come in here, put your hands on me, turn me around and tell me I can’t do this and don’t worry about that.”
“That’s exactly what’s happening, now sit down, and let me help you.”
“You’re out of your mind.” Ellie takes a step in the direction of the stage door, but he’s there before her.
She reaches for the handle.
Their hands collide and his fingers slide between hers. Their eyes lock.
He reaches around her waist, pulls her into his arms. The sudden press against his body makes her gasp.
She studies his face, runs her fingers along his strong jawline. For a moment, there’s no rent, no ridiculous skirt, no story for her to write, there’s only Jake Harlow— the gorgeous, confident man, whose desire agrees with hers.
Ellie’s fingers glide over his soft, moist lips. She leans closer to him, but suddenly a rapid knock comes from the door at the other end of the room.
“Let me in, Jake,” a female voice calls.
Jake exhales a heavy breath, tracing a line from Ellie’s lips, across her cheek, to her ear. “Don’t. Go. Anywhere,” he whispers.
The scent of his minty breath makes her want to stay put, planted in this spot until he returns, whenever that might be.
But she looks around the room and her good feelings turn to disgust— the mirrors where the girls get ready, the counter with clutches of makeup and perfume, the red velvet couches, the stage door— all of it wrong to her. He owns
this,
it finally hits her.
The knocking continues. “Come on, Jake. Did you forget about me? Open the damn door.”
Ellie’s heard enough. She grabs his shirt and pushes him away, pulling her hand from his.
Jake’s lips part in surprise, but he says nothing, and doesn’t stop her. Instead, he takes a step back and tugs the bottom of his shirt to straighten it out.
She pushes through the stage door, lets it slam behind her. She stops for a moment, checks the security of her skirt, then looks around the room.
Relief!
The noise from the door, and her own re-entry, go miraculously unnoticed.
She walks to the bar where Naomi and some of the other girls gather.
Jake Harlow will have to wait
.