The Chase Read online

  Copyright © 2017 Rhyannon Byrd

  Cover photograph © AS Inc/Shutterstock

  The right of Rhyannon Byrd to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in this Ebook edition in 2017

  by HEADLINE ETERNAL

  An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN 978 1 4722 5119 0

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.headlineeternal.com

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Praise for Rhyannon Byrd

  By Rhyannon Byrd

  About the Book

  Dedication

  London Affair: Part Two

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Are you ready for a London Affair?

  Feel the pull of the Dangerous Tides series

  Find out more about Headline Eternal

  About the Author

  Rhyannon Byrd is an avid, long-time fan of romance and the author of more than twenty erotic and paranormal titles. She has been nominated for three Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Awards, including best Shape-shifter Romance, and her books have been translated into nine languages. After having spent years enjoying the glorious sunshine of the American South and Southwest, Rhyannon now lives in the beautiful, but often chilly English countryside with her husband and family.

  For more information on Rhyannon’s books and the latest news, you can visit her website at www.rhyannonbyrd.com, follow her on Twitter @RhyByrd or find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/RhyannonByrd or on Instagram @rhyannonbyrd.

  Praise for Rhyannon Byrd’s scorching romances:

  ‘From London to the English countryside, Jase and Emmy burn up the sheets in this first installment of Rhyannon Byrd’s London Affair’ P.T. Michelle, New York Times bestselling author

  ‘London Affair is signature Rhyannon Byrd – exciting, sexy, and romantic. Byrd brilliantly crafts a steamy love story with a couple that dazzles, and I couldn’t put it down!’ Virna DePaul, New York Times bestselling author

  ‘Raw, addictive, and blisteringly hot, the opening of Byrd’s new [Dangerous Tides] series is a sizzling success’ Romantic Times (Top Pick)

  ‘No one writes lip-biting sexual tension and sizzling romance like Rhyannon Byrd’ Shayla Black, New York Times bestselling author

  ‘Rhyannon Byrd has a gift for beautiful, sensual storytelling’ Cheyenne McCray, New York Times bestselling author

  ‘Filled with love, lust, loyalty, betrayal, sensuality, and heady romance. Readers will find themselves reaching for a Kleenex and fanning themselves all at the same time as they devour this page-turner’ Night Owl Reviews

  ‘Combines passion and suspense with a touch of deadly danger guaranteed to keep you reading until the very last page’ Joyfully Reviewed

  ‘Hold on to your iceboxes, girls! This one is a scorcher!’ A Romance Review

  By Rhyannon Byrd

  London Affair Serial

  The Weekend

  The Chase

  The Confession

  Dangerous Tides Series

  Take Me Under

  Make Me Yours (e-novella)

  Keep Me Closer

  About the Book

  When American art-history graduate Emmy Reed arrived in London, she was hoping to land her dream job with an exclusive scoop on a famous reclusive artist. Thrown into the path of millionaire playboy Jase Beckett, Emmy found herself agreeing to be his date for a family wedding when she discovered that her sought-after artist was his grandfather.

  After a stunning weekend of intense sexual connection, even amidst his family’s devious scheming, neither Emmy nor Jase wanted to let go. But both had been burned by a lifetime of family tragedies and, with neither able to say what the other wanted to hear, Emmy returned to San Diego.

  Now, realising he’s been a fool, Jase follows Emmy, determined to leave the past behind and fight for his future. But will San Diego be far enough away to escape the dark, damaging secrets that surround the Beckett family – especially when the revelations threaten his and Emmy’s lives, as well as their relationship?

  Emmy and Jase’s sizzling London Affair began in The Weekend and continues in The Confession.

  For Cassandra.

  ˜

  As Tyler would say, you are the coolest of the cool, sweetheart.

  I’m so incredibly proud of you,

  and I love you more than you could ever possibly know.

  LONDON AFFAIR: PART TWO

  Chapter One

  Sunday evening

  JASE

  With my hands braced in front of me, pressed against the marbled shower wall, I hold my head under the hot spray as I work my jaw back and forth. Despite the two mind-blowing fucks that Emmy and I have just had, I’m so tense I could crack, and my heart won’t stop pounding like a bloody jackhammer.

  I came in here because I needed a few minutes alone to get my head together, and it’s not like I had a lot of other options. Lottie and Oliver’s wedding reception is in full swing down in the gardens, which meant my usual way of dealing with shit that puts me on edge – going on a hard, grueling run – was out of the question. So here I am, washing Emmy’s mouthwatering scent off my skin, when that’s the last damn thing that I want, just so I can take a moment to figure out what the hell I need to say to her.

  Christ, this is so fucked. When I’d asked her to stay with me in London, I never expected her to come right out and put me on the spot, demanding a reason. Never imagined she’d want me to open up and spill my guts to her, when I don’t have a clue what to say. Half the time I don’t even know how to admit what I’m feeling about her to myself, so how in God’s name am I meant to explain any of it to her? That’s not the way I’m wired, and the frustration pumping through my system has me fisting my hands against the tiles. I fight the urge to punch them, which would not only be juvenile, but probably break my hand. And I’m already breaking apart enough as it is.

  I’ve only known the girl for three days, but she’s already got under my skin in a way that no one else ever has. And while I instinctively want to hate it, and rage against it, the truth is that being with a woman has never felt so fucking right or good or real.

  It’s literally the best I’ve ever had – from the sex to the conversation to just holding her hand in mine – and I’m acting like an idiot by hiding out in here. I have no idea how much time has passed, but my skin is starting to prune. I turn off the water and send droplets flying as I shake my head, still no clue what I’m going to say to her. No idea what it will take to make her change her mind. I’m not going to lie to her, and a part of me just wants to keep arguing with her until she finally grows the hell up and sees that this isn’t how adults handle their relationships.

 
; But deep down inside, I can’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling that just because this is my way, that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s the correct one. That I’m the one acting like a petulant child here, instead of her. That in the real world, men face up to what they’re feeling and go with it, rather than sticking their damn heads in the sand, thinking that the If I ignore it, it can’t hurt me game is going to somehow protect them, when all it really does is prevent people from ever getting close to you.

  That tactic might have always worked for me in the past, because I’ve honestly never met anyone I could see myself going the distance with. Never met anyone who made me even want to try. But I’m strongly suspecting that fact has changed, and that’s . . . Yeah, that’s what’s scaring the ever-loving hell out of me.

  I force myself out of the shower, grab a towel, run it over my face, and wrap it around my waist. Deliberately avoiding my reflection in the mirror, since the last thing I want to see is that scared little kid I used to be haunting my eyes, I suck in a sharp breath and rip the door open, deciding that the best course of action is simply to tell her that I need more time. That I see her point, but am on a learning curve here, and can’t just give her what she’s looking for without the opportunity to think it through.

  It’s lame as fuck, but it’s all I’ve got.

  It’s also completely goddamn pointless, because when I step into the bedroom, Emmy isn’t there waiting for me in the bed.

  ‘Shit!’ I shove the word through my clenched teeth, scanning every corner of the room for any sign of her. But aside from the dress she wore to the wedding that’s still lying in the middle of the floor, and the killer heels I’d pulled off her slender feet, it’s like she was never even here. I stalk over to the antique wardrobe, ripping it open, and my heart drops when I see that it’s been emptied of all her things, except for the clothes and shoes I’d bought for her. Her suitcase is gone as well, which means she hasn’t just left the room, but the entire estate. She’s doing a fucking runner, and with my blood rushing through my head, I let out a guttural bellow and lurch for the door.

  Hoping I might still catch her, I run out of the room with nothing but this sodding towel wrapped around my waist, and nearly do a header when my bare feet slip on the top step of the sweeping staircase. Gripping on the banister with one hand, the other holding the loosening towel closed at my hip, I fly down the stairs. I’m so angry I’m amazed I don’t have steam pouring from my ears, my vision shaded by a red haze, and I’ve never felt the acidic burn of hatred like I do the instant I spot my stepmother, Caroline, standing by the front door, her red lips curved in a malicious, gloating smile that says more than any words ever could.

  ‘What the hell?’ is all I can manage to growl at her, just as my cousin Cameron steps through a nearby doorway to stand by her side. For as long as I can remember, the two of them have been close, which is probably one of the reasons I can’t stand the tosser. Anyone who chooses to be friends with Caroline isn’t someone I want in my life. And he’s an even bigger dick than his younger brother, Oliver, which is really saying something.

  ‘You’re too late,’ she drawls, and I physically cringe from the way she’s looking me over, the burn of hunger in her blue eyes making me sick. ‘Angus is already driving her to the station.’

  I run my tongue over the edge of my teeth, fighting to keep control of my temper, so angry I could literally roar. Not only has Emmy left me, but she let this bitch help her, and I’m so fucking furious that I realize I am finally done. Done dealing with this family’s twisted shit. Done putting up with them for the sake of public appearances. Done not saying to hell with it all and finally cutting myself free.

  With my chest heaving, I step towards Caroline. ‘You are the sickest bitch I have ever known.’

  Something in her eyes lights up in a way that tells me she’s getting off on my anger. ‘Jase, we’re family.’

  ‘You’re not my family. You’re nothing but a bloody nightmare and I’m done with you.’ I cut a seething look at Cam. ‘With the whole lot of you.’

  I turn to leave before either of them can respond, already tuning them out, and catch sight of my friend Callan coming down the hall. He doesn’t look surprised to see me standing in the foyer with nothing but a towel covering my bare arse, which means he either saw Emmy leave or thinks we’re all bat-shit crazy in this house.

  ‘I thought she’d probably want to make a scene,’ he tells me, jerking his chin at Caroline, ‘so I’ve put someone on the back door. They’ll keep the wedding guests from coming inside until I give the word that it’s clear.’

  ‘Was she okay?’ I scrape out, my voice so gritty it doesn’t even sound like me.

  ‘I was coming inside to use the john and found her with her suitcase in the back hall,’ he explains, barely stifling a wince. ‘I tried to get her to wait for you, but she was pretty upset.’

  I grind my teeth together so hard I think I hear a crack. ‘Upset how?’

  Callan frowns. ‘She was trying to keep it together, but she was crying.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  He steps closer and lowers his voice. ‘I wouldn’t have let her leave with anyone but Angus. You know he’ll look after her. And he can tell you where her train is headed when he gets back.’

  I nod, too angry at myself to speak. I never should have left her alone, and while I know Callan’s probably thinking I’m going to head after her, he’s wrong. I’m too damn raw inside, in a way I haven’t felt since . . . No! No way. I don’t even want to think about it.

  But even though I’m not willing to go chasing after Emmy Reed like some pathetic, lovesick idiot, begging her to come back after she just ran out on me, I’m not staying. I’m never spending a night in this fucked-up house again.

  ‘I’m getting the hell out of here.’

  ‘I’ll bring your car around while you get packed,’ Callan says, reminding me why I’ve always liked him. He’s as stand-up as they come, so long as you’re not a woman trying to date him, since he’s got his own demons riding hard on his back. ‘I’ll follow you up to get the keys.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I grunt, my throat so tight I have to force the word out as I head for the stairs.

  ‘Jase! Where are you going?’ Caroline snaps behind me. ‘I haven’t finished talking to you.’

  I don’t even bother turning around as I say, ‘Why don’t you just fuck off and leave me alone?’

  ‘You can’t leave this house, Jasper Beckett! We’re in the middle of a reception!’

  A bitter laugh burns up from my chest. ‘Jesus, Caroline. Like I give a damn.’

  ‘Let him go,’ Cameron mutters under his breath. ‘Why do you even care what he does? I thought you hated his guts.’

  The guy sounds upset, which is weird. I mean, what’s going on between these two anyway? And I can hear them both following Callan and me up the stairs. Or Caroline is following us, while Cameron follows after her like a puppy.

  She ignores my cousin and keeps hounding me. ‘Honestly, Jase, this is for the best. Can’t you see that? Your father and I could never accept you being in a serious relationship with someone like her. What would our friends say? She’s so . . . common.’

  I nearly lose the towel as I stop and turn on the top step, throwing off the hand she’s just placed on my arm. ‘For the love of God, woman, enough!’ I shout, my hard voice vibrating with fury. ‘I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but I am done dealing with your shit. I do not want to see or hear from you again!’

  She pales and steps back, bumping into Cameron who is just behind her.

  ‘Jase,’ I hear my father murmur, and a quick glance down the stairs shows him standing at the bottom, staring up at us with bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Don’t even bother,’ I bite out, and I have no doubt that my disgust for him is written all over my face.

  Without another word, I turn and head straight for my bedroom, and thankfully the only one who follows me this time is Callan.
He’s quiet as he waits near the door while I fish my keys off one of the bedside tables. As I walk over and hand them to him, I can tell that he wants to say something, but I shake my head, and he leaves without a word.

  When the door closes behind him, I stalk to the wardrobe again, yank open the doors, and another low curse rips out of me as I realize how many of the designer dresses Emmy has left behind. For some irrational reason, it makes me even angrier that she didn’t take them with her. Like it was a final ‘piss off’, making it clear that she wants nothing to do with me. No reminders that will last beyond the echoes in her body of how hard and deep I fucked her.

  I’m so bloody tempted to go chasing after her, but what’s the point? She’s made her answer as clear as she could, and I said everything I have to say. Emmy’s demand for me to break myself open for her was as naive as it was hopeless – especially when she was unwilling to do the same. And I’m not going to spout a bunch of romantic, emotional bullshit just to placate her. Fuck that.

  But, Christ, I hate that she’s gone. I wasn’t ready to lose her, and it’s killing me that I didn’t get to hold her one last time. Didn’t get to kiss her. Fuck her. I’d planned to explore every beautiful inch of her, soaking each detail into my system, inking them into my brain, so that I could replay the memories again and again once she was gone. Had planned to gorge myself on her, taking as much as I could get, before we went our separate ways, whether that was tomorrow or weeks from now.

  And now that opportunity is gone. Lost. Killed. And all because she wanted me to peel back my skin and give her things that I’ve never given anyone. Things I wouldn’t even know how to give, even if I wanted to. But I don’t. Damn it, I . . . can’t. The idea of baring myself like that is one of the most terrifying things I can imagine.

  Even if it’s for the sweetest, strongest, most fascinating woman I’ve ever known.

  The woman who fucked me, and then bailed, leaving me in this twisted house with my twisted fucking family.