The Confession 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 5120 6

  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 Three

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue

  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 looking for an exclusive scoop on a famous reclusive artist. Encountering millionaire playboy Jase Beckett, Emmy agreed 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, neither Emmy nor Jase wanted to let go. But both had been burned by a lifetime of family tragedies and were unable to admit their feelings, so Emmy returned to San Diego. Determined to win her back, Jase followed, only to be forced to end things between them for her protection.

  Now, back in London, Jase is undone when Emmy shows up demanding an explanation – and he can’t let her go again. With her at his side, he’s ready to uncover the truth about the damaging secrets that have cursed the Beckett family. But as the revelations keep coming, it’s clear the danger isn’t over. And all Jase and Emmy know is that they can only trust each other . . .

  Emmy and Jase’s unforgettable London Affair began in The Weekend and The Chase.

  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 THREE

  Chapter One

  Thursday morning

  EMMY

  It’s been exactly three weeks since Jase Beckett left me on my own in the hospital in San Diego.

  When I’d managed to blink my eyes open in the recovery room after my surgery, the first thing I saw was my best friend’s tired, concerned face. Tyler Landon’s the emergency contact on all my insurance information, and so the hospital had called to notify him that I was there while I was still on the operating table.

  ‘Where’s Jase? Is he okay?’ I’d croaked from my dry throat, as fragmented memories of jarring, bone-crunching rollovers in the Ferrari made me wince. I knew we’d been in an accident, but that was all, my mind fuzzy from the drugs they were pumping into my system.

  ‘He’s good,’ Ty had murmured, giving me a worried smile as he carefully brushed my hair back from my face with one of his big hands. I’d exhaled a heartfelt sigh of relief that Jase was all right, until Tyler muttered under his breath, ‘For now.’

  ‘What do you mean “for now”?’

  ‘Shh,’ he’d whispered. ‘Don’t worry, honey. Everything’s going to be just fine.’

  I slipped back under before I could get him to explain, but in my heart, I’d known there was something bad he was keeping from me. Something he didn’t want me to know. When I was finally able to keep my eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time the following afternoon, I’d learned what it was.

  Jase ‘the bastard from hell’ Beckett, as Tyler put it, had done a runner. Ty knew because Jase had left word at the hospital that he was leaving town, after paying not only for the treatment he’d been given, but also making arrangements to cover all my medical costs. And then he’d bailed before Tyler could even get there.

  My things from the suite at the Hotel Del out on Coronado had been boxed up and delivered to the hospital that same day, just after Tyler broke the news to me, and there’d been an envelope inside with a handwritten note from Jase.

  A goddamn, motherfucking note.

  All it’d said was: I know Tyler will look after you. I’m sorry I can’t do this. I thought I could, but it’s too much. Be careful, and take care.

  I mean, seriously
? What in the ever-loving hell was that load of bullshit? And he hadn’t even signed it, like he couldn’t be bothered or had simply been in too much of a freaking hurry to go.

  So, yeah. To say I’d been in a rough emotional state would be putting it lightly. I was so shocked and angry and heartbroken, my usual uneasiness around doctors hadn’t even made an appearance during my stay in the hospital, all those other violent emotions stomping it down. I’d cried more that first week than I have in my entire life – and all I could keep thinking was Thank God I didn’t tell him I love him.

  Those nine little words had played on a continual loop of pain in my head, and I hated to admit it, but the truth is that what Jase did to me was a thousand times more painful than having a shard of Ferrari removed from my right side.

  Jase’s wound had been straight to my heart, and I had no idea how to fix it.

  But even worse than the anguish was not knowing what had gone wrong. If he’d been playing me the entire time, in some twisted emotional game of manipulation. Or if the accident had somehow given him cold feet, like he cared about me so little he couldn’t be bothered to hang around if I was going to be a burden.

  Neither was going to give me any warm fuzzies, and they both made it clear he was a self-centered dick who couldn’t be trusted. So I’d crawled into bed when they let me go home, and had started the painful task of rebuilding my emotional walls, one heavy brick at a time.

  And Tyler, like always, was my anchor. He basically moved in with me for the first week I was home, playing nursemaid when I’d had to hobble around everywhere because of the pain in my side. But once I was given the all-clear from my doctor, I gave Ty a hug, kissed him on his bearded cheek, and told him he’d done his part and could get back to his own bed. I knew his back had to be killing him after crunching up on my tiny sofa for seven straight days – and that was after sleeping in my hospital room every night I was there, so I wouldn’t be alone. He’d headed home, but still came by every day to check on me and bring me groceries, as well as dinner each night. I think he was afraid that if he didn’t feed me, I wouldn’t bother to eat at all. Especially after Lola sent me the first blog link to a photo of Jase out on a date in London.

  It seemed that the man I’d so stupidly fallen in love with hadn’t wasted any time before getting back to his old ways once his feet hit British soil. I’d only been home from the hospital two days when she sent the first link, along with a scathing note about what a sleazy jackass he is. When I’d opened the link and saw the paparazzi-snapped pic of Jase coming out of a fancy London restaurant with a beautiful Italian heiress, I barely had enough time to reach the bathroom before I threw up. Tyler had held my hair back for me, terrified I was going to bust my stitches – though once the tears hit, I think he preferred the puking.

  It was like a dam had been broken, and once I started crying, I couldn’t stop. I cried for an entire twenty-four hours, and it was only because he knew that I needed him there to take care of me that Tyler hadn’t gotten on a plane, flown to London, and beaten the hell out of Jase.

  Then, five days after that first blog link, there’d been another one. That time, Jase had been caught on camera with a tall, skinny British model at a black-tie charity event. And even though I managed to keep my food down after I saw it, I’d felt another piece of me die inside.

  Jesus, was he touching these women? Kissing them? Fucking them?

  The tormenting questions kept me up at night, Jase’s behavior so bizarre I simply couldn’t wrap my head around it. And it’s not the only thing that’s been odd, because Tyler swears that there’s been a security team watching my apartment since the day he brought me home. Four times now, he’s spotted a dark sedan parked across the street from my building. The blacked-out windows on the car have made it impossible to see who is inside, but it actually followed us to one of my doctor’s appointments. When Tyler walked over to bang on the driver’s window, ready to demand an explanation, the car had sped away – only to be back on my street that night, when I’d peeked around the edge of my bedroom curtains.

  And then, three days ago, shit got really weird, when Lola sent through yet another celebrity blog link. Only this one hadn’t been accompanied by the previous scathing diatribe about what a ‘dickless tosser’ she thought Jase was. Instead, it’d simply said: Look at the bastard’s arm. What the HELL does this mean?

  I’d gritted my teeth and looked at the link.

  And then my damn heart had stopped.

  In the photo, he was wearing a casual white polo shirt, and his right inner forearm was clearly visible as he used it to block the paparazzi’s lights. So visible that I could clearly see the new tattoo he’d gotten since leaving San Diego. A distinctive, intricate design of swirling stars and moons that’s identical to the ink on my right hip.

  We never talked about that specific tattoo, but he’d often paid special attention to it with his lips and tongue when he went down on me. Which had been a lot. As in every day. Plus, we’d taken a bunch of photos when we were at the beach on Coronado in our bathing suits, so there was a good chance he caught a clear shot of the tattoo on his phone, which he could have shown the artist who had done the work.

  When I’d first seen the photo of him on the blog site, I couldn’t believe he was walking around with my design tattooed on his freaking arm while the bitch who’d poured her Pimm’s down my back clung to his other side as they walked out of a VIP box at a rugby match. God, I was going to give him so much shit for that. But as painful as it was to see him out on the town with yet another woman, and this one a freaking ex-girlfriend, I was relieved that Lola had sent me the link to the photograph.

  I was relieved because it meant that there was a chance I hadn’t been a complete and total fool. That there was a sliver of hope the emotions I’d read on Jase Beckett’s beautiful face every single time he looked at me had been real and honest and true.

  But if that were right, then it also meant that something was wrong. That Jase was deliberately trying to shove me away from him – which meant there was a strong chance I was just going to end up getting what was left of my heart shattered if I went after him, only to have him tell me to get lost.

  So, I had a choice to make. I could either stay in San Diego and play it safe, doing what I could to glue my pieces back together yet again, and spend God knows how long licking my wounds. Or I could take what was left in my savings account, get my ass on an airplane, and go after the only man I’ve ever fallen helplessly, uncontrollably, and crazily in love with. I could find him, and then demand a fucking explanation.

  The old Emmy would have taken that safe route, and crawled back under the armored shield she’d been slowly rebuilding, adding a shitload of reinforcements to it in the process.

  But in a shocking discovery, I realized that the new Emmy has outgrown her shield. Yeah, she still gets scared of putting herself out there and taking those crazy, only-fools-do-things-like-this-for-love chances – but she’s badass when it comes to going after what she wants in a way that old Emmy never was.

  So now I’m here, in Edinburgh, Scotland, because this is where Jase has apparently been hiding out since he came back. That is, when he hasn’t been escorting his dates all over London.

  I could have been saved a lot of hassle and flown directly here, if he’d ever bothered to take my calls. I’d started trying to reach the handsome jerk after discovering that damn tattoo, but he never answered, and I wasn’t going to talk about it on his voicemail. So I got on a plane and went to London first, since that’s where I’d thought he would be. Only, when I got to his office, there’d been no Jase. But good ol’ Martin, Jase’s friend and longtime assistant, had been only too happy to tell me where I could find his boss.

  I have no idea what Jase is doing in Edinburgh, but I’m about to find out. I haven’t even taken the time to get dolled up, too eager to just get this over and done with, so I can know, once and for all, what comes next. I’m dressed casual, in a denim j
acket, long black skirt, white top, and wide brown leather belt that sits low on my hips and is just loose enough not to bother the small puncture wound that’s still healing on my side. But Jase has never given a shit about how I dress. He’s always been much more interested in what’s underneath my clothes, and I swear I feel another little tear in my heart as I wonder if that still holds true. Or if he’ll take one look at me and laugh, like he’s wondering what he ever saw in me.

  ‘No, he’s not like that,’ I mutter under my breath, knowing I just need to grow a pair and knock on the door. Jesus, he’s probably watching me right now through the peephole, thinking I’m acting like a scared little rabbit.

  For some reason, Jase has security covering the building, so I know he knows I’m here. I’d had to give my friggin’ name and show my passport down at the front desk, and they only let me up because Martin called (thanks to a text I’d sent him when my Uber dropped me off out front) and told them not to give me any problems. The doorman had looked pretty pissy though, so I’m guessing he’s already called Jase to let him know that there’s a tired, disheveled-looking American woman getting ready to knock on his door.

  I catch the sound of someone moving around inside the flat, so I finally lift my hand and land a hell of a knock against the cream-colored wood. One I immediately regret, since my knuckles are stinging like a bitch. But the pain takes the focus off how hard and fast my heart is pounding as the door suddenly swings open, and I find myself standing face-to-face with Jase.

  Oh . . . Oh, God. For a second, I can’t even speak. I’m too blinded by the reality of him. By the scent and sight and sheer animal magnetism that has drawn me to this breathtaking man from the first time I ever set eyes on him in a stuffy London Tube car.

  Then I blink, and as he comes into sharper focus, I realize how . . . different he looks. He’s still drop-dead gorgeous, with his thick ink-black hair, dark blue eyes, and that tall, powerful body that could give even Michelangelo’s David a run for its money. Still looks like something that I need to hold and lick and kiss for the rest of my freaking life. But he’s different, too, with a haggard edge that I’ve never seen on him before. Not even when he chased me all the way to San Diego a month ago. It looks like he’s not sleeping or eating, and there’s a new scar just above his left eyebrow, which I’m guessing is from the accident. Concern tightens my chest, while the anger that’s been simmering inside me ever since I finally realized he’d bailed catches light like a spark with oxygen.