Just One Moment (Just One Song #4) Read online

  Contents

  Just One Moment

  Copyright

  About this Book

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Other Books by Stacey Lynn

  About the Author

  Copyright 2016

  © 2016 Stacey Lynn

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permissions from the author, except for using small quotes for book review quotations. All characters and storylines are the property of the author. The characters, events and places portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of all products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editing provided by: Amy Jackson Editing

  Proofreading provided by: Emily A. Lawrence

  Cover Design provided by: Perfect Pear Creative Covers, Sommer Stein

  Cover Photo provided by: Sara Eirew Photographer

  Models: Kevin Bansley and Pamela Brisson

  Interior Design provided by Shanoff Formats…

  About this Book

  Just One Moment

  Ex-military man, Lynx Anders has one surefire weapon that destroys all of his pain and suffering--SEX.

  Lots of raw, unattached, uninhibited sex.

  Sure, it doesn't cure him of all that he's seen--all that he's done in combat, but it helps--for the time being.

  But when he has one night of unadulterated, mind-blowing passion with Sarah Linscum, Lynx realizes that one night is not enough--will never be enough.

  Her upbeat and bubbly exterior broke through his tough-guy armor, and he wants more. Bound and determined to uncover why Sarah's eyes mirror his own in pain and despair, Lynx sets out to make them shine as bright as her.

  As they both know, it takes "just one moment" to change everything.

  Together, can they heal from the demons that chase them in their dreams and find a way to not only heal…but love?

  PROLOGUE

  SARAH

  I HAVE ALWAYS HAD the uncanny ability to know exactly where I am when I wake up in the morning, despite what bed I am in. Years of traveling and spending nights in hotel rooms have primed me for times like this when consciousness pulls me from sleep.

  Before I open my eyes, I stretch in the bed. My arms spread wide at a slow pace, to ensure that I'm not sleeping anywhere close to the man whose bed I crashed in.

  My arm swipes cool sheets and as my legs rustle beneath the same, silky-soft sheets, I don't brush against warmth there, either.

  Perfect.

  Last night—and early into this morning—was incredible.

  Possibly one of the best nights I've had, ever, with a random hookup.

  Not that Lynx was random, necessarily, but he was definitely one of the few one-night stands I've had where I didn't know the person before at least sharing a meal with them.

  You could say we bonded pretty quickly once he and his twin brother, Landon, brought my best friend Kennedy to the hotel suite where there was a celebratory party going on for Grayson Legend, MMA fighter.

  What I didn't know until last night was that somehow Grayson and Kennedy know each other. I didn't know that when she watched MMA fights on television she knew the fighter she cursed at. Yet the way Grayson had grabbed her and hauled both of us out of our seats, after he took out his opponent in about two point five seconds, shows that he definitely knows her.

  I was hustled out of the building and into a waiting vehicle by a scrumptious man who towered over my tiny frame.

  Lights popped off his bald head, but it was the thick black slashes for eyebrows, dark brown eyes framed by ultra-long black lashes, and full...full lips that looked delicious that had me pulling out all the stops to get his hands on me.

  Fortunately for me, Lynx, as I now know his name, kept me company last night when Grayson declared the party over and then whisked Kennedy out to the balcony of the hotel suite.

  Lynx got me sweaty and dirty, cleaned me up with a shower, and dirtied me all over again.

  Stamina.

  The man has it in spades. Better, he knows what to do with what he's got. And he has plenty.

  He also uses it well.

  I press my thighs together to quell the small ripple of interest in my achy lower parts and brush the thought out of my head.

  I don't go back for repeats.

  Ever.

  “One and done” is my motto. Leaves things less messy that way. No one's feelings get hurt. No one gets hurt, period.

  I never want to be responsible for hurting another human being again. I don't think I could take it.

  Keeping my sexual relationships separated from any emotions helps protect everyone's hearts.

  The fact that Lynx isn't in the bed next to me this morning, so I don’t have to do that awkward morning-after thing—something I rarely give any man a chance to do anyway—is icing on the cake.

  Happy to be alone under slick sheets that still smell of delicious, heart-pounding, multiple-orgasm-giving sex, I roll to my side and reach for the my phone that I know I left on the nightstand.

  I pry my eyelids open, swipe my passcode, and quickly begin flicking through the news app.

  It's my routine: wake up, read the news, start the day. It doesn't matter where I am, I always read the Chicago news app. Then I check out the gossip columns.

  I read the news because it was ingrained in me early on in life. Being the daughter of a now former Minnesota governor, I was taught that it’s every citizen’s responsibility to know what’s going on in the world around him or her.

  I learned to read by sitting on my father's lap while he read the Star Tribune newspaper to me—including the opinion pieces. Because not only should we know what's going on, we should also feel free to speak our opinions and know what other people think on different issues.

  It's too deeply imbedded in me to not read the news.

  I read the gossip columns because I like that funky crap. I like knowing who's screwing who, whose dress is getting bashed, who's...

  "Holy crap," I mutter, my eyes widening. My fingers quickly flick through the screens on TMZ then over to a linked site called Fresh Sports. "What the hell?"

  I can feel my throat tightening as my eyes grow bigger.

  Kennedy and Grayson.

  Front page.

  Sports websites.

  They're everywhere.

  "Kennedy!" I shout, at the same time scrambling out from beneath the covers.

  "What the hell?" a masculine voice mumbles from the corner.

  I gasp and spin a
round, my eyes widening.

  I wasn't alone after all.

  I just didn't have company in the bed.

  Interesting.

  Lynx runs a hand down the front of his face and drops his head to the back of the chair. "What’s with all the shouting?"

  I hold up my phone and show him. "This," I squeak and shake my screen. "Kennedy and Grayson. They're online. Everywhere."

  Lynx pries one eye open and takes the phone out of my hand. He doesn't spare me a glance as his eyes narrow and then he curses. "Fucking hell."

  He hands the phone to me, and I step back so I'm not in his way.

  His eyes finally meet mine and he frowns. Then his gaze drops. My eyes follow his movements. As his brown eyes turn dusky, it's only then that I realize I'm naked.

  Funny. I hadn't noticed.

  Good thing he did, or Kennedy would have gotten an eyeful of me in my birthday suit.

  Something passes over Lynx's gaze as he takes his time, inspecting every inch of my body that he can see, and I cock a hip, putting a hand on it.

  "See something you like?"

  This gets me a lip twitch and I feel that earlier quiver return.

  "Had my mouth all over you last night, babe. Not sure how I couldn't like it."

  A warmth slides against my flesh at his words when I realize where he was sleeping. "You weren't in the bed."

  His eyes meet mine and narrow. "Don't do sleepovers."

  Man. This guy just keeps getting better.

  "Good." I nod and remember my manners. "Thank you for the bed, though. I could have just as easily found another place to sleep."

  He laughs softly and reaches over, grabbing a tablet from the table. "Not an asshole, either. Worked you so hard last night you were practically passed out before I slid out of you that last time. Looked for other beds to crash in, but they were all full. Kennedy and Grayson were on the couch in the living area. Came back here and passed out as soon as I sat down."

  So much information in that explanation. One I didn't even need.

  I appreciate it all the same.

  "Let me see that." I snag the tablet out of his hand and pull up Fresh Sports again. "This is so freaking cool." I begin bouncing on the balls of my feet.

  "Can I have that back?"

  I shake my head and step back. "No way. Kennedy's going to flip." I look at him and grin.

  He's only wearing the tight black athletic briefs he had on the night before.

  They do nothing to conceal the bulge beneath the fabric.

  I know what that package feels like in my hand, inside of me. Thick and heavy. Powerful. Mind-blowing.

  I arch a brow. "You give me a few minutes, I'll come back and take care of that."

  He reaches down and adjusts himself.

  I almost moan. Why is a man touching himself so freaking sexy?

  His eyes narrow and he shakes his head. "Thanks. And I'm really not being an asshole, but I don't do repeats."

  Seriously. Perfect.

  I like this guy.

  And the way he uses his dick.

  My lips stretch into a smile. "I don't either. Nor do I do sleepovers, so I appreciate that awkwardness you avoided so I didn't have to crawl out from beneath a sweaty arm this morning. But I'm also pretty sure you're not done with me yet."

  His lips quirk up. Clearly amused, he asks, "I'm not?"

  "Nope." I shake my head and nod toward the bed. "I haven't given you one of my famous blowjobs yet. Like I said, give me a few minutes and I'll come back and prove it."

  "You're serious." He blinks rapidly, stunned.

  I love this. Why do men think women don't actually enjoy blowjobs? There's no greater turn-on than a man surrendering to my touch, trusting me to treat him with care while getting him off at the same time.

  I step away and snag his T-shirt from last night, which is on the floor, and pull it on. His eyes follow the shirt as it covers my breasts and then my hips. I have a small frame. I don't have much to hold onto. I know this.

  Men like large tits and ass and long legs. I have none of that.

  I make up for it with enthusiasm.

  The way Lynx's deep brown eyes darken tells me he doesn't miss the curves.

  "I'm more of a one-and-done girl myself," I tell Lynx and take my eyes off his and back to the photos. If he doesn't want a blowjob, it'll be disappointing to walk away from him later without tasting him, but no biggie. His loss. "I need to show this stuff to Kennedy, but if you’re in bed when I get back, I'll show you what I mean. You're not, okay."

  I leave the room without looking at him.

  But I can tell by the way the room heats as I start shouting Kennedy's name so everyone in the place can hear me, he's watching me go.

  And I know without a doubt that he'll be in bed waiting for me when I get back.

  CHAPTER ONE

  SARAH

  YOU WOULD THINK after starting an organization seven years ago, where I spend the majority of it traveling to high schools and speaking about my personal history, reliving it would become easier.

  It doesn't.

  Ever.

  I close my eyes at night and am still jerked awake by the sound of metal hitting metal, glass exploding everywhere, and the metallic, bitter taste of blood dripping into my mouth.

  My finger rubs against the two-inch scar at my hairline above my left eye.

  I escaped lucky. That's what people have always said.

  It was the people I killed who weren't so lucky. Mark and Andrew.

  I have piles of photos of them, given to me by Mark's widow, Nicole. Our relationship is tremulous. I wouldn't call us friends, but we're most definitely not enemies. About two years after I killed her husband and son, Nicole met with my mom at a coffee shop and shared her forgiveness with me via my mom.

  I wasn't at a place in my life to receive it then, even though I had already begun the idea of trying to help others. I had already completed my hundreds of hours of court-ordered community service but still felt the need to do more. Originally it was to assuage my own guilt, my own demons that to this day still chase me when darkness falls.

  No one gets that I wasn't lucky. I'm alive, definitely.

  When you know you're responsible for taking a life, especially two innocent ones—one who was only four years old—there is never a moment while you're alive where you don't think about what you've done.

  I might be alive.

  I'm even living a life. I've got a great family, a job I love on most days—even with bridezillas screaming at me. I have a nonprofit organization that means everything to me, and a few select friends whom I trust with my life.

  But that life doesn't mean I'm living.

  Most days I still exist in a fog, trying to forget the horrific events of that afternoon, despite how good I’ve become at hiding it.

  Days like today, while I'm on the phone with a Superintendent of Schools in Naperville, asking me to come speak at their school-wide assembly this upcoming fall, brings it all back to me.

  "Like I said, Mr. Zanus, I look forward to seeing you in October."

  "Thank you, Miss Linscum. I appreciate this. I've heard your story, remember it even..."

  I close my eyes and imagine him. He must be overweight, because his breathing is heavy; his laugh reminds me of my grandfather's after a pack of smokes and a glass or three of whiskey.

  I focus on the sounds he makes rather than the words coming out of his mouth when he says, "It's an honor to finally meet you. There's a lot of respect for you, young lady."

  I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I don't want their respect. "Thank you again, Mr. Zanus. We'll see you in a couple of months."

  I hang up the phone and toss it onto my desk. Pressing the heels of my palms into my closed eyes, I rest my elbows on the desk and focus on my breathing.

  The techniques work, but I know that in order for them to do their job, I have to want it.

  Some days I don't. Some days I want to curl back i
nto a little ball, turn the lights off, pull the covers over my head and just...drift away.

  I'm stronger than I used to be, more determined to continue on, but that doesn't mean every day is easy.

  When I first began speaking at high schools, I was still a high school senior. After my first few engagements, my parents saw how much it devastated me. They tried to convince me to stop. Perhaps I wasn't ready. Perhaps this wasn't healthy for me.

  What they finally grew to understand was that no matter what dark place these speaking engagements take me to, there's always the thought of Mark and Andrew. Of ensuring their lives aren’t forgotten and that they weren’t wasted. I have a duty to them, to Nicole, to ensure that the lives I took are never forgotten.

  I have a duty to make something good out of my horrifically stupid decision.

  They were killed because I couldn't wait ten minutes to get home to tell my mom what kind of pizza I wanted.

  Two lives taken, gone forever, because I took my eyes off the road to focus on pressing fingertips against a tiny keypad and typing: Peppero—

  I never finished the word. It took those few seconds for lives to be forever altered.

  That's a guilt, a reality I live with daily.

  My phone rings, startling me, and I reach to silence it.

  I already know what I need to do to forget about this for the night, and lucky for me, Kennedy doesn't have any plans, either.

  She hasn't had any plans since she moved into my apartment in Chicago just over a week ago.

  But tonight, she and I should go celebrate. She has her first job interview next week for McMillan Holdings, and it's an incredible opportunity for her.

  I should take her out for a drink and dancing. She doesn't drink much, but she doesn't mind dancing with me. Then I can find a way to distract myself.

  As I move my thumb to hit the Ignore button, something makes me stop.

  It's an unknown number, and I never ignore them—not during working hours.

  I'm still fresh off the call from Mr. Zanus, but I can't ignore it.

  I stare at the phone and sigh, hitting Answer, and press the phone to my ear.