He's Back: A Second Chance Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  EPILOGUE

  Copyright 2018 Aria Ford - All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  HE’S BACK

  A Second Chance Romance

  By Aria Ford

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  HE’S BACK

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  EPILOGUE

  UNEXPECTED: A SECRET BABY ROMNACE

  AGAIN: A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE

  THE SECRET: A SECRET BABY ROMANCE

  DADDY'S TEMPTATION

  MY HOT STEPBROTHER

  PREVIEW OF ARIA FORDS BOOKS

  THANK YOU!

  ABOUT AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  I kissed him. His tongue pushed into my mouth, probing and plundering and sweet all at once. I pressed my body against his, loving the way it felt when my soft body pushed against his hard, muscular chest. He wrapped me in those strong arms and gripped me close. He kissed me then drew back, gasping.

  “Ainsley,” he growled. “You make me crazy.”

  I laughed. He had such a sweet way with words.

  “You too, Drake.”

  He had been my brother's best friend and now he was my post-teenage dream. Of all the places I wanted to be, the Miami International Airport departure lounge was not one of them right now.

  I stood back and studied him through tear-blurred eyes. He was so handsome I sometimes couldn't quite believe he was real. High forehead, long, straight nose, thick curling dark hair. I always thought he looked something like the Disney Prince of my little girl dreams, only even better with a muscled body and a smooth voice that drizzled through me like maple syrup on pancakes.

  It all seemed a bit surreal now that I was at Miami International Airport with my hand on his suitcase and his goodbyes in my ears.

  “It won't be long, will it?” I asked. I frowned up at him. All the joy in my heart was suddenly giving way to sadness.

  “I don't know,” he sighed.

  I swallowed hard. “I don't want it to be too long.”

  He chuckled. “We're still young, Ainsley.” It was true. We were young. He was twenty-six, a freshly-graduated lawyer. I was a twenty-two-year-old Languages graduate. We had our whole lives ahead of us, but it seemed like a weird thing to say now.

  He smiled fondly and traced his thumb down my cheek in the way he always did, a comfort for my tears.

  “I just want you to be safe,” I whispered.

  He kissed his thumb where it had touched my tears. The gesture moved me – so intimate, it lit a fire in my belly that his kisses had fostered already. I felt a sudden thrill of need for him.

  “I will be safe,” he said.

  I nodded. I turned away, my vision of the Miami International Airport blurred with flowing tears. I could dimly see others – families, couples, air-hostesses with their trimly-cut uniforms – standing in the hall around us. But none of it made sense. All that made sense was that I was here, with him, saying goodbye.

  “I love you, Drake,” I murmured.

  He closed his eyes. His handsome face took on an expression of pain, suddenly. I saw his throat work as he swallowed hard.

  “I love you too, Ainsley.”

  My heart thawed. It felt as if the fresh spring sun visited it, filling me with wonder.

  “Drake.” I really was crying now. I reached and clung to him and our lips met with passionate urgency. My whole body shivered with my need of him.

  “Ainsley.”

  He stroked my hair when we parted and I pushed my forehead into his palm like a small puppy, seeking comfort. He smiled at me the way he always did, with that tenderness and care.

  Then he walked away to join the queue across the barrier of airport tape.

  My eyes blurred with tears, I watched his head move in the crowd until he passed the gate and I lost sight of him again.

  Then I walked out to find my way home.

  As I drove home, numbed with my sorrow, I thought about how crazy it was, what he was doing. Just through with college, Drake was heading off to Kinshasa, in the Democratic Republic of Congo. He was working for Amnesty International, documenting human rights abuses in prisons and on the mines.

  Principled, upstanding Drake.

  I shook my head, eyes blurring with tears as I looked through the windscreen. We had been together since my second year in college and I felt a little betrayed. I guessed the child laborers in the DRC needed him more than I did. But I loved him. I wanted him here, with me. It is selfish, but that’s what love does.

  Drake was Drake. The needs of ten-year-old kids forced to work in mines were more important than his own needs, never mind those of someone else. Like mine, for instance. He had a big heart and a sense of justice. Unusual for a lawyer, my mom had joked. I'd scowled at her.

  If Drake was anything but Drake, I wouldn't love him as much as I did.

  And I did love him for an amount indescribable to put in words.

  Now, looking out through my window in my apartment at the top of a massive high-rise building, I felt tears prick my eyes again.

  It had been over eight years since Drake disappeared. That was the last time I saw him.

  His sister, Halley, had told me he was back, but she'd been cagey. He only spent six months in Africa, she told me. He didn't tell me anything.

  At least thanks to her I knew he was alive. That was a seven and a half years before now. Since then, I really thought I had moved on.

  I sometimes wondered what had happened. Why he'd never c
ontacted me.

  I guess he didn't love me that much, really.

  I blinked away my tears. If Keith hadn't just walked out on me too, I guess I wouldn't be so sad right now. But I was. Sniffing back my tears I stood and headed outside. No point, I told myself harshly, in thinking about the past.

  I wasn't going to get a second chance.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ainsley

  “Oh, for...” I sighed and put my head on my desk. It was one of those days – a Wednesday, but really an undercover Monday. My office-mate, Emmy, frowned at me across the space between us.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I sighed. “Really. Nothing.”

  “Okay.” She shrugged an elegant shoulder and got back to work.

  I ran a hand through my unruly honey-brown hair and made myself focus on the email in front of me. It was from an irritated French author. That might need some explaining.

  I work for Edge Enterprises, a multicultural publishing company. To put it more precisely, I translate books from French and into English all day. Sometimes, authors who don't like the way I've translated something. Like today in this very e-mail in front of me.

  Evelyn Roche – a gaunt and extremely elegant lady, to judge from the author photo – had just told me, more or less, that my translation of the first six chapters of her work were rubbish.

  If it was her weekend she'd just spent on that translating, I bet she wouldn't think so, I thought resentfully.

  “Having a hard day?” a voice spoke from behind my shoulder. My friend Lacey from admin was responsible. I turned to face her. I knew my brown eyes were probably displaying some major heavy under-eye bags, so there was no hiding the truth.

  “I guess,” I acknowledged ruefully. “A hard week, actually.”

  Well, a hard month, but I wasn't going to burden anyone else with my misery right now. I had a difficult time managing it on my own without passing it around. With finally breaking up with Keith to my mom's recent illness and increasing pressure from work, I thought I wasn't going to be able to take much more bad stuff.

  “Want to talk?” she asked.

  I blinked. “Can I? I mean...what's the time?”

  “It's lunch break,” Lacey replied. “Come and join me in Starbucks?”

  I nodded. “I'd love to.” I turned to Emmy, “Want to come too?” I asked politely. I wasn't particularly good friends with Emmy, despite – or maybe because of – the fact that we shared an office. I tried hard to like her but her close resemblance to the “popular” girls turned me away from a friendship.

  Emmy shrugged. “I'd better finish this. Have a hectic deadline coming up. In, well...a couple hours from now.”

  “Ouch.”

  She grimaced. “I know.”

  I stood and stretched, easing out the cracks in my neck, and took my jacket off the rack. I was already chair-shaped after this weekend, much less after this morning. Outside in the street, the early spring air lifted my spirits, ruffling my hair and bringing the scent of the sea to my nostrils.

  “Whew!” I breathed in, letting the ocean air clear my head.

  “Okay?” Lacey asked. She of all the people in my life knew about me and Keith. She'd been great about checking in with me during the getting-over-the-breakup phase.

  I nodded. “I guess so.” I pulled my coat around me, turning up the collar to keep out the worst of the wind, and headed on down the street. “It's just the memories now. Dealing with all that...stuff he said.”

  “I understand,” Lacey said feelingly. “That's the worst bit.”

  It was. I couldn't quite erase from my mind the year's worth of undermining that Keith had ladled over me. By the time I'd finally walked out on him, I had microscopic amounts of self-esteem and barely the same amount of confidence. I still found it hard to look in the mirror without hearing the things he'd said. Klutz. Frump. Bitch.

  “I'm doing okay, though,” I told her. I had joined a dance class and was starting to make myself socialize again. Seeing couples didn't exactly ease my sense of isolation, though.

  “Good,” Lacey said. Ah. Here we are!”

  Lacey and I blew in through the door of the cafe and found a seat in the already-crowded space.

  “Cappuccino?” she asked.

  “Mm. Thanks, Lacey.”

  She headed to the front and made the orders, and I went to claim a table. I took a seat and there I leaned back and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I found Lacey looking at me. Her big blue eyes looked excited.

  “Ainsley?”

  “Mm?”

  “I forgot to mention it earlier, but I have some exciting news.”

  “Oh!” I leaned forward, taking the cappuccino from her hand and opening it. “What's happening?”

  “I have an invitation to the Steelcore Charity Gala. It looks pretty fancy. Happening at the Hilton. Want to come?”

  I almost dropped the coffee she had just handed to me. “What?” I stared at her.

  The Charity Gala was a big event. I knew because my cousin Shane went there with his girlfriend, an employee of Steelcore. It was super-stylish and star-studded. And I could go?

  Lacey laughed. “I got the tickets from my dad. He's got a friend who works there, my Uncle Mark. He said I could take a friend and me. Would you come?”

  “Lacey!” I felt my cheeks lift in a big grin. “I can't believe it! Of course I want to come!” I felt like hugging her.

  Lacey had gone pink, two small spots of blush appearing on her high, contoured cheeks. “It would be no fun on my own, would it? You know it's not easy for me to get out sometimes.”

  Lacey had social anxiety issues and sometimes asked me to come with her when she had to go to the bank or post-office. But inviting me to one of the biggest social events of the year? I was really moved. I reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

  “Thanks, L. Really. That's super-sweet.”

  Lacey just blushed. She's like that. Pretty and lovely, with a shy grace like a deer. If she wasn't my best friend, I would be jealous. As it was, I was just very, very protective.

  “Well, then!” I said. “This calls for a shopping spree! When's the gala?”

  “Next weekend.”

  “Wow! So soon?”

  “Yes!” She nodded. She looked somewhere between nervous and excited. “We don't have much time to prepare, do we?”

  “Maybe we can shop this weekend?”

  “Great!”

  That settled it. I was going, more or less, to a ball.

  That weekend, Lacey and I met on Saturday morning at the mall. I was fizzling with excitement and felt better than I had for months.

  “Where do we start?” Lacey asked with a big smile.

  “How about Free People?” I asked, pointing at the store on our left.

  “Great.”

  We tried on several dresses, but nothing seemed to quite work for me. Lacey found a blue dress with a chiffon overlay and floaty sleeves. It looked stunning.

  “You have to take it,” I told her.

  “You think so?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  I waited while she made her purchase, feeling a little restless. Why couldn't I find the one I wanted?

  “What's up?” Lacey asked when she turned back to me, her bag slung over her arm.

  “I don't know.” I shrugged.

  “You're trying too hard,” she commented. “Trust your instincts on this one.”

  I sighed. “I'll try.”

  “You always dress well,” she said. “So you can just forget about what some people might have said.” She gave me a grin, making wide eyes that told me she knew exactly how undermined I'd been in that department. I nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  We walked past a shop window and I stared.

  “That one.”

  “You sure?” Lacey raised a brow. The dress was reasonably plain – a cream sheath dress made out of pulled silk, with a “V” neck and ankle-length skirt, no waist.
I loved it.

  “Yes. I'm sure.”

  Lacey shrugged. “Let's go.”

  The shop was a small boutique called Jade. The sales-girl seemed surprised when I marched straight in and up to her.

  “Can I try that on?” I asked, pointing to the dress in the window.

  “Sure,” she said. It was the only one in the shop, so she took it off the model in the window and handed it to me. I barely needed to try it on. But when I did I loved it. It was discounted, too. A lot to pay at once, but worth it for what it was.

  Lacey grinned at me as we walked out, the paper bag slung on my arm.

  “Will we meet at my place to get dressed?”

  “Hurray!” I said. “Let's do it.

  On the weekend, I drove to Lacey's downtown apartment, my overnight bag on my arm. She met me at the door with loving warmth.

  “Ainsley! Hi!”

  “Hi!” I grinned at her stupidly. I was so excited. My blood was fizzling in my veins like champagne and my head floated.

  “I'm excited,” she commented.

  “Me too.”

  “Whoops! Mind the books...I was just reorganizing the shelves in the sitting-room.”

  We tiptoed round the stack of books in the way, ducked under the ceiling-lamp and headed through her small chaotic apartment to her bedroom. I shrugged off my jeans and t-shirt and let the whisper-soft silk fall down around me. It fit like a glove. I reached for my gold heels, gold earrings and a thick gold chain for my neck. When it was all put together, I stepped back and looked in the mirror.