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  TRAITOROUS HEART

  Volume 2

  Breena Wilde

  Breena Wilde Books

  www.breenawilde.blogspot.com

  COPYRIGHT

  Traitorous Heart: #2

  Copyright © 2014 Breena Wilde

  Breena Wilde Books

  Digital Edition

  This book in its entirety is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard word of this author.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written consent of the author, Breena Wilde, P.O. Box 1408 Bountiful, UT 84011.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the creation of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover designed by: Steven Novak www.novakillustration.com

  Edited by: MJ Heiser ~ Clean Leaf Editing

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to the rock star groupies and to those who thought life would turn out one way, but it ended up totally different.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Traitorous Heart Volume 3

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Breena’s Books

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to my awesome cover artist, Steven Novak. To my editor at Clean Leaf Editing, Mary Johnson Heiser. To Timi Heiser for the lyrics, and especially to my family. You’re all rock stars to me.

  TRAITOROUS HEART

  Volume 2

  CHAPTER 1

  KATIE

  It’d been two weeks since my night with Griffin. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t think about him. God, I thought about him: In the shower. At breakfast. In bed… Mmmmmm, especially in bed.

  Images of his glorious body, the way he smelled, the sounds he made while we fucked, his voice, the way he moved, and the way he could sing…

  He was a rock star hottie god, magnificent and stunning, not a man at all. And lately he was the star of my dreams. When I wasn’t thinking about him during the day, my subconscious dreamt about him.

  Why didn’t I want him in my life? Not that he would reciprocate. He was busy and apparently a gazillionaire. I probably wasn’t his type.

  Dammit!

  From the information I’d gathered on Reid I knew sure as shit he wasn’t my type. It was surreal and sickening to realize I hadn’t really known the man I’d agreed to marry.

  I pushed back from the small two-seater table that sat next to a window and took a sip of wine.

  “Would you like a refill?” The handsome waiter at Dorvey’s picked up my glass in one hand and the open bottle of wine in the other. There was a slight smile lighting his face, making his lips appealing. They reminded me of Griffin’s.

  I shook my head. No they didn’t. Nothing could compare to Griffin’s lips, not even those of my ex fiancé, Reid.

  I’d been sitting at the table for almost an hour. In that time I’d proceeded to drink most of the bottle of wine myself. I’d also ordered a chicken salad. It sat uneaten in front of me.

  “Please.” I motioned toward the glass and he poured. When the glass reached half full, he stopped.

  I shook my head. “Keep going.”

  He winked. “Rough day?”

  I made a chk-chk sound with my mouth and mimicked shooting him with my first finger and thumb. “How’d you guess?”

  He emptied the bottle and placed the glass in front of me. “I’m a master mind reader.” He laughed. “Also, the empty bottle of wine gave me a clue.” He shook it slightly.

  I nodded. “Excellent deduction.” I picked up my full glass and took a large drink.

  The waiter watched and I wondered if he expected more.

  I placed the glass on the table. “That’ll be all.”

  He smiled, but I noticed disappointment in his eyes. Oh well. If he expected anything more than a tip, he was sadly mistaken.

  Dorvey’s was a quaint little restaurant with low lighting and pictures of landscapes adorning the walls. Kind of like a bistro meets the Old World. I’d picked the place because it was across the street from Reid’s gym. My ex usually worked out from six to seven during the week. If he were following his schedule he should be inside.

  The table I sat at made it easy to see who entered and exited the building. And since I was stalking Reid to find out everything there was to know about him, it was a logical spot. The information I’d already gathered gave me plenty of insight into the ass Reid was, but I wanted to know it all. What he did every night, with whom, and how often.

  More than once I’d been so glad we’d never slept together.

  “Do you want me to take your plate?” The waiter indicated my salad. “Or are you still working on it?”

  I tilted my head and gave him a look that said “Get the fuck away from me.” The evening had been a total waste of time. And I was halfway to drunk. Either Reid had decided against working out or he was spending an extra long time at his gym today. My stalker tendencies were filled for the day. I wasn’t going to sit there a moment longer. “Just the check, please.”

  He sighed with relief. “Right away.”

  I grabbed my wallet from my purse and waited. And waited. And waited. What the hell? I thought the waiter was anxious to get rid of me. I turned to try and find him without success. When I turned back I glanced out the window—and there was Reid in his six hundred dollar tan pants, four hundred dollar white button down shirt, and eight hundred dollar shoes. He was good looking. I’d always thought so. On his arm was a young blond with a low cut pink top emphasizing her tanned breasts and a short black skirt, the hem emphasizing its lack of length.

  “Here’s your check,” the waiter said. “I’ll be your cashier when you’re ready.”

  Keeping my eyes on Reid, I pulled a credit card from my wallet and stuck it inside the tan faux leather folder. “Now’s good.” I watched my ex get into a cab and head east, probably heading to his place. My eyes burned. I wasn’t sure if the stinging tears were sadness or anger, but I decided to go with anger.

  He smiled. “Be right back.”

  I stared out the window for several long moments after Reid’s cab pulled away. I don’t know what I was looking for, if I was hoping to wake up and realize this was all a terrible dream or that unicorns and dragons were real and I could magic away the sickness that had taken root in my stomach.

  Finally I tore my eyes away, pulled some lip-gloss from my purse and applied it.

  “You’re not leaving, are you?”

  I froze, the lip-gloss wand mid swipe and turned.

  CHAPTER 2

  KATIE

  “Uh. Um.I—Griffin.” My cheeks flamed hot. I felt certain that if someone had cracked an egg, it’d fry up nicely on my face.

  Griffin slid into the seat next to mine.

  I put
away my gloss and zipped my purse. My throat was suddenly parched and my heart raced like I’d just walked up ten flights of stairs. Tonight he looked less rock god and more billionaire playboy. He had on a navy suit, a crisp baby blue shirt, and a deep red tie. His hair had been combed back and he was cleanly shaved.

  My thighs started to quake, remembering his lips on mine… and elsewhere. Shit!

  I mentally took stock of what I was wearing. Old jeans and a ratty red sweater. I’d pulled my hair into a messy bun. I hadn’t put in my contacts, opting instead for my thick black-framed glasses. I’d remembered mascara, but basically I was sure I looked hideous.

  “Hi.” I was torn between the desire to run at being caught off guard looking like a bag lady and the overwhelming need to climb into his arms and kiss his neck.

  “How have you been, Katie Jayne?” His eyes twinkled with warm mischief. If he was grossed out by my appearance he was too much of a gentleman to show it.

  “I’m fine.” I swallowed. “How are you?” Sweat beaded along my hairline and under the frames of my glasses. They started to slip and I pushed them back into place. I wanted to disappear.

  “Good.” He reached out and took my hand. “But how are you really?” His stormy eyes searched mine. I noticed they were lined with a yellow ring. In the soft light they seemed to glow. It surprised me that he could read my emotions so easily. Was I that much of an open book? It also shocked me that he took the time. If the talk I’d heard about him held any truth, he was a man out to bed women, not make small talk…not give a shit about their personal lives.

  I shrugged.

  How was I, really? That was the two million dollar question.

  Not happy, that was for sure. I felt foolish because I’d allowed myself to love someone I hadn’t really known. Sad, too. Reid and I had spent years together. Up until a couple of weeks ago I believed he and I would spend our lives together. My whole life had been planned out and Reid was in it. I’d intended to have children with that man.

  I was also angry—furious, actually—that he’d played me. I’d gone to school to become a lawyer. I was supposed to be able to read people, and I’d totally misread Reid.

  Griffin lifted my hand, interrupting my thoughts. “Katie?”

  “I….” I shook my head. Griffin’s thumb stroked the inner part of my wrist. Electric currents shot up my arm, making it hard to think. “I’ve had better days.”

  “Griffin.” A man’s voice barked from the doorway.

  I followed the sound and noticed an extremely handsome older man shooting daggers at Griffin.

  “Who’s that?” I asked. Griffin’s mischievous gleam was gone.

  He dropped my hand. “My father.” He took a step, then turned back. “Nice talking to you.”

  I watched Griffin walk over to his dad. It was strange; they looked a lot alike, but there was no warmth between the two of them. I couldn’t help but wonder what the story was between those two.

  CHAPTER 3

  GRIFFIN

  “What wereyou doing with that girl? Another nasty groupie?”

  “She’s a friend,” I said, following after him and the hostess. I knew my father was referring to the way Katie had been dressed. I actually found her outfit sexy, incredibly hot. I wanted to take her hair from its messy bun and rip that red sweater from her body, kiss a trail down her chest to her stomach and slide those old jeans over her milky ass. I wanted to smell her skin. It reminded me of a flower-infused breeze and I wanted to explore every inch. Those thoughts made my cock jerk to attention. I wanted her. God¸ what was wrong with me?

  Once my dad and I were seated my gaze wandered over to where Katie had been sitting. Her table was empty.

  Fuck.

  She’d been on my mind a lot over the last two weeks. It surprised me how much. I had her number but hadn’t used it. She had mine, although I doubted she realized it. I’d pulled up the text with her number on it several times. Even added her name to my contact list. It was a fucking shock. Calling her was out of the question.

  My drummer had hooked up with her roommate. He’d told me about Reid and the scene in their apartment. And I was torn. I didn’t want to get her hopes up. Or mine. The plan for my band, for my life didn’t include a girlfriend.

  “Griffin, did you hear me?”

  I picked up my napkin and smiled. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. I’m not that hungry.”

  My father glared. “Excellent.”

  He gave our order to the waitress. He was the epitome of a gentleman, laying it on so thick it made me want to puke. As soon as she walked away the anger that had been a permanent fixture on my father’s face when it came to me was back.

  “So tell me about your band? Any headway?” His smirk was laced with sarcasm.

  There had been some headway. A scout from a prominent record label had approached me. I’d spoken to him a few times, but there’d been no commitment made. The label seemed to be mostly interested in me; they would bring in their own musicians. It wasn’t unheard of, but my band mates were more than just background noise, they were family. The label would sign all of Crushed Velvet or none of us. I’d made that clear. And, as expected, it’d been a few days since I’d heard from them.

  It was disappointing, but there was no way I was dumping the rest of my band. If we were going to hit rock star status, it would be as a group. I didn’t need the money. We would wait until the right set of circumstances availed itself.

  My father didn’t need to know that, though. I’d share when we had a contract.

  “Not yet.”

  The waitress brought us each a tumbler of iced bourbons. I hadn’t realized that was what my father ordered, but I was more than happy to drink it. I gulped down the liquid, enjoying the flavor and the burn. My dad was many things: arrogant, a liar, deceptive, and cruel. On the plus side, he had great taste in the world’s finer offerings, including women and alcohol.

  “You’re wasting your time, Griffin. It’s embarrassing to have to tell my collogues that my son doesn’t want to go into the family business because he’d rather get on stage and sing to a bunch of drunken sluts.”

  I gritted my teeth. Took another gulp of the liquid. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  He leaned forward. “Stop being a fuck up.”

  Fuck. You. I stared into the glass, watching the ice melt. We’d had this conversation more than once. I’d tried everything to make him understand. Sure, the endless line of women was awesome; no way I would ever complain about that. But it was so much more. Writing songs helped me deal with the death of my mom and the heartbreak of having a father who, when he looked at me, saw only a murderer.

  Writing allowed me to deal with life—the good and the bad. I’d even started working on a song about Katie. It was a strange feeling when the words came to me about her. I’d never written a love song before. It evoked all sorts of strange emotions. Most of which I wasn’t ready to deal with. But that was one of the great things about writing a song.

  “It’s what I want to do with my life.” I brought the tumbler to my mouth and scavenged for more of the fiery liquid. When it was gone I shook the glass at the waitress.

  “Would you like another?” She batted her lashes.

  “Thank you.”

  She took my glass and walked away. My father took a sip of his drink, his eyes on the waitress’s ass. It was times like those that I wondered about the relationship between my mom and dad. What had it been like before she died? Had she loved him? Had he been kind to her? Watching the way his eyes slid over the girl’s body I thought I had a pretty good idea what sorts of thoughts were running through his mind.

  “Life is about more than dicking around. You need to make a life for yourself.”

  “I know.” Our weekly dinners were miserable. My father started them on my twenty-second birthday, but after seven years I still didn’t understand why my father kept them going. He seemed to hate them as much as I did. He hated me. That much ha
d been clear a long time ago.

  My father chuckled, a harsh, unfeeling laugh. “You don’t know shit. You stay out late, drinking and partying, wake up late, and consider it your job playing music and drinking beers with your buddies. That isn’t making a life for yourself, that’s wasting it!” He flung the words at me. They stung. I could see his point; in his eyes and probably in the eyes of a lot of people, I was wasting my life.

  But that’s because they didn’t know me. They didn’t see that there was much more to what I did than that. And I accepted it.

  Truthfully, I didn’t give a shit.

  Maybe that was my secret trust fund talking. It probably was. Money would never be an issue—my mom had seen to that. It’d been her gift to me on my twenty-first birthday. My mom’s lawyer had shown up at school and advised me of its existence. He’d explained that I was never to tell my father. Mom wanted to keep it a secret. Sometimes I wondered why. What made her keep a billion dollar secret from my father? I doubted I’d ever find out, but I would keep her secret. It was easy.

  My dad and I never talked. We argued and occasionally had a drink or a cigar together, but never fucking had a conversation.

  If and when my dad decided to stop providing the lifestyle I was used to I’d tap into my mother’s gift, but only if necessary. I was still banking on Crushed Velvet making it big.

  I leaned forward, wondering where the fuck that waitress was with my drink, when Katie walked back into the restaurant. She appeared frantic. Some unknown instinct demanded I help, but I resisted and kept my ass firmly planted.

  The hostess walked over to her and they spoke. Katie kept indicating the table she’d been sitting at.

  They walked over together and Katie picked up a pink scarf. Relief washed over her face. I wondered what was so special about it that she would make such an effort for something so trivial.