Shadows of the Past
H. M. Ward
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Title Page
PREFACE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
COMING SOON
MORE FERRO FAMILY BOOKS
MORE ROMANCE BY H.M. WARD
CAN'T WAIT FOR H.M. WARD'S NEXT STEAMY BOOK?
COVER REVEAL:
SHADOWS OF THE PAST
By:
H.M. Ward
& Stacey Mosteller
H.M. Ward Press
www.SexyAwesomeBooks.com
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by H.M. Ward
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
H.M. WARD PRESS
First Edition: March 2015
ISBN: 9781630350680
SHADOWS OF THE PAST
PREFACE
Coming to Europe should have changed things, but I was wrong. It didn’t ease the pain, and the distance only makes me feel alone. The woman I was four years ago doesn't exist anymore. In her place, an empty shell of who I was fakes her way through the motions of living life. Inside, I stay closed off, terrified of opening up to more pain and loss. The shadows of the past drag me under, keeping me constantly gasping for relief.
This time of year, and everything it represents, is horrible. Today is the anniversary of the day my life changed forever—again. Instead of celebrating fourth birthdays and putting ribbons in their hair, blowing out candles, and listening to their laughter, I'm stuck in an endless loop of nothing.
The alarm clock buzzes again. I smack it with my pillow and knock it on the floor where it continues to buzz. Damn. I pivot in the bed and reach down, extending my arm as far as possible. I manage to whack the button, which quickly turns it off. Once again, I’m shrouded in the silence.
After four years as a nomad, I want to forget for just a second. For those first few minutes of each day, it's as if I'm waking from a bad dream. I close my eyes and see their sweet faces, smiling. Then reality sets in and my soul feels ripped apart with grief. The weight at the center of my chest crushes me, making me fight for air.
Images, memories pour into my mind in an unrelenting wave. One thought after another. I relive the nightmare, seeing it behind my eyes every time I blink. Tears streak down my face soaking my pillow. I’m fully awake and…
I remember.
CHAPTER 1
“This is stupid,” I blurt out as I tug the hemline of my way too short dress down. Emily swats at me.
“No, it’s not. You seem out of it lately, and there’s no bloody way I’m letting you sit at home and swallow a bottle of booze. You need to choose a different bad habit before you turn into a wine-o.”
Emily is a sweet little rich girl. Her daddy bought her a flat in London a few years back, and it’s in the perfect location for me—right by Kensington Park. When I first arrived in London a few months ago, I’d wander the park for hours lost in thought.
Then I met Emily.
Now I’m wearing a slutty dress with fuck-me heels. Emily practically yanked my sweatpants off to get me to go out. Now I’m all dolled up with a plan, but my stomach is twisting in knots.
I stop abruptly. “I can’t do this.”
Emily rounds on me, taking my hands. “Yes, you can. One night will help you feel better, and get rid of that sourpuss.” She squeezes my cheeks together and smirks.
I bat her hand away. “I’m not like you. I can’t just walk up to a guy and say let’s do it.”
Emily laughs. “Don't be crass! You don’t have to say a thing; that dress says it all for you.” She arches a dark brow at me. It stands in contrast to her fair skin and pale hair.
“Compared to you, I look like a tramp.”
“You are a tramp—tonight, anyway. Then tomorrow you can go back to be the secretive, sulky flatmate who is going to let me adopt a cat.” She waggles her eyebrows at me.
“Again with the cat thing?” I fold my arms over my chest.
Emily gazes down at my neckline and smirks. “Nice cleavage, but I’m already seeing someone.” I frown and put my arms down, ready to turn back and bury myself in a mountain of blankets. Crying for hours sounds like a great way to spend the night. Okay, maybe not. I’m tired of crying. I feel so consumed by grief I can't remember who I am anymore.
Emily smiles quickly and takes my hand. She’s so touchy-feely. I'm uncomfortable, but I don’t jerk away from her because she’s just trying to help.
“Listen, I know today means something to you—something bad. Let’s go in and find some dashing fellow to help you forget, just for the night. And if we don't find a match who meets your standards, we'll both get smashed and wobble home together.”
“Fine, but I don’t do girls.” I’m teasing. Emily changed teams a while back and has a girlfriend.
She nods. “Yes, I know. You’ve told me. Frequently. I won’t hit on you, even though you look delicious in my dress. The last time I wore that…” she touches her fingers to her red lips and giggles. Glancing at me out of the corner of her eyes, she adds, “Well, let’s just say that dress hit the floor fast.”
There’s a chill in the night air and the familiar sounds of London evenings fill my ears. Inhaling deeply, I fall into step with Emily again, heading for the swanky new pub she’s been gushing about for weeks. These heels are much higher than I’m used to, so we walk slowly down the street. At the same time, I’m aware of male eyes sliding over my body in this tight red dress. I’m treated to several smiles and a wink.
As we get to the place, Emily grabs my hand. “Listen, tonight you’re someone else—no names, no contact, no commitment. Just fun. Got it?”
My stomach dips, but my resolve solidifies. “Got it. I’m someone else.” I can do this. I can jump into bed with a guy and roll around, have fun, and then bolt. I don’t need the rest, but something about this prospect makes me feel hollow inside.
I shrug the feeling off and look at Emily. She’s waiting for me to decide if I’m going to do it. At that moment, a man walks up behind us, cutting the entire line. His dark hair and toned body make him look like a model. His gaze is on the sidewalk, and his shoulders hunch forward. For a split secon
d, he glances at me. Our eyes lock and hold. I feel pinned in place, breathless. Emily is still talking, but I can’t hear her. My world flips to slow motion as I remain locked in a staring contest with this sexy stranger.
The shadows under his eyes make me wonder what hell he’s been through. He doesn’t look like the kind of man to get lost in liquor. Everything about him is sleek, put together, and proper. I’m sure that’s who he is, or who he was before whatever made him upset. From the look in his eyes, the pain is raw—still fresh.
He breaks the gaze and disappears through the door. My heart is pounding in my chest, but I’m not sure why.
Emily glares at me with her huge eyes and rams my shoulder.
“Hello? Earth to Kayla. Are we going in or not?”
Nodding slowly, I step forward and reach for the door. “I’m in. Help me find a hook-up, wingman.”
CHAPTER 2
For a city that’s older than dirt, what the heck is the attraction to the super modern style? The inside of this place is made entirely of chrome and glass. Silver metal barstools at super sleek, skinny glass tables. There are no linens anywhere, no curtains, nothing soft or warm. The floor is white and pulses under a black light that surrounds the perimeter of the room.
The barstool is a little high for a dress this short and tight. Since the tables are transparent, there’s no place to hide. I feel exposed.
Emily turns to me, swirling the remainder of the drink in her cocktail glass.
“I need another. I’ll get you a refill too. Be right back.” Emily slips off the stool and walks like she’s not sloshed, over to the bar.
Music blares as people pack into the crowded space. Pubs and nightclubs seem to be London's only evening entertainment options. Everything else closes after dinner. I wish I were joking. Transitioning from the city that never sleeps to London was strange at first. The long lonely nights sucked. When I first arrived, I got stuck on the other side of town and had to ride back on the night bus. That was scarier than walking through Times Square in the middle of the night when the orange jumpsuits are cleaning up.
God, I was dumb. Speaking of dumb, I should probably call a car to take us home. Just one more drink and neither of us will be able to walk, much less call a taxi without sounding idiotic.
"Hullo." A deep voice comes from behind me.
Based on the other greetings I’ve gotten tonight, this one is tame. I turn slowly in my seat and look over my shoulder at him. It’s the guy from outside. His shoulders are straight, but he still has that kicked puppy look in his eyes.
"Hi," I say shyly, looking up at him from under my lashes.
The guy looks over at the counter and points to my table. “Share a drink with me.”
I smirk. “Since you asked so nicely…”
“You don’t want nice, not tonight. You want a fling, a meaningless sweaty night with a stranger.” The way he says it makes me freeze. “What’s the matter, love? Cat got your tongue?”
I shake off my shock. His audacity prompts a slow smile to spread across my lips.
“Great pick up line. Do you use it on all the girls? Or am I special?”
He smirks and slides into Emily's empty chair. Placing one hand on his knee he leans back and surveys me. Pushing his hand through his dark hair, he laughs.
“Tell me, American Girl, why else would you be wearing a dress that hugs that sinful body if you weren’t on the prowl this evening? Do you enjoy tormenting the opposite sex? Or are you just afraid of relinquishing control and having a good time?”
My jaw drops and I gasp. “You don’t even know me!”
He scans my body with a smug look. Leaning toward me, he whispers, “I know enough. Your thighs are pinned together as if no man could pry them apart.”
“Well, you certainly won’t.” I laugh, pushing my long dark hair over my shoulder. Then I glance around for Emily, but I don’t see her.
“No, I won’t. I don’t dip my wick in crazy.” He smirks again, showing off that lopsided, lickable smile.
“Neither do I.”
He glances down at my lap and back up to my face. “Really? I wouldn’t have taken you for a man at all. Where do you hide your dick in that dress?”
My jaw drops and I gape. Before I realize what I’m doing, I shove his arm.
“That’s not what I meant. You’re a jerk. Go bother someone else.” I stare pointedly ahead but from the corner of my eye, I notice a wicked grin light up his face.
“Am I really bothering you?” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Right, I thought not. Ah, here we are. Just in time.” He looks up at a woman carrying a tray. “Place those right here, love. Cheers!”
After she leaves, I arch an eyebrow at him. “So, how’d you get her to bring shots over to the table?”
“Really? That’s your question? I thought you’d be more interested in what we’re drinking.” He gestures toward the golden liquid in the little glasses. The barkeep also brought limes and salt in clear, square bowls.
“I have eyes.”
“Yes, you do. They’re spectacular if I might say so.”
“You may,” I say with an indulgent sideways glance at him. I reach forward to grab a lime slice and salt. With my eyes on his, I lick the skin between my thumb and pointer finger before sprinkling it with salt.
He watches me but doesn’t take a glass. He doesn’t even move.
"What?" I ask, frowning.
"You’re very expressive when you’re irritated." Leaning in close, like he's going to tell me a secret, "It’s sexy."
His warm breath against my skin makes me shiver. When he straightens, his eyes appear to be a darker shade of blue, causing my breath to catch in my throat. Before I can get my equilibrium back, he licks the salt off my hand and downs the shot.
Shocked, I stare at him with my mouth open.
He grins. Reaching forward, he presses his finger under my jaw and lifts. My lips close.
“Gaping isn’t as sexy. Well, I guess it depends on what we’re doing at the time. Do you find me shocking love? Or do you behave like this around all British men? Is this how you behave in America?”
Inexplicably, my cheeks burn. I press my eyes shut and gather my thoughts. I’m here for a reason. Pull it together, Kayla. This guy wants me; I’m clearly attracted to him, so what’s stopping me? Besides my innate need to bicker?
“Dear Lord! You’re blushing!” He looks shocked. Before I he says anything else, I act.
Feeling brave, I take his hand in mine, which silences him instantly. He watches as I lift his palm to my lips and lick his skin. His breath catches and his back goes rigid, his deep blue eyes watch me shake salt across his moistened skin. Slowly I slide my tongue over the salt, licking it up. He stops breathing at the first swipe of my tongue across his flesh, then watches me intently as I down the shot before biting into a slice of lime.
“Bloody hell.” His voice is raspy, deeper. He shifts in his chair and watches me. The rawness of his pain is still close to the surface. I can see it flicker when I move. It’s as if he’s trying to shove his past behind him—for just a night—and forget. I know we’re on the same page, looking for the same thing. I down my shot, slam my glass down, and lean into his shoulder.
“How crazy are you?” My comment startles him. Proper Dude straightens and looks down at me.
“Well, I can honestly say no woman has asked me that before.”
“So, then you’re more of the closet crazy type, huh?”
“Come again?” His brow wrinkles.
“Ooh, a dirty talker.” I giggle softly and hold onto his arm, testing the waters. He’s firm under those fine clothes.
“Hardly," he returns with a smirk. "At least not in establishments such as this. I don’t bang women in the loo either.”
“Good to know. I've never been fond of bathroom bangers.” His muscle firms up as I lean into him, squeezing his arm.
He smiles at me. “Are you serious?” I offer a flippant expression that�
�s noncommittal. The alcohol is spreading through me, and I know the play on words is a bit crass, but I don’t care. “I can’t tell if you realize what you’re saying or not.”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” I’m snuggling his arm, when he lifts my chin. In response to his touch, I straighten and let him hold my gaze. I’m no longer fighting the death grip that was holding onto me when we walked in. I could melt into this guy.
“You have no grasp of local euphemisms, do you?”
“Psh,” I say, and smile before lifting my hand to his cheek. His face feels warm under my fingers. I want to trace his jaw and feel that stubble glide beneath the pads of my fingers. “I know enough. For example, all men are wankers, but all wankers aren’t men.”
He laughs. “That settles that debate.” He leans in closing the distance between us. The pull inside me is so strong it rips me out of my buzz. I notice how warm I’ve gotten, and it worries me. I haven’t felt this way in a really long time. Sparring helps it seem less real, so I smirk and pull back a little.
“So spill,” I say as I scoot back in my chair. Somehow I ended up on the edge, nose to nose with him. If I go home with this guy, I need to know he won't kill me and toss my body in the Thames. Hot guy doesn’t let me back away. Instead, he scoots closer to me and takes my hand.
“Ask away.”
My stomach flips. Swallowing hard, I ask, “Fetishes, warrants, criminal record? And then tell me what gets your freak on.”
The man actually giggles. He tries to pull away, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment, but I lace my hands around his neck and hold him in place.
“I’ll go first, “Yes, no, yes—and no freaky fetish stuff.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Nothing freaky?”
“You would fixate on that part. It's your turn now.”
“You’re very direct, American Girl.”
