Private Property (Rochester Trilogy 1)

Then I’m running back toward the house.

Fog and incessant drizzle have made the ground wet. My foot goes out from under me as if I’m tripping on a banana in a cartoon. I land hard on my face. That’s the irony of the rain here. It’s not enough to put out the fire. Only enough to make it hard to escape.

Debris blocks the entrance, but I climb my way over, wincing at splinters and burns. I’m not going to let Paige grow up without family, but if I’m honest, it’s about more than her. It’s about me. Somewhere along the past few months, I fell for Mr. Rochester.

It would break my heart to love him. It’s already broken.

I reach the living room. His face contorts in fury when he sees me. No explanation needed. I know he’s pissed at me for coming back inside the house. I couldn’t wait for the firefighters. Even ten minutes could be the difference between life and death.

With both hands I pull on the edge of the beam. It barely groans in answer.

I search the room for something to use as a lever, but there are only charred remains and a lovely gold-crusted lamp that I never even noticed before which has somehow remained upright. When I get close, Beau snatches me to his chest. He presses kisses over my forehead and cheeks. “Get the fuck out,” he growls, even as he kisses me more. It’s messy and elemental. We’re facing our mortality together. It’s more intimate than sex.

“Get out,” he says again, his fist in my hair, giving a little shake to punctuate his words.

“I can’t go without you,” I tell him, panting against his lips.

“You’ll die.”

“Maybe—” I don’t bother to explain with words. I only show him, pushing my legs beside his under the beam. Maybe if we can both push up at the same time, it will dislodge it.

It doesn’t move. I have even less impact than I did before.

It feels like trying to lean against a wall and knock it down. Useless.

He puts his forehead against mine. “I need to let you go. You said that before. And it was right. I need to let you go, Jane. You have to go.”

It’s a cage. A hallway that closes at both ends. I can’t leave him here to die. Not even to save myself. I stare at him as a kind of peace settles over me. There’s nothing to be afraid of once you decide to die. Is this how my father felt? My mother?

Is this how Paige’s parents felt?

He sees the answer written on my face.

His eyes widen. His nostrils flare. “No. No. You can’t make me watch you die, Jane. You can’t make me go through that.” He pushes me away. “I love you.”

“What?” He’s never said that to me before.

“I love you, goddamn you. Get the fuck out of here.”

I love you too. I want to tell him, but I don’t have the breath. Or the time.

There’s a shudder from the entire house. A groan.

I look up in time to see the ceiling cave in. A hand at the back of my head. It pushes me down. Strong arms shove me underneath his body. There’s a loud sound.

Then the world goes black.

* * *

Thank you for reading PRIVATE PROPERTY! I hope you loved Beau Rochester and Jane Mendoza’s love story as much as I do. Their story will continue in the Rochester trilogy with STRICT CONFIDENCE…

Forbidden. Commanding. Mysterious. Beau Rochester has an entire house full of secrets. And those secrets are putting Jane Mendoza in danger.

She fell in love with the one man she can’t have. She should leave Maine to protect her heart, but the thread refuses to be severed. The brooding Mr. Rochester and his grieving niece are more than her job. They’re her new family.

She races against time to find answers and protect the people she loves. The cliffside grows dark with the misdeeds of the past. Her heart and her sanity fight a battle, but they are both at risk.

Will Mr. Rochester learn to trust Jane? And will that trust destroy her?

ONE CLICK STRICT CONFIDENCE NOW >

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And I’m thrilled to offer a sneak peek of THE PAWN, the USA Today bestselling full-length dark contemporary novel about revenge and seduction in the game of love…

“Wickedly brilliant, dark and addictive!”

– Jodi Ellen Malpas, #1 New York Times bestselling author

* * *

Wind whips around my ankles, flapping the bottom of my black trench coat. Beads of moisture form on my eyelashes. In the short walk from the cab to the stoop, my skin has slicked with humidity left by the rain.

Carved vines and ivy leaves decorate the ornate wooden door.

I have some knowledge of antique pieces, but I can’t imagine the price tag on this one—especially exposed to the elements and the whims of vandals. I suppose even criminals know enough to leave the Den alone.