Mad Love

  Contents

  Blurb

  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

  Epilogue

  Note from Author

  Also by Ashlyn Mathews

  Keep in Touch

  Copyright © 2020 by Ashlyn Mathews.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Sweet ‘N Spicy Design

  Edited by Courtney Umphress

  Mad Love/Ashlyn Mathews. -- 1st ed.

  Created with Vellum

  Innocent Blaise Lexington knows better than to cross paths with the dangerous and sexy billionaire “Mad” Maddox Stassi.

  He is known for his dark temper and ruthlessness, as well as his link to a horrendous vigilante act. Blaise is willing to overlook all of that for the protection his name and wealth can offer her.

  When she presents him with a far-fetched arrangement—marriage to her for the limited-edition sports car that will complete his collection—Blaise expects him to turn her down. Much to her surprise, he accepts.

  He doesn’t believe in love. She isn’t looking for forever-after. As their business arrangement flares into a blazing hot attraction, can two non-believers take a chance on each other? Or will a man from Blaise’s past destroy their unexpected marriage?

  “He was her dark fairy tale and she was his twisted fantasy. And together they made magic.”

  ~F. Scott Fitzgerald

  1

  Blaise

  There’s a line my grandfather is fond of saying when we’re surrounded by people more interested in his wealth and our family’s name than in us as people with dreams and fears.

  “The world doesn’t give a crap what you are on the inside. It’s the lasting impression of what you leave behind that counts worth a damn.”

  The impression I’m leaving as I stand next to my grandfather and flanked by my bodyguards is I am to be seen but not touched.

  As the guests come up to us, dressed in their best evening wear, I acknowledge them with a slight nod. They nod back but don’t say a word, turning their attention next to my grandfather. He politely accepts his guests’ birthday wishes and makes small talk. Grandfather keeps it short. The line stretches out the door of his beachfront estate in the Hamptons.

  When I visit Grandfather, I open the windows of my bedroom, lie in bed, and listen to the ocean waves. I fall asleep to the comforting lull and wake up to them in the morning, as well as catch a whiff of salt-laden air. I love Grandfather’s beach place. What I don’t like is the attention I garner as Devlin Lexington’s strange but fascinating granddaughter, the one who will inherit his billions with his death.

  My grandfather dead . . . God, my chest aches at the thought, and I return my thoughts to his eighty-fifth birthday extravaganza. Next in line is a guy. He didn’t bring a plus-one or a plus-five. Why not? Each of my grandfather’s guests can bring five additional people. It’s the reason the line is so long.

  The guest is dressed from head to toe in black. Already he is defying my grandfather’s one of two requests for this party. No one shall wear his granddaughter’s least favorite color. Guess what it is?

  Black is death. Black is complete darkness. Black is being buried alive inside a wooden casket with a corpse. A wave of nausea threatens to overcome me, and I do what calms me. I tip my chin and give the fear in my head my best cold stare. I refuse to let my fear win a battle I’ve struggled with since I was taken out of that coffin by my rescuers.

  Looking beyond the color of his suit, I assess the fit. How clothes fit a person or why a person chooses a certain color or fabric fascinates me. What someone wears can make or break them when they’re trying to make a first impression.

  I’m not impressed with this guest’s attempt at getting mine and my grandfather’s attention by disregarding his request. What I am impressed with is he knows a great tailor. His suit molds to him like a second skin, and I am reminded of how nicely superheroes’ clothes fit them, leaving little to the imagination.

  The man is built like Granger, my most senior bodyguard. Granger is six foot one and looks lean, but strip him of his clothing and he is lined with muscles.

  I have to give the guest credit for wearing the suit well. I find the larger the man, the more difficult it is for him to pull off the muscle-hugging look. Tight clothing shows rather than hides the obvious. For example, how thick his thighs are. How tapered his waist is. The bulge under his pants.

  And my, he is large.

  Hot from my cheeks to my hairline, I trail my eyes upward and stare into the most gorgeous blue-green eyes I have come across, and I’ve come across a lot of men with drop-dead gorgeous eyes.

  His eyes sparkle and shine like the marrying of the sea and the sky. Or a unique piece of jewelry made from the combination of sapphire and jade.

  I’ve stared for too long. The corners of his mouth lift, and his smile isn’t friendly. I see his kind of smile a lot at parties. He’s confident that he’ll win me over with his charm, smoking hot body, and swoon-worthy face. There’s no need to win me over with how big his bank account is. I have more than enough money, though the majority of it is in my grandfather’s name.

  Except under this man’s cockiness is mirth. He’s silently laughing at me for staring at his handsomeness. It’s obvious women ogling him is nothing new, and I dislike him more. Similar to my dislike for the color black, I’m not a fan of men who think they are God’s gift to women.

  Not looking away from the mirth and knowing gleam in his eyes, I give the infamous bachelor Maddox Stassi a slight dip of my head. He nods back.

  “Blaise, darling, how are you?”

  Darling? An undercurrent of irritation hums along my skin. The endearment is reserved for his lover, which I’m not. Or should be said by someone older, which he isn’t. Maddox is twenty-four. I move my hands from my sides and clasp them behind my back.

  On cue, Granger steps between us, shielding me from Maddox’s open perusal of my body.

  “Sir, please respect Sir Lexington’s request as stated on the invitation and the signage throughout the estate. His granddaughter is not to be spoken to unless she speaks to you first.”

  “She did. With her eyes.”

  “Sir.”

  The warning in Granger’s voice should strike fear in Maddox. Usually, Granger doesn’t have to say a word for men to leave me alone. All he has to do is stay near my side and they don’t dare approach me.

  He believes it has to do with the rumors that he
is my lover. I politely disagreed and put in my own theory.

  Granger has a deep scar transecting his face. No one knows how he got it, and he will be the last to give up that information. Doing so will injure his pride, and Granger is a proud man. The unknown can scare people off. I felt the same when Granger and I met for the first time. Then he spared my life when he had every right to take it, and we have been friends since.

  Not heeding Granger’s warning, Maddox steps off to the side and addresses me. I’m not surprised, considering his reputation for going to extremes when he wants something badly enough.

  “My apologies, Blaise. I wanted to hear your voice. It’s been what, six months since we last spoke?”

  “Three, Mr. Stassi,” Granger answers for me.

  We’ve been together long enough that he can finish my sentences. I also finish his, which he finds annoying but doesn’t think the same when he does it.

  “Six months. Three months. It’s all the same when the outcome is the same, is it not, Blaise?”

  Maddox chuckles, and the deep sound elicits a strange and foreign response from my neck down. My nipples ache, and the place between my legs throbs. I move my hands from behind my back and clasp them in front of my body, but that doesn’t take away the ache or the throbbing.

  “The answer will be a firm no every time, sir.” To selling him my sports car. “Now, please, move along. Otherwise, I will escort you out.”

  Maddox has the good sense and the common decency not to make a scene, and moves along in line. I exhale the breath I was holding.

  “Interesting chap,” Grandfather says for my ears only.

  I agree.

  As soon as Maddox handed off to one of my bodyguards a slip of paper offering to buy my arctic white X-R 85 for a ridiculous sum of money, Granger went digging for everything he could find, including the women Maddox is involved with, in case we need to use the information as leverage.

  The leverage thing is Granger’s philosophy on dealing with “unpleasantries.” Granger grew up in the foster care system, and lucky him, the homes he was placed in were a dog-eat-dog living situation. He had to get creative as well as ruthless if he wanted to eat or survive the backstabbing happening with his other foster brothers.

  Granger takes his place behind me, and I give this leverage philosophy some thought, acknowledging my guests with a small smile or a nod. I don’t encourage them by smiling too brightly. Otherwise, they’ll approach my more approachable bodyguards and strike up a conversation that we as a group are not interested in having. Not tonight, anyway.

  Marco’s sister is in the hospital, and he wants me there when he becomes an uncle for the first time. My presence is also expected because my best friend, Sylvia, from boarding school, chose me as her baby girl’s godmother.

  I glance off to the side the same time Maddox looks over his shoulder. Our gazes meet, and for some reason, the thought of a baby doesn’t leave my brain. I tear my gaze from the coldness in his gorgeous eyes. He’s a man used to getting what he wants, and he’s been wanting my sports car “Betty” for a year now.

  Men like Maddox are the reason my team spread the rumor that Granger is my lover. When rebuffed, the men can get nasty. They send me distasteful messages through snail mail. Some are so godawful, Granger puts the letters through the shredder. Or the men will leer if I so much as smile their way in an attempt to be friendly rather than the “ice queen” they’ve labeled me as.

  Whether I smile or give them a slight dip of my head, acknowledging but not encouraging them, I’m in a lose-lose situation. Granger thinks the best way to deal with the men’s advances and their glares is to marry.

  Ha! This girl doesn’t believe in the institution of marriage, though my parents were role models for love, happiness, and commitment. I might only be twenty going on twenty-one, but marriage requires touching as well as conversation. I’m not good at either, and that’s the reason Granger and I get along so well. We rarely talk, but boy, when we do, watch out, world: we have a lot to say.

  And touching? Yep, out of the question, and that means marriage isn’t in my foreseeable future. I would rather lose my billions than get married.

  Famous last words.

  2

  Maddox

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  I look where the guy seated next to me is looking. He doesn’t wait for me to answer. It’s a good thing he didn’t. I’m not in the same camp as everyone else, that Blaise Lexington, with her long black hair, pale skin, and one eye green and the other blue, is easy on the eyes.

  Women who are cold as ice, who surround themselves with men just as cold, are not my cup of tea. And if her cold eyes and glacier expression don’t have me running the opposite direction, her traumatic past would. My sister’s is difficult enough to deal with.

  “A broken, beautiful creature. I wonder what kind of man can get past her armor.”

  Is this guy for real? I must have looked at him like he’s crazy. He laughs and introduces himself.

  “Name’s Walter. Walter Spinx. I write romance under W.S. Spinx.”

  That would explain his romanticized view of Blaise and her traumatic past.

  “Isn’t she involved with the guy with the messed-up face?” I jerk my head at the guy standing behind Blaise.

  Blaise and her grandfather are seated at a table in the front of the ballroom. Next to her are her cousins, four large guys who are looking down their noses at the rest of us rich mortals. On the other side of Sir Lexington is his only sibling, Sir Arthur Lexington.

  “If so, he got the shitty end of the stick, having to stand behind her rather than be seated at her side.”

  Good point. I lift my drink, and taking a slow sip, I study Blaise over the rim of my glass.

  What is the ice queen like in bed? My guess is she is as lively as she is now, sitting straight as a board with her gaze forward, shoulders pulled back, and her small hands clasped primly in front of her on the table.

  And what is it with her and wearing only silk or satin? Is plain cotton not good enough to touch her smooth, pale skin? Or how about the ridiculous gloves that cover her fingers and the length of her arms?

  Tired of studying beauty that is only skin deep, I swing my gaze around the room and lock eyes with a blonde bombshell who is more to my taste. Evie Lawson. Lawyer to the rich and famous. Philanthropist, donating money and her time to causes that help women and children. A great conversationalist. She pats the top of the empty chair next to her. I excuse myself and head over.

  She greets me with a smile, and after sitting, I move my chair closer. Her leg rubs against mine, and the friction gets me hot down there.

  “How are you, Maddox?”

  “Good, you?”

  “I could be better.”

  “Like how better?” I say near her ear.

  “Like my legs wrapped around your waist with you deep inside me better,” she says in a low voice.

  Did I mention Evie can talk dirty?

  “Should we get out of here?” I walk my fingers down her thigh.

  “Too obvious. Let’s wait for the dancing to start.”

  “No one is here for dancing, Evie.”

  “Didn’t you read the follow-up invite to the first one?”

  “Hell no. If I read every goddamn one that crosses my desk, I’ll never get any work done.”

  “Then let me tell you why the guests will stay until the party is through. The dance is a cake walk.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me?” I haven’t done the cake walk since the school carnival, and that was grade school.

  She laughs. “No joke. There are cakes to be won, but what people are staying for is the chance to spend a day with Her Royal Coldness.”

  “Come again?”

  Evie again laughs. “Maddox, did you start the party early? Had one too many drinks before you came here?”

  “Evie. Repeat what you said.”

  “Whoever wins the last cake walk gets to sp
end a day with Blaise alone at her Montana estate.”

  That’s what I thought she said.

  I can picture it. Me, Blaise, and the X-R 85 I’ve been wanting. This is my chance to wear her down until she agrees to selling me the car.

  Wanting my cake and eating it too ’cause I’m a selfish bastard that way, I grab Evie’s hand, yank her to her feet, and go in search of the first room I can fuck her in.

  Knowing glances be damned.

  3

  Blaise

  “Grandfather, why didn’t you get my okay first?”

  As we watch the guests walk in circles to music for the fifth and final time, Grandfather dropped news I’m not ready for.

  The prize for the last cake walk is a day with me at my second Montana home. Of course he would tell me last minute. There’s less of a chance of talking him out of it.

  “Sweetheart, you’re so lonely there. It’s time you have a visitor.”

  “I’m there alone for a reason. My place is my sanctuary.” I school my facial expression. The partygoers will have a field day if my grandfather and I have a disagreement in the open. “It’ll be strange having a complete stranger there. Why didn’t you stipulate that it be at my Montana estate?”

  “What’s the fun in that? You hold parties there all the time. Somewhere more private, the ‘road less traveled,’ shall we say, is more enticing.”