A Winter's Secret (A Winter's Tale Book 4) Read online

  A Winter’s

  Secret

  By Kristi Tailor

  7th Meadow Publishing

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by Les

  Cover photos from Shutterstock

  Book printed by Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing

  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 prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, products, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 Kristi Tailor

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-70-1746602

  ISBN-9781701746602

  Acknowledgements and THANKS

  A special thanks to my gifted editor and long distance friend, Annabelle Garcia who has encouraged me continuously. I truly appreciate your kindness and your phenomenal proofreading skills.

  Thank you to my alpha- reader, Camióna Friend, who has taken time away from her studies to edit this piece, and to my beta- reader Brandi Len Bradley, who took time away from her own novel to read mine. You are both brilliant and I truly appreciate your assistance with this project.

  To my readers, thank you so much for all of your support, and for patiently waiting for this next instalment. It has been a long time coming, and so, thank you for believing in Nicholas’ and Charlotte’s love story enough to keep coming back for more.

  And to my amazing daughter, Madi- Tailor who has been very understanding over the past year as I’ve strived to accomplish my writing dreams and aspirations. You are truly a gift from God, and I love you truly, madly, deeply.

  Lord, Jehovah, I thank you for all that you’ve done for me. This book, my writing ability . . . neither would have been possible without your continual blessings. All praises and glory are for you alone.

  “Simply dreaming is not enough. You have to strive for your heart’s desires, every day. Every, single, day.”-Kristi Tailor

  Look for A Winter’s Seduction, the next novel in the

  A Winter’s Tale series coming March 2020.

  A Winter’s Secret is also available as a paperback

  dEDICATION

  To My Father, Kelvin, who has always encouraged me to do my best, and whose advice has never steered me wrong. I am so blessed to have you in my life. Thank you for always believing in me.

  Prologue

  NOVEMBER 2008

  Hayward Fissicle stood outside of Spencer Elliot’s office, his hands shaking at his sides as his mind quickly worked through all the possible reasons for the sudden request of his presence. Being summoned by Spencer Elliot during the midnight hours was nothing new, still, Hayward never knew what to expect from the other man and so every meeting brought on a wave of anxiety, a new surge of fear. Inhaling deeply, Hayward quickly wiped at gathering beads of sweat that dotted his forehead before knocking on the large jarrah embroidered door. Get a hold of yourself, man, he scolded himself, frustrated by the power he allowed the other man to have over his emotions.

  “Come in,” Spencer ordered. His voice was low, but his tone spoke volumes. It amazed Hayward how the other man never raised his voice, yet, power emanated from every word he spoke. Throughout the thirty years the two men had been acquainted, Hayward could not recall Spencer ever being anything but composed. Regardless of the situation, the man maintained a tranquil disposition, always at ease, always unruffled. It was through this calm demeanor that he destroyed his opponents, and because of it− they never saw it coming. He alone, created storms that destroyed businesses and friendships. Longstanding corporations were dismantled and rebuilt at his request, turbulence and turmoil he wielded in the palm of his hand, mayhem he orchestrated without thought, guiltlessly destroying those who went against him, those who disobeyed his orders.

  Opening the door, Hayward made his way into the dimly lit office. “I received your message and came straight over . . . what can I do for you?” he asked, walking toward Spencer who had been sitting behind his large maple desk.

  “Your magazine. How is it doing?” Spencer asked, his attention on the documents in front of him.

  “My magazine?” Hayward frowned. “It’s doing well, why do you ask?”

  “It’s a bridal magazine, is it not?” Spencer responded, ignoring his question.

  “It is. But−”

  “How much revenue does it gross within a quarter?”

  “A little over nine million, but−”

  “I don’t want a round- about, exact figures. I want exact figures,” he said, looking up at Hayward for the first time. “How much?”

  “Last quarter we grossed $9,625,000.”

  “And the quarter before that?”

  “I don’t recall the exact amount . . . but roughly $11,000,000,” Fissicle answered, his anxiety suddenly getting the better of him. Raising his hand to his chest, he rubbed his large hands in slow circular motions over his heart, praying that the act would ease the tension building there.

  Spencer’s smile was a salacious one. “That will do. That will do just fine,” he said, reaching into his desk’s drawer for his check book. “At noon tomorrow, you’re going to buy into Leisure Me Ready magazine.”

  “Leisure Me Ready? Nicholas’ magazine?”

  “That’s right,” Spencer answered, handing Hayward the check.

  Two million dollars. Frowning, Hayward asked, “Is the magazine in trouble? Do you want me to help Nicholas−”

  “You are to buy into the company. With that amount of money, you will be able to purchase a substantial number of shares, which will make you majority shareholder. Once you’ve achieved this, you are to dismantle Leisure Me Ready and expand your magazine,” Spencer explained, his tone light, casual even.

  Hayward’s muddy brown eyes widened, as shock overtook his aging features. “What about Nicholas?” he asked, completely beside himself.

  “What about him. That boy is an Elliot. He has no place working at a dwindling magazine company that will no doubt be on its last leg in the next few years. His place is here, with his family . . . working for his father’s company.”

  “Spencer. The boy owns that magazine. You would be doing him a huge disservice by taking it away from him. Give him a chance to−”

  “Fissicle. I think you’ve forgotten yourself. This isn’t a request; it’s an order and you damn well better follow through. Don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten our history, or the damage you’ve done. Our business isn’t finished yet, and until the day your debt to me . . . to my family has been repaid, you will do what you’re told, when your told, no questions asked. Am I understood?”

  When Hayward didn’t respond, Spencer rose from his seat. His movements were slow, cunning, as he walked around his desk to close the distance between himself and the other man. “Am I understood?” he repeated, once he was standing in front of Hayward.

  “Yes,” Hayward responded, feeling all at once broken and pathetic. “How much time after the takeover should I give Nicholas before I relieve him of his duties as Editor-in- Chief?”

  Spencer’s dark blue eyes narrowed. Shrugging his rounded shoulders, he took a step away from his acquaintance. “Allow him one more year to get over this incredulous need to be disobedient. That is as far as my patienc
e will permit. Next year’s fourth quarter,” he said finally. “Buy the shares. Dismantle the magazine and then get rid of him.”

  Chapter One

  APRIL 2009

  Charlotte Toutant dropped her beloved Vera Bradley Travel Duffel to the floor when she reached the foyer of her small apartment. Blinking rapidly, she attempted to adjust her vision to the darkness, an effort that was made in vain. “Nicholas,” she called, extending her hand out in front of her, reaching for the pomegranate porcelain lamp that sat on the far right of the mahogany wall table. “I’m home.” Turning on the light, she made her way into the living room, sliding her shoes off her feet as she did so. Charlotte stopped at the foot of the couch; her attention captured by the half empty bottle of Grey Goose VX left idly on the granite coffee table. Something is wrong, her subconscious spoke to her. In all the years that Nicholas had been in Charlotte’s life, she had only known him to drink socially. Downing a bottle of Vodka in the middle of the week was not like him. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward her bedroom, ignoring the frightening thoughts that had worked her up all evening. Nicholas’ phone call had put her in a sudden state of panic. His words were short, but his voice was broken. And it was that brokenness that left her feeling paralyzed.

  “Nicholas,” she called his name once more, needing to hear a response, a sound, any sound would have sufficed− just the slightest indication that he was okay. Opening her bedroom door, Charlotte was greeted by blackness. Blindly, she reached for the light switch to the right of her, just missing it. “Damn- it,” she swore, slapping the wall in agitation.

  “Dimple?” Nicholas said, his voice low. “Is that you?”

  Charlotte frowned. “Who else would it be?”

  Sitting up, Nicholas turned on the end table lamp. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, instantly closing his eyes to the brightness. “A burglar.”

  “A burglar? What type of burglar calls out to the person they are about to rob?” she asked. Making her way over to him, Charlotte pulled her denim jacket from her arms revealing a floral halter dress that hugged her body in all the right places. Without thought, she carelessly tossed the material to the floor, stopping just short of the bed. “What happened?”

  “You were calling out to me?” Nicholas asked, evading her question.

  “Repeatedly . . . are you okay?”

  Nicholas’ gaze drifted down Charlotte’s frame. “You look beautiful,” he said, ignoring her words. Silently, he admired her toned figure beneath the thin fabric.

  Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Charlotte heaved a sigh of frustration, “Nicholas, are you okay?” she asked a second time.

  “Now that you’re here, I am,” Nicholas answered, pulling her to lay down beside him. “How was your flight?”

  “Long. Frustrating. Stifling,” she complained. “I was afraid that something had happened. Your call . . . it left a lot for the imagination.”

  Nicholas rested his head on hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “What happened?” Charlotte asked. “Something had to have happened.”

  Closing his eyes, Nicholas prayed for forgiveness. God knew his heart, knew that he had every intention of telling Charlotte the truth. But as the hours passed, his nerve to do the right thing, the noble thing, slowly began to dwindle away. How could he tell the woman that he loved such a soul- shattering truth? His words would destroy her, of that he was certain.

  Tilting her head back, Charlotte asked, “Nicholas? Did you fall back to sleep?”

  “No,” he answered, pressing his mouth against her hair, inhaling her scent.

  “What happened?” she demanded, turning in his arms so that she could look him in the eyes. “When you called, I could hear that something was wrong. I could hear it in your voice . . . you didn’t sound like yourself.”

  “It was nothing. I just wanted you to come home,” he lied. “I regretted leaving you in Florida, alone, on our honeymoon, while I came back to the city to do work . . . I just wanted you home.”

  Charlotte regarded him carefully. “Is that all?”

  “Yes,” he said. “That’s all.” Shifting his position, Nicholas moved into Charlotte, his right hand moving to the nape of her neck, pulling her into him. “I missed you, Dimple,” he whispered against her lips. “So much . . . too much.”

  Charlotte forced a smile. There was something about his demeanor that gave her reason to pause. She wasn’t witless. Something was wrong, of that she was certain. “Nicholas−” she began.

  “Kiss me.” It was a command, a demand spoken past full lips. Lips that were working their way down her neck, down her collarbone. Nicholas’ hands traveled the length of her body, stopping at the hem of her dress. Easily pushing the material aside, he grazed his left hand along her inner thigh, his long fingers softly caressing her flesh. Drawing away from her, Nicholas rested his forehead against hers. “I’ll never get tired of your lips,” he whispered against her mouth as his fingers continued their journey between her legs. Resting the weight of his body on his right forearm, Nicholas moved closer still, until there was only air between them.

  “Nicholas,” Charlotte moaned, needy for his touch. It didn’t take much for him to entice her, to distract her from her thoughts. “Please.”

  “Tell me what you want?” he breathed; his voice was pure seduction.

  “You know what I want,” she said, greedily reaching for his hand. There was a sense of urgency in her voice. His touch wasn’t enough, she wanted more . . . needed more. Opening her legs to give him better access, Charlotte pulled her panties aside.

  “I want to hear you say it,” he groaned. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to make me cum,” she said as she guided his larger hand to her bare mound. Her body trembled with expectancy. She would never get enough of him, could never get enough of him− of his mouth, his hands, his cock. Losing herself in the ecstasy his touch offered was all she could do. “Make me cum,” she repeated, her voice hoarse and not her own.

  Nicholas happily obliged. Without pause, he began to stroke her clitoris with skilled fingers, causing a groan to escape from Charlotte’s swollen lips. Slowly, he slid his fingers across her pink flesh, tenderly squeezing her pearl until her body was shaking from the pure pleasure of his touch. Raising her hips to meet the stroke of his fingers, Charlotte closed her eyes awaiting the orgasm that was seconds away. Her release was explosive. “Nick,” she whispered through heavy breathing, tightly squeezing his wrist as warmth spread throughout her body, electrifying her nerve- endings.

  Nicholas moved then, placing the weight of his body on top of hers. Pulling her panties down her legs to rest at her ankles, he freed his manhood from his navy- blue Derek Rose Bailey boxers. His mind was in a state of chaos and more than anything he needed to be with his wife, buried deep inside of her where not even his thoughts could reach him. She was his safe haven, his peace in the storm. “Should I use a condom?” he asked, his voice strained.

  Charlotte met his gaze, a slight frown hardening her soft features. “No,” she answered, confused by his sudden concern over protection. “Unless . . . you want to?”

  Nicholas stared down at her, his brain working overtime. Blithe’s pregnant. What if you get pregnant, too? Seconds felt like minutes as he looked into her confused brown eyes. “I probably should,” he said after what felt like an eternity. Repositioning himself, Nicholas leaned over the bed, reaching for his jeans. “I’m pretty sure I have one stashed away in my wallet from my pre- Dimple days,” he said, forcing a smile.

  Charlotte didn’t know why, but she felt slighted. “No,” she said suddenly, pulling him back toward her. “I want to feel you . . . no barriers.” Kicking her restrictive panties off her ankles, she wrapped her legs around Nicholas’ waist, her hips rising off the mattress in anticipation of their union.

  Nicholas nodded his head in acceptance of her desire, worried that going against her wants would cause suspicion on his part. “
Okay,” he answered, not knowing what else to say. With one hand wrapped firmly around his thick shaft and the other around Charlotte’s thin waist, Nicholas moved into her, leisurely stroking her moist sex with the tip of his growing penis. One second, two, and then he was inside her, pushing past her tight folds, past her recently swollen barrier to nestle in the warmth that was her womanhood. “Fuck,” he growled, unable to control himself. She was wet and tight, a dangerous combination. Closing his eyes, Nicholas rested his head on her shoulder, inhaling her scent until he was overcome with desire. His thrusts were slow at first, gently he pushed into her, gradually stretching her walls− allowing her body to adjust to his size. “Loosen your legs, put them on my shoulders,” he instructed, craving more of her. He wasn’t deep enough, he needed to be buried past what their bodies allowed. . . locked away at the core of her being until they were no longer separate entities, but one body that could never be torn apart− could never be torn into.

  Charlotte cried out in ecstasy as a pleasure pain sensation spread through her body causing a slight ache to form in her abdomen. “It’s too much,” she breathed, raising her hands to his chest, attempting to put space between them.

  “Stop,” Nicholas growled in protest, pushing against the frail wall her small hands had created. “I want every inch of my cock inside of you. Don’t push me away, not this time Dimple. I need this.”

  Charlotte lowered her arms to rest on his hips, her nails digging into his tanned flesh as he submerged himself past her core, filling her body with every inch of his throbbing sex until they were both overcome by the sensation of it all. “I’m about to cum,” he moaned, the words were muffled, barely audible over his rigid breathing. Releasing his hold on Charlotte’s legs Nicholas began to pull out of her, inch by slow inch he skillfully held off his climax.