Breaking Stone: Bad Boy Romance Novel Read online

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  About this book

  Katrina

  Stone

  About the Author

  Also by Ash Harlow

  Breaking Stone

  Reckless Bad Boys

  Ash Harlow

  Contents

  About this book

  1. Katrina

  2. Stone

  3. Katrina

  4. Katrina

  5. Katrina

  6. Stone

  7. Katrina

  8. Stone

  9. Katrina

  10. Stone

  11. Katrina

  12. Katrina

  13. Stone

  14. Katrina

  15. Stone

  16. Katrina

  17. Stone

  18. Katrina

  19. Katrina

  20. Stone

  21. Katrina

  22. Stone

  23. Katrina

  24. Stone

  25. Katrina

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Ash Harlow

  Copyright © 2017 by Ash Harlow

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

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

  *** This standalone book is full of shameless instalove, drama, scorching hot sex, and filthy language. No cliffhanger, no cheating, and a definite HEA.

  Find out more about the author and her upcoming books online at ashharlow.com

  About this book

  No one tames Stone Logan

  STONE

  There is no secret to my romance novels…I play hard, and I write about it. The filthier the better. If you’ve been in my bed, you’ve starred in my stories.

  My books are hot. Women send me their underwear, and husbands tell me they’re getting laid every night…and again in the morning.

  So what’s the problem?

  The final book in my series is the problem. The material exposes more than usual, and the publishers want it rewritten. Lawyers are rattling their swords, threatening lawsuits. Even worse, my agent’s hired a girl to keep an eye on me. A babysitter. Katrina. An annoying, straight-laced personal assistant to make sure I stay out of trouble.

  But Katrina’s not like any girl I’d ever known and her sweet blush is the worst trouble ever.

  KATRINA

  To land my dream job, I need to deliver Stone Logan’s last book.

  His agent chose me knowing I won’t distract a guy whose bedpost is notched with socialites, actresses and underwear models.

  But he looks at me like I’m the cherry on top of a sexy sundae. He teases me until I blush. And I can handle that, until he asks for a kiss. Just one. For research.

  If I’m not careful, I’ll be the next dirty story in Stone Logan’s book.

  NEWSLETTER ALERT

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  1

  Katrina

  In front of me stood the door of opportunity that would remain firmly closed unless I got up the courage to march on through.

  My one-month temping position at Cooper-Johnson Management, a literary management agency, had one day left to run. Each evening, I’d walked out of the offices of one of New York’s most prestigious literary agencies, dreaming that when I arrived at my desk the following day, my prayers would be answered. Sarah Duncan, my temporary boss and top bitch around CJM, would offer me a permanent position.

  CJM—literary agency to the big names I’d only read about.

  I used that line when I was a bit gushy with excitement on my first day. The response was a withering look from uber-secretary, Naomi, a woman who’d quickly discovered how easily I could be intimidated. From then on, I left the jokes at home, bringing only my professionalism, a sandwich and a piece of fruit through the whisper-quiet gliding doors of the swanky Titan building in Midtown Manhattan.

  My remaining time with CJM could now be measured in hours, rather than days. Despite a couple of attempts to gauge whether there was any likelihood of a permanent position, I’d come away with nothing. Not even a maybe.

  My hand was forced. In twenty-four hours, I’d leave the building for the last time, which meant this was my final opportunity.

  Even the closed door of Sarah’s office practically brought me to my knees. I lifted my hand to knock and lowered it again as my courage ebbed and flowed, perfectly attuned to the surge of Sarah’s raised voice, which came in bursts from the other side. This did not sound promising. My last chance to beg for a permanent spot on the staff, and Sarah was in full rage.

  Then came the sound of something being slammed against the desk and a final expletive, followed by silence. I guessed her phone call had finished. I swallowed over the thickness in my throat, my fist hovering, ready to knock.

  “If you value your life, I’d step away from that door,” Naomi said, rolling her eyes as if she couldn’t believe even I could be so stupid.

  Her words reactivated the writhing snakes in the pit of my stomach.

  “I just wanted to ask—”

  “You didn’t, believe me. What you wanted was to stay at your desk and keep your head down. There’s so much shit flying in there, you need a HazMat suit and a breathing apparatus to enter. On exit, decontamination.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said, returning to my desk until Naomi was out of sight. Then I sneaked back to Sarah’s office door. At this stage, I had nothing to lose.

  The previous evening, when I shared my idea with Mom, she told me not to bug my bosses. If CJM had a full-time position for me, they’d offer it. Thing is, I had dreams. And not just dreams—there was this need for rent money and more security than I got from temping. I wanted to work with authors. I was already doing social media work and promotion for a couple of women from Mom’s church, but they didn’t pay me. It was more for the experience. Mom said I shouldn’t expect pay for promoting their inspirational stories, but it was time I stopped listening to her because she was holding me back.

  At the end of this gig, the only thing the temping agency had offered me was a week back at this insurance office I’ve temped at before. It sucked. The guy who I reported to was a total jerk. If you asked him the color of my eyes, he’d have no idea. If you asked him to describe my breasts, he’d probably be able to give a fifteen-minute talk without a break. He stared at them, he brushed against them, he commented on them. If I hadn’t been so desperate for the money, I’d have reported him for harassment.

  One thing I knew was that reporting stuff like that gets you labelled as ‘difficult’, a troublemaker. It happened to one of the other girls I temped with, and her job offers dried up.

  Temping is temporary. I kept telling myself that.

  This one chance was slipping away fast, and I couldn’t guarantee Sarah would even be in the office the following day. This was my moment. She was in there alone. She was also really freaking angry…dammit.

  I wanted to stay at CJM forever. I wanted to wear smart suits and shoes with clicking heels that told everyone I was important, I had value, and I did stuff with words and clever, creative people. Who knew whether it was bravery or insanity, but thoughts of my dream life spurred me on. I knocked on the door really loudly, muc
h louder than I intended to.

  “This had better be fucking important,” came a shout from the other side.

  My name is Katrina, and I am important.

  I drew a long breath, pushed open the door and marched in.

  “Oh, it’s you.”

  Sarah started shuffling through the papers on her desk. I’d never seen her like this. If I wasn’t experiencing a moment of complete madness myself, I’d say she almost looked defeated. It threw me, to be honest, and my carefully prepared speech suddenly evaporated.

  “Come on, speak,” she barked.

  “I can see you’re busy, so I’ll be quick.” I waited for her to encourage me to continue, but there was nothing. Sarah was completely distracted by whatever she was reading, so I just went on, hoping she’d listen.

  “Tomorrow’s my last day at Cooper-Johnson, and I wanted to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed working here.”

  Sarah actually snorted. At least she was listening. I forged on. “I was wondering if I could be of further service to CJM, something permanent…anything, really, that needs doing. I’m your girl.”

  I’m your girl. Did I really say that?

  Sarah dropped the papers and looked at me, up and down, like I was this bizarre piece of art somebody suggested for the main lobby. I did my best not to shuffle. My hands were clasped behind my back, palms damp, and I gave them a quick wipe on my skirt.

  Sarah was so cool that I doubt she ever perspired. Even uncharacteristically harassed, she still appeared as though she could snap-freeze freshly picked beans with a single look.

  She glanced back to her papers, tapped her pen a couple of times, then fixed me again with her lizard stare.

  “Actually, you just might do.”

  My heart jumped. I thought it was going at full capacity when I walked in, but the beat-speed increased as it worked its way right up into my throat. I could scarcely breathe. Any attempt to speak would come out as a gurgle, so I nodded and smiled.

  “Sit down, and don’t say anything until I’ve finished reading this.”

  I sat, concentrating on calming myself as Sarah flicked through pages, scribbled notes, then finally, pushed everything to one side and dragged her laptop in front of her. A few taps on her keyboard, and the printer whirred into life. She studied the printout, then looked at me, her full lips set in a grim line.

  “What I’m about to propose is the hardest job you’ll ever have.”

  “Sounds interesting,” I said, wanting to appear enthusiastic and professional. The reality was that I felt ready to explode.

  “We’ve got a problem that won’t go away, and it needs to be resolved fast. Before I tell you any details, you’ll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

  She passed the pages she’d just printed to me and I started to read.

  “It’s a standard NDA. You can read it properly later,” Sarah said, pushing a pen across her desk, making it clear she wanted me to hurry and sign. “Basically, you breathe a word of what I’m about to tell you, or anything about this assignment, and your career is over. We’ll sue you for more money than you could ever hope to earn in a lifetime.”

  I should have read it properly before signing, but Sarah looked as though she was about to retract the offer. “I’m discreet,” I told her, scribbling my name at the end of the document. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut.

  “You are now,” she said, swapping the signed document for a duplicate set. “Here’s a copy. Read it tonight and make sure you understand the implications of breaking the terms.”

  I assured her that was the first thing I’d do when I arrived home.

  “Good, here’s some background. An author I represent has gone off the rails. He’s finished the draft of the last book of a very successful series, but the publishers are calling for a massive rewrite due to legal issues with some of the subject matter. His deadline is six weeks away, and he’s no closer to completing the rewrite than he was a month ago. You’re going to be his PA. You’ll move upstate to where he lives and go to his home every day and make sure he works. Whatever he wants, you do it. Feed him, clean the goldfish bowl, or line everything up in his fridge with labels facing out if that will enable him to sit down and write. I don’t fucking care what it takes, so long as you get that rewrite out of him in six weeks’ time.”

  “I can do that,” I said, though I had my doubts. I could barely stand up to my mother. How I would manage to get the words out of a reluctant author, when Sarah hadn’t been successful herself, was a mystery.

  Sarah shot me a look that suggested I was deluded, then she hit a button on her phone. “Bring him in.”

  Half a minute later, the door opened and in swaggered over six feet of pure man. I had to turn away because that chin-on-chest gaping thing I was doing was a bad look. I swear, even Sarah’s face softened a little.

  His smile oozed charm and something else…the dirty, sexy confidence that went with the guy who knew that most women he encountered would drop their panties for him at the snap of a finger. I rose on weakened legs to shake his hand, and in that instant, while his physical presence was still blowing me away, I knew I was way out of my depth.

  “Stone Logan.” His voice matched the rest of him, a smooth timbre that only had to lower slightly to make things very awkward between my legs.

  “Katrina Penhaligon,” I warbled, wresting my hand from his grip and wishing I had a short, crisp name. Kat Logan sounded pretty good right now. The thought made my face heat, and I glanced at him again, hoping his magic powers didn’t extend to mind reading. All the charm he exuded was a ploy to get the upper hand. Men who looked like him didn’t touch girls who looked like me. They didn’t even see me.

  Sarah cleared her throat, breaking the spell. When I glanced at her, my face burning and undoubtedly scarlet, she narrowed her eyes as if reconsidering her decision to offer me this job.

  To be honest, I was reconsidering taking it, too.

  “So, this is my babysitter?” Stone asked with an arched eyebrow. “And here I thought you’d hire some massive thug to hold me down and chain me to my laptop.”

  “Katrina will be your assistant for the next six weeks. She’ll cook, make coffee, run errands and do all those things you find so distracting. Katrina will manage your social media, Stone. Your only concern is to complete the rewrite by deadline, then you can go back to your regular sordid life. Six weeks, Stone, of pure focus, is not going to kill you. Miss the deadline and you know what the publishers are going to do.”

  Stone considered me for an unbearably long time before turning back to Sarah. “Poor Katrina. She may end up a victim of my success.”

  “She will not,” Sarah snapped, her tone sharper than ever.

  Stone cocked an eyebrow, his grin dangerous. “When does she start?”

  “Monday.”

  “Until Monday, Katrina,” he said, enveloping me in the glow of that damned smile again, then he turned and left the office.

  I watched until the door was closed, and when I faced Sarah, I saw she’d been doing the same.

  Words like phew and wow came to mind, but one glance at my boss’s face ensured my silence.

  “Right. You can spend the rest of the day fangirling over Stone Logan, but the moment you start work as his assistant, I expect nothing but completely professional behavior. Tell me what you know about him.”

  Was I that obvious? I drew myself straight in my chair and channeled my business face. “Stone Logan, author of the Steele Heart romances. They’re marketed as fiction but are alleged to be about the author’s own sexual conquests, with thinly disguised characters. Word around town says they’re autobiographical. His online presence is legendary.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes, but I continued with the little I knew. “Gossip blogs have leaked the name of the starlet they believe to be codenamed ‘Tatiana’ in the yet to be released final book. There have been incidents on social media—”

  “Stone is a loose cannon, and, to b
e blunt, the man’s a slut. One of the reasons I chose you is that you’re not his type, so there is a chance the book will be finished rather than Stone using the next six weeks to seduce you and add a fresh notch to his bedpost. That thing must look like it’s infested with termites by now.”

  I should have been insulted, but I’d lived my life fielding comments like that from my mother. There was little damage Sarah could do. Not only that, but I wasn’t deluded—I’m ordinary and curvy. The only time I turned heads was when I sneezed.

  Sarah’s printer suddenly whirred to life again. “I’ll give you Stone’s bio, his books, and a full job description will be ready for you by the time you leave tonight. Do a good job for CJM, Katrina. Get the book and handle yourself professionally, and there may be a permanent place for you here.”

  With that giant carrot dangling in front of me, I floated from Sarah’s office. By the time I reached my desk, my euphoria had turned to dread. What I’d been given was an impossible task. How the heck was someone like me going to pull reluctant words from a person like Stone Logan?

  2

  Stone

  Man walks into a bar.

  Bartender looks up and says: “Hey, are you stoned, Logan?”

  At least that’s what I thought he said. I leaned on the bar, told him I didn’t do drugs, and ordered a whiskey.

  He frowned for a moment. “Yeah, it’s you. Stone Logan, the writer. I know your face better than my own. It stares back at me from the back of the books on my girlfriend’s bedside table every night. She’s got a stack this high.” He widened his hands, indicating size like he was telling a story about a fish he’d caught.

  Women are right, men are full of shit. There was no way I’d written enough books to make a stack the height he was indicating.

  “Here, do me a favor.” He pushed a napkin and pen towards me. “Sign that for her while I get your drink. The name’s Juliet.”