Ruthless Read online

  FIRST ORIGINAL EDITION, OCTOBER 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Deborah Bladon

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.

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

  ISBN: 9781697193480

  eBook ISBN: 9781926440576

  Book & cover design by Wolf & Eagle Media

  www.deborahbladon.com

  Also by Deborah Bladon

  THE OBSESSED SERIES

  THE EXPOSED SERIES

  THE PULSE SERIES

  THE VAIN SERIES

  THE RUIN SERIES

  IMPULSE

  SOLO

  THE GONE SERIES

  FUSE

  THE TRACE SERIES

  CHANCE

  THE EMBER SERIES

  THE RISE SERIES

  HAZE

  SHIVER

  TORN

  THE HEAT SERIES

  RISK

  MELT

  THE TENSE DUET

  SWEAT

  TROUBLEMAKER

  WORTH

  HUSH

  BARE

  WISH

  SIN

  LACE

  THIRST

  COMPASS

  VERSUS

  CONTENTS

  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

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Epilogue

  Preview of BLOOM

  Thank you

  Deborah’s Mailing List

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Bella

  “What are you wearing?”

  Rolling my eyes, I press the phone closer to my ear. “That’s creepy as fuck. Why would you ask me that?”

  “Duh.” My best friend, Max Polley, drags that one syllable out as I cross the street headed toward a restaurant in the West Village that I’ve never been to.

  “Maxwell,” I snap back, weaving my way through the early evening pedestrian traffic. “Focus.”

  I’m finally done work for the week. That should bring a sense of relief, but it feels as though half of Manhattan has converged on this block. It’s swarming with people. I escaped my crowded office only to dive into this mess.

  “I’m focused.” He clears his throat. “The guy you’re meeting for dinner is named Dale Simpson or Smithson. Maybe it’s Samson. All I remember is that there’s a son in his surname.”

  I inch my way past a group of five women who have come to a dead stop in front of a hotel. Rolling suitcases sit at their heels.

  Tourists.

  I toss them a smile as I pass them by. “What does he look like, Max?”

  He heaves a sigh. “I asked Tiffany to send me a picture of him, but so far there’s nothing incoming from her.”

  I slow, anxiety dictating my movements. “Remind me again why I’m going on this date. You know I’d much rather come down to the store and hang out with you.”

  Max ignores my request to join him. “Remember a few months ago when I was Tiff’s plus one at her friend’s wedding? I saw Dale that night for a split second. You know that I save every face to memory. I’ll describe him to you.”

  I agreed to this blind date less than an hour ago as a favor to Max.

  He arranged it as a favor to his friend. Tiffany Alesso met Max a year ago when she walked into the shoe store his family owns. She bought a dozen pair of stilettoes from him. The commission on the sale paid his rent for a month.

  It also funded our joint twenty-third birthday getaway to Atlantic City.

  Max covered the bus tickets and the hotel. I sprang for the food and one hundred dollars each for gambling.

  We didn’t win a dime, but we created memories that will last us forever.

  “If you weren’t my best friend, I would bail on this,” I point out.

  “Stop walking and talking.” Max laughs. “You sound breathy, Bella. You need to tone that down before you meet Dale or he’s going to think you’re panting for him.”

  “What does he look like?” I repeat, stopping to lean against the exterior wall of a cell phone store.

  “He’s taller than me.” He pauses for a moment. “Dark brown hair, blue eyes, no beard when I met him. He’s a good-looking guy. I’d give him a solid nine-and-a-half out of ten.”

  I know his type, so picking Dale out in a crowded restaurant should be a breeze.

  “The reservation was for seven,” Max goes on, “It’s almost seven fifteen. Tiff said Dale’s early to everything, so he’s probably already seated and waiting for you.”

  I set off again toward the restaurant. “He can’t fault me for being late, Max. An hour ago I didn’t even know he existed.”

  “What are you wearing?” He bounces back to the first thing he asked when I called him.

  “Why does that matter?” I ask as I round the corner.

  “Isabella Calvetti.” My name comes out like a warning. “I’m trying to find you a husband. Work with me here.”

  “A husband?” I laugh. “I’m twenty-four-years-old. I’m not looking for a life partner.”

  “I know, I know,” he says, his voice edged with fake exasperation. “You’re looking for a good time.”

  I hang my head. “I need to go. I’m almost there.”

  “The outfit, Bella,” he presses. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

  I look down. “The black heels you gave me for my birthday last year and…”

  “Killer, so fucking killer,” he interrupts in a rush. “Go on.”

  “That short sleeve white sweater I bought last month.”

  “Your boobs are perky melons in that thing.”

  “Creepy as fuck, again, Max.”

  “Tell me you’re not wearing your grandma’s pants.”

  “My grandma sometimes wears black dress pants, and I sometimes wear black dress pants. It’s a coincidence.” I stop just short of the entrance to Atlas 22, one of the best seafood restaurants in the city. “I’m wearing my black leather skirt if you must know.”

  “Damn.” I hear the smile in his tone. “The one that makes your
ass look like a million bucks?”

  I glance at my reflection in one of the panes of glass with the Atlas 22 logo etched on them. “As much as I appreciate the compliment, I need to go.”

  “Hair and makeup?”

  I take a step closer to the glass and study myself. “My hair is just past my shoulders and dark brown, and yes, I wear makeup.”

  “You’re so not funny,” he drawls. “You know how to answer the question.”

  I bite back a laugh. “My hair is on point. That conditioner you recommended works like a charm. The curls are loose, and my makeup is at least an eight out of ten.”

  “You’re ready to knock Dale’s pants off.”

  “No,” I answer with a smile. “I’m ready to see if his pants are worth knocking off. I need to go inside and meet him.”

  “Remember that he’s Tiffany’s friend’s cousin and he’s visiting from Philly.”

  “Cousin from Philly,” I repeat back. “I’ve got it.”

  I peer through the windows, but the place is packed. I can’t see past the bar crowd to the dining area.

  “Call me after you’ve had your way with him.”

  “You mean after he’s bought me dessert?”

  “Thanks again for doing this.” His voice softens. “Tiffany’s stuck at work, so you’re doing her a huge favor by filling her seat at dinner.”

  “I’m happy to do it,” I say, trying to mask the nervous energy racing through me. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Love you, Bella.”

  “Love you,” I repeat back.

  Ending the call, I drop my phone in my black leather purse and yank open the door to Atlas 22, so I can get this blind date over and done with.

  Chapter 2

  Bella

  “Can I help you, Miss?” A female voice hisses in my left ear as I stare into the packed dining room of the restaurant.

  I turn to the sight of a tall, blonde-haired woman. She’s wearing a black dress and an earpiece. She has to be the hostess.

  “I’m meeting someone.”

  “Who?” Her question may be directed at me, but her gaze is stuck on something to the left of us.

  I sigh, wishing Max had been more confident about Dale’s surname. “I believe his name is Dale…”

  “Right,” she says in a clipped tone. “When he arrived, he mentioned someone would be joining him. He’s over there waiting for you.”

  She points a finger at a man glancing in our direction.

  If this is what a nine-and-a-half looks like on Max’s scale of hotness, I don’t know what the hell a ten would look like.

  Dale checks every single one of my boxes. His brown hair is tousled just enough to look sexy, not messy. Dark lashes frame his brilliant blue eyes. His square, smooth jawline complements the rest of his picture perfect face.

  He looks like every fantasy I’ve ever had wrapped in an expensive suit.

  Custom made.

  I’m not just talking about the dark blue suit or gray tie.

  If I were to place an order for a perfect man, Dale would drop from the sky and land in my bed.

  A vision of what he must look like naked flashes in front of me.

  I blink my eyes shut twice.

  The woman next to me whispers something in her earpiece. Her expression morphs into a scowl. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s a situation I need to address. Wait right here, and someone will seat you momentarily.”

  “I’ll seat myself,” I tell her even though she’s already expertly navigating her way through the crowded dining room. She’s headed straight toward a gray-haired man wearing a chef’s jacket. His left hand is waving frantically in the air.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I smooth a hand over my hair.

  I set off on shaky legs toward Dale’s table. I hurry past a waitress carrying a full tray of food that smells incredible.

  I take two steps to the left to avoid a woman who is taking a seat at a long, rectangular table where at least a dozen people are already enjoying cocktails.

  Just as I’m about to tap Dale on the shoulder, he glances back.

  “Hello,” I say nervously, my hand stuck in mid-air.

  I go for it because there are no guarantees in life and I may never get another chance to touch this man.

  I pat his shoulder with my hand. The contact is minimal, but he’s solid as stone under that suit jacket.

  “I’m Bella,” I sigh. “Or Isabella. You can call me either.”

  He moves to stand, but I skirt around him and plop myself in the wooden chair opposite him.

  “There’s no need to get up.” I shake my head. “I appreciate that you wanted to. My grandma Marti would say you are a true gentleman.”

  I try and mimic my grandma’s slight Italian accent on that last word, but it comes out more like a bad impersonation of a Parisian.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” I go on because that’s exactly what I do when I’m flustered. I talk too much. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

  Picking up the glass of water in front of him, Dale leans back and takes a sip.

  “Is this your first time here?” I ask through a grin. “It’s mine. The food smells delicious.”

  Dale’s gaze floats up when a waiter approaches us with a tray in his hand.

  He sets a half-filled glass tumbler in front of Dale. “Whiskey neat for you, sir.”

  His hand moves to grab the stem of the other glass on the tray, but he stops when he glances at me.

  “Is that a cosmopolitan?” I say, clapping my hands lightly together. “How did you know it’s my favorite?”

  The waiter’s gaze shifts to my date. “Sir, should I bring an…”

  “This is fine.” Dale’s rich baritone voice is more intoxicating than the drink could ever be. “Thank you.”

  The waiter slides the glass across the white linen tablecloth.

  After the day I had at work, this is going to hit the spot, and if all goes well, Dale will be hitting the spot later back at his hotel.

  The spot being my ever-elusive G-spot.

  He looks like the kind of man who knows exactly where it is.

  I’ve never had sex on a first date, or a second date, but with Dale I’d happily make an exception.

  I take a sip of the drink. Pleasure ripples through me.

  “Is it to your liking, Isabella?”

  I glance across the table at him. He’s shifted in his seat. He’s leaning forward now, his index finger circling the rim of his glass.

  “Very much so.” I nod. “Are you going to try your drink?”

  “In time.” A smile ghosts his mouth.

  I have no problem drinking alone, so I take another taste of my cosmopolitan. Lowering the glass to the table, I tilt my head. “What’s Philadelphia like? I’ve never been there.”

  That perks one of his dark brows. “Are you considering visiting Philadelphia?”

  “Are you offering to show me around?” I volley back.

  It’s bold, but if I don’t take the bull by the horns, I’ll need to get a new vibrator because mine is wearing out fast.

  Dale finally takes a long sip of his whiskey.

  I watch his Adam’s apple bob on a swallow. Everything about him is so masculine, right down to the size of his hands and the scent of his cologne.

  “I haven’t gone on many blind dates,” I confess, not bothering to add this week to the end of that sentence.

  My sister, Gina, set me up with the brother of one of her friends four nights ago. That date lasted ten minutes because he misunderstood and thought he was meeting Gina for dinner, not me.

  “Is that so?” Dale studies my face.

  “I usually meet men at the regular places.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Dating apps, clubs, the library.”

  “The library?” He laughs, and oh my God, what was that?

  How can a man’s laugh be that sexy?

  I snap back to the conversation at hand. “I like men who read.” />
  He drinks again, and I stare like it’s the first time I’ve ever witnessed a human being quench their thirst.

  I tear my eyes away from his face. “Maybe I should say I like men who can read.”

  I wait for the laugh that never comes from him.

  Dammit. I want to hear it again.

  I go on, “I’m not that picky. To be honest, I’ve dated all types of men.”

  “And that means what?” His eyes search mine. “Tell me about the men you’ve dated, Isabella.”

  Chapter 3

  Bella

  “Where, oh where, do I start?” I bark out a laugh.

  “The beginning generally works.” Dale takes a sip of water.

  I should follow his lead, but I need something stronger, so I go for the cosmo. I swallow a large enough gulp to fuel my courage.

  “Does the beginning matter when the end looks like you?” I whisper under my breath.

  Dale leans closer. “I missed that. What did you say?”

  “I said,” I pause for a beat to come up with something. “I said that the beginning doesn’t matter. What matters is that the last few men I’ve dated have all been one and done.”

  “One. And. Done,” he pauses for a beat after each word. “So one date and they’re done?”

  “For the most part.” I laugh. “I can tell very early if there’s a connection or not. If I don’t feel a spark, I don’t see a reason to agree to a second date.”

  “Ah.” He tilts his head. “You’re a woman who values her time.”

  “Precisely,” I say as though it’s the truth.

  I devote entirely too much time to binge-watching shows on the weekends. If I add in how much time I spend debating what to eat for dinner each night, I’d have to admit that I value indecision more than anything.

  “Take the last guy I dated.” I can’t resist, so I go for the joke. “Please, take him.”

  That doesn’t warrant a laugh from Dale, or even a smile.

  “He was one of those men who always has to be right.” I roll my eyes. “You know the type.”

  Dale nods. “Very well.”

  Does that mean he’s that type? Did I just put my foot in my mouth?