Get Wilde (A Checkmate Inc. Novel Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Get Wilde

  A Checkmate Inc. Novel

  Shelly Alexander

  Contents

  About the Checkmate Inc. Series

  Also By

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon!

  Also By

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright 2017 by Shelly Alexander

  A Touch of Sass, LLC

  All rights reserved. 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 the 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. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, things, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Wax Creative Designs

  Copyediting by Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting

  ISBN: 978-0-9979623-2-1

  Created with Vellum

  About the Checkmate Inc. Series

  Leo Foxx, Dex Moore, and Oz Strong spent their youths studying a chessboard, textbooks… and women, from afar. Now they’re players in the city that never sleeps. Gone are their shy demeanors, replaced with muscle, style, and enough sex appeal to charm women of all ages, shapes, and cup sizes. They’ve got it all, including a multimillion-dollar business called Checkmate Inc.—a company they founded together right out of college.

  Some guys are late bloomers, but once they hit their stride, they make up for lost time.

  And the bonus? The founding partners of Checkmate Inc. didn’t become successful and smokin’ hot by accident. They were smart enough to surround themselves with guys who helped them transform into the men they are today. So get ready for more stories about the hotties who are connected to Checkmate Inc.

  A fun, flirty, and dirty contemporary series in which the sizzling hot players associated with Checkmate Inc. meet their matches.

  Also By

  SHELLY ALEXANDER

  Shelly’s sweeter titles (with a touch of steam):

  The Red River Valley Series

  It’s In His Heart – Coop & Ella’s Story

  It’s In His Touch – Blake & Angelique’s Story

  It’s In His Smile – Talmadge & Miranda’s Story

  It’s In His Arms – Mitchell & Lorenda’s Story

  Shelly’s sizzling titles (with a lot of steam):

  The Checkmate Inc. Series

  ForePlay – Leo & Chloe’s Story

  Rookie Moves – Dex & Ava’s Story

  Get Wilde – Ethan & Adeline’s Story

  Sinful Games – Oz & Kendall’s Story Coming Late 2017

  Wilde Rush – Jacob & Grace’s Story Coming 2018

  Dedication

  To my personal trainer, Adelaide. Thank you for brainstorming this story idea with me. And thank you for working my tail off at the gym everyday. You are solely responsible for keeping my writer’s butt contained. ;)

  And, as always, thank you to my incredibly sexy, incredibly funny, and incredibly supportive husband. You make my life more fun and my stories more interesting.

  Prologue

  “She wants to get Wilde. She should be careful what she asks for.” –Ethan Wilde

  There are worse things in life than having a rock-hard body made of pure muscle. Much worse things than being labeled one of New York City’s most eligible bachelors. Far worse things than owning a thriving business in the heart of the Big Apple.

  Trust me, I know. I might be living the life in the city that never sleeps, but I’ve had some bad shit go down before I got to where I am. C’est la vie, baby. Life happens, right? Stuff goes down sometimes, both good and bad.

  I choose to focus on the positive. No matter what curve balls life lobs at me, I take a swing. If I strike out, I learn, adjust, and if possible, make the best of it. Then I move on. It’s that simple. Lemons to lemonade, you know?

  For instance, when an injury ended my dream of playing in the Bigs, I could’ve sunken into self-pity. When my fiancée dumped me about thirty seconds after the Yankees scout did, I could’ve become a drunk—maybe lived in my mom’s basement in Connecticut and played video games the rest of my life. Instead, I got off my ass, finished my senior year of college, and put the degree to work that my baseball scholarship earned me.

  Seven years later, I’m living a new dream. I’m a confirmed bachelor and the successful owner of a small chain of gyms called A Pound of Flesh Fitness. Four locations in Manhattan and counting.

  Hence, the rock-hard body I mentioned earlier.

  A corporate contract with Checkmate Inc. has helped my business thrive. You see, I made friends with the three founding partners when we were still punks at Columbia University. They were fucking smart. The type of guys who were already working on PhDs when the rest of us with normal IQs were still working on bachelors degrees. Instead of beating it to the Silicon Valley like the rest of the brainiacs, they started their own company. Checkmate Inc. was an overnight success because of its unique products—supercharged, biologically engineered pheromone colognes for men.

  When the three partners—Leo Foxx, Dex Moore, and Oz Strong—came to me for physical fitness advice, I helped transform them from chess team geeks into men with panty-dropping swagger, and a new company niche was born. Their five-figure Lifestyle packages include a full array of pheromone products, a wardrobe overhaul, a dating coach, and a personal trainer at A Pound of Flesh. Checkmate Inc. closes the deal at their retail chain of Lifestyles Studios and sends their clients my way. I take care of the rest.

  So, I’m ready to take the next step. Expand and grow
, because anything that’s not growing is dead. I’m jumping in with both feet. It’s time. No pain, no gain, right?

  Except the one person standing between me and my dream has become a fantasy. A hot, redheaded fantasy. Ah, hell. It’s my fantasy so I’ll throw in red heels and a thong, too. Anyway, my competition…my business enemy, is five-feet-nothing and packed full of dynamite, and I can’t get her out of my mind.

  Uh-uh. Been there, done that. Bought the fucking T-shirt that says Screw Me Once… It’s my favorite shirt, by the way, and I live by the motto. Now let me backtrack a little and explain. I’m not an asshole when it comes to women. I’m always upfront, and I treat women with respect. I just don’t ever go beyond one good fuck. It’s the only way to keep my heart from getting cut out like it did my last semester in college.

  Remember how I learn, adjust, and move on?

  Well, when my mind can’t stop spinning those fantasies of banging a hot redhead not once, not twice, but over and over and over again, I’ve got to do something to redirect my thoughts. Her sexy-as-sin body, her sultry voice, and her bold personality that’s just as fiery as her hair may have gotten under my skin, but there’s no way I’ll let her stay there.

  Because no one gets to Ethan Wilde.

  There’s just one little detail I can’t stop wondering about. The one thing that has brought men down since the beginning of time. I can’t leave it alone until I know for sure: Is she a true redhead?

  Chapter One

  I’m so getting laid tonight.

  One elbow propped at the far end of the long bar at 7th Inning Stretch—my favorite sports bar on 79th—I angle my body so I can sip my frosty mug of Guinness with the whole crowd in view. It’s Friday night, and every bar in Manhattan is teaming with energy that flows through New Yorkers looking to blow off steam.

  I mean, why shouldn’t I get laid? The organizers of the Big Apple’s first annual Weekend Warrior competition haven’t shown, and I seem to be the only person who didn’t get the memo that tonight’s meeting is canceled. No reason to sit here all by my lonesome.

  I scan the possibilities. I mean, scan the room…because I’m not a total douche when it comes to women. My Irish mother taught me better manners than that. I understand and appreciate the value of a woman and how to treat her, and I’m always honest about my aversion to long-term commitments.

  But, hey, I’m a guy. I’ve got sex on the brain most every waking hour, and a lot of the non-waking hours. too. Why do you think they call it morning wood? We wake up with a hard-on because we dream about sex. A lot.

  I just don’t like to get attached. Not after getting fucked over in my early twenties. I’m not wet behind the ears anymore, and I don’t take advantage of women who are. I like the women I’m with to be in it for the same reason I am—one and done. No expectations beyond that, and no one gets hurt.

  For instance, take the tall blonde at the corner table. The dark red brick wall at her back makes her long blonde hair stand out, and she catches my eye. She’s giving me a predatory smile that speaks a thousand silent words. That knockout body of hers, which is gloved in a slinky black dress that shows a ton of skin, will feel really good sliding against me when we’re both naked. She’ll get out of bed when she’s done with me and make small talk while she pulls on her clothes. With a wink and a free-spirited kiss, she’ll say, “I had a nice time.” Then she’ll leave without asking if we can hookup again.

  Maybe we’ll stay friends. Maybe we won’t. One thing is for sure, though. We’ll never cross home plate again, and I know she’ll be fine with that. Her smoky gaze tells me she’s not looking at the long game. She’s only thinking about tonight’s adventure.

  Just my type.

  I turn back to the bar and peel off a few bills to cover my tab and a hefty tip.

  “Thanks, man,” Chase Manning says.

  Chase and I played baseball together in college. His dream of playing pro ball died about the same time as mine, but for different reasons. He didn’t wallow in self-pity either. He started this bar with a couple of our teammates, Jacob Rush and Pete Steele. Now they’re living the life.

  “Sure thing, dude.” I grab my beer and turn around again to go introduce myself to the pretty blonde.

  “Hi.” An attractive redhead is standing right behind me and I almost plow into her.

  “Whoa,” I pull up short. Where the hell did she come from?

  At six-one, I tower over her. She’s all of five-foot-nothing, so I look down to make eye contact.

  It’s like something moves in my chest. The nuanced bar lighting glints off her silky auburn hair. It tumbles around her shoulders in long, loose waves and frames her creamy cheeks. Her sea green eyes glitter as she smiles up at me. Oh, not the same way the blonde did. Red’s smile is both sexy and sweet. The kind of sweet that says she probably isn’t looking for a one and done. She’s more of a long game kind of girl.

  Hot as hell, but not my type.

  I glance past all that sexy red hair, and the blonde is frowning in my direction. I should breeze past Red. Make a beeline to Goldilocks who has been eye-fucking me for the last several minutes.

  Instead, my gaze slides back to Red. Goddammit.

  She’s still smiling up at me, but a small wrinkle knits her brow. I want to run my finger over it to smooth away her worry.

  Don’t go there. Look away!

  Swear to God, that smile has the angel on one of my shoulders shouting at me to run. Unfortunately, the devil on my other shoulder is doing a victory dance.

  I let my stare travel over her toned shoulders, covered only by the thin straps of her green sundress. I can’t help but think how perfect the color matches her amazing eyes. My gaze dips to her thin waist. She definitely works out. Then my stare travels all the way down her firm legs. I’m greeted by hot pink toenails, which are hemmed in by a pair of blingy platform flip-flops.

  I probably should mention the only reason I’m familiar with the term blingy platform flip-flops is because I’ve got a younger sister. Anyway…

  There’s something vaguely familiar about Red, but I can’t quite put a finger on it.

  I would, however, love to put a finger on her. Anywhere on her body she wants.

  Not gonna happen, though.

  Red pulls in a weighty breath like she’s gathering courage. “Would you like to have a drink?”

  I’m about to say no and excuse myself. Really, I am. But I glance at Goldilocks, who gives me a glare that could reduce the entire building to a pile of rubble. She snatches up her purse and storms through the crowd and out the front door.

  Hopefully to meet a therapist for anger management counseling.

  Red eases up to the bar next to me. “I’ll have an Appletini,” she says to Chase.

  I don’t miss the slight lift of his eyebrow. This is a sports bar not a trendy cocktail lounge. Appletinis aren’t in high demand.

  I shrug when Chase shoots me a look. “I’ll have another Guinness,” I say.

  He has the drinks in front of us in a flash because he’s good at his job. 7th Inning Stretch isn’t rated one of the top sports bars in Manhattan for nothing.

  The crowd has grown thicker, the din of laughter and buzzed chatter has risen to a low roar. And I have no idea why the fuck I’m still standing here, drinking with a girl who’s gone completely silent and won’t look me in the eye. Red faces the bar and sips her Appletini. I take a long swallow of brew and study her profile.

  The slight upturn at the tip of her nose is cute.

  Wait. What the fuck? Did I just think the word cute?

  I slam my mug to the counter harder than I’d planned, and she startles. Those green eyes turn on me, and they’re as big and bright as the sun.

  There goes that shift in my chest again. It’s like gerbils have rented space in there and are making good use of their spinning wheel.

  “Look, thanks for coming.” A nervous smile turns up one side of Red’s mouth. “I know it’s awkward, but it n
ever hurts to meet new people, right?”

  No idea what she’s talking about, but I don’t ask her to explain. Can’t because my stare is glued to her full, sexy-as-fuck lips as they mold around the rim of her glass and she takes a long pull of the fruity cocktail.

  And now that I’ve let the words cock and tail off their leashes in my filthy mind, my chest isn’t the only part of my anatomy that’s shifting. Especially when she swallows and traces her full lips with the tip of her pink tongue.

  “I mean, this doesn’t have to be a marathon.” She’s shifting from one strappy flip-flop to the other like she’s getting more nervous with each word. “We just need to do it quick and easy.” She takes another nervous sip of her Appletini, a rosy color seeping into her cheeks. “I think an hour is plenty of time, don’t you? And if we want it to last longer, that’s fine. As long as I’m home by midnight. I’ve got a busy weekend.”

  Now that’s a surprise. Red just might be the one and done type after all. I’m pretty good at reading women, but I gotta say, I didn’t see that one coming.

  Aaaaand the shifting going on south of the border could probably register on a Richter scale now that the word coming has been thrown out there, too.

  I realize I still haven’t said a word to this girl. You know, the one who has the look of a good-girl prom queen but just propositioned me. So unlike me to get tongue tied, but I’ve seriously misjudged Red.

  I lean into her and let my gaze roam over her thick auburn hair. “Nice to meet you.” My voice is a low rumble, and I realize I’m even more turned on than I wanted to admit. “Red is my favorite color.” For hair…stilettos…thongs…and… My stare drops to several inches south of her waist.

  She relaxes. “I’m Adeline. I’m really glad you’re as tall as you claimed on your dating profile. Did you know that height is the number one thing that men lie about?”