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  Cherished

  Jagger Cole

  Contents

  A Special Present

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Also by Jagger Cole

  About the Author

  Cherished

  Jagger Cole © 2020

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by Plan 9 Book Design | Editing by MJ Edits

  This is a literary work of fiction. Any names, places, or incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Similarities or resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or establishments, are solely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal and a violation of US copyright law.

  Created with Vellum

  A Special Present

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  Synopsis

  I’m a cursed beast, and she’s my tempting beauty.

  For years, I’ve lived in a glass and steel castle high above the streets of New York. A prison where I pace like a caged beast. If I leave, I lose my empire, and the technology I invented falls into the hands of those who would use it for evil.

  I believe my fate is sealed, until I lay eyes on my new heart-stoppingly gorgeous neighbor across the street and about forty stories below. She’s beautiful and tempting. She’s young and innocent. She’s an obsession I’ll never taste and a dream I’ll forever replay only in my head.

  Until she’s in trouble. Until I can’t stand by and watch her get hurt.

  Leaving my penthouse could mean losing everything. But she is my everything. Mia breaks down my walls, and makes me want to shatter every rule I have.

  I’ll risk it all for her. I’ll keep her safe. I’ll treasure her, and cherish her, and I’ll never let her go…

  This OTT romance is packed with instalove, no cliffhanger, and a perfect happy ever after.

  1

  Mia

  My finger traces the edge of the pages, my eyes pirouetting from one word to another. The sun warms one side of my face, and the summer breeze dancing up the avenues of the city teases my skin.

  The book, like all books, are an escape for me. Currently, lost in the pages of Tarzan of the Apes, Tarzan himself is rescuing Jane from the forest fire. I’ve read this silly book about a hundred times, but I get a thrill every time I reach this part. There’s something so magical and romantic about the way he throws himself through the flames to rescue Jane.

  But of course, it’s just a story. Just like all of my escapes. In the real world, I could actually use a Tarzan, but I know that’s a silly thought. There won’t be a hunky and gorgeous jungle man turned English Lord coming to take me away from my troubles. Maybe if I was in the jungle; a big maybe. But definitely not here in the city high above the streets. I have a hard time imagining Tarzan in a place like midtown Manhattan.

  The chapter ends, and I close the book on my bookmark. I know the ending by heart, but I want to wait until tomorrow to savor the last chunk of the book. The summer wind blows some of my blonde hair free, and I tuck it behind my ears and stand. I get a little bit of vertigo looking down the twenty stories below at the street. Logic tells me the tiny balcony isn’t going to fall, but it’s still a little scary standing on a grate of metal this high up.

  I step through the big window back into the apartment. It’s actually my Aunt Carol’s place, but she’s in Paris right now for her residency at the Sorbonne. Aunt Carol teaches Latin and Medieval Literature, which is probably where I get my book-lover genes from.

  But I think that’s where my and Carol’s similarities end. Because other than being into books, Carol is a terror. She’s cold, cruel, and has a pinched demeanor to match the forever-frown on her face. She’s my dad’s sister, and believe me, he’s no better. My mom died when I was very young, and dad raised me just fine, but the man is hardly the warm and fuzzy type. Carol takes “not warm and fuzzy” to a whole other level though.

  When I got into NYU, and even scored an almost full academic scholarship, Carol insisted I live at her place while she was in Paris. It had less to do with helping family and more to do with keeping an eye on me, though, even though I’ve never been in trouble a day in my life. Oh, and she’s charging me rent. Yeah, really.

  Back inside from the tiny balcony, I walk through to the kitchen to put on some water for tea. The apartment is nice if not small, but it’s creepy, too. Medieval tapestries drape the walls, and the smell of moldy old books is almost overwhelming. The full-sized suit of armor standing guard by the bathroom door doesn’t exactly help with the creepy factor, either. But it’s a place to live. And even if Aunt Carol is charging me, I’ve done the math and it’s still cheaper than the dorms; definitely cheaper than trying to find a place on my own.

  Besides, I’m barely here anyways. Between my huge class schedule, and my job at the coffee shop down the street, I’m pretty busy. Outside of school and work though, I’m here. I’m not really the going out type anyways, and besides that, all of my money from work goes to Carol for the rent. Any extra after that is for “luxuries” like groceries.

  I like the city, but it also overwhelms me a little. I’m from a small town, and I guess I’ve got a small-town vibe that sticks out like a sore thumb here. Chelsea, from work, tells me over and over that I need to harden-up and get a little more “street smart” to live in this city. She’s probably right.

  I do have an innocence to me, and I know it makes me vulnerable in a huge, fast city like this. I’ve spent most of my small-town life with my nose in a book, and I’ve never even kissed a boy before. I told that to Chelsea once and she made me swear to never tell anyone else that, especially not guys.

  “They’ll be on you like wolves, girl,” she tut-tutted. “Guys in this city will either get creepy or run away if you tell them that.”

  So, I go to school, I go to work, and when the weather is nice, I sit on Carol’s little balcony and read my favorite old books.

  When my tea is done, I pour the mug and walk back to the window. I look out across the street at the huge new building. It’s all mirrored glass and gleaming metal, with glamorous sports cars and limousines pulling up to the doorman outside day and night. My eyes travel up the height of it, all the way to the top. I let out a small whistle and shake my head.

  The very top of the building is my fantasy escape. It’s the penthouse suite, I’ve been told. But what makes it stand out is that easily half of the roof it sits on is landscaped with gorgeous full trees, hedges, flowers, and even a fountain I can just barely see through some branches. It’s an oasis that I’ll never set foot in.

  My phone buzzes, and I glance down at it. Instantly, my face falls and my stomach twists. It’s Brent, from my creative writing class. Okay, so I made one exception to my school-work-reading-at-home schedule. A week ago, after he’d asked me for the third time, I agreed to go out for coffee with Brent—my first real date, actually. Except it was awful.

  First of all, it wasn’t coffee. Brent took me to a bar, even though I kept telling him I was nineteen and didn’t drink anyways. But he knew the bouncer or something and dragged me in regardless. Then, he proceeded to go from pushy to just plain asshole. He kept trying to cajole me into drinking and kept telling me to “loosen up.” He also kept putting his hand back on my knee even after I’d push it off, until I finally yelled at him to stop.

  After that, he profusely apologized and promised that it was just his awkwardness because he liked me so much. Like I said, maybe I’m a little too innocent and naïve, because I forgave him. I also said yes when he asked to walk me home. Yeah, that was a mistake.

  We got to the front door of Carol’s building, and all of a sudden asshole Brent came back. He all but demanded to come upstairs, but that’s where I put my foot down. A passing pizza delivery guy actually had to step in and hold him back while I scurried inside. And thus, ended my city dating experiment.

  Brent texts me again, and I groan when I look at the message. “I want to apologize. Plz.”

  “I’m not interested. See you in class.”

  I feel pretty confident with that one until he texts me back. “I’m downstairs. Let me in so we can talk.”

  I shiver despite the warm summer sun through the open window.

  “Please leave. That makes me uncomfortable. We can talk at school.”

  Brent doesn’t answer, and after a few minutes, I breathe a sigh of relief. A Tarzan would come in pretty handy right about now.

  Suddenly, there’s a pounding on the front door of the apartment. My heart skips, and I tense.

  “Mia!”

  My hand flies to my mouth, and my eyes widen. It’s Brent, right outside the door to the apartment in the hallway.

  “Mia! C’mon, let’s talk! Someone let me in downstairs.”

  “Please go away, Brent!” I call through the door. “Look, I’m really busy right now and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you just showing up.”

  “Hey, you’re the one that kept leading
me on, bitch!”

  So, asshole Brent is back, I guess. I shake my head. “Please leave!”

  He pounds on the door again. “Not until you…” the knob twists, and I almost scream when the door just swings open. I am such a small-town idiot. My freaking door wasn’t locked. Brent steps in, looking pissed. “C’mon, Mia!” he yells. He kicks the door shut behind him and moves towards me.

  I gasp and back up, almost tripping over the coffee table. I drop my tea, and I scream when it shatters. Broken porcelain and scalding liquid hits my bare legs, beneath the frayed hem of my cutoffs. “Brent! You can’t just come in here!”

  “You know why I took you out the other night?”

  I shake my head. My heart is racing in terror, and I start to wonder how fast I can grab my phone and call the police. Brent looks so angry and mean right now, and he keeps moving towards me. I’ve never been this scared before, and I start to tear up. “Brent, please just…”

  “Cause I wanted to fuck you, that’s why,” he spits. “I could’ve gone out with a real sure thing that night, but I went out with you instead. And then you play fucking innocent, won’t have a fucking drink, bring me back here—”

  “I didn’t bring you back here!” I snap. “You offered to walk me home and I was stupid enough to say yes!” I reach behind me, my fingers searching the windowsill for my phone. Brent keeps coming closer, until he’s right in front of me.

  “You sent me home with some real fuckin’ blue balls the other night, Mia,” he hisses. “Let’s not do that this time.”

  I start to scream, when suddenly, there’s a crashing sound. Brent whirls, and we both stare in shock at the door to the apartment hanging askew off the hinges. A huge, hulking shape barges through. I realize it’s a man, and my jaw drops. He’s enormous, and broad-shouldered, and grizzled looking. Long hair wild around his furious face, hardened ice-blue eyes, and a sneer on his lips.

  He’s hard and terrifying looking. But he also might be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “You,” he snarls in a deep, thundering, baritone voice. He jabs a finger at Brent and barrels through the apartment towards him. “Get the fuck away from her.”

  2

  Hunter

  The dirt feels good in my hands. I run my fingers through it, grabbing the base of the dandelion weed and yanking it out. I frown at the damn thing and toss it in the pile with the rest I’ve dug out so far this morning. How the hell these little fuckers get all the way up here is beyond me.

  The sun warms my face, and for a moment, I can escape. Up here, if I concentrate, I can block out the sounds of this goddamn city and pretend I’m back in nature—back home, where I belong. I never asked for any of this. I never wanted the city, or the money. But here I am, chained and kept like a beast roaming a cage.

  It was years ago, after the Marines when I was living out on the edge of a mountain in the woods, that I invented it. I wasn’t even trying to make the next “it” thing, I was just looking for a way to get better airflow through the small stove in my cabin. A guy from town who was up to fix my truck mentioned that a slightly altered version would do wonders for a car exhaust. That got me thinking. I tinkered some more, and all of a sudden, I had something big.

  It’s called the AirCleanse. The short version is, the thing fits onto the exhausts of big vehicles like big rig trucks or city busses and cuts emissions in half. It also ups the miles per gallon considerably. When I realized what I had, I fielded out some queries. I wasn’t at all prepared for the response.

  Basically, every damn city in the country wanted this thing for their transit bus fleets. Every shipping company wanted it for their trucks. Overnight, I went from a nobody vet living in the woods to holding the sole patent to world’s next iPhone or seatbelt.

  New York pitched me and my accountant the best tax structure, so I started the company here and set up offices on the top floor of a new building. I went from jeans and plaid shirts to six-thousand-dollar suits made by tailor’s flown in from Seville Row in London. I became a literal billionaire overnight, and I hated it.

  I was all set to just sell the damn company and go back to my life. But then I found out the AirCleanse can do more than clean up exhaust and stretch a tank of gas. With some slight modifications, it also makes one hell of difference with how accurate drone-to-ground missiles are, and how far they’ll fly. The government and every defense contractor in the world wanted my invention, because their missile modification is covered by my patent.

  I couldn’t allow that. I’ve seen and caused too much death. I’ve seen the indiscriminate havoc drone missiles wreck on towns full of civilians unknowingly shielding terrorists. The idea of my invention adding to that carnage made me sick. So I stayed, to keep control of my company and my invention.

  But the defense companies are tricky and relentless motherfuckers. One, a company called Steel Edge, managed to infiltrate my company. They got a lawyer in on my payroll, and the sneaky fuck got me when I was exhausted after a long week of meetings. He got me to sign something I only glanced at, and that signature made me a prisoner.

  What I signed was an amendment clause to my company bylaws. It essentially says that the moment I leave the office, I give up my seat as the CEO and president. If that happens, my small board will take over. At this point though, they’re all traitors who would love to sell out to Steel Edge for a fat check. So to keep from breaking the clause, I did the only thing I could think of: I never left the office.

  That was three years ago, and it’s my home now. There’s still the sign on the front door for AirCleanse Tech, but inside, it’s now my penthouse. The walls are now windows. I tore down half the office space and meeting rooms and made myself a huge outdoor garden space. I couldn’t get back to nature, so I brought nature to me. If I leave, the military gets my design, and my invention kills people. I can’t have that, so here I am.

  There’s one clause that could save me. But, it’s a joke at this point. I can leave without consequence for a “family emergency.” Except my family is all dead. A lawyer friend of mine pointed out that it could mean “wife,” but that’s laughable. I live in a glass cage thirty stories above the city streets. It’s a little tough to get dates living like this, much less to meet your soulmate.

  I stand and brush the dirt off my hands across my jeans. I know I’m surrounded by New York City, but if I close my eyes and inhale, I can pretend I’m in the woods again. I open them and walk to the edge of the roof to look over.

  The first thing I see is her. Something stirs in me, like it has every time I’ve laid eyes on her. My large frame bristles, and a fierce hunger takes hold of me. This is what she does to me.

  Today, she’s sitting on that little wrought-iron balcony again, reading. She’s always reading, actually. It makes me smile to think about. I’ve never seen her doing anything crazy, or throwing a party, or getting drunk, or even going out at night. She just sits and reads, looking absolutely gorgeous.

  I see her leave with a heavy backpack with “NYU” stenciled on it, so I assume she’s a student. Other times, I watch her walk down the block to the coffee shop on the corner for hours before she comes back. I used to think it was where she was studying or something. But then it clicked that she worked there.

  Her long blonde hair tumbles loose in the summer breeze. She pushes it back from her face, but she never stops reading, which makes me smile. I want to know what she’s reading. Hell, I want to know her damn name. But it’s more than that now. After weeks of watching her, I want more than her name and choice of books. I want all of her.