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  Copyright © 2017 By: Holly Mortimer

  All Rights Reserved

  Published By: Holly Mortimer

  Print Edition

  ISBN: 9781533777225

  All Rights Reserved

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  Also by Holly Mortimer

  The Murphys Series

  Worlds Apart

  Avow

  Expectation

  Hacked

  Freedom

  Undone (Coming Soon)

  Standalone

  Ignite

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Holly Mortimer

  Hacked (The Murphys Series, #3)

  Copyright © 2017 By: Holly Mortimer

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  Further Reading: Freedom

  Also By Holly Mortimer

  Dedication: Well, this book took a hell of a lot longer than I ever thought it would, and for that, I’m actually really thankful. It evolved a billion times into what you’re about to read.

  So, this book is dedicated to my two editors. We’re only just starting out on our journey, but cheers to you both.

  Thanks to Kristi Yanta, for taking this book, and turning it on its head and allowing me the freedom to spit it back out an entirely different story than when you first got a hold of it. You truly made this book into something I’m proud of. (and I seriously wasn’t prior to submission!)

  Thanks to Kimberly Cannon, for always giving me your honest feedback along with all the formatting corrections and grammatical issues fixed. You don’t have to edit it with a development eye, but I always appreciate that you offer me your thoughts.

  Chapter 1

  Keeva

  I was running. Of course I was running. I was always running somewhere. I was what one would classify as “chronically late,” and today, it was critical I not be late. I had a plane to catch, a christening to attend and a business to get back to running.

  However, as I was running for my gate, all I could think about was the fact that my underwear was heading south of the border, and within a few seconds, would be tripping me as it tried to lock my knees together with the delicate lace G-string making up the underwear. Unfortunately, that delicate lace had been thrown in the dryer, stretched to kingdom come and was now unable to keep its shape. Cue the near tripping.

  Shuffling along, I tried to shove a hand down the back of my pants to grab the offensive undies and pull them back in line, but I couldn’t ram my hand down far enough and the stares I was getting were going from inquisitive to alarmed. I was fairly confident that I would be escorted out any minute if I kept this up.

  I gave up and shuffle ran with my knees glued together and my legs flying out, desperately trying to keep my shit together and get to the gate on time.

  I pulled up to a stop in front of the gate agent who gave me an assessing look and dove into my oversized purse, trying to find my boarding pass and passport.

  “Sorry,” I huffed out. I was also incredibly out of shape and thanks to the airport engineer’s penchant for designing marathon-sized routes from door to gate in airports, I was completed winded. “I’m so sorry. I’m just super late, and I’ve got to get home to Dublin to catch my niece’s christening. Godparent and all that. It’s my first time.”

  I needed to shut up. It was a nervous habit of mine, talking. Well, I talked a lot, all the time, but normally, I made sense. When I was panicked, not much made any sense.

  She stared at me with her hand still empty of my documentation.

  “Well,” I carried on, ever committed to a project. “Not my first time flying, but first time being godparent. Big responsibility. Big.”

  I slapped the passport and boarding pass into her waiting hand and smiled my bestest and brightest smile hoping it was enough to throw her off my lunatic tendencies. The last thing I needed was to put on some sort of “crazy fliers” watch list. I was terrified of flying, and thanks to the toxic combination of being late and completely full up on fear, I was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

  The agent busied herself with scanning my passport and tearing my boarding pass and I wondered how I was going to solve my underwear problem. I was the last to board and if my cell phone battery was charged, I was sure it would tell me it was nearly time for take-off. That meant no time for me to rush to the ladies’ cubical they tried to pass off as a washroom and rip the offending piece from my body.

  She handed me my passport, I stuffed it back into my purse and waddled down the gangway to the plane, where, the flight attendant asked to see my boarding pass, yet again. After the stressful experience of passing through security, I had just thrown them into the abyss of my messenger bag and moved on. Now, I was once again confronted with my inability to keep my shit organized. No wonder I was always late. I think I needed a life coach. Maybe not. Maybe an organizing coach. Did those even exist?

  I smiled at the annoyed agent in front of me as I handed over the errant boarding pass and wondered if I’d have time to whip to the bathroom to pull up my undies before takeoff.

  “Please take your seat, Ms. Murphy. We’ll be departing in just a few minutes.”

  Well, there’s that question answered. I was stuck waddling to my seat and super uncomfortable for a while longer. Maybe I’d finally get some good luck and have the row to myself. I hurried up the aisle and was confronted with two realities. First off, I was seated in the back row. That’s just fantastic. That’s the last time I use a travel agent to book my business trips. I hated the back row, and really, who didn’t?

  The second realization was that not only didn’t I have the row to myself, but it looked like I was going to be sandwiched between two men, one of whom looked like he was a founding member of The Rock’s body makeover club. Unfortunately, he was in the aisle seat and I would have to either try my hardest to high jump over him with my underwear around my knees to get out, or risk angering him while he slept when I politely asked him to let me by.

  The other guy was slouched over, ball cap on, glasses and looking out the window at whatever was happening outside. I couldn’t get a read on him, but where I was shuffling down the narrow-assed aisle, he also loved the gym, just not quite as much as Rocky on the aisle. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about bugging him to get out.

  I continued my walk to the back, hitting as few people as possible with my carryon and feeling thankful I didn’t need to stow it in the overhead bins. All the typical passengers that always tried to stuff their regular sized suitcases in those tiny compartments, had been there much longer than me, and had already taken most of the available space. There was no way there was going to be room in the bin over my seat.

  I gingerly shuffled past the aisle guy, careful not to park my ass right in his face, muttering my apologies as I finally made it into my seat. I turned to my right unable to stop the nervous urge I had to talk, introducing myself to my fellow flier.

  “Hey!” Bring it down about ten notches Keev. “I’m Keeva.” I stuck my hand out to shake his and noticed it was shaking slightly. Damn nerves.

  He turned to look at me, arching an eyebrow and probably wondered what the likelihood of switching seats was. Not many people wanted to spend an entire overseas flight chatting with a complete stranger, I knew this but I couldn’t help myself. I was a nervous flyer an
d when I was nervous, I got verbal diarrhea.

  He took my hand, limply I might add. I was a firm handshake kind of girl, and shook it. “Keith. Nice to meet you. Heading to Dublin?”

  “Yup, Yes, yes I am. All the way to Dublin.”

  Oh Lord. This was going to be a long flight.

  He smiled kindly and busied himself with his phone and headphones, clearly giving me the universal signal, “Girl, you cra cra, and I’m just gonna make it look like I’m busy instead of binge subjected to that brand of crazy.”

  I sighed as I sent a prayer of thanks upwards for getting me to the plane on time and added in a request for a safe flight. I needed to get my ass back to Dublin. I was scheduled to be Godparent to my niece, August, who was the first child for my brother Aiden and his girlfriend, who also happened to be my best friend, Gray. I had promised eight million times that I would make it back in time and there was no way I could live through the disappointment from my family if I didn’t. It would be another notch they’d add to the lengthy list of disappointments I had delivered to them.

  That, and my business needed my constant attention. This week was no different. I ran a marketing and tech company that specialized in business solutions for medium to large businesses, and lately, things had really picked up. I had left my one and only employee in charge in my absence, but he wasn’t really the best choice for “face of the company.” Granted, he was my only choice, but still, it was time to get back.

  I had pitched to a large firm that had sent a team ahead of their move to Galway, and I needed to make some follow-up calls and emails. While I was visiting my errant brother, Quinn, in New York, I had received word that we had gotten the contract to create and maintain their web and social media presence until they had their full team in place. It was a huge win for me, but now meant I had a ton of work to get done in a short period of time. There was no way I was going to let this contract go to shit. I was a closet perfectionist hidden behind a whirlwind of chaos. I needed to ground myself to get ready for this new project and the only place I could sort myself out was home. Of course, the advance team wanted to meet with me Monday. It was Friday, I was on an overnight flight, which meant I wouldn’t land in Dublin until Saturday. With the christening, the party at my family pub and the trip home from there to Galway, I was looking down the barrel of a loaded gun. My plan to create some sort of social life was yet again thwarted by work.

  The doors closed and the flight attendants were circulating making sure seat belts were fastened and the usual stuff. I hated this part of flying. I couldn’t put my seatback, I couldn’t put in my headphones and listen to music...all I could do was sit and wait for the plane to take off, nervously waiting for it to reach its cruising altitude so I could breathe and semi-relax. Except, now I was in the back row and my seat, no matter badly I wanted to lean back, wasn’t going much farther than a ten degree angle.

  I decided to occupy myself with trying to figure out the guy sitting to my left against the window. He had been shifting around a bit and had tucked the brim of his ball cap down farther, making it hard to see much of his face, other than his sexy Clark Kentish glasses. My side glances weren’t uncovering much, but man, what I could see was fairly impressive. Long legs, encased in gently worn straight leg jeans and my favorite Blundstone worked in boots. He had large hands, with strong lean fingers attached to impressive corded forearms with a light dusting of hair.

  He was wearing a worn grey V-neck T-shirt that was unfortunately loose, but still alluded to some pretty delicious abs. I saw he was still staring out the window, turned nearly completely away from me, so I dared a full head turn to see what else I could see.

  Wavy brown curls stuck out from underneath his hat and I itched to run my fingers through them. He had a light dusting of scruff, just enough to give him a slightly edgy look. I couldn’t really make out much more of him, other than he had a strong, square jaw and seemed completely lost in thought. This ride was going to be torture if I couldn’t find someone to talk to me and take my mind off being on a metal tube racing over the ocean.

  “A picture might last longer.”

  Shit, he had made me. “Sorry, it’s just, I’m a nervous flyer and I’m pretty sure I just zoned out while staring in your direction. So, yeah, super sorry.”

  Oh God. The verbal diarrhea was back. I flopped back in my seat, eyes to the ceiling, wishing I hadn’t been born without social skills.

  He seemed to breathe out a loud sigh. “It’s okay. I’m not the greatest flyer either.”

  I slid my eyes over towards him and silently cursed. Sitting beside me was quite simply the most beautiful creature I had ever encountered. Now that I had a good, legit look at his face, my only solution to getting off this plane with my dignity was to duct tape my mouth. I had issues with hot guys. I either completely froze and had no idea what to say, or I rambled. I was already rambling, so this wasn’t good news.

  I turned to face him completely and forced my brain to pay attention. It was no longer allowed to go on a temporary leave of absence.

  “So, we’re on a long, overnight flight. The three of us are stuck in the crappy back row. My underwear is right now trying to figure out a way to make the great escape out my pant leg, and I’m seriously tamping down some pretty severe nausea.”

  The plane hit a patch of turbulence and I spun back to face the front, grabbing the arm rests in a death grip.

  “Underwear, eh?”

  “Yup. I make bad choices, just ask my brothers. And today’s bad choice was this stretched out G-string. But now, I’ve got a problem.”

  He smiled, “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “It’s not likely I’m going to get to head to the bathroom to sort myself out any time soon. So, I’ve got to decide whether or not to shove my hand down my pants to retrieve the offensive fabric.”

  “Or?”

  “Or, I’m going to sit here, too terrified to get up for the entire flight and then when we land, I’m going to fall flat on my face in my hurry to get off this metal tube of terror thanks to the complete mess my underwear is in.”

  “Well, if those are your choices, I’d go for sticking your hand down your pants and sorting yourself out. Only the three of us will ever know.”

  I looked beside me towards the snicker I had heard from The Wall. “Something funny?”

  He continued to smile and busied himself with his game on his phone. “I’m voting for hand down the pants,” I heard him whisper to himself under his breath.

  “Pervs.”

  Window guy laughed and went back to staring out the window and I went for it. Except, with my seatbelt still on and jeans that didn’t have much stretch, it proved to be too much for me. I couldn’t get in and out quickly without more than row forty one, seats A, B and C seeing what I was up to. I gave up and got my headphones out so I could plug in and settle back to watch a movie.

  “Giving up so easy?”

  I turned to window guy. “Hi,” I stuck my hand out for him to take. “I’m Keeva Murphy. And you are?”

  I couldn’t be sure, but I would have sworn his pupils dilated slightly. He took my hand, and this time I’d like to note, his handshake was strong and firm. “Mark.”

  “Nice to meet you Mark.”

  While holding my hand, an awareness trickled up my arm. This guy wasn’t like other guys. His entire hand made contact with mine and my hand instantly reacted with its usual super cool response, clamminess. I dropped his hand and tried to discreetly press mine into my jeans willing him not to notice.

  “So, I’m gonna go back to staring out the window if that’s good with you? I’ll check in on your situation in a little while.”

  I giggled. Wait, giggled? What in the world was wrong with me? I didn’t giggle. Ever. I needed to end this. The plane leveled out and the seat belt sign went out with a ding and I shot from my seat. Unfortunately, I remembered the reason I was so intent on getting to the bathroom as I was flying over aisle guy’s legs, landing
gracefully in his lap, legs flailing into Mark’s lap.

  “Sorry.” I looked up at the guy on the aisle with my Irish pale face completely red, I was sure.

  He mumbled something that I didn’t catch and I disentangled myself and wiggle walked to the now lengthy bathroom lineup. As I slowly moved forward in line, I took a moment to check out the entire package of window seat Mark.

  He was still gazing out the window, with a small half smile on his mouth and I wondered if he had residual amusement at me, or if he was thinking of something else entirely. My eyes traced his strong arms down to his legs, encased in a great pair of worn out jeans. His leg was tapping out a rhythm and it was then I noticed he had popped his ear buds in.

  I finally made it into the bathroom, whipped my pants down, took care of business, readjusted my panties and geared up for another six hours of being sandwiched in between two random hot men. It was going to be a testament to their ability to withstand torture. I was sure to spend most of the flight either trying to engage them in conversation or bouncing around with nervous energy in my seat.

  I excused myself, slipped past aisle guy without incident and flopped down in my seat. I dialed in a movie that looked slightly appealing and settled back, willing myself not to look over at Mark.

  Instead, I turned to aisle guy, “Hey Keith?”

  I hoped he didn’t pretend to not hear me and wasn’t going to act like a complete douche nozzle. One of these two guys was going to have to start talking to me. Otherwise I might start kicking the seat in front of me looking for a talker like myself. It was getting hard to hold my anxiety inside.

  Keith turned to me and had that resigned look on his face. Closing the book he was reading, he arched one eyebrow in a question.

  “So, you never did tell me why you’re heading to Ireland?”

  He began to tell me the incredibly dull story of how he worked for an accounting firm who had an office in Dublin and he was heading there to calculate some numbers or something. It was getting late, being that this was an overnight flight and we were fast forwarding into time, and I just wasn’t a numbers kind of girl, my mind wandered.