Against the Rules Read online

  Against the Rules

  A Harts of Passion novel

  M.E. Montgomery

  Copyright © 2018 by M.E. Montgomery

  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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For 1 in 6

  Contents

  1. Jax

  2. Grace

  3. Jax

  4. Grace

  5. Jax

  6. Grace

  7. Grace

  8. Jax

  9. Jax

  10. Grace

  11. Jax

  12. Grace

  13. Jax

  14. Grace

  15. Jax

  16. Grace

  17. Jax

  18. Grace

  19. Jax

  20. Grace

  21. Jax

  22. Grace

  23. Grace

  24. Jax

  25. Jax

  26. Grace

  27. Jax

  28. Grace

  29. Grace

  30. Jax

  31. Grace

  32. Grace

  33. Grace

  34. Grace

  35. Jax

  36. Jax

  37. Jax

  38. Jax

  39. Grace

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from North Star

  Author Tidbits and Acknowledgements

  Also by M.E. Montgomery:

  About the Author

  1

  Jax

  Marriage.

  For some, it's the ultimate gesture of a couple's commitment; an iconic celebration of love.

  For me, it’s the public castration of a guy's independence—a fucking expensive one at that.

  And if that's the case, then the wedding was the equivalent to Shark Week in which single guests were the bait. The ceremony hadn’t even started, and already I felt like chum. The sharks—some single, some not—were decked out in pretty and revealing dresses. They were circling; their sharp eyes were evaluating my looks, my expensive suit, my bare left finger—and determined I was a good catch. It didn’t help that I wasn't seated next to a woman my age, or a man for that matter. It was the drop of blood they needed to sharpen their teeth in anticipation of sinking them into my life, or at least my wallet and the lifestyle they imagined for themselves.

  Okay, so maybe a bit of an exaggeration. Still, in my book, weddings were to be avoided if at all possible. Further, it was an event I'd bet most of my assets no one would ever see me taking part in as the groom. And my assets were big—and I don't mean just my bank accounts.

  I yawned, stretching my arm to check how long until I witnessed my cousin, Derek, hand his balls over on a silver platter—or gold ring as it were. Oh, I knew he was 'in love,' and his fiancé appeared to be a nice enough person. But forever? So much could go wrong.

  Restless, I reached inside my suit pocket for my electronic leash and tapped on an app, grunting in satisfaction as I glanced at yesterday’s final numbers on the NASDAQ and Dow.

  Hmm. Nice. That would make a healthy addition to my accounts. All those damn fools who sold when the market dipped last week should have ridden it out. No guts, no glory.

  "Put that phone away!"

  The hiss was barely masked by the swell of the violin and organ music that played something familiar. I looked into the face next to me whose glare matched her tone.

  Carolyn Carter, my mother.

  The one woman I'd do anything for—even escort to a wedding and sit at the front instead of hiding in the back.

  I shrugged. "I was just checking. Besides, there's time before the ceremony."

  "But this is your cousin's wedding." Slender fingers squeezed my arm. "Surely, you can take a break for a few hours today." The words, though softly delivered, held an edge that was enough to make me sigh and log off. I patted the back of her hand and tucked my phone back into my pocket.

  The sleeve of her Chanel dress brushed my fingers, but the expensive material couldn't erase the memory of how many times I'd seen those same fingers red and almost raw from working long hours in a diner kitchen. They’d often worked double shifts while I colored or did homework at a small table in the corner. Guilt flooded my veins with the pricks of a thousand needles.

  It's up to you to be the man in my absence, Son. Take care of your mama.

  I had tried. God knows how hard I had. But in the end, my effort hadn't been enough, and she'd been the one to sacrifice everything for me. But I was no longer a powerless boy. Years ago, on the cusp of manhood, I managed to redirect my pain and anger into drive and ambition—and ultimately the power to make sure my mother never lacked anything.

  And still, it never seemed enough.

  The pastor entered the front of the church at that moment saving me from further scolding. I attempted to be interested. Derek was more than just my cousin; I counted him among a small group of people I called “friend.” It was only because he and Maggie had chosen to have a small wedding party that I wasn't standing at the front of the church next to his three brothers who served as groomsman.

  Thank God for small blessings!

  This event had been a close call long before the ceremony took place. Noel, the last woman I dated—and I use that word loosely—had been leaning against my kitchen counter wearing nothing but the blue button-down dress shirt I’d discarded earlier. Knowing I wasn’t one for idle chit chat, she sipped a glass of wine and watched me sort through my mail while we waited on our take-out dinner to arrive. When I came across a large white envelope addressed in fancy penmanship, her eyes got all doe-eyed as she stared over my shoulder. Her shoulders momentarily slumped when I tossed the wedding announcement aside without comment.

  Her polished red nail skimmed around and around the rim of her glass. That movement must have been a cog that turned the giant strategic plotting wheel in her mind. The questions churned out started off casual, then ratcheted up.

  "Is that a friend of yours?”

  "Are you going?"

  "Wouldn't this be a wonderful opportunity for me to meet your family?"

  "Wouldn't it be nice to turn the weekend of the event into a romantic getaway afterward?”

  Then the clincher. "I've dreamed of my wedding since I was a little girl. I love candlelight weddings. Don't you want to get married sometime?"

  She didn't know it then, but the orgasms she got that night were a parting gift.

  Contrary to belief, it wasn't that I was a "man-whore,” or that I loved playing the field, or even that I didn't believe in monogamy. In fact, faithfulness was an attribute I insisted on while “dating.” I just didn't believe in monogamy ever after. How could you be certain someone better wasn't waiting around the corner? How long would it be before that sexual sizzle burned out and the excitement dwindled into tediousness? Not to mention how appreciation would morph into expectation, how affection would become an obligation.

  Women were sneaky creatures, worming their way in until they had you hook, line, and sinker. Once you realized everything was a false lure, it was too late. The damage was done, and there you were – left squirming on the end of a hook before a minister.

  Shark, worm; tomato, tomahto. No matter how I looked at it, romantic “love” was more often used as manipulation rather than compassion.

  As if on cue, my cousin appeared in front of the congregation grinning broadly, no signs of said squirming. I hoped he was still smiling like that when he was old and gray.

  The music shifted, signaling it was time for the bridal pa
rty. Two women walked down the aisle, the first one with a shy smile, the second with eager eyes, one of which I swore winked at me. I kept my outward expression polite, but my mind's eye rolled to the back of my head.

  And then something in the cosmos shifted. I sucked in my breath, and instantly I knew what it was like to want to be the predator.

  It wasn’t the bride, the one who was supposed to outshine everyone. The woman I couldn't tear my eyes from could have been an angel from one of the paintings in the church narthex. Despite her high, narrow heels, she glided down the aisle. Her cheeks were flushed as if she'd been running around in the moments leading up to this event. Honey-colored hair was swept up in a loose style, almost as if it had been a last-minute thought; not sloppy, but not stuck rigidly in place by spray and pins the way the other girls' had been. A few curly tendrils hung past her ears to tickle a creamy neck, one of my favorite spots on a woman to bury my face. She held her head with confidence and her body with poise, but not in a condescending way; more of a relaxed I-could-do-this-all-day-if-I'm-needed way. She was at ease as if she was used to being watched. I wondered if she was a model or an actress. With those looks, it wasn’t out of the question.

  She was stunning; possibly worth bending my no-wedding-hook-up rules. More important, was she single? A quick glance revealed a naked ring finger.

  She took her place at the front of the church, her smile growing broader when the doors at the back of the aisle re-opened and the music transitioned to a wedding march.

  I did the obligatory stand as the bride herself proceeded down the aisle and took her place next to Derek. As lovely as Maggie looked, and I had to admit she was radiant and had a sweet look of contentment about her, my eyes returned to the blonde by her side. As the service continued, I took my time admiring her dress that dipped just low enough to be a -tease of nice, full curves while showing off a trim waist before flaring out over toned calves. When I retraced her body back to her face, her pink lips still curved in a smile, but her eyes had narrowed the tiniest bit as if she sensed something was off.

  Without warning, they laser-focused on me. I held her gaze, amused that I witnessed a slip in her composure. Wondering if she was as innocent as she looked, I gave her a test wink. Her top eyelashes hit the bottom of her eyebrow in response, and her smile quivered for a brief second. She blinked several times, and after giving me a hard stare, she refocused her attention on the pastor's words as he offered some bullshit, ahem—sage—advice to the couple before him.

  Huh.

  There had been no returned invitation in her eyes. No coquettish smile that hinted of wanting a closet rendezvous later. I wasn't sure if I was disappointed or relieved. It had been a few weeks since I'd found relief with a woman, but I also didn't need the hassle of more than a quick toss between the sheets right now. I had too much important business I needed to focus on.

  I was puzzled by how much she intrigued me. Maybe it was her angelic look that made me want to see just how sinful she could be. I definitely didn’t feel like she was “on the prowl.” Truth be told, I liked that she didn't readily accept my flirtatious look; easy women were clingy. But despite her outward aloofness, the subtle shifting of her feet and the squeezing of her bouquet suggested she wasn't immune to me, either. Nor did I miss her efforts to sneak glances at me without the obvious turn of her head.

  Everyone in the church suddenly chuckled. As I heard her throaty laughter join the congregation's, visions of her kneeling before me making that same sound for entirely different, less sacred, reasons popped into my head. I shifted in my seat, trying to control the reaction happening behind the zipper of my pants.

  I did my best not to fidget as the wedding droned on until at long last Derek and his bride were pronounced husband and wife. After the traditional kiss, the nameless beauty handed the bride's bouquet back to her and straightened out the train on the wedding dress. She linked her arm with another of my cousins, and after darting a discreet glance and smile at me, she continued toward the back of the sanctuary.

  I offered my mother the crook of my elbow and escorted her down the aisle after the immediate family, all but dragging her as I hoped to catch up to the bridal party. However, by the time we reached the portico outside the front doors, they were nowhere to be seen.

  I sighed. There was only one thing left to do.

  I offered my arm to my mom. "Shall we head on over to the reception?"

  She raised surprised eyebrows. "I thought you said you couldn't go because you had to work, and the ceremony was all the time you could spare."

  "I moved some things around." Like adjusting my dick in my pants, so it wasn't as noticeable.

  Her face beamed, and she squeezed my arm. "I'm glad. You should spend more time with family, Jax."

  Her bright smile reminded me of another time. When we’d moved here, I'd bought her a house and renovated it to include all the trimmings she'd ever mentioned wanting. Now that I was capable, I wanted to give her a life of luxury since she'd done without for much too long. I owed her that. The gift of time was a much simpler gesture, but it meant just as much to her. Probably even more. It launched another guilt-laced arrow directly to my gut. Despite living in the same town, I didn’t see her but a few times a month. Work. That was my priority. My sanctuary. My escape.

  I squeezed her hand, making a new promise to myself to do better. "Come on. Aunt Julie will be happy to spend more time with you now that all the wedding planning is over."

  2

  Grace

  I loved weddings! I watched my friend, outfitted in yards of beautiful silk and lace, through misty eyes as she walked toward the man she'd chosen to join her life to. What could be better than two soulmates who'd managed to find each other in the vast sea of life?

  After kissing her share of frogs, Maggie had found her prince. Derek was a great guy – calm, witty, hard-working, and best of all he adored my friend. I'd been beyond thrilled to help her plan the day of her dreams.

  Maggie and I had bonded in third grade when we were both cast as mice in the fifth-grade school production of a comical, twisted retelling of Cinderella. I had three sisters whom I loved dearly, but Maggie was the same age and had the same interests. We shared clothes, played on the same teams and applied to the same colleges. We laughed and celebrated each other's accomplishments and wiped each other's tears when needed.

  Some days, I wondered if this would be the only wedding I got to help plan since there was nothing nearly as romantic on my horizon. I wasn’t in a hurry, but if something drastically different didn’t happen, my future was looking pretty solo. I wasn't ready to become the crazy cat lady, but I was considering the value of investing in Purina stock.

  For now, I breathed a sigh of relief that today had gone without a hitch. I settled in to enjoy the service—until the back of my neck tickled. The bride was supposed to be the center of attention, so why couldn't I shake the feeling that someone was more focused on me? I hadn’t brought a date to the event. Not that there were any prospects to bring lately. Not many men could handle the scrutiny of my dad, and those that could, well, let’s just say they didn’t have anything to lose.

  Take for example, Alton Butkus (“the third,” as he pointed out to anyone willing—or unwilling—to listen to his genealogy.) Alton had been asking me out since we were in high school. He was nice enough if you didn't mind a nerdy type who had more cling than Saran Wrap. I tried to be his friend, but he took my kindness for more than it was intended. I ended up very bluntly telling him I wasn't interested in going out with him, but I guess when you grow up with kids calling you "Alton Butt Kiss," you learn to ignore what you don't want to hear. He’d even asked me to be his date for the wedding, but I politely explained my role as the maid of honor would keep me too busy. I managed to tune out the creepy sensation for a few seconds until I remembered Alton had a last-minute meeting out of town this weekend.

  That meant it was probably a member of the Biddy's Auxiliary Guild,
or BAG, for short. It was an appropriate acronym my sisters and I had bestowed on the nosy, old women of this church who thought it was their God-given right to advise everyone on any matter. Given who my father was, we were a particular favorite to be the recipients of their wisdom, not to mention, their judgment. I guessed that it was Mrs. Wordsworth, the worst of the bunch. She was a widow with an ironic surname who would surely talk her husband to death. It was my theory that he wore hearing aids not to hear better, but to plug his ears to tune out his windbag of a wife.

  I wondered what it could be this time—my hem was too short? Heels too high? Or maybe my makeup, as neutral as it was, advertised some immorality?

  Or most likely, why wasn’t my dress a jumpsuit the color of prison orange? It didn't matter that I hadn't committed a crime. My part in "the unspeakable episode," as the BAGs liked to refer to it, was enough to seal my fate in their eyes and came with a lifetime sentence of disgrace.

  Just smile, Grace!

  I fell back on the practice I'd mastered by the time I was a teen. Politicians had nothing on me when it came to pretending everything was perfect. Just smile, Grace, you never know who's watching. Kill 'em with kindness, Grace. Smile, you'll attract more flies with honey than with vinegar. Like who in their right mind wanted to attract flies?