They’re a Match Chloe Liese
(Tough Love #3)
Publication date: August 12th 2019
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense
One blazing relational bond formed by two fiery lovers. And a new element just joined the formula.
Chemistry calls it covalence. Shakespeare named it the “marriage of true minds.” Historically speaking, Nairne never liked the impractical notion of marriage, and Zed never thought he’d live to see the day when tying the knot was even an option. After a decade of entanglement in the mafia, Zed’s now free to play the game he loves and love the woman who owns his heart.
Problem is, the spitfire’s been a loner her whole life. Independent, self-reliant, and driven. And she wants nothing to do with marriage, since statistically it fails more than it succeeds, which to her scientific mind is the universally acknowledged definition of an experimental bust. But the elemental pull toward matrimony between the sexy scientist and her dark and handsome soccer star is stronger than Nairne anticipates. Can she risk her heart for her perfect match, even if it’s a gamble rather than a sure bet?
In the game of life,
you win some, you lose some.
“And They Lived Happily Ever After” is theirs for the taking,
but for that pesky little word that so often gets overlooked…
Book Three in the Tough Love Series—a suspenseful romance, full of sexy Italians, feisty heroines, a house full of friends and family, and an ending that closes the chapter on these lovers, and paves the way for new ones.
For a limited time only, the kindle books will be a total of $3 for 3 books
(Book 1, free; Book 2, $0.99; Book 3, $1.99).
Get all 3 books here!
The drive back to London from Edinburgh was a seven hour straight shot down the M6. We could have flown, paid someone to drive the Ferrari back. But making a road trip of it felt fun, and delightfully ordinary to me. The lowlands in winter were stunning—fog on the moor, and frost turning the grass into fields of spired icicles. Then the Lake District, with its rolling hills and water formations. Once you approached Manchester and farther inland, the scenery of course become industrial, but Zed loved it nonetheless. We drove the day, eating crisps and sweets and listening to music of every genre.
Until the quotidian bubble of obscurity and normality popped. We pulled up to a beautiful Georgian terraced home glowing in the light of a winter sunset. I’d only seen the façade in digital photos, and in person it looked even more classic and frightfully expensive. As I stared at our home out the window, I tried to hide my ethical war with its opulence.
Right after we stole away to Prestonpans and I’d told him about the baby, Zed asked if we could buy a place and make it ours. No strings, no pushing me to forever, but somewhere we could live as long as I wanted to live with him, where we could be a family. I preferred to blame my acceptance on hormones and gratitude that Zed hadn’t died from being attacked. But perhaps I was just growing up and moving past my fear of letting down my walls of independence. I hadn’t promised him forever, but he also hadn’t asked for it, either.
Which was a relief. Because while I knew everyone who looked at us was only waiting for the engagement announcement, I was still reeling from falling for Zed in the first place. From the insanity of our dynamic in Boston to the violence that plagued us when we reunited in London. Now I was five months along to a world class footballer, and moving into our exorbitant Georgian townhome, when all I’d planned for in life was to be a contented cat lady spinster who slept under the desk in her lab and vanquished diseases.
I stared up at the house, located in the posh historic London neighborhood of Bloomsbury. The place had to have cost him millions, the thought of which made my stomach sour with the kind of nausea that rivaled my morning sickness. I’d felt similarly the first time he showed me pictures of the place while we had been in Scotland.
“Nairne.” He sighed, head falling back on the pillows in my bed. “We need somewhere to live. You go to school there, I work there. That’s how much it costs.”
I swallowed the objections that clawed at my throat when he pulled up photos of the property’s interior in the throes of construction. It looked atrociously involved, and that meant atrociously expensive. “I know that, Zed, but aren’t there more reasonable neighborhoods we could live in?”
Massaging his brow, Zed turned to face me. “Why are you so uncomfortable with me spending the money I’ve earned?”
I stared at him, at a loss for words.
“Nairne, you deserve to live in a home that’s easy to move around in, that’s comfortable and safe, that’s close to your schooling and my work. Don’t you believe that?”
Zed smiled and, as always, it felt like the sun slipping out from behind a cloud, warming my soul. “Then let me give it to you, because I can. Because I want us to have a good life.” He leaned in, softly kissing the corners of my mouth, the tip of my nose, my cupid’s bow. “We deserve that.”
Zed watched me with a guarded expression as he let himself out of the Ferrari, and it broke me from my thoughts. Hands on my belly, I replayed what I’d been telling myself as I gave the situation a good, long think—this was about our child’s life, opportunities, and wellbeing. And if this home was a little expensive, it kept us safe and allowed us to be together as a family. Who was I to demean that? The baby did what felt like a summersault and I laughed to myself.
“You agree then?” I asked.
Zed had come around to my side to open the passenger door, and ducked his head in. “Sorry, I missed that.”
“I was just thinking aloud, and the baby did some acrobatics. I took it to mean he or she agrees.”
Zed frowned and focused on my lips. “Agrees on what? That their dad is a vile cog in the capitalist machine making London even more prohibitively expensive and elite?”
I sighed and scratched my nails against his scruff. “No. I’ve come around to the idea.”
Zed smiled. Then he swept me up and carried me to the door, reminiscent of the bride and groom at the threshold. The door was a shiny black lacquer with fresh brass fixtures. White brick, new, dark-paned windows twinkling like cheery stars against the evening sky. It looked like a home. Our home.
Chloe’s always been a sucker for a suspenseful steamy romance, ever since she managed to find the one saucy mystery series hiding in her high school’s prim little library. Nothing drives her crazier than a story that cranks up the heat, then closes the door on the reader’s face, so don’t read her books if you don’t want to know what actually happens when the lights fade to black…
When she’s not writing, Chloe’s busy reading books of all genres, rereading Harry Potter (which she can’t help but make her characters similarly obsessed over), and playing catch-up with her bad@$$ little girls. She’s also been known to scramble around the pitch for a pick-up soccer match and run along the river while dreaming up her next book.