Wanted: A Most Wanted Novel - Softcover

Buch 1 von 3: Most Wanted

Kenner, J.

 
9780804176668: Wanted: A Most Wanted Novel
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0804176663 ISBN 13: 9780804176668
Verlag: Random House Publishing Group, 2014

Inhaltsangabe

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • For fans of Release Me comes a series of three enigmatic and powerful men, and the striking women who can bring them to their knees.
 
He is everything I crave, all I desperately want—and he is everything I can’t have.
 
Evan Black embodies my every fantasy. He is brilliant, fierce, and devastatingly handsome. But he is also headstrong, dangerous, and burdened with secrets.
 
My family warned me to stay away, that I could never handle Evan’s dark dealings or scarred past. Maybe I should have listened. Maybe I should have run. But our desire is undeniable, and some temptations you just can’t fight.
 
And from the moment we touch—the passion between us consuming us both—I know that I will never be the same.
 
Wanted is intended for mature audiences.

Praise for Wanted
 
“If you’re looking for a steamy new . . . series, Wanted is just the book.”—Harlequin Junkie
 
“This is one of the best books in this genre I have read this year.”—KT Book Reviews
 
“Wanted by J. Kenner is the whole package! A toe-curling smokin’ hot read, full of incredible characters and a brilliant storyline that you won’t be able to get enough of. I can’t wait for the next book in this series. . . . I’m hooked!”—Flirty & Dirty Book Blog
 
“J. Kenner has written an edgy storyline that will fascinate and keep you wondering.”—The Reading Cafe
 
“Suffice it to say, I was hooked in the first few chapters. It was hot, it was sexy, and it really shows that J. Kenner knows how to write in this genre. I can’t wait to get my hands on Heated, the next book in the series, and see whose hands get on whom. Enjoy!”—Eager Reader
 
“I loved this story! It had substance, lovable characters, and unexpected discoveries. And the love between Evan and Angelina was passionate, explosive, and utterly wonderful.”—Part of That World
 
“I don’t know if I have enough adjectives to describe the hotness of this book. . . . Julie Kenner writes a heck of a story and I am definitely a fan!”—About That Story
 
“J. Kenner writes a compelling . . . story about two people with many secrets. . . . Whenever Evan and Angie are together, the air sizzles with tension.”—Cocktails and Books
 
“Wanted is another J. Kenner masterpiece. . . . This was an intriguing look at self-discovery and forbidden love all wrapped into a neat little action suspense package. There was plenty of sexual tension and eventually action. Evan was hot, hot, hot! Together, they were combustible. But can we expect anything less from J. Kenner?”—Reading Haven

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

J. Kenner is the New York Times bestselling author of Release Me, Claim Me, and Complete Me. She spent more than ten years as a litigator in Southern California and central Texas, using her rare free time to indulge in her passion of writing. She lives in Texas with her husband and daughters.

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9780804176668|excerpt

Kenner / WANTED

one

I know exactly when my life shifted. That precise instant when his eyes met mine and I no longer saw the bland look of familiarity, but danger and fire, lust and hunger.

Perhaps I should have turned away. Perhaps I should have run.

I didn’t. I wanted him. More, I needed him. The man, and the fire that he ignited inside of me.

And in his eyes, I saw that he needed me, too.

That was the moment that everything changed. Me, most of all.

But whether it changed for good or for ill . . . well, that remains to be seen.

Even dead, my Uncle Jahn knew how to throw one hell of a party.

His Chicago lakeside penthouse was bursting at the seams with an eclectic collection of mourners, most of whom had imbibed so much wine from the famous Howard Jahn cellar that whatever melancholy they’d brought with them had been sweetly erased, and now this wake or reception or whatever the hell you wanted to call it wasn’t the least bit somber. Politicians mingled with financiers mingled with artists and academics, and everyone was smiling and laughing and toasting the deceased.

At his request, there’d been no formal funeral. Just this gathering of friends and family, food and drink, music and mirth. Jahn—­he hated the name Howard—­had lived a vibrant life, and that was never more obvious than now in his death.

I missed him so damn much, but I hadn’t cried. Hadn’t screamed and ranted. Hadn’t done anything, really, except move through the days and nights lost in a haze of emotions, my mind numb. My body anesthetized.

I sighed and fingered the charm on my silver bracelet. He’d presented me with the tiny motorcycle just over a month ago, and the gift had made me smile. I hadn’t talked about wanting to ride a motorcycle since before I turned sixteen. And it had been years since I’d ridden behind a boy, my arms tight around his waist and my hair blowing in the wind.

But Uncle Jahn knew me better than anyone. He saw past the princess to the girl hidden inside. A girl who’d built up walls out of necessity, but still desperately wanted to break free. Who longed to slip on a pair of well-­worn jeans, grab a battered leather jacket, and go a little wild.

Sometimes, she even did. And sometimes it didn’t end right at all.

I tightened my grip on the charm as the memory of Jahn holding my hand—­of him promising to keep my secrets—­swept over me, finally bringing tears to my eyes. He should be beside me, dammit, and the swell of laughter and conversation that filled the room was making me a little sick.

Despite the fact that I knew Jahn wanted it that way, it was all I could do not to smack all the people who’d hugged me and murmured softly that he was in a better place and wasn’t it wonderful that he’d lived such a full life. That was such bullshit—­he hadn’t even turned sixty yet. Vibrant men in their fifties shouldn’t drop dead from aneurysms, and there weren’t enough pithy Hallmark quotes in the universe to make me think otherwise.

Antsy, I shifted my weight from foot to foot. There was a bar set up on the other side of the room, and I’d positioned myself as far away as physically possible because right then I wanted the burn of tequila. Wanted to let go, to explode through the numbness that clung to me like a cocoon. To run. To feel.

But that wasn’t going to happen. No alcohol was passing these lips tonight. I was Jahn’s niece, after all, and that made me some kind of hostess-­by-­default, which meant I was stuck in the penthouse. Four thousand square feet, but I swear I could feel the art-­covered walls pressing in around me.

I wanted to race up the spiral staircase to the rooftop patio, then leap over the balcony into the darkening sky. I wanted to take flight over Lake Michigan and the whole world. I wanted to break things and scream and rant and curse this damned universe that took away a good man.

Shit. I sucked in a breath and looked down at the exquisite ancient-­looking notebook inside the glass and chrome display case I’d been leaning against. The leather-­bound book was an exceptionally well-­done copy of a recently discovered Da Vinci notebook. Dubbed the Creature Notebook, it had sixteen pages of animal studies and was open to the center, revealing a stunning sketch the young master had drawn—­his study for the famous, but never located, dragon shield. Jahn had attempted to acquire the notebook, and I remember just how angry he’d been when he’d lost out to Victor Neely, another Chicago businessman with a private collection that rivaled my uncle’s.

At the time, I’d just started at Northwestern with a major in poli sci and a minor in art history. I’m not particularly talented, but I’ve sketched my whole life, and I’ve been fascinated with art—­and in particular with Leonardo da Vinci—­since my parents took me to my first museum at the age of three.

I thought the Creature Notebook was beyond cool, and I’d been irritated on Jahn’s behalf when he not only lost out on it, but when the press had poured salt in the wound by prattling on about Neely’s amazing new acquisition.

About a year later, Jahn showed me the facsimile, bright and shiny in the custom-­made display case. As a general rule, my uncle never owned a copy. If he couldn’t have the original—­be it a Rembrandt or a Rauschenberg or a Da Vinci—­he simply moved on. When I’d asked why he’d made an exception for the Creature Notebook, he shrugged and told me that the images were at least as interesting as the provenance. “Besides, anyone who can successfully copy a Da Vinci has created a masterpiece himself.”

Despite the fact that it wasn’t authentic, the notebook was my favorite of Jahn’s many manuscripts and artifacts, and now, standing with my hands pressed to the glass, I felt as if he was, in some small way, beside me.

I drew in a breath, knowing I had to get my act together, if for no other reason than the more wrecked I looked, the more guests would try to cheer me. Not that I looked particularly wrecked. When you grow up as Angelina Hayden Raine, with a United States senator for a father and a mother who served on the board of over a dozen international nonprofit organizations, you learn the difference between a public and a private face very early on. Especially when you have your own secrets to keep.

“This is so goddamn fucked up it makes me want to scream.”

I felt a whisper of a smile touch my lips and turned around to find myself looking into Kat’s bloodshot eyes.

“Oh, hell, Angie,” she said. “He shouldn’t be dead.”

“He’d be pissed if he knew you’d been crying,” I said, blinking away the last of my own tears.

“Fuck that.”

I almost laughed. Katrina Laron had a talent for cutting straight through the bullshit.

I’m not sure which one of us leaned in first, but we caught each other in a bone-­crushing hug. With a sniffle, I finally pulled away. Perverse, maybe, but just knowing that someone else was acknowledging the utter horror of the situation made me feel infinitesimally better.

“Every time I turn a corner, I feel like I’m going to see him,” I said. “I almost wish I’d stayed in my old place.”

I’d moved in four months ago when Uncle Jahn’s aneurysm was discovered. I’d taken time off from work—­easy when you work for...

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Verlag
Random House Publishing Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2014
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0804176663
ISBN 13 
9780804176668
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
352
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
preigu
mail@preigu.de

Lengericher Landstr. 19
Osnabrück
49078
Deutschland

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