His To Love Part 1

His to Love.

by Stacey Lynn.

Prologue.

Tyson.

My shoulders stiffened and my hands rolled into fists. The senior agent to the Underground Crime Protection Unit was speaking to me, but I couldn't pull my eyes off the photos he'd just carelessly tossed on the desk between us. His words rolled like thunder through my ears and my head began to pound.

Gabriella Bluejay Galecki.

Long s.h.i.+ny black hair hung past b.r.e.a.s.t.s that were larger than I remembered. She had curves that would make men crave running their hands down them, taking in every dip on her frame. Hips that would make a man want to dig his fingers and thumbs into them while he took her from behind. Light blue eyes that were as mesmerizing as I remembered, except they looked much emptier.

Time had been good to her.

She looked more stunning now than she did the last time I saw her, sitting on my bed in my teenage bedroom, telling me she'd love me forever. Telling me that the distance between the colleges we were going to be attending, me at Central U in Michigan, her at some private ritzy college in Detroit, wouldn't matter. Her family wouldn't matter. We'd be one of the lucky couples from high school that lasted. One of the few couples that stood the test of time and college frat parties.

Then the next day, she disappeared.

I hadn't seen a photo of her since I quit carrying her senior picture in my wallet halfway through my soph.o.m.ore year of college, when I finally realized she wasn't coming back. For years, I had tried not to think of her as anything more than a pa.s.sing memory. A blank s.p.a.ce in the trenches of my mind, accessed only when I would wonder what happened to her whenever her father's name and her family came up during conversations and investigations regarding racketeering and illegal gambling.

All it took was one glimpse of her on a three-by-five-inch photo and I remembered everything about her. Everything about the way I felt about her.

Right then, Agent Jackson was asking the impossible.

"Agent Blackwell. Are you listening to me?"

I nodded, spoke some sort of affirmative, all with my eyes glued to Blue's bright red full lips.

Beautiful. Physically, she was perfect. It was her eyes and the sad, slightly downturned tilt to her lips that made my brows pull together.

"You're making a quick stop in Denver and then headed home, Blackwell."

I flexed my fingers, straightening them, and slid them into the pockets of my black suit pants. Looking up at my supervisor, a man I respected for the last four years, ever since I joined the FBI, I shook my head once. No way could I do this. "I'm not sure I'm the man for this job."

It was as honest as I could be. Just by looking at Blue's photos, I knew there was no way I could maintain a professional distance while doing my job. A job I loved.

And this mission was too close to my heart.

It meant using my ex-girlfriend, the only woman I'd told I loved and meant it. That Agent Jackson thought I could do this and not cross inappropriate boundaries showed he had more faith in me than I did.

"You're the only who can do this job," he stated, his expression firm.

I ran my tongue along the front of my teeth, sucking in my anger and frustration. When my professional mask was in place, I arched a brow.

"I'm too close."

"No." He shook his head and tossed me a file. I already knew what was in it. "You're the only one of us who can get close enough." The FBI knew of my connection with Gabriella Galecki. That knowledge was found during background checks they did on all candidates wis.h.i.+ng to enroll in the academy. I just never thought that connection would be used against me in this way. My lips twisted as he continued speaking. "As you already know, the Detroit family has been able to remain successful and stable because they're small and they keep their alliances within the family. Gabriella Galecki is coming home, and the only reason we can a.s.sume she's making her presence known after a decade-long disappearance is because her family needs her. We need to know why, and you're the person who can figure that out."

"With all due respect, sir-"

"With all due respect, Agent Blackwell, I am your superior and the Bureau needs you for this. You'll do as you're told and get us the information we need so we can tighten our investigation and finally take down the Galecki family."

"Why her?" I asked, my voice suddenly parched. "Why now?"

He tapped the file sitting on the desk. "That's what we need you to figure out. Inside you'll find all the information regarding the investigation we've been doing on the Galeckis, but something is still missing. We've been hearing chatter about their enemies in Boston and Chicago moving in on their territory. We need to know why they're suddenly seen as weak. We need to know why Gabriella is being brought home in the midst of all this, and what role, if any, she plays in her family's business. It could be nothing. It could be everything. That's what you need to figure out."

A weight pressed against my chest. Gabriella had never known anything of substance regarding her family. There's no way she would now, not if she was the same. But people could change a lot in ten years. I sure as h.e.l.l had. I opened my mouth to speak but Agent Jackson cut me off.

"You'll do this, Blackwell. We have no other option to get close to the family right now."

f.u.c.k. I had lost and I knew it.

I didn't have a choice. Being an FBI Agent, one frequently pulled into undercover investigations, had been a goal of mine since I joined the Bureau. When a knee injury in the final football game of my senior year effectively ended any dreams of making the NFL, dreams I'd had since I could walk, I chose the one profession where I could do the most good. I could join an organization that worked at taking down crime families like the one responsible for the death of my dad.

The familiar anger started simmering in my veins. My dad had been a good man, a man committed to his job and his family, until a member of the Galecki organization took him out.

I would never forget the officers who showed up at our doorstep after midnight on a Tuesday. My mom screamed and wailed-sounds I remembered vividly, because they sounded nothing like those a human should ever make. She crumpled to the floor in despair, and stayed there long after my father's co-workers and brothers in the Detroit Police Department left our house after hours of trying to console us.

"What's my cover?" I finally asked, sliding the files off Agent Jackson's desk and into my hands.

I would look at them later in my apartment when I had a gla.s.s of scotch close to me. Or the bottle. I had a feeling I was going to need it. I hadn't been home to Detroit since college graduation. There was only one person who could have dragged me back there. Agent Jackson wanted me to do the impossible-put myself face-to-face with her, insinuate myself into her life...

And then betray her in the worst way possible.

Chapter 1.

Gabriella.

"Last call for flight 2105. Your flight is boarding now."

"c.r.a.p," I muttered, hurrying through the airport terminal.

"Sorry!" I called as I pa.s.sed a woman. I was pretty sure I'd run over her foot. Or her small child, judging by the size of the b.u.mp my suitcase hit. I didn't have time to stop and find out which.

When I reached the correct gate, I rushed up to the attendant and handed her my boarding pa.s.s with shaky fingers. Breathing heavily, feeling sweat trickle down the back of my neck, I brushed a strand of my black hair out of my face.

The attendant checked my boarding pa.s.s and frowned at me, handing it back. "You just made it."

I nodded and hustled through the tunnel to the plane. My carry-on suitcase banged against my ankle as I dragged it along the cramped aisle. Whoever designed planes should have at least allowed enough s.p.a.ce for a simple suitcase to squeeze through. I ignored the looks from the impatient first-cla.s.s travelers as I glanced at my boarding pa.s.s again and groaned. 18E. The middle seat? The day couldn't have gotten worse for me.

Scanning the rows of weary and bored travelers, I searched for my row, when I was suddenly bounced backward onto the floor, landing with a loud thud on top of my carry-on. How had I missed someone standing directly in front of me?

"Oh s.h.i.+t, are you okay?"

I looked up at the tower in front of me, in the direction of the voice that spoke to me. Thor? Zeus? Adonis? He looked like some sort of dark-haired Greek G.o.d. I blinked, trying to clear my head. I had to have to been hallucinating. The Adonis tower looked slightly familiar, even if he was blurry through my startled vision. But as everything began to clear, I recognized him. Slightly tanned skin, strong jaw that held just a hint of stubble. Sparkling blue eyes framed by thick black eyelashes that...I swear I had stared into before.

His eyes widened, his jaw dropped as our eyes met, and I said the one name I promised myself I would never say again.

"Tyson?"

He blinked rapidly and crouched down. Why was I still on the floor?

Extending his hand, he said, "Blue? Holy s.h.i.+t."

Blue. That name. That voice. I hadn't heard either of those in ten years. Ten long, incredibly boring years since I had left Detroit, and in the blink of an eye, my childhood crush was kneeling before me...hovering.

"Yeah," I said lamely. Gathering whatever wits I had that hadn't been scattered all over the plane, I placed my hand in Tyson's. He stood, pulling me to my feet along with him. I couldn't take my eyes off his hand. He was so warm. And strong. Larger than I remembered.

Perhaps I was drunk, although I didn't remember having any alcohol that day. Maybe the mushrooms in Aunt Eleanor's spaghetti the night before weren't really regular mushrooms. It wouldn't have been the first time she made that mistake.

"Did I hurt you?"

That voice cut through my wondering and I shook my head. "I'm good."

Lie. My entire body felt like it was being lit up like a fireworks show. I was tingly and hot and squirmy. I was also still staring at Tyson's hand. His fingers were perfectly manicured. Long and thick. His dark gray suit fit him perfectly. It had to be designer. Made just for him. Nothing off the rack could fit so snugly in all the right places.

I swallowed slowly and dragged my eyes up his body until I met his gaze. His thick black eyebrows were pulled in so close they almost touched.

d.a.m.n, he looked incredible.

He caught me checking him out and smirked. Awesome.

"Do you need some help?" he asked, just as the voice of the pilot came through the intercom announcing that all pa.s.sengers must be seated. I felt all eyes turn to us, and I ducked my head under the s.h.i.+eld of my long black hair.

Needing to get away from him, I dragged my suitcase in front of me and then stared at the packed overhead compartments. A groan fell from my parted lips. There was no way I was getting my bag in there.

"Let me help you," he said. This time it wasn't a question, but a demand. Yet he still sounded patient. Potentially amused.

"Thanks." I let go of the handle of my suitcase and squeezed into my seat as he s.h.i.+fted luggage around and my bag disappeared.

There were so many things I wanted to ask him. Things I wanted to tell him. How was he? What was he doing now? Did he ever think of me? They all crashed into my brain at once, giving me the beginning twinges of a migraine. But I wanted to ask them so badly, I could taste them on the tip of my tongue. I was ready to spit them out when he slammed the overhead compartment and, without looking at me, took his seat directly across the aisle near the window.

I couldn't think of anything, couldn't focus on anything or anyone except the man just two seats and an aisle away from me. I leaned forward, trying to catch his eye when Tyson tilted his head in my direction, too. I watched as his lips curved into a slight smirk and he said, "It's good to see you. Enjoy your flight."

As if. Flying alone was possibly the cherry on top to my already c.r.a.ptastic day.

"Thank you...again," I replied quietly and buckled my belt. It was only then that I realized I was sitting between a young child in the aisle seat and a man in the window seat whose arm had clearly claimed the armrest. His eyes were closed and his breathing was heavy. At any moment, he was probably going to start snoring, and I quickly looked away.

I s.h.i.+vered in my seat and closed my eyes.

Please don't let me die on the plane.

Please don't let me die.

Please don't let someone throw up on me.

Please don't let me throw up on someone.

I repeated my silent hopes and prayers until I felt the plane slowly roll back from the gate and the attendants began their safety spiel, which I ignored. Not because I was confident the plane wouldn't throw me to my death from twenty thousand feet in the air, but because if the plane did crash, I had always been highly suspicious of whether the oxygen masks would actually deploy. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would be able to save me-least of all my under-seat inflatable device that had to be older than my grandmother.

With one hand curled over the other armrest, I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing while the plane took off. Until the plane leveled, I focused on slow inhales through my nose, exhales through my lips, and tried not to think about how much it hurt to breathe. Between my fear of flying and my sudden run-in with Tyson, my head was a mess of conflicting emotions. Terror. Anger. And was that...a little bit of l.u.s.t?

Because for real...the man looked incredible. So incredible I could see the outline of his well-dressed frame behind my closed lids.

Someone sneezed next to me and my eyes flew open. I felt it hit my arm and jumped slightly. Turning my head, I saw the culprit staring at me. His eyes were bright green and he had a small trail of yellow snot running down his nose.

Gross, gross, gross. I gagged and looked around. On the other side of the aisle, right next to Tyson, was a woman. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her long, thin legs were tucked into a pair of jeans that must have been painted on, or sewn on, and she wore the most gorgeous, tan suede boots I'd ever seen.

I wanted those boots.

And she was laughing with the man who once promised to love me forever. I couldn't tell what they were discussing, but everything inside of me wanted to reach my hand across the aisle and dig my fingernails into the forearm that was suspiciously too close to Tyson's.

I had no reason to react like that. Tyson wasn't mine. He hadn't been mine for ten years. And even then, I had learned one late night after being busted coming home from his place, that it was a very real possibility that I had never actually been his...not in the way I thought I was, or had wanted to be.

I frowned, remembering the night I had come home from his house to find the disappointment and fury clear in my father's eyes. It should have stopped me from wanting anything to do with Tyson ever again.

Yet the rational thought didn't quell the irrational emotion buzzing along my veins, increasing my pulse.

"Is that your mom?" I asked the little boy and pointed across the aisle. He nodded and sniffed. I saw his yellow snot disappear into his nose before sliding back out.

I was so going to throw up on someone.

Jumping out of my seat, I climbed over him into the aisle, and tapped the woman on her shoulder.

"Excuse me," I said politely and cheerfully. It was fake. By the sound my teeth made as they ground together, she had to know it. I didn't care. "Would you like my seat so you can sit next to your son? He seems a bit insecure with flying."

Lie, lie, lie. The kid was currently picking his nose and wiping it on the back of the seat in front of him. And on my armrest.

OhmyG.o.d.

I shuddered and turned back to her.

Tyson looked up and smiled at me, humor dancing in those dark blue eyes of his. "What a great idea." His voice rumbled through me and hit some spot deep inside. Had I looked at her, I figured both of us would look the same, with our jaws dropped to the floor at that deep timbre.

"Oh, I think he's okay..."