Not Happening Again (Navarro Triplets book 2) Read online

  Not Happening Again, A Navarro Triplets Novel

  Copyright ©2021 by A. M. Madden

  First Edition

  All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The use of locations and products throughout this book is done for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  A. M. Madden

  Email: [email protected]

  Twitter: @ammadden1

  Facebook: facebook.com/ammadden

  Website: ammadden.com

  To my three kings, you rule my world.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Preview—Not a Chance in Hell

  Acknowledgments

  More by A.M. Madden

  About A.M. Madden

  During the heat of summer, constantly crowded streets, the sound of traffic, and the hustle and bustle of Manhattan always agitated me. But come the weekends, when the city became a ghost town, that agitation flipped toward appreciation.

  I truly loved when the city’s overzealous working professionals fled to the plethora of regional beach communities to de-stress from the daily grind, leaving my metropolis easier to navigate. That especially held true on Labor Day Weekend.

  Of course, those contradicting circumstances made for a love-hate relationship with the city I lived in. Back and forth my affections flipped, but there was nothing worse than having to get all dressed up for a night on the town when the air felt like a sauna.

  A wolf’s whistle slicing through the city noise just as I slammed the cab’s door behind me forced an eye roll. The way three men leered, with grins splitting their faces, meant they had enjoyed the view of my bare legs unfolding from the back seat. Without shame, their gazes then devoured the rest of my curves, which the black-lace dress did little to hide. Curves that I had learned to appreciate as I grew older.

  “Damn… I think I’m in love,” one called out, earning shoulder slaps from his buddies. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  I paid them no attention while fishing out a masquerade red-lace mask from my purse and fastening it around my eyes. Ignoring them only fueled their crassness when I stalked past them into the swanky lounge, silencing their groans and gripes with a heavy clank of the tinted glass door.

  Waiting for my vision to adjust to the dimly lit air-conditioned space, I smiled at the hostess donning a rhinestone-studded mask that clashed with her sequined halter top. “Hello. Welcome to the Bid for Love Auction,” she droned on. “Name, please?”

  “Amy Delton.”

  “The romance author?”

  “That’s me.” If she had been impressed, I wouldn’t know it by the resting bitch face her mask failed to conceal.

  I was used to being recognized by my name. Anyone who loved romance novels had most likely heard of A. Delton. My career afforded me a very comfortable lifestyle. Although, because my mother squandered the money my father had left her when he’d died, I’d chosen to be frugal in the way I lived my life. One never knew what could happen, and I wouldn’t depend on a man to provide for me someday. If attending a function furthered my success, I was game. That was pretty much why I was willing to be a guinea pig tonight.

  When my agent learned of this event, she’d signed me up without question. To me, being ogled and bid on by strangers sounded like torture. But every once in a while a woman needed to do something she dreaded. The important part was that all proceeds would go to a nonprofit dating service called Revival, which helped women and men pick themselves up and reconnect after toxic relationships.

  There was one other reason I’d agreed to come… Runnel TV.

  They were the hottest streaming service in the modern age—and cosponsors of the event. Runnel had made their mark by shattering the glass ceiling in the entertainment industry. Their popular programs were produced, directed, and written by women. Because of that, my agent, Janis, had been sporting a feminist version of a hard-on for them. So much so she’d submitted my work the moment I typed The End on the last book in my Brazen Truths series a year ago.

  A few months later, she’d called me into her office to announce that they were interested in all seven books! My attendance tonight could portray me as a team player and help when it came time to discuss the logistics. The dangling possibility my work could have a home on their network meant “Suck it up, Amy.” So, there I was.

  Personally, I felt: Who needed someone to love? Definitely not me. There was only one thing I could always count on in the romance department, and it was battery operated and came with no strings attached. I was fully aware how much that attitude conflicted with my profession. Maybe having no success in finding my person was what had given me the ability to write the swoony stories that had made me a bestselling, award-winning author to begin with.

  The hostess stared over my shoulder and suddenly flipped on her happy switch. “Oh, hello Mr. and Mrs. Runnel. You can go ahead in.”

  I twisted to stare at the couple behind me, and nervous heart palpitations kicked in. But while I debated on whether to introduce myself, Mrs. Runnel gave me a once-over as her husband said, “Ladies.” With a dip of his head, he led her through another tinted door, taking my opportunity to reveal who I was with them.

  Mr. Runnel may have been the financial powerhouse who’d aged well in the industry, both professionally and physically, but it was the blonde supermodel on his arm, half his age, who controlled Runnel TV. Truth be told, I wasn’t entirely thrilled with the snooty vibe coming off her.

  “Sorry about that,” the hostess said, her bored tone back once again.

  “No worries.”

  Ms. Personality marked me off on her clipboard, adding, “Please keep your mask on throughout the night, and while mingling, please provide first names only. We really want to keep identities private until date night.” She then handed me a laminated heart name tag. “Bidding will begin in one hour, and guests won’t know who is up for auction until you are called to the stage.

  “Once your suitor outbids all others, paperwork will need to be signed, giving permission for your date to be covered by our film crews for the documentary Dating without Boundaries.” She blinked a few times. “Questions?”

  Where’s the alcohol? I forced a smile and said, “Nope… all set, thanks.”

  Two steps inside the door and a gentleman at least four inches shorter immediately blocked my path. “Can I pretend to buy you a drink?” He leaned in and grinned. “You know… since it’s an open bar.”

  It always amazed me how confident men were compared to women. Here was a dude who had no issue approaching me when I could easily kiss the top of his head. Reminding myself of the reason I was there—the Runnel deal—I said, “That’s sweet, but I just arrived. Maybe we can catch up later?”

  Before he could nail me down to a specific time, I quickly walked away, having no doubt his eyes were glued to my ass. Another much taller, much cuter guy tried next. “Hey, beautiful stranger,” he offered as his greeting, and although sparse, it was just as cheesy as the last guy’s.

  After reciting the same brush off that I had thirty seconds earlier, I finally headed for a much-needed cocktail. This was going to be a long night.

  Runnel deal.

  Runnel deal.

  Runnel deal.

  People mingled around me while enjoying their ardent spirits and dining on fancy appetizers served by a white-gloved waitstaff. Snatching a flute of champagne off a pass
ing waitress’s tray, I found a quiet corner and scanned the room before eavesdropping on a cluster of females as they excitedly voiced their hopes for the evening.

  A blonde standing with her back to me pointed to a hottie with dark, thick, wavy hair and a cocky nonchalance to his stance. “God, I hope he’s up for sale,” she admitted.

  “Damn, I’d pay an ovary for him,” said her friend, prompting another round of giggles.

  The stiff black mask he wore covered all but a seductive set of lips and a chiseled chin peppered in scruff. The body that perfectly filled out black slacks and a black button-down shirt appearing as though it had been painted on would usually call to my libido. Usually. But I recognized the ass behind the mask and groaned into my effervescent elixir.

  Brad Navarro.

  A man who never failed to rub me the wrong way. A man I was forever tied to because my best friend, Jade, had married his brother, Max. There were three of them, actually… identical triplets who were drop-dead gorgeous.

  Personality-wise, they couldn’t be more different. Max was a sweetheart who owned a successful gym in Manhattan, with a second location in Miami. He had an ex-girlfriend living there, along with her husband and a daughter that she’d had with Max, so he split his time between the two locations. That meant Jade, who adored her stepdaughter, Mia, traveled back and forth with Max and their infant son, Michael, often.

  Nate was brother number two, a successful divorce lawyer who had an attitude the size of his bank account. The man insisted on calling me Jersey because of an accent he claimed I had. What he had was a massive stick up his ass… along with being arrogant, conceited, and anti-love. Because of all those qualities, I detested him while being insanely attracted to him at the same time.

  Then there was Brad, who owned one of the hottest sports bars in the city. There was only one way to describe Brad… man-whore. Shit, it wasn’t as though being an erotic author had placed a halo over my head, but Brad Navarro made promiscuousness an art form.

  From the moment we’d met, it had been obvious that my profession piqued his interests. At first, I flirted back, and that encouragement fueled him. I had no intention of becoming just a number in the long list of his conquests. The deal breaker was when he’d gone as far as calling me a porn pusher. Jerk. Nothing, nothing irked me more than that label. Yes, my novels had sex in them, and a lot of it, but they were also well-written stories. Regardless, the more I avoided him, the more he shamelessly chased me.

  While the other women continued to ogle him, Brad stared back, nodding at whatever the man beside him had said. For some reason, he seemed subdued tonight. The Brad Navarro I had gotten to know would’ve been working this room like a snowplow during a blizzard.

  I watched him sip the contents of what appeared to be bourbon or whiskey. The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed muscular forearms and a chunky silver watch each time the glass met his lips. His gaze caught mine and held. He then said something to the gentleman before stalking right toward me.

  Awesome.

  “Amy Delton. I’d recognize those lips anywhere.”

  “Brad Navarro,” I responded with boredom. “I’d recognize that huge head of yours anywhere.” When he looked down at his crotch and smirked, I rolled my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “One of my clients invited me.” He leaned closer, hovering his mouth near my ear. “But I’m not Brad, Jersey.” I wasn’t sure if it was his warm breath, the fresh woodsy scent of his intoxicating cologne, or the fact it was Nate and not Brad that had my skin prickle with goose bumps. The first time he called me Jersey, even though it caused something deep down inside me to clench deliciously, I’d told him off. Big mistake, because fighting with Nate Navarro only spurred him on.

  And while Brad constantly hit on me, not once had Nate made a play. It irked me, along with the fact that he could both irritate me and turn me on. Jade was the only person on earth who knew how I often fantasized over this particular brother-in-law. Obviously, she thought that was gross, being he shared the same face and build as her husband. Sure, I’d give her that. It was very strange, but their different personalities made it easy to justify the attraction.

  In my fantasy with Nate, it was always the same—me naked on my kitchen island while he went down on me. Regardless, that visual would have to remain in my head, because getting involved with him would be a stupid thing to do. Besides being Jade’s brother-in-law, the man was trouble with a capital T… but damn the sex would be great.

  While I engaged in a “should I or shouldn’t I” battle with myself, he continued to eye-fuck me. “Are you here for book research or because you’re horny?”

  His condescending tone predictably pissed me off before setting my lower half on fire.

  “Based on the expression on your face, I’d say horny,” he continued.

  Once again, his lips quirked up just a tad. But it was more than a cocky smirk. It was a display of confidence, a dare to be sexual, a promise of something life altering to come. It was powerful enough to persuade, and that was what made him dangerous.

  “Why are you here?” I snapped. “Doesn’t this go against your mission to profit off every broken marriage in New York City?”

  As the smirk deepened from my snippiness, he shrugged. “Normally… but the client who invited me is a good friend. He may not have had much luck in love after three divorces—still, the sucker can’t seem to give up on it. But back to you… why are you really here?”

  “For the cause… and business.” It was my turn to give him a cocky smirk. “We all do what we have to do.”

  “This is true.” When a waitress sauntered by, Nate eyed my now-empty champagne flute, gently removed it from my grip, and replaced it with a fresh one.

  “Thank you.” I raised my glass and added, “I can use all the liquid courage I can get… and champagne is my vice.”

  “Bourbon is mine,” he countered while lifting his own enabler. “I take it you’re on the bidding block then?”

  “Off the record… that would be a yes.”

  His gorgeous green eyes caressed my body as though he could literally picture me naked. And the effect would’ve been no different if it had been his hands doing the roaming. When he lifted his gaze to drill into mine, it was hard to know what ran through his mind. “I have a proposition for you,” he finally said.

  A proposition from Nate Navarro could be a dangerous thing. Pretending indifference, I nosed toward the group of giddy women who hadn’t stopped staring at him. “I’m sure there are plenty of females here who would love to jump on your proposition.”

  “That’s stating the obvious.”

  I didn’t know what was sexier, the smirk once again quirking up those damn lips of his or the fact he didn’t spare them a glance while keeping his eyes tethered to mine.

  “But I’m referring to a business proposition,” he continued. “One that could benefit us both.”

  “My business is a complete contradiction to yours,” I quipped.

  “Not necessarily. I’ll bid on you, get a great tax write-off in the process, maybe gain some new clients—”

  “Are you forgetting that with the bid comes a video-documented date that we’d have to go on? I fail to see how that would gain you new clients.”

  “Let me finish.” He blinked a few times, clearly amused. “You get spared from having to endure any other loser in this room from ogling you and instead get my charming self for a night.” He thumbed toward the little guy who’d tried to pick me up earlier. “But I guess the advantages to him would be a good motorboating when you were in need.”

  Ignoring his implication, I asked, “What’s truly in it for you? Wouldn’t wining and dining a romance author for the entire dating population to witness kill your reputation as a relationship murderer, Mr. Navarro?”

  “Or boost it,” he easily countered. “I recently opened my own firm.” A devious expression flashed over his handsome face as he lifted his bourbon, while I focused on the way his Adam’s apple bobbed on the swallow. “I intended to bid on one of these lovely ladies anyway, and then I saw you. We’d go on our date, you can push romance while pimping your books, and I can provide my own arguments on why love often collapses so epically once vows are exchanged.”