50 Hidden Desires Read online

  What you’re holding in your hands is a BookShots Flames story.

  It’s part of a revolution in reading.

  Hand-picked by James Patterson, BookShots Flames are a whole new kind of book—

  100 percent story-driven, no fluff, always under $5.

  At 150 pages or fewer, all of our BookShots can be read in a night, on a commute, even on your cell phone during breaks at work.

  For special offers and the full list of BookShot titles, including our thrillers,

  written and co-written by James Patterson himself, please go to: bookshots.com

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2017 by James Patterson

  Cover design by Kapo Ng; photograph by Ilona Wellman / Arcangel Images

  Cover copyright © 2017 Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Can't Let Go Copyright © 2013 by Jessica Lemmon

  Excerpt from The Billionaire Bachelor Copyright © 2016 by Jessica Lemmon

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  BookShots / Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104

  bookshots.com

  facebook.com/JPBookShots

  twitter.com/Book_Shots

  instagram.com/jpbookshots

  First ebook edition: May 2017

  BookShots is an imprint of Little, Brown and Company, a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The BookShots name and logo are trademarks of JBP Business, LLC.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.

  ISBN 978-0-316-46556-4

  Dear Reader,

  I know that it can be hard to break free when something’s holding you back. Sometimes that something comes from the outside, whether it be time, age, or your family’s expectations. But sometimes it comes from the inside—from your own insecurity or self-doubt.

  In Holly Larson’s case, it’s her family name. The Larson family runs the biggest company in town, and as a result, the heiress has been labeled “untouchable.” If that wasn’t hard enough, she’s in love with Dalton Thomas, her brother’s best friend and her coworker.

  And she wants what she wants. Holly will do whatever it takes to make Dalton feel the same. But can she start fresh with Dalton when they have a whole lifetime of memories telling them they shouldn’t be together?

  Holly’s desire for change and independence makes her a compelling character in this love story. Author Jessica Lemmon’s writing added some spice to Holly’s sweet, budding relationship with Dalton—and it made me enjoy reading about their romance even more. I hope you will, too.

  James Patterson

  Contents

  Cover

  About BookShots Flames

  Title Page

  Copyright

  A Letter from James Patterson

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Love Jessica Lemmon?

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  THE BILLIONAIRE BACHELOR

  Chapter 1

  About the Author

  Aiden and Sadie’s Happily Ever After

  BookShots.com

  Newsletter

  Chapter 1

  “Yo, Thomas!”

  Dalton Thomas turned to his best friend, Jace, who was standing in the doorway and tossed him an ice-cold Coke he’d gotten from the vending machine. He caught it with ease.

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure thing.” Jace sat on the edge of Dalton’s desk in his new office.

  His new desk in his new office. The bubble wrap wasn’t off his printer yet, and the plastic he’d torn from his ergonomic chair a few minutes ago was wadded on the floor. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

  “This should be a beer,” Jace said as he cracked the top on his own soda.

  “No shit.” Dalton smiled as he sat up and cracked his own can, but he was more than happy to sip on corn syrupy goodness now that he was sitting in an executive position at Larson Land Management.

  As a kid from a single-parent home, he’d come a long way from the factory where he’d been destined to work. His father took his last breath in that building, and Dalton’s mother had constantly argued how good the benefits and life insurance were there. But on the day he first met Jace’s parents at Jace’s house—the biggest house he’d ever set foot in—he’d decided it’d be a cold day in hell before he stood at a machine punching out metal pieces twelve hours a day. He wanted a chunk of the good life. Hell, he would have settled for a sliver.

  He’d started in a peon assistant position and worked his way up to project manager. Now he was Project Director. He owed that income boost and title change to the man sitting on his desk. Dalton would never stop owing Jace at this point.

  They tapped cans and drank their celebratory beverages, Jace letting out an exaggerated Ahhh as he swallowed. “Party Saturday,” he commented. “You coming?”

  “Do I ever miss a party?” Larson parties were frequent and something out of a movie. Waitstaff, bartenders, fancy finger food, and booze. They’d even hire a band, if the event was really special.

  Jace and Dalton had thrown several parties of their own when they were younger, when Mr. and Mrs. Larson were out of town. The Larsons often went on business or personal trips for extended periods of time and left Jace at home to care for his younger sister, Holly.

  In a lot of ways, Dalton’s home life had been the opposite of his best friend’s. He’d been raised in six hundred square feet (instead of ten thousand) house and his mom worked doubles at a bar. Dalton had raided the Larson refrigerator as well as their liquor cabinet over the years, but was always careful not to take advantage, slipping full replacement bottles back into the cabinet when he was old enough to buy them himself.

  “You know”—pretending to think, Jace looked up at the ceiling—“I don’t believe you’ve missed a party since we met in basketball our junior year.” He grinned.

  “Any reason in particular for this soiree?” Dalton knew that Holly was just promoted and wouldn’t be surprised if they threw her a massive congratulatory party.

  “Dunno.” Jace shrugged and slid off the desk. “The
y mentioned wanting to try out a new caterer and said they needed bodies. I’m not sure they’re planning on being there themselves. Anyway, it starts at eight o’clock,” Jace said as he walked out the door. “You bringing someone?”

  “Have I ever brought someone?” The girls Dalton dated were kept quarantined from the Larsons. Not that his dates were unsavory, but it was better if he didn’t have too many questions to contend with. He preferred the company of women—one at a time for a limited time—and then he preferred to move on. No settling down for him. Not now. Not ever.

  Watching his mother’s spiral into emotional turmoil after his father’s death was enough to anesthetize him from wanting permanence. Nothing was ever permanent. He knew that better than most.

  “Cool. Then show up early and we’ll see if any of the waitresses are cute.”

  “What about Laura? Aren’t you two still dating?”

  Jace offered another careless shrug. “Eh, you know.”

  Dalton did know. Jace preferred to keep things light, as well. They had that in common.

  After Jace left his office, Dalton spun his chair to face the window behind his desk. The sun was glinting off the shining businesses of downtown Hartford, a majestic kingdom he’d never fathomed the likes of him could occupy.

  He pulled in a deep breath of gratitude and propped his hands behind his head again. He wished his parents were alive to see him now. Because sometimes life was good, and sometimes it downright sucked, but today…today was as perfect as he could imagine.

  Chapter 2

  FOR AS LONG as Dalton had known Holly Larson, the girl sparkled. Glitter on her nails, her hair, her clothes. Tonight she wore a pair of tight gold glittery pants, reminding him of the sea of strings tied to her birthday balloons on her twenty-first birthday.

  Even though he wanted her, Dalton didn’t so much as flirt with the idea of kissing her glossed lips. She was a no-go zone despite how badly he wanted to test the softness of her blond curls with his fingers. On the night of her birthday, she’d tucked herself against him when they danced, as if she’d been designed to fit there.…

  Now, her golden shoulders peeked out from the holes in her black shirt. Her heels were so high that her jade-colored eyes aligned with his as she approached. Champagne in hand, she toasted him.

  “Congrats on your promotion to Project Director. I’m so glad it’s you leading the Brownsboro Project with me.”

  “Hey, Hol.” He tapped his beer glass against her flute. “Congrats on your promotion too, gorgeous.”

  “Thank you.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek and he caught her scent—an expensive perfume he’d come to expect. He was glad to have her by his side in the project, as well. She didn’t land the position at LLM because of her last name. Holly had great instincts and a never-say-die attitude that guaranteed everything she touched turned to gold.

  He smiled again at her glittery pants. Appropriate.

  “You smell nice. Look better.” He pulled her into a hug, careful to only wrap one arm around her neck.

  “Thanks.” Those green eyes sparkled. Maybe that wasn’t her first glass of champagne.

  “You need me to get you a water?” he asked.

  She scoffed.

  “I’m just looking out for you.”

  “I’m not a baby, Dalton.”

  “Honey, I see that.” Clearly. Some days more clearly than others. He halted those thoughts. This was the Larson princess, and the last thing she needed was a guy from Slumville making moves on her. Especially one who didn’t plan on sticking around for anything more than the physical, Dalton thought with a dash of self-deprecation. He wasn’t worthy of the boyfriend role in any woman’s life, let alone this one.

  “What if every time I looked at you, I saw an eleven-year-old?” she asked.

  He made a disgusted face. When he was eleven, he’d been buck-toothed and skinny. Knock-kneed and kind of mean. He would never want Holly to see him as anything less than the man he was today. She knew he grew up rough, but she didn’t know exactly where he came from and he’d like to keep it that way. Let her see him the way she saw Jace: as a guy who’d take a bullet for her if someone took aim.

  She shifted, popping her hip and resting a manicured hand there, her breasts shifting slightly in her shirt. Telling himself she was just another Larson didn’t make him blind, for God’s sake. There was no doubt she was sexy…but she wasn’t for him.

  He took a sip of his beer. Then he noticed the party was…moving to the spot where he and Holly were standing on the patio. Most of the faces he recognized from work. Then everyone parted like the Red Sea. Mr. and Mrs. Larson came up the center, displaying broad smiles, and holding glasses of champagne.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Clark started. “I have a toast to make.”

  “Ah, shit,” Dalton muttered to Holly, lightly wrapping his arm around her neck again and lowering his lips to her ear. “Ready to get embarrassed?”

  “Not me,” she said. “They already took me out to a big dinner.”

  It took a beat for that to sink in, and then his heart joined his stomach on a ride to his toes. “Oh, come on.”

  “This is for you,” she whispered, giving his arm a squeeze and then bouncing over to stand with her parents.

  “Now, Dalton…” Clark’s expression grew serious.

  Dalton cleared his throat, feeling nervous about the amount of attention on him—especially now that Holly had left his side and he stood alone.

  “We’ve known you since you were a poorly dressed kid who showed up to eat the roast chicken Wendy made every Sunday.”

  A hand clapped Dalton’s shoulder and squeezed. He turned to find Jace.

  “Now he’s a poorly dressed adult who shows up for chicken dinner on Sunday.”

  The crowd chuckled and Dalton shot his elbow into his buddy’s ribs. When he first met the Larsons, they reminded him of some sort of strange Stepford family. Compared to his family and his buddies’ families in the old neighborhood, this was some straight-up Cleavers shit.

  Accustomed to waiting for the impending shoe-drop, Dalton kept his guard up with them for years. It wasn’t until he’d witnessed an honest-to-goodness family argument that he could see they weren’t perfect. The Larsons were the real deal.

  Jace backed off, loping over to join the crowd, and stirring them up with a “woo-hoo!” Embarrassed, Dalton put his palm on his neck and tried to accept the praise to which he might never become accustomed.

  “We love you, Dalton,” Wendy said as the crowd’s applause died down. “You’re a quality human being. You work hard and never complain.”

  “In fact you work harder than Jace, but we have to employ him,” Clark added, dodging a playful punch from his son. “To Dalton Thomas! Our new project director and honorary Larson!”

  The applause erupted anew, Holly’s included. She came back to him, all smiles. The crowd turned away and Dalton accepted handshakes and hugs from Clark and Wendy. And then it was him and Holly again.

  “I’m guessing you knew about this,” he said.

  “I suspected. They like to celebrate,” she answered. “So. Are you going to have a problem now that you have to answer to a woman?” she asked, feisty glint in her eye.

  The raise and title appointed both Holly and him directors of the Brownsboro Project, but she never hesitated to bust his balls. Still, he was proud as hell of her.

  “Not if I want to keep both balls attached to my body.” He winked. Holly blushed. She couldn’t talk trash. Never could. The moment he mentioned anything slightly colorful, a rosy hue took her cheeks.

  He liked that she was sweet. He liked to imagine she’d retain that sweetness forever. Not that he believed Holly Larson was a virgin—even if everyone kept her carefully protected. The idea of some guy getting her out of her pants made Dalton want to spit nails, and he could only imagine how her real family reacted to the thought.

  That spirit had leaked over from Jace to him. How many boys ha
d they run off when Holly was growing up? Too many to count. Once she even tried to sneak one in through her window. Jace chased the guy halfway down the block—in his bare feet.

  “What are you grinning about?” she asked, moving closer to him. Her eyes darted away and for a moment he felt a palpable sadness waft off her. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

  “Hey. You okay?”

  “Just struggling to adjust.” She quickly tucked in her bottom lip, which had pushed itself out into a pout. He understood how she felt, though. Holly was juggling a new position at work—a position other people whispered about, saying she’d never earned it because her parents had “given” it to her. Plus, he and Jace recently helped her move into an apartment. She was living on her own for the first time.

  When she brought up moving out of her parents’ house, the suggestion had gone over like a ton of shit. Jace had checked out security at the apartment complex, talked to the management, and paid for a building inspector to ensure the plumbing, structure, and electric were all in working order.

  “You just wait, Hol,” Dalton told her now. “So much good is coming your way, you won’t have the space to store it all.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze.

  Her features abruptly softened, her liquid green eyes zeroing in on his. “Dalton, I wanted to talk to you about something. I—”

  “Dalt!” shouted Jace from over his shoulder. He elbowed him and pointed across the patio. “The redhead and the brunette.”

  Dalton followed his buddy’s pointing finger and the brunette looked away, turning to the redhead and giggling.

  “I told them I had a single friend,” Jace said proudly.

  “You’re such a moron,” Holly snapped at her older brother.

  “Well, that’s thoughtful, Jace,” Dalton drawled, stealing a look at the girls again. Cute. Both of them. “But Holly and I are chatting right now, so I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Your loss. Hey, Little.” Jace leaned in toward Holly and tipped his head to the side. “Aaron Nielson’s here if you want to ask him on a second date.”

  “Idiot!” Holly gave him a shove.