Table of Contents
Title
Prologue
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
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Epilogue
About Reily
Carnal Innocence
Bending Fate:
Carnal Whispers: Mind Stalker
Carnal Obsession: His Heart’s Prisoner
Tender Echoes
Digital Velocity
Bound By Shadows
Inconclusive Evidence
Unholy Alliance
Tiago
Carnal Beginnings
Carnal Series
Book One
______________
By
Reily Garrett
Thank you for reading
Carnal Beginnings
_____________________
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Acknowledgments
This book is dedicated to Darius, Leyna, and Raptor, the incredible trio, loyal, kind, and energetic. Three incredible beings who don’t understand the words “give up.” To Faith, whose love and compassion changed my life.
Special thanks to beta readers Graham from Fading Street Publishing. To my readers, each one of you who selects and reads one of my books, thank you for the opportunity to share my work.
Books by Reily Garrett
Carnal Series
Carnal Beginnings
Carnal Innocence
Bending Fate: Prequel to Carnal Whispers
Carnal Whispers: Mind Stalker
Carnal Obsession: His Heart’s Prisoner
Immortal Lovers Series
Unholy Alliance
Kurupira Romance Series
Tiago
McAllister Justice Series
Tender Echoes (Prequel to Digital Velocity)
Digital Velocity
Bound by Shadows
Inconclusive Evidence
Table of Contents
Title
Prologue
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
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Epilogue
About Reily
Carnal Innocence
Bending Fate:
Carnal Whispers: Mind Stalker
Carnal Obsession: His Heart’s Prisoner
Tender Echoes
Digital Velocity
Bound By Shadows
Inconclusive Evidence
Unholy Alliance
Tiago
Copyright
Prologue
Cell phones equaled the bane of Julien’s existence, except when they saved a life. His client, a woman targeted by her vicious ex, hadn’t answered all afternoon.
With his attention divided between a staff meeting and the difficult client who ignored logic, his frustration skyrocketed. He’d fired off several texts before calling her house. The repetitive drone of her dial tone sent his paranoia level to DEFCON 1.
A homebody, her adventurous streak ranged the scale between knitting and collecting scarves. She should have been home.
He understood the type of man she’d married, weak-minded, controlling, and abusive, puppeteer to her marionette. From the first and only meeting where she sought his help, fear had radiated from her pores, exhaled in every breath until cloaking her damaged spirit.
Purple, blue, and maroon hues splashed the western sky, the color of the bruises she’d failed to conceal when slouched in the office chair. Soon, darkness would bleach color from the sky in the same manner death leached pigment from soulless bodies. He drove faster, the wheels drumming on the asphalt, chasing headlights forever out of reach, just like her reasoning for going back to the house of horrors.
The setting sun reminded him that her husband would return from work soon and carry his rage home in search of a target. Similarities with memories from childhood provoked a shiver despite the meager light converting to heat via the windshield. Childhood flashbacks served no useful purpose.
Ignorance and nonchalance had twined to frame a bull’s eye on her forehead. He’d advised her to leave home two days prior, yet fear prevailed, dominating courage and hope. They could handle legalities later, but not if she lacked a pulse. The frightened woman insisted on returning to the dirtball in hopes of—something better.
The late morning call had demonstrated her new vein of determination, a declaration she was ready to pack it in and start a new life. Failure to arrive at his office either meant the scales of indecision favored the familiar—or she’d arrived at her decision too late.
As a private investigator, he’d seen the scenario rehearsed and unfold many times. For reasons unknown, human nature’s broken record played out on the Mobius strip, fate having trapped him in the loop.
The steady slap and scrape of windshield wipers whisked the few drops of rain from his windshield, evidence of heaven mourning its angels. He stomped the accelerator.
His Mazda ate up the miles as he tried to focus on the facts. The closer he got to her house, the more his mind screamed with recriminations…Too late. You should’ve come earlier.
Stones skittered into the grass bordering her driveway as his car slid to a stop in front of the bungalow. The one with the front door ajar.
Oh God, I’m too late. Not again. With little recollection of exiting the car or racing through the doorway, he knew in his gut what awaited. He’d promised her help, and failed. It didn’t matter that she’d ignored his advice.
In the middle of the living room floor, she lay face down, naked, remnants of pain still etched in her expression. Blood pooled under her abdomen in an ever-widening arc. Spatters of red adorned the surrounding wall cabinets, TV, and sofa. Her hair, burnt copper in the fading light streaming through the bay window, didn’t cover wide staring eyes.
His heart pounded and sweat beaded his forehead. With shaking fingers, he bent and touched her neck to find a pulse, weak, fast, and thready. She’ll never make it, his subconscious roared as he snatched up his cell to dial nine one one.
The universe absorbed his bellowed pain, now perceived as colder than her body.
The warmth of her soul flowed out to stain the carpet in wild abandon. Air redolent of copper and the residue of gunpowder propelled the sour wad of acid to the back of his throat. The yapping of her ankle biter at his feet didn’t register until he saw its footprints surrounding the woman’s thin frame, written in her blood.
There were no second chances to avoid catastrophe. His excuses wouldn’t comfort her now.
Chapter One
Three years later
“Yeah, bro, keep grinding your teeth—you’ll have extra calcium in your coffee this morning.”
Just what Julien needed, smart-ass quips from Conner, the oldest of his three brothers sitting at the conference table. Time and experience deemed him the responsible elder who held them all accountable, except when taunting his siblings.
“Plus a few caps. A gold one might look nice.” Marc grinned while keeping his attention on his laptop.
And I wanted to join my three brothers’ PI firm because…? Years of private investigating plus a military stint taught Julien patience, persistence, and self-control. Ten minutes into the weekly conference corresponded to dropping a grenade in his emotional reservoir. The genetic annoyances society classified as siblings lived to make him miserable. He sat straighter in his chair after reading the instant message that popped up on his computer screen. Go for it man, you’re getting old and withered. No one wants to fondle old balls.
Sending foul obscenities back didn’t relieve his tension.
“Fidgeting won’t help either, dude…” Marc’s sense of persnickety knew no bounds. As second in the line of siblings, he’d feel obligated to amp up the misery.
Julien’s long blink failed to scour the source of his personal doom imprinted on his mind. An unseen force in the great cosmos had coerced him to hire Adara as his primary assistant. Something about her eyes—yes, her fault entirely. How had he ended up sitting across from her anyway? Something he didn’t need. He tried to concentrate on the open cases in front of him, tried to keep his eyes off his personal assistant, and tried to keep his body’s responses from attacking his jeans. Strike three. Glare from the bank of windows behind her increased his surliness.
A vital cog in destiny’s wheel possessed him to hire a beautiful assistant who tangled his emotions from their first encounter. Life had taught him desire lacked moral responsibility, yet his sanity came into question in progressive degrees of lust-derived fog. What the hell?
Informal meetings used to involve a relaxed atmosphere, congruent with their dress code. His jeans tightened to the point his big head received a smaller portion of blood flow. Thinking was out of the question, much less standing to leave.
“Don’t be surprised, guys, if you wake up tomorrow and all your home furnishings have been moved to storage—to an undisclosed location.” Their wary expressions, evidence of belief, granted no satisfaction. Time to call my buddies from my old unit to ask for a favor.
“Come on, Julien, they’re just kidding. You know they love you.” Nate remained the peacekeeper, middle child syndrome.
“I’m not kidding. But I would be generous and leave them a tea towel to use after their shower.” Julien’s shrug seemed to convince them.
Each cleared his throat. Marc straightened his shirt collar.
“Okay, enough of this virulent celebration of swirling brotherly love.” Nate’s disruption of their teasing earned him a bath towel.
“Where do we stand on the Brittner case, Marc?” Julien rubbed his eyes and tried to focus.
For a distraction, he reached for one of the pastries from the plate piled high with an assortment of goodies, sticking his thumb in the gooey mess. No one said a word while he cleaned it on a napkin.
As if in a dream, he watched his hands pour a glass of ice water from the pitcher sitting next to the food. As it filled, the glass cooled his baser thoughts. Nothing could prevent his gaze from seeking Adara.
Guffaws erupted when the water overflowed. He’d never been a klutz, priding himself on self-control and mindfulness. More snickers emerged as he dabbed at the spill with a napkin.
“Closed the Brittner case last night and spoke with the insurance company this morning. They thanked us for the video of their lame client playing football.” Marc’s deadpan face belied his shaking shoulders.
In their eyes, he would always be an awkward kid. Looking around the table revealed each of his brothers’ assistants smiling, straightening their expressions only when he glared.
Julien glanced again at Adara, whose gaze remained fixed on her notes. He’d been lost from the moment she arrived for an interview. Long, shiny, black curls caressed her breast through an oversized if plain, cotton shirt. Though she obviously tried, nothing could hide the fluid movements of her slender, athletic build.
It wasn’t clear which feature gave her the fey-like quality, a small pert nose, almond shaped eyes, or thickly fringed lashes. That’s why he stared at her. He was a physiognomist. Can’t wait to throw that word at Conner.
Six months ago, the day after Adara’s job interview, his executive decision of rearranging the central part of the office so the assistants’ desks were better located was met with snickers and a legion of double entendres. Adara’s desk happened to end up facing his office, a coincidence. Every week since, he found copies of decorating magazines on his desk, compliments of smart-ass brothers.
Whenever she looked at him, her electric blue eyes seared a path straight to his groin despite the unmistakable sadness swirling in their depths, lurking below the shallow façade that included a forced smile and soft voice. Dark circles edged her lower eyelids, as if nightmares provided constant companionship. Whenever he tried to forge a connection, she withdrew. His shaft throbbed in commiseration. Hells bells.
“Something you wish to add, Julien?” Conner grinned, as did the rest of them.
He mentally tore out their vehicles’ distributor caps.
“You look a little constipated by the way. We have bran muffins here if you’d like one,” Marc quipped.
“Wankers…like I blow ropes of brickwork from my ass.” He growled with frustration. Drumming his fingers on the table drew Adara’s gaze to him.
Fear tinged her wide eyes. She shrank back when he showed the least bit of irritation. He stilled his busy fingers and ground his teeth, again.
The curve of his lips held a sign of his intention his brothers wouldn’t miss. Eventual retaliation against Conner would have to be a memorable prank, not to mention, public.
The other assistants looked at their bosses, amusement in their countenances. They’d adapted to the brothers’ form of camaraderie but seldom took sides. Adara’s gaze remained on him, as if waiting for him to throw her over his shoulder and run off to the nearest cave. Mmm.
“Sorry, Adara. I know you’ve only worked here a few months, but…what can I say? We’re brothers,” Julien apologized, not knowing what else to do. “Besides, they still think purple is a flavor.”
“No problem, sir.” She gifted him with a shy smile.
Never had one reached her eyes, at least not in his presence. Possible circumstances to bring about a face-splitting grin crossed his mind, each one discarded. Those types of thoughts didn’t belong in the current meeting. Though she looked delicate on the surface, she held steel underneath. It resided in the squaring of her shoulders, rigidne
ss of her spine, and the steadfast look in her eyes when she set her mind on a goal.
“At least my bed’s not shaped like a race car.” Conner’s comment raised eyebrows around the room.
His oldest brother had been jealous at the time.
“There’s that twenty-twenty brain power, Conner. Why don’t you focus that laser wit at your laptop and bring up the Chauncey file?” Julien replied with a grin. A flash of his childhood bed, shaped like a red fiberglass sports car, flitted through his mind. He hadn’t thought about it in years.
“Ah, I don’t think I have that file loaded yet.” Conner looked at his assistant. “Have you filed it yet, Jackie?” Conner’s confusion became the source for more amusement.
His assistant shook her head.
“Sorry, guys, it’ll have to wait till tomorrow,” the eldest added with a shrug of his shoulders. If someone were to judge their office by the current meeting, a modern twisted version of Laurel and Hardy along with their twins, would come to mind.
Every profession needed a steam relief valve, this proved harmless the majority of the time. Most of the employees seemed to enjoy them.
“It’s still on your desk, Conner, underneath a ton of clutter you call organized. I’ll be glad to file it digitally when you shovel off the debris and get it to me.” Jackie’s long-suffering sigh brought more chuckles. “I’d dive in and get it myself but I know you don’t like anybody touching your junk…”
Conner’s lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed with the innuendo.
Arrogance and disdain for anyone with a heartbeat accessorized Jackie’s intelligence. At their first meeting, Julien had thought her beautiful, but quickly learned her inner bitch could do battle at a moment’s notice and with little provocation.
“Gee, Conner, you’re not as computer savvy as you look. Ya coulda just done a search. Or maybe Jackie should schedule your computer training as she cuts up a pastry for you.” Nate smirked, then deflected that same incoming projectile—toward Julien.
Direct hit.
“Ugh…” Julien scooped the sticky fruit pastry off his shoulder and deposited the mess on his plate with a grunt, grateful they weren’t suit-and-tie types. “Food fight, guys? Really?” It would be nice to keep the dignity of the office to a minimum standard but that often failed when all siblings were in range. If they had to act loutish, they could at least have better pastries.