Dream Spinner (Dream Team Book 3) - Kristen Ashley (bearly read books .txt) 📗

Praise for Kristen Ashley

‘Kristen Ashley’s books are addicting!’

Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author

‘I adore Kristen Ashley’s books!’

Maya Banks, New York Times bestselling author

‘A unique, not-to-be-missed voice in romance’

Carly Phillips, New York Times bestselling author

‘I don’t know how Kristen Ashley does it; I just read the damn [Dream Man series] and happily get lost in her world’

Frolic

‘[Kristen] Ashley captivates’

Publishers Weekly

‘When you pick up an Ashley book, you know you’re in for plenty of gut-punching emotion, elaborate drama and sizzling sex’

RT Book Reviews

ALSO BY KRISTEN ASHLEY

The Dream Man Series

Mystery Man

Wild Man

Law Man

Motorcycle Man

The Colorado Mountain Series

The Gamble

Sweet Dreams

Lady Luck

Breathe

Jagged

Kaleidoscope

The Chaos Series

Own the Wind

Fire Inside

Ride Steady

Walk Through Fire

The Dream Team Series

Dream Maker

Dream Chaser

Copyright

Published by Piatkus

ISBN: 978-0-349-42588-7

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by Kristen Ashley

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Excerpt from Dream Keeper © 2021 by Kristen Ashley

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

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

Piatkus

Little, Brown Book Group

Carmelite House

50 Victoria Embankment

London EC4Y 0DZ

www.littlebrown.co.uk

www.hachette.co.uk

Contents

Praise for Kristen Ashley

Also by Kristen Ashley

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One: Ivan the Terrible

Chapter Two: I Blew It

Chapter Three: Don’t Give Up

Chapter Four: Whoosh

Chapter Five: Because We Love You

Chapter Six: Anytime

Chapter Seven: Worth It

Chapter Eight: Keep Putting in the Work

Chapter Nine: Porn Preferences

Chapter Ten: Us. Here. Finally.

Chapter Eleven: B

Chapter Twelve: Safe Place

Chapter Thirteen: Fireman’s Hold

Chapter Fourteen: Scratched the Surface

Chapter Fifteen: Back on Track

Chapter Sixteen: That Path Is Always Open to You

Chapter Seventeen: Two Drawers

Chapter Eighteen: Off

Chapter Nineteen: Setup

Chapter Twenty: Tripped

Chapter Twenty-One: Stolen Base

Chapter Twenty-Two: In Her Corner

Chapter Twenty-Three: She Was Mine Before

Chapter Twenty-Four: Fly Forever

Chapter Twenty-Five: Deviled Eggs

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Women

Epilogue

About the Author

For my ice-blue-eyed protective,

possessive alpha, Axl.

I miss you.

PROLOGUE

Right at Him

HATTIE

It happened on the opening night of the Revue.

I knew it when I finished my dance.

And I looked for him.

They were there, all the guys (and Evie) to cheer us on.

To support us.

But when my dance was done, I didn’t look to my friend Evie.

I didn’t look to Lottie’s man (and my friend) Mo.

I didn’t look to Evie’s guy (and also my friend) Mag.

I further didn’t look to Ryn’s fella (and yes, my friend too) Boone.

Or Auggie, who should be Pepper’s, but he was not.

I looked right at him.

Right at him.

At Axl.

And he was looking at me.

Of course, I’d just been dancing.

But it was more.

Because I’d picked that song.

And it became even more when my eyes went right to his.

I saw how his face changed when I did this, and I didn’t know him all that well, but I still read it.

I knew exactly what it meant, the way he was looking at me, and the fact, after I’d finished dancing to that song, I’d looked right at him.

And what it meant was …

I was in trouble.

CHAPTER ONE

Ivan the Terrible

HATTIE

It went well.”

“Tens of thousands of dollars on teachers, leotards, pointe shoes, payin’ for gas to drive you to class, recitals, competitions, and you’re sittin’ here tryin’ to convince me all that was worth it seein’ as you got the big promotion from being a stripper to being a burlesque dancer.”

“It’s not burlesque exactly. They’re calling it a Revue.”

“It’s a fuckin’ titty bar.”

I sat opposite my father and decided it was a good time to start keeping my mouth shut.

Dad did not make that same decision.

“You can try to dress it up however you want, Hattie, but you’re a glorified whore,” he went on. “Though, just sayin’, a whore’s more honest. Least she doesn’t take a man’s cash while she’s givin’ him nothin’ but a tease.”

I wish I could say Dad was in a rare mood tonight.

But he wasn’t.

It was just that it was more foul than normal.

A lot more.

“I think maybe I should go now,” I said quietly.

Dad shook his head. “You never could hack listening to reason. Or honesty. Or truth. I can see you’re too fat to be in New York or London, Paris or Moscow, but for fuck’s sake, not even the Colorado Ballet?” Again with the head shaking. “Instead, you’re onstage at Smithie’s strip club.”

Yes, whenever he got into calling me fat, it was time to go.

I got up and started clearing his dinner dishes.

“I can do that,” he snapped.

He couldn’t.

He could barely walk.

Mismanaged diabetes.

The mismanaged part being, when I was fed up with his abuse, I’d quit coming to give him his insulin, take his blood sugar, make sure he ate, and doctor his booze by watering it down so his drinking didn’t put his body out of whack.

None of which he did for himself.

Three trips to the hospital, and the subsequent medical bills, which meant selling his old house (something I saw to), downsizing (something I also saw to), and putting up with his complaints he had about having to move (something I listened to, though the move part, I saw to), meant I kept coming back.

Mom didn’t get it.

She’d washed her hands of him years ago. Even before she did it legally with the divorce.

But I simply could not do nothing and let my father die.

And I knew this would happen if I did not manage his health and his life.

I took his dishes to the kitchen, rinsed them, put them in the dishwasher, tidied and headed back to the living room to remove the TV tray from in front of Dad.

Then I was going to get my purse and go.

“Hattie, it’s just—” he started in a much less ugly tone as I was folding up the tray.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

All these years, he thought he could dig in and dig in and dig in because … whatever.

He didn’t like his job?

He didn’t like his marriage?

He didn’t like his health?

He didn’t like his life?

So