Roxanne St. Claire - Brock

Brock

7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes

Book 5

Roxanne St. Claire

Meet the Blackthorne men, who are as hot, fast, and smooth as the whisky that built the family fortune, and the yachts and race cars that bear their name. From proud Scottish stock, Blackthornes never lose. But, one by one, the seven sexy men in this family are about to risk everything when they fall for strong and beautiful women who test their mettle in lifeand love.

Devlin by Barbara Freethy (#1)

Jason by Julia London (#2)

Ross by Lynn Raye Harris (#3)

Phillip by Cristin Harber (#4)

Brock by Roxanne St. Claire (#5)

Logan by Samantha Chase (#6)

Trey by Christie Ridgway (#7)

For more about all of the 7 Brides series and a complete list of books by Roxanne St. Claire, go to www.roxannestclaire.com.

Brock

7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes

Copyright 2019 South Street Publishing

ISBN print: 978-1-7339121-3-6

ISBN ebook: 978-0-9993621-9-8

This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. All rights to reproduction of this work are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means except for brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews without prior written permission from the copyright owner. For permission or information on foreign, audio, or other rights, contact the author, .

Chapter One

The transition from King Harbor to Boston was never nice and easy for Brock Blackthorne, but tonight it felt particularly wrenching. Leaving the family estate on the peaceful, picturesque coast of Maine and making the two-hour drive to the pressure cooker of Blackthorne Enterprises in the heart of the city always felt a little like crashing through a plate-glass window very much like the one behind him. Although, as always, the shades that covered the commanding view of Boston were closed tight, making sure Brock didnt catch even a glimpse of the skyline or harbor, a nausea-inducing fifty-three stories below.

In Maine, where hed spent most of the past month, Brock always felt the tension ease from his shoulders and any anxiety melt from his chest. A razor rarely touched his face, and he ignored the fact that his hair grew over his collar. He wore his glasses instead of stinging contacts, dressed exclusively in jeans or shorts and old T-shirts, and spent half of every day out on a boat sucking in the salty summer air of King Harbor, where being a Blackthorne was a privilege rather than a responsibility.

But all that changed when he reached the outskirts of Boston, and especially here at corporate headquarters in the Hancock Tower, where he worked tirelessly to protect and polish the Blackthorne brand. Herestarting again tomorrow morninghe had to be on. Shaved, trimmed, suited, tied, and ready to slay the dragons that threatened the family name and business he revered.

Flipping through the stacks of papers his admin had so neatly left in rows on his desk during his three-week absence, he focused on what was ahead for tomorrow, when hed suit up for his job once again.

Despite the pileup of work, he didnt regret his choice to stay in King Harbor for most of July. And it wasnt like he hadnt worked at all up there. Keeping an eye on Phillip, especially with his oldest brother so deeply involved in that high-profile fund-raiserand the woman running itwas always a full-time job.

But as July had slipped into August, hed known he had a few brand management issues to deal with at corporate headquarters, and it wasnt just that someone dropped that pesky e into the word whisky where it didnt belong. Although that would piss off any Scotsman worth his kilt.

Phillip was under controlthanks to Ashleybut there was still the cloud ofClaire. His aunts sudden decision to abandon the family by waltzing out of her own birthday party, claiming to be the keeper of some big secret, was an image crisis waiting to happen.

Since Brock couldnt do anything from King Harbor to get her back, at least he could be in Boston to manage any bad press or squash any unwanted rumors. Because, with Claire Blackthorne gone for three months, even though Blackthorne Security had tracked her to Paris, people in the company and the industry were bound to gossip.

Was Claire and Grahams marriage on the rocks? Would it affect the company? And what was the secret shed flung at her husband?

Brock didnt have any answershis aunts replies to his texts were brief, airy, and uninformative. But finding answers wasnt his job. His job was to fend off the questions.

So, hed left Maine late that afternoon, hit wretched Sunday-night traffic as everyone whod escaped Boston for a blistering summer weekend all returned at the same time, and didnt get to his condo until after eight. Early enough to drop off his bags and walk one mile through oppressive Back Bay humidity to a silent, empty office to ease himself into the work that he faced in the coming week.

And there was plenty of it, he realized as he skimmed the lists and agenda Karen had left. His admin had lined up back-to-back appointments, four lunches, two staff meetings, and one entire day previewing logo misuses and copyright infringements. Monday morning looked busier than usual, starting early with a ten-minute courtesy session with J. Gillespie, whoever that was. Courtesy usually meant Karen had been pressured into the meetingsometimes by family, sometimes by outside forcesthat she knew Brock didnt want to take.

Then it wouldnt be considered discourteous to make Mr. Gillespie conduct his business while Brocks barber came in to give him a haircut and shave to start the week. He texted his admin to add that to his schedule.

Once he finished reviewing everything on his desk, Brock headed out to the private elevator that took occupants of the executive suite down to Clarendon Street, intending to walk back to his condo. But when he stepped out of the elevator, he realized maybe he should have looked out the window at least once. Now, he just stared at the city street and let out a soft curse.

Torrential rain turned the pavement black, wet, and slick, while cars sprayed rooster tails as they sped by. His driver, Hoyt, would be home with his family on this weekend night, and Brock wasnt about to yank the man away just because of a rain shower.

Only, this wasnt a rain showerthis was a downpour.

He opened the door and winced when rain splattered his T-shirt and jeans and turned his glasses into wet windshields without wipers.

Just as he backed into the building to get an Uber, he spied the white light of an open taxi cruising down Clarendon. Without hesitation, he made a run for it, instantly blinded by sluicing, splashing, relentless water.

Squinting into the rain, Brock saw the cab slow down even before he raised his hand. When the car stopped completely, he jumped a puddle and snagged the passenger-side back door, whipping it open at the very moment that someone did the same to the door on the other side.

Oh no! A woman as wet and bedraggled as he was sputtered the exclamation. Didnt you see me?

He swiped at his lenses. Cant see a thing. Its okay, he said, backing away. You take it.

No, no. I hailed it, but I guess you technically opened the door first.

Its fine, he assured her as the water seeped into his docksiders. Ill catch the next one.

Tonight? She slipped into the seat, the light of the cab giving him the first real look at plastered hair and streaky mascara. We can share. I mean, unless youre a serial killer.