Lost
and Found
Masters and
Mercenaries: The Forgotten, Book 2
By Lexi Blake
Coming February 26,
2019
Owen Shaw and his “brothers”
lost everything, their entire existence erased. Science had robbed he and all
the Lost Boys of their memories and their past, but not their future. Hunted by
every intelligence agency in the world, they are focused on two goals: find a
cure for what was done to them and ensure that the technology that ruined their
lives doesn’t get out into the world. Rebecca Walsh might be the key to
achieving both. Owen has been studying her closely, living in her building, and
he cannot resolve how such a beautiful, giving woman could have helped design
the evil process that destroyed his past.
Dr. Rebecca Walsh has
dedicated her life to researching the secrets of the mind. Her atmospheric rise
in her field was fueled by the horror of watching her mother’s agonizing
journey into madness at the hands of a disease with no cure. She vowed to never
rest until she finds it. But obsession takes a heavy toll, and when Owen moves
into her building she realizes how much of her life she has missed out on. Owen
opens her eyes to a whole new world, filled with joy, laughter, and possibly
love.
Owen and Rebecca grow
closer, unraveling more about each other and the mysteries surrounding her
connection to Hope McDonald. As the sinister forces working against the Lost
Boys descend on Toronto, secrets long buried are uncovered that could shatter
the bonds holding the Lost Boys together and cost Rebecca her life.
AVAILABLE NOW
Excerpt
“Becca.”
Owen’s voice was low. “Concentrate on me, on our conversation. You’ve done
incredibly well. You’ve been able to hold it off, but this has gone on far
longer than you ever should have been expected to handle it. This elevator is
tight. I feel it, too, but we can hold off the anxiety together.”
She
doubted very much the man in front of her was anxious. He looked solid, like
the kind of man who took whatever came his way and simply dealt with it. He
wouldn’t have needed two freaking years to figure out what he wanted. He would
have signed his divorce papers and moved on, not hiding in his work.
It
struck her forcibly that she might never have met a man like Owen Shaw. Her
childhood had been fairly sheltered. She’d constantly been surrounded by
intellectuals, men and women who were far more concerned with their work than
anything else.
The
ground beneath her shifted and the elevator dropped what felt like ten feet,
but she knew in her head it was mere inches. Her heart rate tripled, and she grabbed
on to the closest thing she could—him.
His
arms went around her, holding her up, and she heard it. He was so tall that her
head naturally rested on his chest, and she could hear his heart beating in
rapid time.
He
was nervous.
The
phone rang and Owen cursed, reaching out to grab it. The shaft was so small, he
didn’t have to let her go to grasp it.
“What
the bloody hell is happening, Colin?”
She
could hear his voice over the line. “Sorry. So sorry. We had to lower the shaft
the tiniest bit. I should have warned you. It’s not going to fall. Just needed
to reposition to get to the problem. Not long now. Another half an hour or so
and I’ll have you right out of there.”
“If
you do that again, do you know what I’m going to do to you, Colin?”
There
was a pause over the line and she could practically hear Colin’s gulp. “Write
my father a tersely worded letter of complaint?”
“No,
I’m going to pull your heart out through your throat and then I’ll shove it
back up your arse.”
“You
sound very much like Liam Neeson in that movie.”
“Liam
Neeson is Irish. I’m a Scot. I assure you what I’ll do to you will make you run
into Liam Neeson’s arms and beg him to save you.” He reached back and hung up
the phone with a resounding clang.
His
arm went back around her. “It’s going to be all right. They’ll move faster now.
So you’ve taken a sabbatical from men.”
She
breathed him in, loving how he smelled. Were men supposed to smell so good?
She
could feel herself relax as he held her. She’d known him for three hours. She
shouldn’t let him hold her like this.
And
why the fuck not? Because it wasn’t smart? Because he might think she wanted
something she shouldn’t?
She
was human. Why shouldn’t she want him? Because society told her that good girls
didn’t make out with guys they’d just met in an elevator?
Society
sucked, and she wasn’t a good girl. When her husband had tried to put his name
on her work, she’d told him to fuck off and write his own paper. When he’d cheated
on her, she’d walked away.
She
was single.
God,
was he single?
She
stepped back.
“What’s
wrong?” Owen asked.
“Do
you have a girlfriend?”
His
lips curled up in the sweetest grin, as though he knew exactly why she was
asking that question. “No, love. I don’t have a girlfriend and I don’t have a
wife.”
He
was single. She was single.
The
moment lengthened between them.
He
stepped back. “I’m sorry. I’m coming on way too strong.”
He
wasn’t. He’d been gentlemanly, friendly. Up until the last couple of moments,
he hadn’t put a hand on her or leered. She could feel his attraction. It was
there in the warm way he looked at her, in the set of his shoulders, relaxed
earlier and tense now that he’d touched her. He was thinking about the same
thing she was.
“I’m
very nervous, Owen. My logical mind knows that it’s far more likely for me to
die getting hit by lightning than in an elevator, even one that’s stuck.”
Unfortunately, her logical mind was slowly losing control of her dumbass lizard
brain.
“Will
talking help?” Owen asked. “Because I’m willing to do that. Or whatever you
need to take your mind off things.”
There
was a wealth of promise in those words. Dirty and sweet at the same time.
They’d shared her wine, passing it back and forth between them, her lips
touching the same place his had been moments before. When she’d drank after
him, she’d thought about kissing him.
It
had been too long. Two years was way too long to go without sex.
They
had a half an hour or so. At least that’s what Colin—who might be murdered soon
by Owen Shaw—said. She even thought his name was sexy.
What
exactly would it hurt if she did kiss him? If she touched him and let him touch
her? Hell, what would it hurt if she fucked him? They were both single, both a
little needy. They had some time to kill. They’d done everything else.
“I
would like to kiss you.” If he didn’t want her to, he could say no and they
could find something else to do. She wasn’t going to be embarrassed because
some guy didn’t want her. Some stunningly gorgeous guy. Some really funny, sexy
guy. After all, she wouldn’t see him after this. She’d never seen him before.
He’d told her he was moving in, but she went into work early and came home
late. He was a bodyguard, so he likely worked odd hours and traveled a lot.
He
was safe. She could open that door, enjoy herself, and then close it again.
Owen Shaw could be her first really good memory in a long time, the start of
many because it was time to get serious about finding some joy and balance in
her life.
But
only if he wanted some joy, too.
He
moved back, placing his back against the elevator wall, the sweetest smile
lighting up his face. “You have no idea how much I want you to kiss me. I’m
right here, love. Do your worst.”
He
was letting her make the first move. And probably the second. And the third. He
was obviously a careful man. It would be easier if he took over, but he was
right. This needed to be her choice, and she had to make the move.
She’d
been the girl who’d told her parents at the age of five that kindergarten was
boring and she wanted to move through the grades until she found something
challenging. When they’d told her they wanted her to slow down and enjoy her
childhood, she’d gone on strike until the teachers at her school begged her parents
to let them move her up.
She
was the girl who’d put it all on hold to take care of her mother, too.
She
wasn’t the girl who didn’t take what she wanted, and she wanted Owen Shaw.
“It’s
been a long time since I did this.” But her body was already heating up. Her
body remembered. Her marriage might have sucked, but the sex had been fairly
good. It had been the reason she’d married him. She’d gotten used to regular,
good sex.
She’d
get used to it again, just on her terms this time.
“Somehow,
I think you’ll remember,” he said. “You play all you like. Stop when you want
to.”
She’d
been right about him. He was a careful man. “And if I don’t want to stop?”
“Then you should be happy
I’m a man who believes in being prepared.”
ABOUT LEXI BLAKE
NY Times and USA Today bestselling author Lexi Blake lives in North Texas with her husband, three kids, and the laziest rescue dog in the world. She began writing at a young age, concentrating on plays and journalism. It wasn't until she started writing romance and urban fantasy that she found the stories of her heart. She likes to find humor in the strangest places and believes in happy endings no matter how odd the couple, threesome, or foursome may seem.
