Adored: A Love Letters Novel

by Kristen Blakely

“Thank you.” She would have thanked him with a hug, but something about his stance warned her to keep her distance. She had hurt him. This time, she knew exactly how and why, but there was not a damned thing she could do about it.

  She had shattered any chance of a personal relationship. All that was left to them was the professional relationship of escort and client, and even she knew that their first professional date would be their last.

  Chapter 7

  The following Saturday, Rowan stood on the front doorstep of Vera’s townhouse and took a moment to compose himself before he rang the doorbell. They had not spoken for seven days, not since their date the previous weekend. Each day, at noon, he had fought the compulsion to call and ask how she was doing. It was no longer his business, he reminded himself. She had set the terms for the relationship. She wanted him to help her snub her ex-husband.

  It galled Rowan to realize he wasn’t enough to make up for her husband’s inattention and cruelty. Well, he would help her get her revenge today, and then call it quits. He had better things to do with his life than get tangled with a woman too wrapped up with the past to move on with the future.

  Never mind how much he had wanted her.

  He had wanted a great many things in his life that he had eventually learned to live without. He would survive without Vera too. Rationality struggled to gain a foothold over the dull heartache deep in his chest. He had only known her for two weeks; he simply could not justify his compulsive attraction to her.

  And after today, he would no longer have to.

  Rowan drew in a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

  The Vera who came to the door was elaborately made up. Her dark eye shadow accentuated her long-lashed, mascaraed eyes, and the perfect blend of mineral foundation, powder, and highlights suggested an expert hand. Her dark hair spilled in waves past her shoulders.

  She was as stunning as any model he had ever seen, and yet absurdly, he found himself missing the “other” her—the naturally beautiful woman who wore T-shirts, jeans, and lip gloss with careless flair.

  Vera’s crimson lips curved into a smile. “Hi, Rowan. Come in.”

  He stepped past her into the quiet house. No doubt Allison was away with her father for the weekend. “How have you been?”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Just fine. When did you get into town?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “You didn’t call?”

  “I didn’t think we had plans.”

  Her gaze fluttered to the ground. “I guess not. Can you come upstairs? Help me select a suitable dress?”

  He looked at her black cocktail dress. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

  “It doesn’t feel right.”

  Rowan stifled a sigh as he followed Vera to her bedroom.

  “Sit here, please.” She gestured to a love seat tucked in front of the lace-trimmed French window. He sat and she posed with a hand on her hip. “Tell me, honestly, what do you think?”

  “Elegant.” Almost. Something was missing, and he knew exactly what it was.

  “Really? I can’t decide between this dress and this other one.” She kicked off her heels and scurried into her closet. Moments later, she emerged in an emerald green dress with a trailing hem. It cut off just above her knees in front, but extended to mid-calf at the back. The flowing skirt framed her shapely legs, and the front of the dress dipped daringly low, displaying the valley between her breasts.

  His groin stirred. Rowan had to swallow hard before responding. “Very nice.” Even so, that same something else was missing.

  Vera turned to study herself in the full-length mirror. “I don’t know. I have another dress to show you. Hang on a minute.”

  Her next dress was a halter-top burgundy gown which showed off her long-legged, curvaceous frame. She turned in a circle; her back was bare, a creamy expanse of flesh that just begged for his touch.

  Rowan squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Not good?” Vera’s voice intruded on his thoughts. Her voice quivered. “I thought so. I feel like an idiot in all these dresses.”

  He opened his eyes and held out his hand to her. “Come here. Sit down. I want to show you something.” He went to the bedroom door. “I’m going to walk in through that door three times, and after that, I want you to tell me what you see.”

  “Okay,” she sounded hesitant, but she complied.

  He stepped out and framed his thoughts. His body shifted in response; the length of his stride changed, the angle and tilt of his head altered, the focus and gleam of his eyes faded. His shoulders curved in, a subtle change that took an inch off his height.

  The man who walked back into Vera’s bedroom seemed too small for the perfectly tailored Armani business suit he wore. No amount of expensive fashion could conceal the fact that he was grossly out of place—a misfit and a fraud—and he knew it.

  Vera gasped, her fingers pressed to her lips.

  Rowan turned and walked out. Moments later, another man, in the same clothes, strode into the room, but this man was a rogue, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His rakish grin and the dangerous glitter in his eyes promised women a night of pure ecstasy, but never more than one night.

  Vera’s eyes widened.

  Once more, Rowan turned and walked out. The man who returned was the Rowan he knew Vera would recognize—a man who could wear Armani, Versace, Old Navy, and Target, with the same unshakeable confidence and grace.

  He saw realization dawn in her eyes. “Style is not what you wear,” he said simply. “It’s how you wear it and how you feel when you’re in it. Pick a dress, any dress, and I’ll help you.”

  Vera returned moments later, wearing the emerald green dress that had wreaked havoc on his self-control minutes earlier.

  Good choice, he congratulated her silently. He held his hand out to her and drew her to stand in front of the mirror. God, she was beautiful, and it had nothing to do with her dress or her makeup. “Tell me about a day when everything went right. When you felt powerful, unstoppable.”

  She hesitated.

  “Perhaps it was the day you got engaged, or your wedding day. Maybe the day you graduated from college or medical school. The day you found out you were pregnant, or the day Allison was born? Can you think of that special day?”

  Vera closed her eyes. A smile crept over her lips. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Do you remember how you felt?”

  Her smile deepened. Rowan would have sworn he felt his heart crack. The smile on her face belonged to a woman in love. Was she reimagining her engagement or her wedding?

  He clenched his teeth. No matter. The power of love was unmatched. The knowledge that she was a woman adored, a woman loved, would kick her style into high gear. With effort, he kept his voice even. “Do you see how others are looking at you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s power, Vera. That’s the power you’re exuding. It’s so brilliant, so dazzling that people can’t help but stare. That’s you.”

  “It’s me…” The lilt of her voice wavered between a question and a statement.

  “That’s right. Your special moment in time…it’s every moment from now on, because you are what made it special the first time, and for every moment after that. It’s all you, Vera.” He drew in a shaky breath and fought the urge to lean down and kiss along the length of her bared neck. His hands trembled on her waist.

  What the hell am I doing? This isn’t what she wants from me. She doesn’t want me at all.

  It was way past time for him to get over her. Rowan swallowed his need for her and forced a smile. “Now, open your eyes and tell me what you see.”

  Vera opened her eyes and blinked hard against the sudden disorientation. The woman in the mirror wore a lovely evening dress with a casual grace more suited to T-shirt and jeans, but the overall effect fit her and complemented the contentment in her eyes. She was a woman, powerful and unstoppable, because she felt loved and adored.


  And standing behind her was the man who had helped her get there.

  A smile flickered across Rowan’s lips. “You look beautiful.” The light from that smile, though, did not reach his eyes.

  She had sensed his emotional distance the moment he stepped into her house. As much as it hurt her, she could not blame him. She understood, as she was certain he did, that they would not see each other again after this night.

  Vera turned to face him. “I’m ready.”

  He inclined his head, offered her his arm, and escorted her to his car.

  The drive to the restaurant took Vera through familiar streets. She turned her head to look out the window as townhouses gave way to charming little bungalows. It was easier than staring at Rowan’s expressionless profile and knowing she had forced him into that position. Vera swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. She had spent all week trying to justify her decision. Rowan was an escort. Surely he had been hired to accompany women out to spite their husbands or ex-husbands. Rowan was an escort. Why would he date her for free when he could get paid to date other, more attractive women? Rowan was an escort. It could never have worked out between them anyway.

  Vera ground her teeth. Rowan was an escort, and she was a goddamned snob.

  “Rowan, I—”

  He pulled his car into a parking lot, cut the engine, and turned to look at her.

  The emotionally disconnected glaze in his eyes told her that he had already cut his losses and moved on.

  She fought back the shudder. It was too late. Instead, she forced a smile. “I wanted to say thank you for coming with me.”

  “You’re welcome. Shall we?” He stepped out of the car, opened the door for her, and escorted her into Blue Moon Fish Co.

  The hostess led Vera and Rowan to a reserved table with a stunning view of the Intracoastal. Vera had been to the restaurant once before with Darren. In fact, they had gone through the motions of celebrating their thirteenth wedding anniversary—an unlucky one, as it turned out to be their last. That night, Vera had told Darren that she was pregnant. She had attributed his silence to surprise. Later she found out that his reaction was shock, heavily laced with resentment.

  Vera would never have returned to a restaurant laden with so many unhappy memories, but Darren’s secretary had told her Darren had a dinner reservation there that evening. Apparently, he did not have the negative associations she did with that place. How much emotional baggage did she carry out of their marriage—baggage that he did not?

  “Would you like wine or a cocktail?” Rowan asked, his voice cutting through her thoughts.

  “Which one works better with nerves?”

  “Vodka, but it’ll probably knock you over.” He perused the wine menu and then glanced up at the sommelier. “We’ll have two glasses of the Zind-Humbrecht Riesling to start.”

  The sommelier smiled. “2011 was an excellent year. I’ll be back with your wine, and will check in with you when you’ve decided on your appetizers and entrées.”

  Rowan set the wine menu aside. “Vera, are you all right? You’re very quiet.”

  “This wasn’t a good idea, was it?”

  Rowan shrugged. “We’re here now, and you look great. Darren should be here within a half hour. You can get the meeting with him over with and enjoy the rest of your dinner.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  I meant losing you just to spite him. She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. You’re not all that chatty yourself.”

  “It’s been a rough week. Tends to wear me down.”

  “Clients?”

  He nodded.

  “I thought it might be the case when you didn’t call.”

  He looked at her. “It’s not the reason I didn’t call. I figured you were done. I didn’t want to bother you.”

  “We…haven’t yet said goodbye. This isn’t over.”

  “It ended last week. This…” He looked around the restaurant. His chest moved, falling with a silent sigh. “This is just a favor between friends. You don’t owe me anything for tonight.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t want anything from you, Vera. When I first asked you out, I wanted to help you get back on your feet again to date other men. Somewhere along the way, I lost my noble intentions, but last week reminded us both of where we stand. You’re not ready to move on, and I’m ready to settle down. In fact, I’ve been ready for a long time. We’re at different stages in life, that’s all.” His gaze moved past her. “Darren’s just arrived with his date.”

  Vera’s eyes widened, and she fought the urge to turn around. “Is it the same woman from last week?”

  “No, a different one.” Rowan looked back at her. “Are you ready?”

  She inhaled deeply. “Yes, I am.”

  “All right.” Rowan pushed back his chair, but instead of standing, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a large flat rectangle wrapped in white tissue. “I was going to give it to you tonight, after dinner, as a goodbye gift, but I think you could use it now.”

  With trembling hands, Vera unfolded the tissue to reveal a photograph printed on metal. “Oh…” she breathed. The dim lights of the restaurant could not detract from the natural beauty of the dark-haired woman fast asleep on a blanket spread over the sand. Next to her, a golden-haired toddler, her small fingers wrapped around the handle of a sand-filled bucket, flashed a mischievous grin.

  Rowan continued speaking. “I noticed you didn’t have any pictures of you and Allison together. This is one of several I took last week. I’ll e-mail all of them to you, but I thought you might like to have something here, now, before you confront Darren.”

  Vera stared at the picture, finally seeing herself through Rowan’s eyes. The woman in the photograph, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, was powerful and unstoppable, because she had felt loved and adored by the man who had taken that photograph.

  Vera drew in a deep breath. The foggy and uncertain paths of her future seemed clearer. She set the photograph down where she could enjoy it all through dinner and picked up her menu. “I don’t think I need to see Darren at all.”

  Confusion flickered through Rowan’s amber eyes.

  She met his gaze. “I’m here at dinner with you. I’m not going to let Darren spoil it for us. Let’s just enjoy this time we have together.”

  He studied her for a moment before returning his attention to the menu. She sensed his unasked question though. When would their “time together” end?

  Vera wished she knew the answer to that question. It lingered at the back of her mind, like the constant, nagging itch of a mosquito bite, as appetizers, entrées, and desserts passed in a swirl of lively, though impersonal, conversations. Apparently, Rowan was no more certain than she was of jumping back into the deep end of a presumably doomed relationship. Were they on a timer, or weren’t they?

  She was no closer to an answer by the time Rowan pulled up in front of her townhouse. He cut the engine and turned to look at her. “Is this goodnight and goodbye?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. The honest answer made her stomach ache. “Would you like to come in for a nightcap?”

  “Vera, I don’t think—”

  “It’s just coffee, Rowan. No expectations.”

  Rowan released his breath in a sound that married an ironic chuckle with a sigh. “No expectations? We’re long past that stage. We can’t go back.” He rested an arm on the steering wheel. A muscle twitched in his smooth cheek. “I want you, Vera, but I can still walk away without leaving too much of myself behind.”

  “Are you saying that it’s kinder if I let you go?”

  “I’m saying it’s kinder if you make up your mind sooner rather than later. So, should I still come in for the nightcap?”

  “Yes.” The certainty of the answer caught even her off guard.

  Vera turned on the coffeemaker before heading upstairs to change. She was acutely a
ware that Rowan stood in the middle of her living room, apparently at a loss as to what to do with himself.

  There would be no surprise foot massage waiting for her when she walked downstairs. He was right. They had come too far to go back. It was move forward or call it quits.

  She walked into her closet and slipped out of her dress. She was about to reach for her denim jeans when she stopped short.

  It was move forward or call it quits.

  Which would it be?

  Chapter 8

  Vera’s nerves fluttered as she paused at the foot of the stairs. The butterflies in her stomach were back with a vengeance.

  Rowan stood in the kitchen with his back to her. “Vera? Do you want sugar and cream with your coffee?”

  “Usually,” she said, “but not right now.”

  He turned around. His eyes widened.

  Suddenly, her black chemise seemed too thin, too short. Blood rushed into her head. Oh, God. It wasn’t going to work. She had never been this naked in front of anyone other than her husband and her gynecologist. Panic seized her throat. She was going to make a fool of herself.

  The memory of Rowan’s voice clamped down on the nascent terror. Can you think of that special day? Do you remember how you felt?

  Of course, she could. Of course, she did. She could never forget how she felt after that first date with Rowan when she walked out of YOLO with all eyes on her.

  Powerful. Unstoppable. Sensual. Desirable.

  The memory fueled a rush of potent self-awareness, and with it, the certainty that Rowan wanted her. Silk brushed against her thighs as she walked up to him. “It’s the best I could find on short notice.”

  He asked softly, “Are you sure?”

  She rose on tiptoe and answered with a kiss. Their lips met, the initial contact tentative, a probing of barriers, both physical and emotional. “Don’t hold back,” she whispered into their shared breath.

  Rowan seized control. Her lips parted as his mouth plundered. His need transformed her hesitation into desire; her head spun. He trailed kisses down her neck, each tiny nip sending delicious shudders through her. His hands caressed her back, simultaneously supporting her and restraining her. She could not back away, not that she wanted to. She wanted more of him—wanted everything.