Like throw myself at him and beg him to kiss me.
“Jared, we’ve turned into that couple that could’ve had a simple conversation to clear up the issues we’re having,” I tell him. “And I hate that.”
He frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“In movies, romance books, TV shows, there’s always that couple who has an issue that could’ve been solved with one conversation.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “We are that couple.”
“You really think so?”
I nod, swallowing hard. The sandwich I ate only a few minutes ago is tumbling around in my stomach like wet clothes in a dryer. I feel a little sick.
“I don’t think what happened between us could be considered—simple. We faked a relationship,” he says, his voice low, his eyes skimming over me, eating me up, as if he’s so, so grateful to see me once again. “That felt real.”
That’s true.
“And you got mad at me because I didn’t tell you about my ex. Evelyn. The girl I loved. The girl who broke my heart.”
His words hurt more than I want to admit. All I can do is answer him with a jerky nod.
“I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of Evelyn, because I didn’t want you to think I still have feelings for her. So I avoided talking about her. I almost got away with it too,” he continues as he pushes away from the wall.
“The truth always comes out, Jared,” I remind him.
“No shit,” he mutters, and I almost want to laugh.
But I don’t.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Evelyn.” He takes one step toward me. “I’m sorry I put you on the spot that day, and that Evelyn and Candice had to be the ones to tell you.” He takes another step. “It was wrong of me to keep it from you.”
I appreciate his apology, but I don’t even think that’s his biggest offense.
“And I’m sorry I just…let you go that afternoon. I didn’t fight for you.”
Ah, there it is.
“I should’ve.” He takes yet another step. Then another. Until he’s practically standing in front of me. “I care about you, Sarah. I know we’ve really only spent a weekend together, but it feels like so much more than that. I’ve been flirting with you for a long time. The only reason I came to Bliss the last six months is because of you. I wanted to see you. Talk to you. Aggravate you.” He cracks a smile at that and I can’t help it, I do too. “I knew from the moment I first saw you that you were special. That I wanted more from you than a stolen hour every few weeks in a room at a lingerie store.” He shifts, and somehow he’s even closer to me. I can smell him. Feel his body heat. “I don’t want to lose you.”
A gasp escapes me when he reaches for my hands and takes them into his. I lift my head and meet his gaze, and the sincerity, the emotion I see flickering in his eyes, leaves me breathless. “I want to fight for you,” he says, his voice soft. “I will always fight for you.”
“Are you here because your sister forced you to come?” I ask, my voice, my heart trembling.
“She helped me see what I needed to do,” he admits, dipping his head for a moment before he lifts it, his gaze returning to mine. “I always give up on myself. She made me realize I don’t have to do that every time something good comes into my life and I’m scared I’ll lose it.”
“Am I the something good?” I ask tentatively.
Nodding, he pulls me into his arms and my face is buried in his chest. “Definitely,” he murmurs.
We hold each other, absorbing each other’s warmth. Strength. I relax into him, so thankful to be in his arms, his heart racing beneath my ear. He smooths his hands up and down my back, and finally I tilt my head back so I can look at him.
I school my expression, going for Serious Sarah. “I’m still not quite happy with you, Mr. Gaines.”
“Really?” He raises a brow, his gaze filled with trepidation. “What do I have to do to earn your forgiveness, Miss Harrison?”
“Kiss me.”
The trepidation disappears, replaced by longing, and then his mouth is on mine.
Finally.
Forty
Jared
Three months later…
* * *
I enter my house from the garage, calling out a greeting, but I don’t receive one in response.
That’s odd.
Sarah texted me earlier to let me know she would be waiting for me when I got home from work. It’s summertime, her sister is working at Sweet Dreams Café along with Sarah’s friend Stella, and since Sarah doesn’t have to worry about her sister, this means we’re able to sneak away for a few hours when we can. Sarah had the day off, I left work early, and now here we are.
It’s been good, these last few months together. In addition to working at Bliss, she’s been designing window displays at various in downtown Carmel. I’m encouraging her to create her own business and she’s hesitant, only because her sister is still in high school.
But I see that spark in Sarah’s eye. The excitement she gets when she’s got a new project. I know she can do it. The woman can do just about anything.
Including forcing me to be more open. I can’t get away with shit, and I swear because of her I’ve become a better man. Some might say she forgave me too quickly, and maybe they’re right, but I’m not going to argue. I need her in my life.
I’ve fallen in love with her.
After shrugging out of my jacket—the Monterey Peninsula summers aren’t that warm—I hang it on the coat rack near the front door and start up the stairs, worry filling me. I don’t think she’s here yet. Usually she’d make herself known by now. I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time for when she last texted me.
Thirty minutes ago. She should definitely be at the house by now.
I walk down the hall, heading toward my bedroom, and I swear I can smell her perfume. Though that might be because she stays here a lot. She says my view is worth nothing if I don’t enjoy it, and she demands we hang out outside on the deck that overlooks the ocean. She’s always staring at the water, but I’m usually staring at her.
I’ve even had her sister and brother over a few times, and I’ve hung out with her family at their house. Brent is wary around me—I don’t think he full trusts me one hundred percent, and I can appreciate his protective brother vibe—but Andie loves me. And I love her. She reminds me of Candice. They also happen to adore each other too.
Tugging my tie loose, I enter my bedroom and stop when I spot who’s lying in the middle of my bed.
Sarah. Wearing that sheer pink teddy with the little pink stars stitched all over the fabric.
And nothing else.
“Hi.” She’s lying on her side, her legs crossed. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I see that.” I’d wondered what happened to this particular piece of lingerie. I’ve never had the chance to see her wear it.
Until today.
She rises so she’s sitting up, her nipples hard beneath the fabric, and I can’t stop looking. Sighing, she shakes her head. “You are so predictable. Staring at my chest.”
“I’m a tit man. You know this.” I approach the bed, eager to see her more clearly. “Are you going to greet me like this every day when you move in?”
Her eyes go wide and she scoots off the bed, heading right for me. “You want me to move in?”
“Eventually.” I shrug, surprised I would make such a suggestion.
This is what the woman does to me. Has me thinking about making things permanent versus keeping it temporary.
“My sister still needs me,” she points out.
“She can move in too.”
“And what about Brent?”
“He’s twenty-one. He can live in the house on his own.” Reaching out, I settle my hands on her slender shoulders, playing with the thin straps that lay there. Her skin is so soft and smooth, and this piece she’s wearing doesn’t hide a damn thing. I can see everything.
Every
little bit of her.
“Andie still has school.” She’s frowning. I have a feeling I freaked her out.
“I’ll get her a car so she can drive to school every day. It won’t be so bad.” Leaning down, I press a kiss to the side of her neck. “We don’t have to rush things. I just wanted you to know where my head’s at.”
I think I’ve also shocked her. I’m not one to rush things, but with Sarah…she makes me greedy. I want all of her, all the time.
“And I—I appreciate that.” She releases a shaky breath when I kiss her throat, my hand pressing gently against her right breast just before I cup it. I could tear the lingerie right off her body, but where’s the fun in that?
Besides, that thing cost like four hundred bucks. I’m keeping it intact.
“Don’t worry. I’m not moving you all in here tomorrow,” I whisper against her ear.
She runs her hands up my chest just as I reach around her and grab hold of her ass, slipping my fingers beneath the sheer fabric. “Why are you so good to me?”
“I could ask the same thing of you.” I kiss her, getting lost in her taste, the swirl of her tongue, the whimpering sounds she makes in the back of her throat.
It’s only afterward, when the teddy is long gone and my clothes are crumpled on the floor, when we’re both sweaty and breathing hard and she’s had two orgasms when I’ve only had one, that I tell her that I love her.
She jerks her head up from where it was lying on my shoulder and stares at me. Hard. “What did you just say?”
“I said I’m in love with you.” I reach out and touch her hair, pushing it away from her face. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“No.” She shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears. Aw, damn it. “I love you too, Jared.”
“Then why are you crying?” My heart breaks when she cries. Thank God she doesn’t do it that often.
“I’m just so—so happy.” She’s sobbing. Seriously, this isn’t good. I didn’t think my declaration of love would make her act like this. “I didn’t think you’d tell me you loved me for at least another year.”
“Another year?” No way could I wait that long. “You’re crazy.”
Sarah wipes at her face. Sniffs. “So you really love me?”
“So much.” I kiss her. “You really love me?”
“I do.” She’s smiling, the tears still spilling down her cheeks. “Does this mean I’ll be your date at Kevin’s wedding?”
Laughing, I pull her into me and kiss the top of her head. “If I have any say in it, I want you to be my date for life.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” she says, her voice muffled against my chest.
“I mean it.” I kiss her forehead. Her temple. “No one gets me like you, Miss Harrison.”
“You say the sweetest things, Mr. Gaines,” she teases.
“Don’t get carried away. I’m not that sweet.” I smack her butt, making her squeal.
Making her laugh.
Making me happy.
Holidate Sneak Peek!
Chapter One
Chapter One
Candice
* * *
Holiday!
I push open the door, Madonna blasting from the speakers as I enter the building. It’s early November. I’m at Starbucks, and this song always makes me think of Christmas, even though it’s not what I would consider a Christmas song.
Celebrate!
Be-bopping to the beat on my way to the counter, I place my order—a grande pumpkin spice latte of course, though a gingerbread latte is my true favorite, it’s not available yet—and then head over to the pick-up counter, checking my phone as I wait for my drink.
If I’m being real right now, I have to confess I’m not a big Starbucks drinker. I prefer to support local business versus a giant corporation that’s slowly but surely taken over the world, but I’m in Monterey this afternoon and this is where we’re meeting.
Who’s we you ask? My little sub-committee of two—me and another woman who are part of the decorating committee for the annual holiday party hosted by the Monterey Peninsula Arts Council. Actually, I’m on a variety of fundraising committees, and the holiday season is when everything goes full throttle. Meaning I’m extra busy right now. Like, through most of November and all of December, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.
Don’t worry about me, though. I love this sort of thing. Fundraising is my jam, which is a strange jam to have at my age (early twenties), I’m sure you’re thinking, but I don’t have to work and I need something to fill my time.
My mother—rest in peace mama—took care of my financial security when she died. She ensured my future and left me a lot of money, which left me feeling adrift after high school. I didn’t go to college because I didn’t know what I wanted to be. I traveled a little bit. Spent a month trying to hit up every country in Europe that I could, but doing it alone…sucked.
I can’t believe my father let me go alone. I’m a daddy’s girl through and through. I bet you’re gagging a little right now, huh. But it’s true! I love my father so much, even if he can be kind of a bossy jerk sometimes. He loves me, he’s very overprotective, and I think it was my stepmother’s influence that had him agreeing to me traveling the world on my own.
Once I returned home and after a few months of doing absolutely nothing, I decided to throw myself into charity work. Why not use the money my mother left me—and only me, not my brothers—and help out those in need? Plus, it keeps me busy.
And I like to be kept busy.
“Hello Candice.”
I turn to see one of my fellow committee members—Joyce Rothschild—smiling kindly at me. She’s probably old enough to be my grandma, and I know when I first started showing up at the meetings for the arts council, I don’t think she believed I was sincere. None of them did. The rich society ladies humored me during their get-togethers and meetings, figuring I’d never appear again.
Well, I showed them. And now I’m their holiday party chair. Nothing makes me happier than planning a party. Make it a Christmas party and I’m in absolute heaven.
Heaven, I tell you.
“Joyce! It’s so good to see you.” I give her a brief hug right as the barista calls my name. I grab my drink, wishing her a good day before I follow Joyce over to a table where there’s one other woman already sitting. I don’t recognize her at all. In fact, this meeting was just supposed to be Joyce and me. Having too many people discuss the logistics of holiday decorating always turns into chaos, trust me.
So who is this woman I don’t know?
Hmmm.
She’s definitely older than me, and doesn’t look like the usual high society women I associate with fundraising. Not that I’m a judgey person, but I think you know what I mean. For instance, Joyce is dressed in designer clothing from head to toe, completely put together like she’s on her way to work at her corporate job.
I happen to know for a fact that Joyce hasn’t worked in thirty years, and she definitely never worked a corporate job.
This unfamiliar woman is wearing jeans and a dark blue and white flannel shirt. It’s a really nice flannel shirt, I can tell it’s high quality, and she has on expensive boots. But she doesn’t have a lick of makeup on her pretty face and her long brown hair is pulled back in a single braid, a few wisps of dark hair framing her oval face. Her full lips naturally curve up, like she’s perpetually smiling and I can’t help but smile back.
I immediately like her. For some reason, I peg her as a nature type. And I love nature.
Who am I kidding? I love everything.
Except snakes. Oh, and grasshoppers. They freak me out.
“Candice, this is Isabel Sullivan.” Joyce nods toward the friendly looking woman. “Isabel, this is Candice Gaines. She’s the decorating chairperson for this year’s event.”
“Nice to meet you.” Isabel rises to her feet and extends her hand, that warm smile still on her face. “And please, call me Bel.”
“Nice to meet you, Bel.” I smile up at her—she’s super tall—feeling stumped. Huh. I think I recognize her name, but can’t quite place her.
“I know it’s last minute, but when Bel offered to help us with the party by providing live trees for the event, I absolutely couldn’t say no,” Joyce says after we sit down, her voice, her entire body practically trembling with excitement.
A-ha. That’s why I recognize her name. The Sullivan Family Christmas Tree Farm has been around since I can remember. They pretty much have a complete lock on all the Christmas tree lots in the Monterey Peninsula. As in, every tree lot you see around here during the holiday season usually has that familiar red and green Sullivan sign in front of it. And if you want to have the experience of cutting a live Christmas tree for your house, you can do that too, with their farm they have in the Carmel Valley, which isn’t too terribly far. Most families I know who’ve done it, usually turned the journey to the tree farm into an afternoon trip.
We didn’t do that sort of thing when I was growing up, especially after my mother died. Fake trees reigned in our house. Real ones were dubbed too messy. I always missed the scent, and no candle can replicate it. I’ve spent big money over the years trying to make it happen.
“That sounds amazing,” I say, excitement bubbling inside of me. I could already envision a row of tall, thick trees flanking either side of the entrance to the building we’ve rented for the event, every tree lit with tiny white fairy lights. The fragrant scent of pine would greet everyone as they entered, plus the lights? They’ll all be enchanted from the moment they walk in. “We could make the entrance look like a forest.”
“A fairy forest,” Joyce adds. “With twinkling lights everywhere.”
“That’s exactly what I saw in my mind too!” This is why Joyce and I work so well together. We think alike.
My excitement immediately withers and I grow solemn. Is that a good thing, that I share similar thoughts with a woman who’s well into her sixties? I’m not sure.
Fake Date Page 27