Harlequin Desire June 2020 - Box Set 2 of 2

by Karen Booth

  I understood his pain, the ache I heard in his voice. I knew what being motherless was like. My poor mama had succumbed to heart failure when I was eighteen, and I missed her every day. I preferred to think of her before she got so depressed, but it wasn’t easy. I was eleven when Kirby had damaged her, when her struggles had begun. For me, those memories ran deep, and so did my rebellious behavior. By the time I was in high school, boys were writing my name on bathroom walls.

  “No child should have to lose a parent,” I said.

  Spencer stepped a little closer. “My mom was an aspiring actress, but she didn’t live to see her dream fulfilled. Mostly she worked at department stores, walking around spritzing perfume.” He paused to clear his throat. “My aunt and uncle are in commercial real estate, with properties all over the world. When my mother passed, they carted me off to their big, stiff mansion in Hidden Hills. It’s a gated community in LA.”

  Were they as controlling as they were rich? Based on his description, I assumed that they were. I’d grown up in a low-income area in Oklahoma City, where Mama struggled to pay our bills. “They sound pretty uppity.”

  “I learned all sorts of proper things from them.” He gestured to the suit in my hand. “I know at least twenty different ways to tie a tie.”

  “Well, I’ve got you beat.” Had he rebelled because of them? Were they part of his cause and effect? “I’ve perfected thirty. Knots are one of my specialties. Ties, scarves. I can do it all.”

  “Too bad we never discussed this before.” He teasingly added, “We could’ve had some bondage fun back in the day.”

  “That’s not funny.” But I laughed anyway, sensing that he needed to lighten the mood and quit talking about his family.

  I closed the garment bags and continued looking through his things. He had a couple of high-quality motorcycle jackets. I reached for one of them and ran my hand along the leather.

  Before I stroked it too much, I turned my attention to the bottom shelf, where his shoes were perched. I noticed a pair of wonderfully scuffed biker boots with a vintage vibe, similar to the ones Brando had worn in The Wild One.

  “Is it safe to assume that you still ride?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Harleys are still my thing.”

  I checked out more of his shoes. He had a nice selection of cowboy boots. “Horses, too?”

  He nodded. “I have a barn just beyond the rescue with two really pretty palominos.” He looked directly at me. “But you already know I’m partial to blondes.”

  I forced myself to breathe, with his all-too-hungry gaze practically devouring me.

  We exited the closet, and I felt my skin flush. I was horribly warm, overheated, in fact.

  After an awkward beat of silence, I headed for the French doors and said, “It’s raining again.” I wished I could open them, go outside and let the water drench every anxious inch of me.

  He came over to where I was. “It’s not supposed to let up until tomorrow.”

  We stood side by side, body heat mounting between us. Even the dogs under the bed had crept closer to the edge, waiting to see what we might do.

  “So, what happens now?” he asked.

  I assumed he meant in relation to me being his stylist. But my mind was spinning in all sorts of directions. “Once we work out a budget, I’ll shop for you. Then I’ll bring everything here for you to try on. We can incorporate some of your belongings into the designs, too.” I wanted to see him in those motorcycle boots. I loved how battered they were.

  “I’ll also need to take your measurements before I leave here today. That’ll give me an accurate handle on your sizes. I can’t just rely on the labels from your clothes.”

  “That’s fine.” He shifted his feet, and one of the dogs pawed at his shoe.

  He reached down to pick her up, and she cuddled in his arms. I didn’t try to pet her. Touching her would bring me too close to him. I was already stressing about taking his measurements.

  I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t get intimately involved with anyone unless it promised to develop into a meaningful relationship. But now I was fantasizing about hooking up with my old lover and having hot and dangerous sex with him again. Did Spencer have the power to turn me back into the reckless girl I used to be?

  God, I hoped not.

  But a shameful part of me wanted to find out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Spencer

  Damn, I thought. Alice McKenzie was doing a number on me all over again, just like the first time I’d met her. We’d both swiped right on Tinder, and after one flirtatious chat, I’d invited her to the trendy club where I used to work. Later that night, she’d followed me to my apartment, and I had the best sex of my life.

  But things were different now.

  So much different.

  I hadn’t even kissed anyone since I quit drinking. For now, I was abstinent.

  Painfully abstinent.

  Funny, but I hadn’t actually thought of it as painful until today, and that was because of Alice. Pretty Alice, with her sultry brown eyes, spiky blond hair and killer boots. As much as I hated to admit it, I’d never really gotten her out of my head. I’d thought about her a lot over the years. The abrupt way she’d ended our affair had always bothered me. At the time, we’d still been going hot and heavy, and she’d left me wondering what I’d done wrong. Even now, I was trying to figure out what Alice really thought of me. Was that the reason I’d hired her to work for me? Was I looking for some sort of closure?

  While my thoughts scattered, Cookie whined to be free. I set her down, and she scampered back to Candy. The two of them stared up at Alice as if she was a spaceship that had just landed. I was probably looking at her that way, too. I used to call her Alice in Spencerland when she was in my bed. I didn’t know what to call her now.

  “Do they sleep here?” she asked.

  My brain fogged. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “The dogs. Do they sleep in your room?”

  I shook my head. “They have their own beds in another room. But they like hanging out in here. They spend a lot time at the rescue, too, playing with the other dogs.”

  “That’s nice that they have other company.” She hesitated before she said, “I should probably take your measurements now.”

  I’d been measured by tailors before. When I was a kid, it seemed like a regular occurrence, given how fast I was growing and with all of the dress-up occasions I’d been forced to attend. But knowing that Alice was going to put her hands on me was a whole other matter.

  She reached into her bag and removed a tape measure. She got out an iPad, too. “I’m going to do your chest first. Don’t flex or anything. Just stand normally.”

  I did as she asked, and she wrapped the tape measure under my armpits and around the fullest part of my chest. She recorded my size on her iPad.

  She did my neck and sleeve length and recorded those sizes, too. When she got to my waist, my stomach muscles jumped. But she kept going. She put a finger between my body and the tape measure, giving me room to breathe. My inseam was next, a measurement that was going to require her get on her knees in front of me. She instructed me to remove my shoes, which I did.

  When she dropped down and ran the tape measure from the lowest part of my crotch to my foot, I watched her, remembering the erotic things she used to do to me while she was on her knees.

  I could’ve kicked myself for letting my mind go there. Were her thoughts straying in the same direction? I did my damnedest not to get aroused, and she seemed to be doing her damnedest to be quick and efficient.

  She said, “I need to measure your feet, too.”

  “Sure. Okay.” I couldn’t protest, even if it meant that she had to stay on her knees.

  She had one of those devices in her bag that they used in shoe stores. She placed it in front of me, and I stepped onto
it.

  Afterward, she stood and fussed with her bag. I put my sneakers back on. There was awkward energy between us. She was the first woman I wanted since I got sober, and I wasn’t sure how to deal with it. There was no denying that she was as attracted to me as I was to her. That much, I could feel. But feeling it and acting on it were two different things.

  She said, “I should probably get going.”

  I searched my brain for an excuse to keep her. Regardless of the effect she was having on me, I didn’t want her to leave. “Why don’t you stick around and let me show you the rescue?”

  She bit down on her bottom lip. “I am curious to see it.”

  I’d always been fascinated by the shape of her mouth. Her cranberry-colored lipstick intrigued me, too. It made her look dangerously kissable.

  I broke my stare. “Let’s grab our jackets and go.”

  She glanced out the glass doors, where the rain was pounding even harder now. “I left my hoodie in the car. I’ll have to go back and—”

  “I can loan you something.” She’d already measured my body and handled some of my clothes. Her borrowing a jacket from me was the least of my concerns. I gestured to the closet. “You can choose what you want. Pick one out for me, too. Doesn’t matter which one.” I had plenty to go around.

  “Okay.” She returned to my closet.

  Once again, my thoughts drifted to the past and the things Alice and I used to do. We’d always had sex at my place. I don’t know why she’d never invited me to hers. At the time, I hadn’t bothered to ask. I hadn’t been big on conversation then. But now it made me curious to see how she lived. Was she neat and tidy? Or did she keep things strewn about? I envisioned her being beautifully messy. I’d been taught to be orderly, even when I was torn up inside.

  She came back with two basic hoodies, gray for her and black for me. We slipped them on. The one she was wearing was big on her. She was only five-four, five-five at the most, with a slim build. I was six-two with plenty of muscle. Somehow, though, our hip-thrusting always seemed to work, even when we were standing in the shower, getting soaking wet.

  “Ready to see the rescue?” I asked. “It’s about a five-minute walk.” Just long enough for us to get wet, I thought.

  She gazed out the French doors, assessing the weather. “Sure. Let’s do it.” She lifted her hood.

  We ventured outside, and I led the way, past the pool and onto the flagstone path, with the rain beating down on us.

  I glanced over at Alice and noticed how troubled she suddenly looked, her expression as dark as the clouds. Was she thinking about me? About us? Or did she have Kirby on her mind?

  Her opinion of him disturbed me, especially with how much I’d come to care for him. I trusted him with my inner feelings, something I’d never done with anyone else before. He understood my tortured psyche. I could confide in him about anything. Yet I’d lied to him about Alice, pretending that she and I used to go on casual dates. Not that Kirby was naïve. He knew that I was a drunk back then and that Alice used to party. But I’d played down my relationship with her, making it seem light and easy. In spite of her hatred for him, he was fiercely protective of her, so I figured the truth wouldn’t have sat well with him, anyway. Granted, what he’d done to Alice’s mother was wrong. But he was sorry for the pain he’d caused and truly wanted to ease Alice’s suffering. I admired him for that.

  I said to her, “Kirby told me that you helped choose the artist who recorded your mother’s songs. That Tracy Burton was your top pick.”

  She snuggled deeper into my jacket, tucking her hands into the pockets. “At the time, I wanted someone who was new to the business, but who understood the importance of Mama’s music, too. Tracy and I have become really close since then. I guess you could say that she’s my BFF now.”

  “Then it sounds like things worked out.” I’d never met Tracy or worked with her, so I wasn’t about to comment on how fleeting her fame had been. She’d had a great run with her debut and the songs Alice’s mother had written, but as far as I knew, things had gone downhill from there.

  I felt fortunate for my skyrocketing career. I’d come to Nashville with nothing, and now I was a Grammy Award-winning, highly sought-after songwriter. My aunt and uncle had refused to help me along the way, and I hadn’t heard from them since. Not one measly phone call, congratulating me on my success.

  Alice and I continued walking, with the rain still falling between us. The path narrowed, and I stepped onto the grass, giving her more room.

  When we arrived at the rescue, we both wiped our feet and removed our damp jackets, hanging them on hooks in the entryway.

  I introduced Alice to the staff and showed her around. The guesthouse had been remodeled to my specifications. We had kennels for when we needed them, but we also had canine-friendly rooms where the dogs could nap and play and socialize. There were tons of outdoor activities, too, on nicer days.

  “This is a wonderful setup,” Alice said, as we stood near the kitchen.

  “We do our best.” At the moment, a volunteer was preparing a meal for one of our newest residents, a poor little pup with a digestive disorder. “We have quite a few special-needs dogs.”

  “Are they difficult to place?”

  “Yes.” It was an unfortunate reality and one we faced daily. “Finding the right homes for them can be challenging.”

  Alice went quiet. The she asked, “What makes you do all of this, Spencer?”

  I automatically replied, “I just want to make a difference in the world.” That was my standard response, what I’d gotten used to saying. But it went deeper than that, so much deeper. I’d felt like a stray dog when I’d first landed on my aunt and uncle’s doorstep. They’d fed me and clothed me and taught me to sit up and beg, rewarding me when I behaved and punishing me when I didn’t. But I knew that no matter what I did, I would always be the mongrel they never really wanted.

  During my darkest days, I used to fantasize about searching for my father, a man who didn’t even know I existed. Sometimes I still thought about it.

  “You have made a difference,” Alice said.

  For a second, I didn’t know what she meant. Then I realized that she was referring to the rescue.

  “Do you want to meet our mascot?” I asked. “He’s a three-year-old English bulldog who runs the show around here. We’re not going to adopt him out. He loves greeting people in the office, so that’s where he is most of the time. He’s Candy and Cookie’s best buddy, too.”

  She smiled. “I’d love to meet him. What’s his name?”

  “We call him Peterbilt. Pete for short. We chose that name because he’ll come at you like an eighteen-wheeler, pestering you to pet him.”

  An amused expression brightened up her face, making her even prettier than she already was. “I’m going to be delighted to make his acquaintance, I’m sure.”

  I took her to the office, a woodsy room that overlooked one of the fenced yards. For now, the office was vacant. No one was manning the desk. Pete lounged in his doggie bed, but when he caught sight of us, he roused himself quickly and ran toward us. He gave me a sloppy grin and made a beeline for Alice, barreling right into her.

  She nearly tripped, and I grabbed her arm before she fell. She burst into a hearty laugh. Pete was a comical dude, with droopy eyes, a massive jaw and crooked teeth. Short and stout, with thick white wrinkles, he weighed about fifty pounds, moved with a crablike gait and drooled excessively.

  Alice dropped to the floor to pet him, and he climbed onto her lap. I sat across from them and reached over to scratch his ears.

  “Did you find yourself a new girlfriend there, buddy?” I asked him.

  He grinned at me again. He was in canine heaven, but I could hardly blame him. I knew how it felt to be physically close to her. She wrapped her arms around him, soaking up his affection, and I envied him for c
harming her so easily. Of course, I’d done that, too, way back when.

  “Can I bring him a toy next time I come by?” she asked. “Would that be okay?”

  “Sure. You can bring him whatever you want.” I wasn’t going to deny Pete. Or her. She seemed to need to connect with him. “He’s good about sharing his toys with the other dogs, too. He isn’t territorial.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Not even with his girlfriends?”

  “No, not even with them.”

  “I guess he has a lot of female companions, then.”

  “He has enough to keep him busy. But he’s neutered, so it’s not the real deal. He still likes the ladies, though.” Nonetheless, I didn’t think it was the dog’s girlfriends who interested her. I suspected that she was fishing to see who I slept with these days. I furrowed my brow and asked, “Will you tell me something?”

  She squinted. “What?”

  “Did I hurt you? In the past, I mean.”

  Her breath rushed out. “What makes you think that?”

  “Because you’re the one who ended it, who just texted me one day and said that you wouldn’t be back. I know we weren’t committed to each other or anything, but it didn’t seem like you were getting tired of me, at least not when we were together. But I must have done something to upset you.”

  She frowned. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

  “Come on. Tell me what I did.” I wasn’t letting up, not until I understood it better.

  “Just drop it, Spencer.”

  “Tell me.” I prodded her again.

  “Fine.” Her gaze slammed into mine. “I stopped seeing you because I needed to be someone new. To change my ways. To quit sleeping with men who didn’t care about me.”

  Her remark stung. But it was true. I hadn’t cared about myself then, let alone been capable of caring for someone else. Now I was wondering if I should’ve left well enough alone, instead of bugging her for a response.

  Then she said, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this. But I’ve actually done a good job of cleaning up my act. I’ve been celibate since I was with you.”