Dateless

by Emily Evans

  We were getting it.

  The man frowned at her foreign emotionalism, shook his head, and turned back to us. He pursed his lips Britishly. “There were some unfortunate couplings as a result of the cage doors being released.”

  Oh. That was unforgivable. No touching.

  Wythe glanced between the two primped dogs. “Hideous,” he muttered in an aside to me.

  The man stared hard at Wythe. “I assume Downing Street will assume responsibility should any unfortunate issue occur?”

  Wythe nodded in that British man-of-his-word way.

  The man nodded back. The matter settled, the two turned to leave.

  Peppa rushed to get the door.

  The woman spoke in a spattering of French that involved using her hands, which jerked the leash she held, and ended her words in English. “Some breeds should not mix.”

  Wythe stared hard at the two dogs, as if trying to discern a difference. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

  The woman turned at his question and snapped, “This is a Pekingese. That is a Shi Zhu.”

  The male handler looked appalled.

  Wythe moved closer. “God awful.”

  The woman followed the man, muttering about “shedding” and “barking.” I couldn’t hear what he said, but his tone sounded defensive. As they left, Caroline returned and Peppa walked the handlers out. My gaze remained glued to the departing fluffy dogs. “I want one.”

  “Me, too,” Caroline said, petting her own fluffy white dog with small untiring pats that the dog curved into. “A friend for Teacup.”

  Caroline was sitting on the floor with her back to the desk leg. I sat beside her and petted the puppy, who’d fallen asleep again. He was soft, silky, so sweet. “Was that a good enough apology, or will Peppa still try and get me transferred?”

  “Transfers happen,” Caroline said.

  “Not this time, it won’t,” Wythe said. Pleasure at his reassurance flitted through me. We were a good duo. Solid. Wythe shrugged one shoulder. “I still need you on my final project.” Ah. Literature class. How deflating. Which was ridiculous. I should not feel deflated. He did not have that power over me. The power to wound with an absent word. No.

  Peppa returned.

  “This is my private study, is it not?” Wythe sounded as put out as the dog owners.

  “Sorry, Wythe,” Peppa said. “I thought it would be less traumatic for Miss Caroline if I was the one to return the puppy.”

  What?

  Chapter 11

  Peppa wanted to take Caroline’s puppy. Caroline understood Peppa’s words instantly in the way only a little child could. She screamed and clutched the dog to her chest. Teacup yowled. Wythe’s face stilled.

  “Your mother thinks it’s best that I return him straightaway.” Peppa took the dog from Caroline and walked out.

  I ran after her, all out, like she had the key to the top of the photo stand and all I had to do was reach her to win it. Get your hands off that dog. “Wait up,” I huffed.

  “The handlers are downstairs. They’ve agreed to return him to his proper owners. Frankly, that will be a relief. Keep our hands out of it. Good for all concerned.”

  “I’ll take him.” I wanted to screech at her, but I stuck my hands out and took him as if she agreed with me. “I want to give that apology another go, like you said, so I can keep my post.” I sounded totally fake to my own ears.

  Peppa seemed to accept the groveling without hesitation. “Of course.” She wiped white fur from her lapel, looking toward Wythe’s study where we could still hear Caroline crying. She went the other way.

  I petted Teacup. “Sorry about that.”

  Teacup licked my hand with a tiny swipe, curled on his side, and kicked his little padded feet against my palm. My heart melted like one of Katniss’s flame dresses. Poof. Teacup liked it here. The only thing preventing him from staying were rules and regulations. Rules and regulations around a puppy. So silly. Caroline spun around the corner, screeching. She halted when she saw I had the puppy and stopped right in front of me. She didn’t grab for him though. She hugged me around the waist. I bent and scooped her up. She was heavier than she looked. Caroline hooked one arm around my neck and took the puppy with the other. Teacup, for his part, didn’t seem to mind the drama. He just wanted his cuddle. “So, I figure, we talk to Nanny.”

  Caroline hiccupped and sniffed. “Yeah. Talk to Nanny.”

  “We tell her how we’ll lay down puppy pads, so Teacup won’t damage the carpets.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And we’ll put kibble in his bowl.”

  “Yeah.” She sniffed again. “Every day. And he can have a water bowl, too. Shaped like a bone.” She lay her head on my shoulder. This was the kind of sister I could love. I mean, I loved my sister. But it should’ve been like this. Teaming up together against the outside world. Not making it worse for each other. I got to the family hall and hesitated, my arms dragging at the kid’s weight. I had no clue where her nanny disappeared to when she wasn’t around. She was just a dapper middle-aged lady in a gray uniform with a white apron who appeared when Caroline needed to be taken away from adult talk. Maybe there was a speed dial number for her, or an emergency call button on the wall.

  Caroline pointed as if she understood that I didn’t know where to go. I followed her directions. Her play room was similar in size to her brother’s study, but it held enough pastel-colored kids’ stuff that it seemed like hers.

  Nanny wasn’t there. But Georgiana sat on an overstuffed yellow armchair with a teapot in front of her and a tray of small cakes. She was feeding a pastel-pink, gold-dusted macaroon to a really hot guy. He bore enough of a resemblance to Wythe that I knew this had to be their older brother, Zane.

  Zane nodded at Georgiana. “Another.”

  Georgiana giggled and shook her head, her cheeks flushed, her attention totally on him.

  My eyebrows arched. Caroline called out, “Zane, Miss Georgiana, Look what I got. Miss Kira got him for me.”

  Georgiana’s gaze lit on the puppy. “Oh. Cute.”

  I put Caroline down.

  Zane got up and strode toward us. His blue eyes narrowed at me, but he said nothing. He ruffled the puppy’s head, and then Caroline’s. “Good for you, Poppet.” He stared hard at me. “That won’t cause a fight at all.” He had a deep overeducated voice, like Wythe. He strode from the room with Georgiana watching him and Caroline cooing over the puppy.

  I wanted to warn Georgiana. Zane looked like trouble, but I’d seen her expression enough on my friends’ faces over the years that I knew the warning was too late. “I thought you were off Caroline duty.”

  “Mostly I’m wrangling Zane.” Georgiana’s lips quirked up. “But Nanny persists in calling me in. And I’m not great at saying no.”

  I got it. A team probably was best when watching Caroline.

  Caroline went to the striped sofa and curled up. “Yes. Miss Georgiana, his name is Teacup and Kira got him for me.”

  Sort of.

  Georgiana grinned at me. “Well.”

  “Yep,” I said.

  Caroline nodded slowly while petting the white fluff ball. “Oh, yes. We have to hide him from the bad people.” I winced. Caroline sniffled and held the puppy up to her face. “Take my picture. Like you did with Trapper and send it to me. Please.” I hadn’t heard her use that word before. I took her picture as she smiled big. I sat beside her, showing her the photo.

  A tap sounded on the door.

  Wythe stood on the threshold, rapping on the doorframe with the knuckles of one hand and holding the black porcelain Egyptian figurine in the other.

  Caroline’s eyes grew wider.

  “I see you don’t need this,” Wythe said.

  “I do,” Caroline said, her voice hushed and intense.

  Wythe took the figurine over to the mantle and placed it up there. I had the impression that if Caroline weren’t holding a real dog right now, the priceless, fragile artifact would be in her
little hands. Wythe joined us, brushed a finger over the puppy, and then tapped the tip of Caroline’s nose, making her giggle. They were so cute. I leaned in with them and snapped the photo, while hoping the selfie didn’t show how gooey he was making me.

  “You saved the dog, I see,” Wythe said. His tone was somewhat mocking, but his gaze said he appreciated me. In a different way than he’d appreciated me before.

  Heat hit my cheeks, but I felt strongly about this, too. “If they won’t let her have Teacup, I can keep him for her. He’s not big. I’ll hide him in my sock drawer.”

  Caroline giggled. “In mine. Miss Georgiana will hide him, too.”

  “All that hair on my clothes?” Georgiana held up her hands, palms forward. “No thank you. I’ll leave the hiding to you two.”

  Caroline popped up and ran over to her. “But he is so cute.”

  Georgiana pulled her up, and Caroline curled into her side. “He is. I’m sure he won’t be a bother.”

  “Oh, he won’t be,” Caroline said. “Teacup is so good.”

  “I can see that,” Georgiana said.

  Wythe rose, in one of those smooth enviable motions. “I’m going for a run. If there’s any more trouble, call me. Caro’s keeping that dog.” His tone was certain and strong.

  Feeling chemistry with him was one thing. A crush was one thing, but he was more than a crush-worthy good-looking guy. He was sweet, strong, and loyal. My heart stopped and then pounded. I did not want this. Dizziness hit me, and I clasped my arms over my knees.

  He left the room, not knowing what he’d left behind.

  One melting heart.

  Chapter 12

  Felicity buzzed me. I am so close to that top spot. I’ll probably make head intern. How are you doing with all the rain? Been up to Nottingham yet?

  Too busy.

  Ha. As what? Paper Runner? Felicity ended that with a snickering emoji.

  Did she think she was being funny? She was such a…

  A picture of her sitting in the Rose Garden popped up.

  She was so annoying. I could so freaking top a picture of her with a sterling purple rosebush. I shot her the picture of me, Caro, Wythe, and Teacup. #New Puppy.

  Top that, Trapper Keeper. I hit silence on the phone so I wouldn’t be sucked into more back and forth and tapped on the door before going into Wythe’s room.

  Wythe sat in his window seat, typing away at his laptop. He wore pressed navy trousers and a white buttoned-down shirt, though it was Sunday. I held onto my resolve. I was not falling for him. I’d dressed extra casually to prove it to myself. I was wearing navy, too. Navy sweats and a white concert t-shirt. “What are you doing?” That was a normal question. I’d ask anyone that. I wasn’t dying for the answer.

  “Participating in social media.” Wythe hit the keyboard with loud taps and read aloud as he typed, “Dining on sticky toffee pudding. Tasty. Cook’s spot on today.”

  I liked how he said the word “tasty.” I checked the empty side tables and the desk. No sign of a plate. “You’re not eating pudding. Or anything, for that matter.”

  “No. But I want sticky toffee pudding. And now everyone will harass Cook for the recipe. I anticipate many desserts coming our way as Cook refines his pudding to share it with the world.”

  “How manipulative. And delicious.” I stepped closer to check his screen. “Really? That’s a lot of followers.”

  “PR set it up. They don’t love it that I use it to my advantage. But really. What did they expect?”

  Forty people followed me. I made a sighing, envious sound, but I didn’t really care. Loads of followers weren’t my goal. I should have a goal.

  Wythe glanced up at me and arched one eyebrow.

  He noticed my mood. He cared. My heart panged. No. I was not that into him. I was just homesick, not heartsick. I touched the screen. “Can you type something about your cook going through a TexMex phase?”

  He shuddered.

  I leaned into his shoulder and put my lips to his ear, breathing in his yummy cologne. “Please.”

  He swallowed, and his fingers moved against the keyboard. You didn’t hear it from me, but I heard that Cook is desperately looking for authentic Tex-Mex recipes. Might you send him some?

  That was fun. I kissed his cheek with a grin on my lips, as if my heart weren’t pounding. I was just being playful. “You just gained a new follower.”

  Wythe glanced up with a glint in his eyes.

  It stilled me. It lured me. “Um. I’ve got to go…” I couldn’t think of more of an excuse than that. I needed to leave, but I couldn’t move.

  Wythe put his computer down and rose to his feet.

  Looking at Wythe made my insides tingle. I wanted him here, up against me. How would he feel? How would he touch me? How would he taste? Did he kiss wildly like his eyes or contained like his demeanor?

  As if he heard my thoughts, he moved toward me.

  I backed toward the wall.

  This couldn’t be good. I had to talk myself down. He was way too handsome. That was it. I drew in a breath. Brace. Brace. Spoiled hot guys could rarely kiss. They didn’t know how to put in the effort. They liked to lie back and be adored.

  Wythe’s mouth softened. And he looked straight into my eyes. All focus on me.

  Those eyes. Last winter, I’d stared for hours at the blue chem logs burning in our fireplace. The blue-green flame had fascinated me. Wythe fascinated me the same way. I pushed off the wall and took a step closer to him. His hands touched my face—warm, calloused, more in line with his eyes than his manner. He pressed his whole body against me, creating a flow of liquid anticipation. This was happening.

  I grabbed his shoulders. He was hard, solid, and firm in my dissolving world. Dissolving thoughts, dissolving knees, him… I curled my fingers in, holding onto him, urging him…

  He kissed me. His lips were certain and soft, then rough, and then soft. He touched his tongue to mine. Ah. He tasted like… I don’t know. Something forbidden, delicious, sexy. He pulled back and looked at me. I looked at him. More. Liquid heat melted me, flowed under my skin, spreading sensation from my lips to my toes. I wanted to analyze it. I wanted to stay here longer and feel.

  He ran his fingertips from my shoulders to my palms. Where he touched me, traced me, electric zings were spurred by the melting happening inside me. “Kira.” His voice was deep, and his eyes had darkened.

  I went from holding on to suddenly restless. I needed to feel him. Not the cotton of his shirt but him. I ran my hands down his back to his waist. The shirt frustrated me and blocked me from touching his skin. He repeated the gesture on me. His hands were firm on my waist, and he dipped his thumbs under the hem of my shirt, touching my waist. It was a shock, a small pleasurable shock. I loved it.

  I slipped my hands up over his chest and around his neck, clinging to him. He gripped my hips and then lifted me. I wrapped my thighs around his waist, locking my ankles. He walked me back and then I was down. My palms hit the floral window seat cushion, and I maneuvered myself back. He leaned into me. Following me.

  I broke away for a gasp of air, and his mouth moved to my neck. I breathed in as the sensation created new sparks inside me that wanted his lips to melt them, too. Holy crap.

  I lay back and pushed back on the cushion. He followed me down. His weight. His presence… Him… This was like nothing I’d ever felt and was everything I’d ever wanted to feel.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Chapter 13

  Wythe raised his head.

  I pressed my lips together, missing the press of his lips. His gaze was longing. And he was looking at me. He touched my cheek. Ah. I breathed out and reached up. I slid my hands over his biceps, squeezing.

  The taps grew louder.

  The door. The knocking. People. I muffled a sound and slapped his arm when all I wanted was to grab on. “Go.” My voice came out husky, and the word lacked force. Stay.

  He paused and rubbed his thumb over my bottom
lip.

  I shivered. “I’ll have to think of a new bribe,” I said, trying to lighten the mood but failing because my voice came out breathless and it didn’t match my emotions.

  His eyes darkened, and he put his lips to my ears. “You don’t need a bribe.” His voice was deep. “If you want a kiss, take it.” He strode to the fireplace, leaving me, but was still looking at me. Wythe. Son of the UK Prime Minister. Head of State.

  No touching.

  I smoothed my shirt down and shifted into an innocent picture pose. Knees together, feet swinging over the side. It felt wrong to be apart. Wythe turned and stared into the fireplace. Would getting caught kissing me result in repercussions for him? Probably. I knew it would for me.

  Another knock sounded on the door, this time more forceful. And this time, the door opened.

  Peppa came in wearing one of her gray suits with a woman I hadn’t met. Tall, brunette, dark yellow dress. Thirties. She was smiling as much as Peppa was frowning. No, not smiling, the woman was beaming.

  At me.

  Go away. I did not want to deal with Peppa and a stranger. I wanted to deal with Wythe. To think about that kiss. Could it even be called a kiss? It was unlike any kiss I’d ever had. Better. More spark. This was something to explore.

  The beaming woman was making a path right to me, not allowing me my thoughts. “Is this her?”

  This couldn’t be right… or good. I hadn’t done anything beam-worthy. The lady turned to Wythe, shining a smile on him, but it wasn’t a lit-up smile; it was oil-slick shiny. Something lurked beneath it, and I wanted no part of it. Like those documentaries of the ocean. Who wanted to know about all those creatures down there? Not me. I wanted to swim in the ocean in ignorant bliss.

  The lady said, “Brilliant.”

  Not brilliant.

  Wythe went from smiling to frowning to still-faced. He greeted the lady with a nod. “Marsha.”

  “Just oh-so-brilliant, you.” Marsha wagged her finger at me. “But all press, every little bit, goes through me. Sorry.” She walked forward and offered her hand. “Marsha Ovem. U.K. Public Relations.”