Kiss Me (Promise Me Book 3)

by Brea Viragh

  Kiss Me

  Promise Me Series, Book 3

  Brea Viragh

  Copyright © Brea Viragh, 2016.

  All rights reserved. The moral right of the author has been asserted. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. Nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than the work in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. This is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction.

  Cover Art: © Laura Gordon, thebookcoverdesigner.com

  ISBN 978-0-9979094-4-9

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Afterword

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  I went into the bar looking for trouble.

  That’s what I told myself later, when my head cleared and I’d gotten my clothes free of the smell of cigarette smoke. When those wee hours of the morning came and I questioned why I’d felt the need to go out, to capture a man’s attention, to bring him home.

  To send him packing in the morning.

  When I remembered the past, and hated what I’d been through. Hated what I’d done. Otherwise, why go to the Tooth? It was the only bar in town and reeked of alcohol and deep fryer oil and regret. There were peanut shells on the floor, racing posters on the wall, the ubiquitous pool table where people spent their weekend nights in a haze.

  Why did I go?

  Because I did my best hunting on a full moon. With the holidays looming, I needed a pick-me-up. Not the normal kind in the form of chocolate or candy or an entire pint of ice cream. Nah, I liked mine tall, dark, handsome, never mind the cliché.

  That was me. Nell Quade, the perpetual prowler.

  November came before I was ready and I didn’t feel equipped to handle Thanksgiving. It wasn’t the holiday traffic. Most of the out-of-towners rolled into my neck of the woods in autumn, when the trees began to turn and flood the mountains with a riotous display of color. Visitors flocked to the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia for a taste of country air and small-town living.

  They found Heartwood County’s single stoplight “charming.”

  My shift had ended at the hospital and I’d changed into my skinniest jeans and my tightest-fitting sweater. A layer of tinted lip gloss went on while I preened in the mirror at brown eyes, a peaches-and-cream mask. At slashing cheekbones, a full pink mouth. The hair wasn’t perfect but I’d live with it as long as the rest held up.

  The Tooth was busy even on a normal day. Popular not only with the drinkers and pool players, but also with the older couples needing time away from their own kitchen tables. Say what you will, the place had a dreadful smell but a delicious burger.

  I crunched over discarded peanut shells and wiggled my fingers at the bartender, squinting through the smoky haze at the guy who looked like he’d been on a swim team since birth.

  The bar was a dive, by a landslide. Trails of smoke danced in the air, and the walls were grimy to the point where no one dared touch them. I sent a glare across the way to the random chick plopped down in my seat, sending her scrambling. Oh God, I had my own seat in the damn place. I had to get out more, and not just to the Tooth.

  “Nell.” Fenton greeted me the moment I sat. “I got your drinks just the way you like ’em.”

  “You sure know how to please a girl.” I grabbed the first and slugged it down. Whiskey scorched a trail down my throat and settled warmly in my gut. The second fell by way of the first until I was faced with a duo of empty shot glasses.

  “Damn, I’ve never seen a woman take a hit like you.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Try to go easy before you break yourself,” he said.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “You’re too small for frenzied drinking.”

  I pointed at him before turning to my reflection in the mirrored backsplash. “It’s called petite, and I’m going to take it as a compliment. After the day I’ve had, I’m prepared to hoard every kind word I get.”

  “Had another patient remove their IV by themselves?”

  “No, think bedpans. I don’t want to get into the details, but I need something to get the stench out of my nose.” I shuddered dramatically.

  There were good days and bad days in nursing, the same as any other profession. The good days were when you had patients willing to give you the details of their ailments without prompting. A bad day involved blood, guts, and bodily waste.

  Fenton leaned against the shelves, shaking a row of beer bottles with his weight. “Girl. How can you work a sixteen-hour day and still have the energy to come to the bar?”

  “Maybe I wanted to see you. Or maybe I can’t stand my own company.”

  He motioned with a hand. “Again?”

  I nodded and proceeded to slug back the second round he set before me.

  “The pickings are slim tonight.” He spared a look around at the crowd.

  “Maybe I’ll have good luck.”

  Fenton was quiet, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say next.

  I didn’t want to think about the reality of his statement. It meant I spent way too much time trying to flirt. I say try because I wasn’t always successful. Fenton knew my proclivities better than most. He and I went back years, to an evening when I’d had another terrible, horrible day. We’d ended up snuggling for half the night before I came to my senses.

  He was decent-looking, an average Joe with a wide grin and dirty-blond hair. We remained friends for his mean mojitos and unparalleled ability to tolerate my bullshit.

  “I’ll sit here and see if things change,” I told him. “It sure beats a TV dinner and reruns.”

  Contrary to what my coworkers believed, I was not a slut. I didn’t open my legs to everyone, and despite prowling, I’d slept with less men than I could count on one and a half hands. I enjoyed sex, and saw myself as a sexual creature with a normal, healthy appetite. My best friend called it being passionate. I considered it a form of self-expression, creativity, a way to outrun my past.

  Fenton opened his mouth to comment before a whistle distracted him. Attention fragmented, he held up a finger telling me to pause while he went off to help the other bar patrons.

  There I was, left to my own devices.

  The person I saw in the mirror almost appeared out of place. Whenever I saw my reflection I pictured the professional side, the one who looked more at home wearing hospital scrubs in a slimy shade of green.

  Now, a woman with chestnut hair stared back at me, one with minimal makeup and a phony megawatt smile. Dark oversized eyes, body slender and slim, shoulders curled up on themselves, a baby bear yanked sharply from its
den.

  I saw glimpses of the old spitfire. Enough to have me straightening my shoulders before turning to peruse the crowd.

  Tonight Fenton was right. I saw the same farmers coming in from their rigorous rounds, the same hustlers with their pool cues, and the random assortment of couples out for late-night bonding. Alas, there was no one to pique my interest

  Fenton swaggered around to me, grabbing the whiskey bottle on the way. “The way you’re staring, I think you could use another one of these,” he commented.

  Both hands gestured for him to bring it. “Liquor me up, my friend. I’m in the mood to forget.”

  “You’re in a bad position.” He spared me a wink. “I know your type.”

  I scoffed. Yeah, he knew my type pretty well, considering I’d almost had him between my sheets.

  “You were never my type, Fenton,” I replied, drawing an air circle with a slash through it around his face. The next round of shots slid toward me and I took one, downing it with zest. “Receding hairlines don’t do it for me anymore.”

  He touched his forehead and sent me a nasty glare. “My hairline isn’t receding.”

  I hissed when the whiskey burned a trail like acid down my throat. If this didn’t give me the much-needed boost, I wasn’t sure what would. “Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

  “You’re a peach, Nell. A peach.” He dipped his head, moving away when I ended our banter.

  The sixth finger of whiskey was heady and smooth. This time I crossed my legs and sipped instead of slurped. Thanksgiving was only four days away, practically right around the corner, which meant I’d be stuck with no privacy and no opportunities to run away when I felt like committing matricide.

  My flamboyant brother Nolan would be arriving home from college tomorrow after being away almost a year, with his roommate in tow. I say flamboyant in a nice way given the direction his sexual preference swung. Actually, nothing pleased me more than the prospect of seeing him. We’d always been friends, confidants, unlike other members of my tidy nuclear unit.

  I’d promised him on the phone that I’d be good. No tantrums. No outbursts. No stupid mind games with Mother.

  But I needed a little fun before the festivities. Dealing with family was a harrowing experience. Especially Mom. Her very name sent a shiver of dread down my spine.

  Thessaly Quade. There was a reason we lived in the same town yet only saw each other on holidays.

  Ugh, I didn’t want to think about her tonight.

  I wanted to clear my head. Sweep away the cobwebs lurking on the edges. Alcohol and a fine pair of biceps, that’s what I needed. I never wanted to be one of those people who ran from their problems. I preferred to think I stood one step ahead of the masses.

  During the next ten minutes my desires and needs played cat and mouse, mind willing but body exhausted. Then he walked into the bar.

  I wasn’t one for romance. True love was a product of a chemical reaction the weak-willed spent their lives searching for. Serotonin and dopamine, oh my. I’d come to that realization after Peter, when I’d wasted years losing myself to the nonsense and the hype. I would never lose myself again. Period. Give me a good old-fashioned nap over romance any day of the week and I was content.

  However…

  The man heading into the bar had my nerves jerking to attention with a meow. The quick slap of lust tied knots in my belly, the kind reserved for lovers and few others. At once I was prepared to do anything he wanted. Everything he wanted.

  Wherever he wanted.

  I sat taller on the stool and leaned to the side while I sipped my whiskey. There was a certain angle to his strides, an energy rolling off the wide shoulders that demanded he be seen. A natural, unhindered cockiness.

  Tall and lanky, the guy was out of place at the Tooth. Where the official slogan “The drinks have bite” was a lie. Tonight, I was the only thing in this place with a bite.

  The glint of his silver earring caught my eye and I knew my prowl would not go to waste. He looked lost for a moment, standing there so stoically, before shuffling over with hands deep in his pockets. Peering at him from the corner of my eye, I feigned nonchalance as he strove to capture Fenton’s attention.

  The stranger wore a brown leather bomber jacket over a stretchy V-neck shirt and low-cut skinny jeans. Too hip for my tastes, but the rest of him made up for it. He wore his hair in a short style with longer spiked pieces in the front. A hint of muscle played beneath the jacket stretched across solid shoulders.

  And the face. I’d never been one for a longer nose but on him it worked. The hawkish feature complimented his striking cheekbones and hazel eyes darting back and forth across the space. Strong chin and plump lips relaxed in an effortless smile. The dark hair hanging over his forehead could have used a cut. Add to all that a long, lanky body and artist’s fingers, and he was quite a package.

  A real Christmas present come early, after expecting nothing but coal. Watching him try to order a drink was delightful. This was not his scene, obviously, and his feeble attempts to fit in were better than a pick-up line for me. Compelling.

  About as out of place as an ostrich playing a banjo.

  The last of the liquor drained down my throat and I slapped the glass down on the scarred bar top. With a growl to motivate me, I slung my hair back, crossed the space between us, and sidled up beside the stranger.

  Fenton, bless him, understood the rules. The instant he caught my movement from the corner of his eye, he waited for the signal. I held up my index and middle fingers.

  “Two beers, please.” I glanced up—and up—at the stranger. “Care to join me?”

  He turned delectable green-and-brown eyes in my direction. My introduction had the intended effect. I watched him shift to face me fully. “I’ll take one if you’re offering. How did you get his attention? I’ve been wanting to order and the more I tried, the more I was ignored.”

  I winked, cheered by the possibilities. “Everyone in this town knows each other and Fenton is a friend of mine.” I thrust out my hand. “Nell.”

  “Kai. Rhymes with sky.”

  He rubbed his hand on his pants once before grasping the offered appendage; the force of the gesture had me quivering. He was slim, with legs up to his elbows, the length of them only accentuated by the careless cut of his jeans. Accompanied by the rough baritone nearly out of place on a man with his body type, I was ready to shrug into my jacket and give him directions to my apartment.

  I was in a bad way. What would my mom think of me? No, scratch that. She’d be thrilled.

  How long had it been since my last sexual encounter? A month? Two?

  “Consider the beer a welcome offering. I haven’t seen you around here before and it’s a small town. We all know each other. You stand out in the crowd.”

  Kai chuckled low in his throat. “Damn, I must stand out. You can tell I’m from out of town.” It was a statement instead of a question and I appreciated the hum of his voice.

  “I can. You have the yuppie vibe all over you.”

  “Do I?”

  “Don’t worry. A week here and it will be gone.” I looked him up and down. “I like it, though. You’re different from the rest of them.”

  “You like the yuppie vibe?” He was skeptical and took hold of his lapels. “Is it the jacket? Probably the earring. The hairstyle throws people off from time to time.”

  “The whole look gives you away.”

  “Well, damn.”

  “Trust me, it’s not a bad thing.”

  I swiveled around with my back to the bar, mimicking Kai’s body posture. We stood next to each other, casually surveying the crowd. I wrapped my hand around the cold neck of the beer and took a healthy swig.

  “And here I was trying to fit in.”

  “Poor baby.”

  “I thought flannel would be a good idea then decided I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard.”

  “I’m glad you decided against the flannel
. After all, you wouldn’t want to look like Ma and Pa Maple.” I used my chin to gesture toward an elderly couple just bundling up in their outerwear. They slapped a measly dollar tip down on the table, a reward for timely drink refills and hot appetizers, and pushed out the door with a whisper of winter cold slipping in behind them.

  “Or the duo at the pool table,” Kai added.

  I followed his gaze to the men, lucky to sport a single molar between them, arguing over whether the other was cheating at pool. Both of them had been into the hospital to see me, one for stitches and the other for an ear infection.

  I nodded in a quick, decisive manner. “Rusty and Uriel are definitely lacking in fashion sense. Every time I see them, they’re wearing the same outfits and rehashing the same stories. Tell me, Kai, what brought you to the Tooth?”

  Our eyes locked and my lady business came alive with a fiery zip of energy. Ooh boy.

  “I came to Heartwood with a friend. Since I didn’t have anywhere else to be for Thanksgiving, I accepted the invitation.” Kai shrugged. “It’s not a bad place from what I’ve seen. I got in earlier today and booked a room at Hotel Heartwood for the night.”

  He was here with someone? I crossed my fingers it wasn’t another woman, although friend worked both ways. “And where are you from?”

  “Portland.” Kai drained half his beer before continuing. “There are countless tourists there all the time. You’d think the rain would keep them away, but they come for the scenery. And the coffee. We do have damn good restaurants, if you can manage to get inside the door. I think they come for the donuts.”

  “I bet. Mississippi is the farthest I’ve traveled west.”

  “It’s a different way of life. There are things I’ll never understand about the east coast. I’ve been here for about six years and it seems like I always have to play catch-up.” Kai shook his head, nursing the rest of his drink with tiny sips, the liquid gradually diminishing.

  My exhaustion was gone. I gave it a fleeting thought when our eyes met, the bad day I’d had dissipating. Funny how a good guy could help chase away all the negativity. Sure, I had a routine. I would go out, find a date, take him home, and see where we went from there. I didn’t do relationships, having too often been burned.