by Aria Ford
“See you in a minute, sweetie,” I called to her. “I’ll just finish down here first.”
“I’m going to help,” Riley interrupted, pushing in his chair.
“No! You’re a guest,” I protested, then laughed as he poked my shoulder.
“And you are the best cook in the neighborhood, and I’ll not have you washing up too,” he said.
“No, stop it, Riley,” I protested as he packed the dishes into the sink. “I’m warning you…”
Laughing, I elbowed him out of the way and he jostled with me and soon we were both in hysterics, leaning on the sink, shoulders shaking with mirth.
“Oh,” I said, sniffing back a tear. “I haven’t laughed like that for ages.”
“No, me neither,” he said.
We were very close and we were looking into each other’s eyes. He leaned forward and I leaned forward and out lips met.
A shock of wonderment thrilled through me as his lips slid over mine. They were sweet from the dessert and they were warm and so gentle. He nibbled my lip in slow exploration. I sighed and leaned against him. His arms drew me to him, and the kiss became hungrier.
I gasped as his tongue slid in between my lips, penetrating the gap between. I leaned against him and was surprised to find myself aching with the need for more.
“Whoa,” I said, as he stepped back. I was panting and his breath was tight in his throat too. We looked at each other. I was hungry for him the way I had forgotten how to be hungry. My eyes were sightless with need, my body throbbing with want.
“Oh, Brooklyn,” he murmured. “Oh, my.”
“Now,” I said, clearing my throat, “we have to do dishes.”
“Yes,” he agreed meekly.
Oddly, he seemed to decide it was better just to listen, and with a respectful silence he took the plates as I rinsed them and stacked them in the dishwasher.
“I should fix the spring in the door,” he murmured as he closed it. “It’s broken.”
“It is,” I nodded, grimacing as I helped him to jiggle the door into place and click it closed.
“It wouldn’t take two minutes to fix it,” he said. “I’ll do it tomorrow. Piece of…”
“No,” I interrupted whatever he was going to say.
“What?” he asked. His brow shot up and he looked down at me like a quizzical Disney Prince.
“No,” I said again, more quietly this time. “I won’t let you do any more things for free around the house. This is getting silly, Riley. We’re adults.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “You can say that again.”
I closed my eyes. “Stop it, Riley. I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He was very close to me and his eyes warmed my skin as if he touched me. I wanted him.
“No. Stop it,” I said, wrenching impatiently aside. “I am a mother, Riley.”
“I know,” he said seriously. “I respect that.”
“You don’t seem to realize what it means,” I said quietly. “It means I can’t just go randomly hooking up with strangers. I can’t have here today, gone tomorrow arrangements. My kid needs security.”
“I know,” Riley said. “I respect that.”
“Well then,” I said, feeling annoyed with him but not knowing why. I bustled about the kitchen, turning my back. “You understand why we can’t…do these things.”
“I understand,” Riley sighed. “I do.”
“Okay,” I said. Damn it. Why was I so sad? I almost wanted him to argue the point, to say he disagreed; that we should feel free to kiss and make out in my kitchen anytime we wanted to. But of course I knew we couldn’t.
“I respect your need to have stability for Parker,” he said softly. “But at the same time, I can offer you something. Would you…” He paused. “No. I can’t ask that. Not now. It’s complicated.”
“Ask me, Riley,” I said woodenly. “I’m here. I’m listening.”
“No,” he said. “I can’t ask you that now. You wouldn’t understand. I need to show you something first.”
“Show me what?” I was curious. Part of me wanted it to be something really personal. Something along the lines of “I’ll show you mine…”. I shook my head. Stop it, Brooklyn!
“Okay,” he said. “Want a walk?”
“What?” I blinked.
“I said, will you come for a short walk with me?”
“How short? I mean…” I was already heading up the stairs to check on Parker. “I can’t leave her in the house alone, Riley.”
“It’s not far, I promise. In fact, we can see it from here if you come into the front yard? Or onto the pavement. It’ll be minutes.”
“Okay.” I let him step in front of me and opened the front door, and then he followed me to the street. “I’m looking.”
“See that garage?” he asked, pointing up the road to an old cement edifice on the corner opposite.
“Mm,” I agreed. It had stood on the intersection between Ascot and Maine street since I could remember. I had no idea what it was or if anyone used it. It looked like a small warehouse more than a large garage, I always thought.
“Well, I want that,” Riley said simply. I frowned at him.
“Okay,” I agreed. “I don’t know why, but good for you,” I nodded. I was confused. Why was he showing me a warehouse? What had it to do with me?
“Okay,” he said. He looked relieved. “Shall we go in now?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
We went in and I went to the kitchen, to finish tidying up. He followed me. “So,” he said. He looked at me with a questioning look, as if wanting to ask what I thought of something.
“So?” I said. I felt myself slowly losing patience. “For Pete’s sakes, Riley,” I said. “Just tell me what this is all about. Please?”
He sighed. “Okay. It’s…” he paused. “When I first started my business, what I really wanted was to sell cars. I know, it sounds like a weird ambition. But I love cars. I love working on them, fixing them, driving them. I…” He sighed. “Okay, that’s off topic. What I wanted to say was, I want to start my own business.”
“Yes?” I said cautiously. “So? I think that’s a great idea. You want to rent that big building there and start a garage, or a dealership. Good for you. What’s it to do with me?”
He sighed. “The reason I’m telling you is because…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m pretty much broke, Brooklyn.”
“Okay,” I said again. “So am I.”
I had to say it—if this was some kind of weird run-up to asking me for a loan, I needed him to know that I was not exactly rolling in wealth either. Richard paid a bit each month in maintenance—not really enough to cover Parker’s school fees—and the rest I earned in my secretarial job. I didn’t have the money to lend even if I wanted to. And at this point I wasn’t really sure I wanted to.
“Well,” he sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that, but not for myself. I’m not asking for a loan, Brooklyn. I’m asking you to be my wife.”
End of Sneak Peek, click here to read the full story: Temporary Wife
He’s back
A Second Chance Romance
PROLOGUE
I kissed him. His tongue pushed into my mouth, probing and plundering and sweet all at once. I pressed my body against his, loving the way it felt when my soft body pushed against his hard, muscular chest. He wrapped me in those strong arms and gripped me close. He kissed me then drew back, gasping.
“Ainsley,” he growled. “You make me crazy.”
I laughed. He had such a sweet way with words.
“You too, Drake.”
He had been my brother's best friend and now he was my post-teenage dream. Of all the places I wanted to be, the Miami International Airport departure lounge was not one of them right now.
I stood back and studied him through tear-blurred eyes. He was so handsome I sometimes couldn't quite believe he was real. High forehead, long, straight nose, thick curling dark hair. I always t
hought he looked something like the Disney Prince of my little girl dreams, only even better with a muscled body and a smooth voice that drizzled through me like maple syrup on pancakes.
It all seemed a bit surreal now that I was at Miami International Airport with my hand on his suitcase and his goodbyes in my ears.
“It won't be long, will it?” I asked. I frowned up at him. All the joy in my heart was suddenly giving way to sadness.
“I don't know,” he sighed.
I swallowed hard. “I don't want it to be too long.”
He chuckled. “We're still young, Ainsley.” It was true. We were young. He was twenty-six, a freshly-graduated lawyer. I was a twenty-two-year-old Languages graduate. We had our whole lives ahead of us, but it seemed like a weird thing to say now.
He smiled fondly and traced his thumb down my cheek in the way he always did, a comfort for my tears.
“I just want you to be safe,” I whispered.
He kissed his thumb where it had touched my tears. The gesture moved me – so intimate, it lit a fire in my belly that his kisses had fostered already. I felt a sudden thrill of need for him.
“I will be safe,” he said.
I nodded. I turned away, my vision of the Miami International Airport blurred with flowing tears. I could dimly see others – families, couples, air-hostesses with their trimly-cut uniforms – standing in the hall around us. But none of it made sense. All that made sense was that I was here, with him, saying goodbye.
“I love you, Drake,” I murmured.
He closed his eyes. His handsome face took on an expression of pain, suddenly. I saw his throat work as he swallowed hard.
“I love you too, Ainsley.”
My heart thawed. It felt as if the fresh spring sun visited it, filling me with wonder.
“Drake.” I really was crying now. I reached and clung to him and our lips met with passionate urgency. My whole body shivered with my need of him.
“Ainsley.”
He stroked my hair when we parted and I pushed my forehead into his palm like a small puppy, seeking comfort. He smiled at me the way he always did, with that tenderness and care.
Then he walked away to join the queue across the barrier of airport tape.
My eyes blurred with tears, I watched his head move in the crowd until he passed the gate and I lost sight of him again.
Then I walked out to find my way home.
As I drove home, numbed with my sorrow, I thought about how crazy it was, what he was doing. Just through with college, Drake was heading off to Kinshasa, in the Democratic Republic of Congo. He was working for Amnesty International, documenting human rights abuses in prisons and on the mines.
Principled, upstanding Drake.
I shook my head, eyes blurring with tears as I looked through the windscreen. We had been together since my second year in college and I felt a little betrayed. I guessed the child laborers in the DRC needed him more than I did. But I loved him. I wanted him here, with me. It is selfish, but that’s what love does.
Drake was Drake. The needs of ten-year-old kids forced to work in mines were more important than his own needs, never mind those of someone else. Like mine, for instance. He had a big heart and a sense of justice. Unusual for a lawyer, my mom had joked. I'd scowled at her.
If Drake was anything but Drake, I wouldn't love him as much as I did.
And I did love him for an amount indescribable to put in words.
Now, looking out through my window in my apartment at the top of a massive high-rise building, I felt tears prick my eyes again.
It had been over eight years since Drake disappeared. That was the last time I saw him.
His sister, Halley, had told me he was back, but she'd been cagey. He only spent six months in Africa, she told me. He didn't tell me anything.
At least thanks to her I knew he was alive. That was a seven and a half years before now. Since then, I really thought I had moved on.
I sometimes wondered what had happened. Why he'd never contacted me.
I guess he didn't love me that much, really.
I blinked away my tears. If Keith hadn't just walked out on me too, I guess I wouldn't be so sad right now. But I was. Sniffing back my tears I stood and headed outside. No point, I told myself harshly, in thinking about the past.
I wasn't going to get a second chance.
CHAPTER ONE
Ainsley
“Oh, for...” I sighed and put my head on my desk. It was one of those days – a Wednesday, but really an undercover Monday. My office-mate, Emmy, frowned at me across the space between us.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I sighed. “Really. Nothing.”
“Okay.” She shrugged an elegant shoulder and got back to work.
I ran a hand through my unruly honey-brown hair and made myself focus on the email in front of me. It was from an irritated French author. That might need some explaining.
I work for Edge Enterprises, a multicultural publishing company. To put it more precisely, I translate books from French and into English all day. Sometimes, authors who don't like the way I've translated something. Like today in this very e-mail in front of me.
Evelyn Roche – a gaunt and extremely elegant lady, to judge from the author photo – had just told me, more or less, that my translation of the first six chapters of her work were rubbish.
If it was her weekend she'd just spent on that translating, I bet she wouldn't think so, I thought resentfully.
“Having a hard day?” a voice spoke from behind my shoulder. My friend Lacey from admin was responsible. I turned to face her. I knew my brown eyes were probably displaying some major heavy under-eye bags, so there was no hiding the truth.
“I guess,” I acknowledged ruefully. “A hard week, actually.”
Well, a hard month, but I wasn't going to burden anyone else with my misery right now. I had a difficult time managing it on my own without passing it around. With finally breaking up with Keith to my mom's recent illness and increasing pressure from work, I thought I wasn't going to be able to take much more bad stuff.
“Want to talk?” she asked.
I blinked. “Can I? I mean...what's the time?”
“It's lunch break,” Lacey replied. “Come and join me in Starbucks?”
I nodded. “I'd love to.” I turned to Emmy, “Want to come too?” I asked politely. I wasn't particularly good friends with Emmy, despite – or maybe because of – the fact that we shared an office. I tried hard to like her but her close resemblance to the “popular” girls turned me away from a friendship.
Emmy shrugged. “I'd better finish this. Have a hectic deadline coming up. In, well...a couple hours from now.”
“Ouch.”
She grimaced. “I know.”
I stood and stretched, easing out the cracks in my neck, and took my jacket off the rack. I was already chair-shaped after this weekend, much less after this morning. Outside in the street, the early spring air lifted my spirits, ruffling my hair and bringing the scent of the sea to my nostrils.
“Whew!” I breathed in, letting the ocean air clear my head.
“Okay?” Lacey asked. She of all the people in my life knew about me and Keith. She'd been great about checking in with me during the getting-over-the-breakup phase.
I nodded. “I guess so.” I pulled my coat around me, turning up the collar to keep out the worst of the wind, and headed on down the street. “It's just the memories now. Dealing with all that...stuff he said.”
“I understand,” Lacey said feelingly. “That's the worst bit.”
It was. I couldn't quite erase from my mind the year's worth of undermining that Keith had ladled over me. By the time I'd finally walked out on him, I had microscopic amounts of self-esteem and barely the same amount of confidence. I still found it hard to look in the mirror without hearing the things he'd said. Klutz. Frump. Bitch.
“I'm doing okay, though,” I told her. I had joined a dance class and was st
arting to make myself socialize again. Seeing couples didn't exactly ease my sense of isolation, though.
“Good,” Lacey said. Ah. Here we are!”
Lacey and I blew in through the door of the cafe and found a seat in the already-crowded space.
“Cappuccino?” she asked.
“Mm. Thanks, Lacey.”
She headed to the front and made the orders, and I went to claim a table. I took a seat and there I leaned back and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I found Lacey looking at me. Her big blue eyes looked excited.
“Ainsley?”
“Mm?”
“I forgot to mention it earlier, but I have some exciting news.”
“Oh!” I leaned forward, taking the cappuccino from her hand and opening it. “What's happening?”
“I have an invitation to the Steelcore Charity Gala. It looks pretty fancy. Happening at the Hilton. Want to come?”
I almost dropped the coffee she had just handed to me. “What?” I stared at her.
The Charity Gala was a big event. I knew because my cousin Shane went there with his girlfriend, an employee of Steelcore. It was super-stylish and star-studded. And I could go?