Romancing the Bachelor (A Hamilton Family Series)

by Diane Alberts

  People told Shelby her painting was incredible, and she thanked everyone who came forward, letting go of his hand after the second person came over. Every once in a while, she would look at him, and he’d smile, or nod, or something else supportive since she clearly needed it from him.

  At some point, as Shelby talked to the teacher and after Anna had hugged him good-bye since she and Brett were heading out, Brett came up behind him and said, “Keep this one. I’m telling you now. She’s the one.”

  Eric laughed nervously, tugging on his tie. He still wore the suit he’d gone to work in, since his last case had run late. Shelby, too, still wore her work clothes. “Nah, man. We’re just friends.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” He patted Eric on the shoulder. “So were me and Anna, until we weren’t.”

  Before Eric could make a sarcastic reply, Brett walked over to Anna, threw his arm over her shoulder, and led her out the door.

  She waved once, and they were gone, their paintings in their hands.

  He cleaned up his and Shelby’s art center, and then wiped his hands on his suit pants. Across the room, Shelby talked animatedly, her hands flying, and she glanced his way. When their eyes locked, the breath he’d been taking froze in his chest, choking him.

  She literally stole his breath away.

  Motherfucker.

  Logically, he knew this should scare him, knew he should run, but there was no way he’d leave her when she was smiling at him like that. He always played it safe with women, and yet with her, he wasn’t. Sex, and love, and relationships?

  They were fucking war.

  Sex was foreplay to the big upcoming battle, if you let it be.

  That’s why he never went further than that.

  It was why he always retreated before the first shots were fired. And yet here he was. Not retreating, even though there was clearly something real between them—something he should be running from. But instead, he smiled back, lifted a hand, and waved. She said something to the teacher, then made her way over to him, her eyes lit up with excitement. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he echoed.

  “Sorry about that,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously. “I know it’s annoying. I tried to end it as soon as—”

  He reached out and pressed a finger to her mouth. “The only annoying thing about tonight is that I want to kiss you, and can’t. Never apologize for being good at something and having people notice. Your painting is incredible, and I think you’re pretty incredible, too. Don’t ever doubt that, or let a man make you doubt that, ever again.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “How’d you know? I didn’t tell you he—”

  “You didn’t have to.” He cradled her face in his hands. “He was clearly a dick who couldn’t handle his girl being better at something than he was. Never let another guy like that into your life. You deserve so much better, Shel.”

  She bit her lip. “Take me home?”

  Not speaking, he nodded and gathered their paintings carefully, making sure to hold them so they didn’t touch. To his surprise, she caught his hand, holding on to it tightly.

  That simple touch?

  It fucking did things to him.

  “Eric?”

  “Yeah?” he asked, his throat oddly tight.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, laying her head on his arm.

  And right then, in that moment, he knew.

  No matter what happened in this war he was fighting…

  He was going to lose.

  Chapter Eight

  Eric walked beside her, strangely silent for a man who thrived on words. He’d been tense ever since they left the art studio, and even though he said it wasn’t because of the attention she’d gotten for her work, his silence was stirring up bad memories she’d rather leave unearthed. It had been a while since she thought of her disastrous relationship on specific terms. It had been over for longer than it had lasted, so she didn’t lie in bed at night thinking about it anymore. She had better things to do than reminisce about a man who had treated her like shit, thank you very much.

  But now, with Eric acting like he was, after she got attention for performing better than the rest of the class—something her ex had hated—she couldn’t help but remember the time he’d been pissed because she’d done better than him at pool. He’d walked out of the pool hall and left. Just left her there. She’d had to beg for a ride from some girl she hadn’t even known, and when she got home, he’d been asleep in bed. He hadn’t even waited up for her.

  Eric said he didn’t care about her painting…

  Yet, here he was. Acting tense.

  Why?

  Since she wasn’t the type to wonder when she could just frigging ask, she turned to him, opened her mouth, and blurted, “What’s wrong?”

  He shot her a look out of the corner of his eye. “Nothing. Why?”

  “You’re acting weird, ever since…”

  He stopped at her door, the paintings in his hand. “Ever since what?”

  “Ever since the painting thing.” She pulled her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, she motioned him in. He hesitated, both paintings in his hands, and glanced inside. “If it bothers you that I can paint, just say so. I thought you didn’t play games?”

  He flexed his jaw and stepped inside. “I assure you, any way I’m acting or not acting has nothing to do with your painting. I told you. I don’t give a damn whether you paint like Van Gogh or a five-year-old. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “That’s what he always said, too, before he walked away from me.” Exasperation took over as she kicked the door shut and turned to lock it. “I—” She broke off on with gasp, because he was right there. She hadn’t even heard him come up behind her.

  “I am not, and never will be, your asshole ex,” he growled, backing her up against the door. His hard body on hers was almost too much to handle, and he leaned down, his mouth a breath from hers. “I’m not pissed that you’re good at something, Shel.”

  She placed her hands on his hard—so frigging hard—chest, breathing unevenly. It wasn’t that she was trying to push him away, because she didn’t even try, but that she needed to feel like she could, if she wanted to. “Then tell me why you’re so agitated.”

  “Because I realized something, and I’m not happy about it, but it’s nothing you need to worry about,” he muttered, staring down at her mouth.

  “Well, like that’s going to work,” she scoffed. “What did you realize?”

  “None of your business.”

  “The hell it isn’t.” She bit down on her lip, and his gaze fell to her mouth. When it rose to hers again, there was a hunger in it that called to her very soul. “What did you realize?”

  “I fucking want you.”

  Her stomach clenched. “Yeah. I thought you already knew that. I mean, you asked me out on a date and all, then said those…things.”

  “Yeah. I know. But I don’t just want to kiss you or fuck you. I want…” He hesitated, his hand slipping up her side, tracing her curves. “I want more.”

  “How much more is there than that?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, his forehead wrinkled. “And that’s what bothers me so damn much. Around you, I don’t know a damn thing except that I want to know how your naked body feels against mine. But even more importantly? I want to know everything there is to know about you. Your fears. Your dreams. Your favorite flowers. All that shit. I want to know it.”

  There he went again.

  Saying perfect things.

  “That sounds an awful lot like a relationship to me,” she pointed out. “I’m not saying I want one of those. I don’t. But the things you’re describing, when there is sex involved, is called being in a relationship.”

  He paled in front of her. Legit paled. “I don’t do relationships.”

  “Yeah. I know. Me, either.”

  “Good.” He swallowed. “Call it what you want, or what it’s
supposed to be, but that’s why I’m tense. Because you’re making me want things I never wanted before. It scares me.”

  “Then leave.”

  He frowned. “No.”

  “Why not? It’s the simple way to make it stop.” She licked her lips, and bit back a moan when his eyes followed the damp path her tongue left behind. “In all reality, we’ve hung out a few times, but that’s it. It should be easy to walk away.”

  “But it’s not.”

  She lifted her chin. “Well, I’m walking away the second I get that job offer.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  Just stared at her.

  After a while, he broke the silence. “I know. And I’ll help you pack.”

  “Good,” she said.

  “Good,” he echoed.

  Then they stared at one another again.

  The tension in the room was palpable.

  If she had a knife, she could cut it.

  “You should probably go,” she said.

  At the same time, he muttered, “I should go.”

  Yet, again, neither of them moved.

  “My favorite flowers are roses. Red ones. I know they’re pretty generic nowadays, but they’re classic. I like them.”

  His jaw flexed. “Makes sense. You’ve got a classic, timeless beauty, so those flowers are perfect for you.”

  “You already know my dreams.”

  He nodded slightly. “You want to leave here.”

  “Yes.” She hesitated. “And my biggest fear—”

  “Is falling for another guy who could hurt you like he did.”

  She nodded. “So now you know all those things.”

  “I guess I do.”

  “What’s your dream?” she asked.

  “To be a successful lawyer, and build my own home, and be a senior partner.”

  She fisted her hands. “And your fears?”

  “I…” He opened his mouth, closed it, and then shook his head. “I don’t really have any. If I had to name one, then I’d say failure. I fear failure.”

  “I don’t think it’s possible for you to fail.”

  He cocked his head. “Clearly, then, you didn’t see my painting tonight.”

  She laughed then covered her mouth. “Oh, I saw it. I love it.”

  “Are you sure?” He crossed the room and picked his up. “This one?”

  She chuckled into her hand. His wineglass was wobbly and crooked, and she loved it. It was perfectly imperfect. “Yep. That’s the one.”

  He tipped his head. He looked so handsome. His hair was slightly messed up, he had bags under his eyes that suggested he hadn’t been sleeping well, and yet he was hands down the hottest man she’d seen all day. Heck, who was she kidding? He was the hottest guy she’d ever seen. Ever. “I guess we already kind of are in a relationship, huh? Just without the sex.”

  She choked on a laugh. “That’s called friendship, Eric.”

  “Huh. Never really had friends before.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Is that what friends do? Talk about their feelings and shit?”

  “What do you mean, you never had friends?”

  “Okay, I guess that’s kind of an overstatement. In high school, I had Brett. And my brothers. So, I mean, I had them as friends.” He rubbed his jaw. “But people outside of my family that I hang out with when I’m not working? Or a buddy I call when I have a shitty day at work? Yeah. No. I don’t have those. Never really did.”

  “Why not?” she asked after she processed that.

  “I guess I was just too busy to think about it, or to think I was missing out on something. I still don’t think I am.” He laughed. “I don’t really need friends with three brothers, a Brett, and a sister. If I need someone to talk to, I call one of them, and we go out for dinner or something. Why do I need to let anyone else into my life, when I have everything I need already?”

  Eric Hamilton was one surprise after another. A man like him, you’d think he had people lining up to be his friend. In the short time she’d spent with him, he’d proven to be a fun companion. He was kind, and funny, and sweet, and hot as hell. But, no. Turns out, he was just as lonely as she was…and they were both alone by choice.

  He came closer to her, reaching out to playfully tug on a piece of her hair. “I do like hanging out with you, though, so if this is what having a friend is like…then I like it, I guess.”

  “I like hanging out with you, too,” she whispered back.

  It was the truth.

  Eric Hamilton was a good friend.

  But…despite all the reasons not to, she wanted him to be more than that. She wanted to find out what it would be like if, for once in her life, she let her guard down and did something she knew she shouldn’t.

  If, just once, she forgot about her past mistakes and allowed herself to make new ones. Kissing Eric might be a mistake, but she couldn’t think of one she’d rather make.

  He cupped her chin and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “You’re so goddamned beautiful, Shel. Inside and out.”

  She blinked because he was looking at her like he was dying and she was the only cure, and man, that was hard to ignore. “You’re more beautiful.”

  He snorted. “No, I’m not. I’m a dude.”

  “So?” Hesitantly, she reached out and touched his chin. The words flowed out of her like a fully opened faucet, and there was no stopping them. “I like how hard your jaw is, and the way your hair falls over your forehead when it doesn’t stay in place. The way your suits fit you are nothing less than their own private form of artwork. Did you know that when you argue with someone, your eyes turn a steely shade of gray, erasing any hint of blue until you win, and they change back to your normal color? Oh, and speaking of your eyes? They’re the prettiest I’ve ever seen. I could lose myself in them, if I let myself.”

  He swallowed, his cheeks coloring and his eyes turning bluer than she’d ever seen them. What did that mean? She was dying to know. “Shel…”

  “I like the way you say my name, too,” she said quickly. With a boldness she’d never felt before, she curled her hand behind his neck, holding on tight. All it would take was a simple movement, a shift of her position, and their lips could touch. She’d finally get to find out what he tasted like, and if he was as good a kisser as she thought he might be. “I like lots of things about you, Eric. Too many.”

  His hand slid down to her hip, grabbing hold possessively, and there was something about the way he held her, something about the knowledge that he could easily pick her up and carry her to bed the second she gave him permission, that stole the breath right out of her lungs.

  It would be so easy to let him…

  And so, so stupid.

  Maybe it was the wine she’d drunk, or the way he was looking at her, or maybe she was just frigging horny and needed a break, but God, she wanted to be stupid tonight. “Kiss me.”

  He froze. “What?”

  A part of her, that careful, cautious part of her, wanted to take it back. To pretend she’d never said that, and laugh it off like she should.

  “I said, I want you to kiss me,” she said, ignoring that ever-cautious side of her she never ignored…until now. She dug her nails into the back of his neck, shaking her head slightly. “No, actually, I need you to kiss me. Like, right now. I feel like I might die if you don’t, and I don’t want to die. Don’t let me die. Save me, Eric.”

  He lowered his face to hers, clearly perfectly content to give her what she wanted, but then he stopped just short of showing her how amazing his lips on hers could be. “Fuck. I need to go. Now.”

  Then he stepped back.

  Actually stepped back.

  What world was this?

  He’d been telling her they should hook up, that they’d be perfect for one another, but now that she actually voiced the same thoughts, he frigging stepped back? “W-What?” she asked, unable to believe what she’d heard. “Why?”

  “You’ve been drinking all night,” he said, stopping at
that.

  Clearly, he thought that was enough of a reason not to kiss her. She, however, disagreed. “I had a couple of glasses of wine. That’s it.”

  “I know. And if you were anyone else, I would acknowledge that and kiss the hell out of you. But with you, there can be no room for error. We’re not just people who don’t know one another. We’re friends, and I don’t want to mess that up.” He stepped to the side, clearly wanting to leave, but she was blocking his only way out. She’d keep it that way for now, thank you very much. “You made it very clear, while sober, that you didn’t want to kiss me, Shel.”

  “Well, now I’m making it perfectly clear that I changed my mind,” she said slowly, taking a step toward him.

  He stiffened, watching her approach. “I won’t be able to stop at a kiss. If I kiss you, I’m going to have to touch you. If I touch you, I’m going to have to make you come. And if I make you come, you can bet your perfect little ass I’m going to want to fuck you.”

  “Fine. Whatever,” she shot back, an involuntary shiver creeping down her back. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Well, I’m not. I won’t kiss you for the first time when you’re drunk. When I kiss you, if I kiss you, it won’t be when you’re tipsy at best, drunk at worst. If you want me to kiss you, ask me tomorrow.”

  She let out another laugh because he skated around her like she was diseased. “Are you actually serious right now? I’m telling you I’m not drunk.”

  “Neither am I.”

  The urge to slam her foot down was there, and so strong, but she held it at bay. “Then why—?”

  “This isn’t easy for me, either, okay?” He let out a sigh. “I’ve never turned down a woman before, especially one I wanted so damn much that I’ll be up with a fucking hard cock all night long because I walked away from her.”

  She licked her lips, her gaze drifting south at his words.

  God help her, she saw the evidence of his…er, problem…already.

  He was huge and hard, and he was supposed to be hers, but he was too busy being all admirable and crap. Any other day, any other guy, and she’d think he was making the right choice, and even applaud him for it. But not now, when the frustration he’d awoken in her was so strong it threatened to rip her in half. “Then don’t walk away.”