by Cora Carmack
“You can have as many dares as you want.”
“Good. I dare you to kiss—”
I didn’t even finish the sentence before his mouth was on mine. He stood bent over me, his hands cradling my face, and he worshiped my lips like it was the first time we’d touched in a thousand years.
His tongue swept across my lip, and my belly tightened just at the memory of how he tasted. His lips pushed harder, and on the second sweep of his tongue, I opened to him. Our tongues touched, and he groaned, his fingers pushing back into my hair.
I shivered, and released the death grip I had on the swing to reach for him. With him standing and me sitting, I couldn’t wrap my arms around him the way I wanted. Before I could order my legs to stand, he took hold of the swing chains, and pushed me back and up, like he was about to set me swinging. Instead, he pushed me just high enough that my mouth was level with his and nudged my knees apart to settle between them.
It was my turn to moan into his mouth, as his body was brought in line with mine. His hands slid from the chains to my back, and he tugged until my chest smashed against his. I wrapped my arms around him, and the familiar feel of his muscles beneath my fingertips made me ache with want.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmured against my lips.
Missed didn’t even begin to describe the feeling that simmered through my bloodstream. With his lips on mine, and his hips pressing intimately against my center, I couldn’t even understand how I’d lasted as long as I had.
He leaned harder into me, pushing back against the swing. His hardness pressed against the zipper of my jeans, and I saw stars just from the friction.
I whimpered. “Maybe we should move this off the playground.”
“No one’s around.”
I’d have to take his word for it because his lips didn’t leave mine long enough to look around. His tongue curled around mine, and I was shaking against him. My hands, my arms, my legs—all of them trembling and weak with desire. I wound my hands together at his neck, afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep them up if I didn’t.
He pulled back to release a breath, and I tasted him on the air. He kissed me again, softly, teasing and nipping at my swollen lips. He hummed, and I felt the vibrations slink their way beneath my skin. His hands sank into my hair, like fingers sinking into the sand, into my soul. He rested his forehead against mine, and gave a chagrined smile.
“Okay, so there might be people around. But in my defense, I was too preoccupied to really see them.”
I probably should have been embarrassed. But in truth, I didn’t even care enough to look around and find the, no doubt, scandalized family who’d witnessed our reunion.
Gradually, he backed away until my swing lowered back into place. My legs were still shaking when I stood in front of him. Immediately, he reached out to touch me again, his hand curling around my neck and tilting my head back.
His gaze tore through me just like the first night we’d met. I wanted nothing more than to take him back to my apartment and continue our reunion.
I said, “Let’s go home.”
He kissed me again with the same detail, the same intricacy I saw in his sketches. Fire raged everywhere our skin met, and he said, “I’m already there.”
Acknowledgments
Wow. The release of this book coincides almost exactly with the day I published Losing It in October of 2012. Dramatically doesn’t seem like a strong enough word to describe all the ways my life has changed. You’d think after a year it would feel less surreal, but it doesn’t. I want to pinch myself because this is all more than I could have ever dreamed. I am so very grateful to God and luck and family and friends and every minuscule happening that brought me to this moment. These two words will never be enough, but thank you.
To my fans: You. Are. Incredible. I cannot even begin to express how awesome you are and how much I adore you. Thanks for all your messages and tweets and e-mails. Thanks for telling me how much you love my characters, and for drawing awesome pictures for me and making gorgeous icons. Thanks for spreading the word to your friends and family and complete strangers. Thanks for coming to see me at signings and for making what I do so much fun. Please don’t stop. Tweet me. Facebook me. Attend signings. Sometimes I get busy writing and am a little slow on the replies, but I promise I read and love everything you say.
To my family: You keep me sane. Thanks for watching my cat while I fly off to amazing places (and have a bazillion flight problems that cause me to have to spend the night in some not-so-amazing places). Thanks for reading my things when I need help, and thanks for understanding when I hole up in my apartment for weeks and don’t call or visit. Thanks for always being supportive and cheering me on. Thanks for making me who I am. Without your love and care and criticism (and that time my sisters locked me outside in the Texas heat), I wouldn’t have become this person who gets to do what she loves for a living. Mom, thanks for listening to me prattle on about plots and publishing for hours even when what I’m saying makes no sense and there’s no solution to be had.
To my friends: Thanks for being my second family, and for being my home. Much like Kelsey, it kills me that you’re all scattered so far and wide across this world, but I’m so thankful to have you in my past, present, and future. You guys helped teach me who I was, and I always feel like I’m at home when I’m with you. Kristin—you know all the reasons I love you. Stop letting me go so long without visiting. I miss you. P.S. Let’s go back to Europe. Lindsay—thanks for the stories and the texts that make me laugh (and make everything better). Thanks for always being my first reader, and for introducing me to Doctor Who. Patrick—gah. I cannot even begin to describe all the things I need to thank you for. You’re amazing, and anytime I forget to tell you, feel free to punch me (just not in the face). To Ana, most of my books are written to you in some way. I just hope you always know you’re not alone. And because Bethany would kill me if I didn’t do a full list: Thanks, Bethany, Joey, Shelly, Sam, Murmur, Daniel, Matt, Karina, Tyler, and gah . . . I know I’m missing people. Thank you all. Especially my BUT family. HSFAC will always be home to me.
And to “my” people: Suzie—you are a rockstar. You don’t know how grateful I am I didn’t read your newest blog post before querying you. And there must be something in the water over at New Leaf because Kathleen, Pouya, Joanna, Danielle—you’re all rockstars. Thank you. Amanda—you were my cheerleader and my lifesaver in this book. Thanks for being so flexible and so kind and so generally awesome. Best. Editor. Ever. Jessie—I love you like Draco loves Hermione (in my imagination, anyway). To everyone at Harper: I couldn’t have wished for a better home. Thanks for all the support. To Kelly—thanks for dealing with my mess and for being the sweetest, most talented lady ever. To Jennifer—I hope you enjoy Jenny’s character that I wrote for you. You’re an awesome fan. To Sophie, Jennifer, Monica, and Kathleen—thanks for the blurbs. You guys are the best. And to all of my author friends that I’ve met over the past year . . . your amazingness could fill a whole book.
And finally, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed Kelsey and Hunt’s story. I hope it will encourage you to go after what you want, to take a leap. As a brilliant author once said (and an amazing class at VCFA will tell you) . . . Jump off the cliff, and build your wings on the way down.
KEEPING HER
A Losing It Novella
CORA CARMACK
DEDICATION
For Ana
You are going to do so many great things. And I can’t wait to witness them.
And to the #TeamGarrick street team
I pretty much adore you all. And I hope the universe gifts you each with a gorgeous guy with a lovely accent.
CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
/> Chapter 10
Chapter 11
1
Garrick
THE ALARM SOUNDED too early.
I smacked it into silence, and then reached for Bliss. I found only rumpled sheets and empty space. My eyelids felt like they’d been weighted down by sandbags, but I sat up and pried them open.
My voice was graveled with sleep when I called out, “Love? Where are you?” Something clanged in the kitchen in response. I sat up, fatigue wiped away by the realization that Bliss was up. And she was cooking.
That couldn’t be a good sign.
I threw back the covers, and cool morning air assaulted my bare skin. I pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt before padding down the hallway to the kitchen.
“Bliss?”
Another clang.
A muttered curse word.
Then I rounded the corner into a war zone.
Her wide eyes met mine. Her face, her hair, our tiny nook of a kitchen was covered in flour. Some kind of batter was smudged across her cheek and the countertops.
“Love?”
“I’m making pancakes.” She said it the way one might say, “I didn’t do it” when held at gunpoint by policemen. I cast my eyes down to keep from laughing, only to be devastated by the bare legs stretching out from the oversize T-shirt she wore. My T-shirt. Damn.
I’d loved her legs from the moment I’d first seen them while helping her with a burn she’d received on my motorcycle. They drove me to distraction just as much now as they did then.
I could have studied for hours the shape of her thighs and the way they flared out toward her hips. I could have been swept away by the feeling of possession that swelled in me at seeing her wear my clothing. There were dozens of things that I wanted to do in that moment, but an acrid smell tickled my nostrils, and a few tendrils of smoke began to creep around Bliss from the stove at her back. I lurched for the pan, where I found a blackening, misshapen lump of something. I pulled the pan off the stove, and heard a slight hitch in Bliss’s breath behind me.
Another bad sign.
As quickly as I could, I tossed the “pancake” into the trash, and deposited the pan in the sink. I said, “Why don’t we go out for breakfast?”
Bliss smiled, but it was one of those watery, wavering kinds of smiles that made every man want to run for the hills. I’d become well accustomed to Bliss’s panic freak-outs. But crying . . . that was still a terrifyingly unfamiliar territory.
She collapsed into a nearby chair, and her head thumped down onto the table. I stood there, clenching and unclenching my fists, trying to decide on the best course of action. She turned her head to the side, pressing her cheek against the table, and looked at me. Her hair stuck up in every direction, her bottom lip suffered under her teeth, and the look in her eyes pulled at something in my chest. Like an itch at my heart. All I knew was that something was wrong, and I wanted to fix it. The how was the question.
I moved forward and knelt beside her chair. Red lined her eyes, and her skin was a shade paler than normal. I asked, “How long have you been awake?”
She shrugged. “Since around four. Maybe closer to three.”
I sighed and ran a hand over her unruly hair.
“Bliss . . .”
“I read and did some laundry and cleaned the kitchen.” She looked around. “It was clean. I swear.”
I laughed and leaned up to press a kiss to her forehead. I pulled another chair around, and took a seat beside her. I laid my head down beside hers, but she closed her eyes and flipped her head around to face the other direction.
She said, “Don’t look at me. I’m a mess.”
I wasn’t about to let her get away with that. I slipped an arm underneath her knees and tugged her into my lap. She whined my name, and then buried her head into my neck. I took hold of her jaw, and made her meet my gaze. It couldn’t be a coincidence that this was happening on the day we were set to leave for London to meet my parents. She’d been remarkably calm about it until now. “Everything is going to be fine, love. I swear it.”
“What if she hates me?”
That’s what this was about. My mother. Bliss could barely handle her own overbearing mother; it seemed cruel that the universe had seen fit to give us two. But I was far more worried about what Bliss would think than what my mother would think. Bliss was honest and sweet and genuine, and my family . . . well, not so much.
I forced a smile and said, “Impossible.”
“Garrick, I’ve overheard enough phone calls with your mother to know she’s very . . . opinionated. I’d be stupid not to worry about what she’ll think of me.”
“You’d be stupid to think that anything my mother could say would matter.” And it wouldn’t matter to me. But it would matter to Bliss. Late at night when our apartment got quiet, the image of my mum as predator and Bliss as prey kept popping into my head. One week. We just had to survive one week. I stroked my thumb across her jaw and added, “I love you.”
So much that it terrified me. And I didn’t scare easy.
“I know . . . I just—”
“Want her to like you. I know. And she will.” Please God, let my mother like her. “She’ll like you because I love you. She might be a bit abrasive, but like any mother she wants me to be happy.”
Or at least I hoped that was how she would see things.
Bliss’s chin tipped up slightly, bringing her lips closer to mine. I felt her breath across my mouth, and my body reacted almost instantly. My spine straightened, and I became acutely aware of the bare legs draped across my lap. She said, “And you are? Happy?”
God, sometimes I just wanted to shake her. In many ways, she’d overcome the worst of her insecurities, but in moments of stress they seemed to all come rushing back. Rather than wasting my breath answering, I stood with her cradled in my arms, and headed for the hallway.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
I stopped for a moment to press a hard kiss to her mouth. Her fingers laced around my neck, but I pulled back before she could distract me from making my point. “I’m showing you how happy I am.”
I nudged the bathroom door open, and leaned past the shower curtain. Bliss squealed and held tighter to my neck, as I turned the shower knobs with her still in my arms. She raised an eyebrow, a sly grin sneaking across her lips. “Our shower makes you happy?”
“You make me happy. The shower is just multitasking.”
“How very responsible of you.”
I kissed a smudge of pancake batter off her cheek, and smiled.
“Yes, that’s the word.”
I set her down on her feet, but her arms stayed tucked around my neck. When she smiled at me like that, I forgot all about the flour on her face or her wild bed head. That smile went straight through me and settled somewhere in my bones.
I kissed her on the forehead and said, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I found the hem of her oversize T-shirt, and began pulling it over her head. I’m not sure where the T-shirt ended up because when I realized she was wearing nothing underneath it, my vision narrowed to encompass only her.
God, she was gorgeous.
If you would have told me two years ago that I’d be getting married to a girl that I’d met just over a year ago, I would have called you mental. My romantic history was so horrendous, I’d never really thought of myself as the marrying type. Until her.
Bliss cleared her throat, and my eyes went back to her. To her mouth. Her chest. The small of her waist that seemed perfectly sculpted to fit in my hands.
She was the ultimate game changer. I hadn’t known what it was like to meet a person so full of joy that just by being near her, I was elevated to a happier place. I’d never been with someone who was able to captivate every part of me—mind, body, and soul.
Body, of course, being my primary focus at the moment.
Her bottom lip stuck out, calling to me, and she said, “How long are you going to make me stand here naked w
hile you’re fully clothed?”
I took a seat on the toilet, and smiled cheekily up at her. I leaned back, laying one leg across my other knee, and said, “I could do this all day.”
And I wasn’t lying. I wanted to study her, to memorize her, to be able to close my eyes and see her perfectly as she was.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, it might be a little awkward if I were to stay naked all day. Though it would make going through airport security much simpler.”
I barked a laugh, and she added, “Wasn’t your goal to distract me and make me less self-conscious? You’re falling down on the job, Mr. Taylor.”
Well, I couldn’t have that, now could I?
I gripped her waist and pulled her forward until my chin brushed the skin just below her belly button. She shivered in my arms, and the reaction sent my blood screaming through my veins. I let my lips graze her just slightly and said, “You have nothing to be self-conscious about.”
Her hands laced into my hair, and she looked down at me with glazed eyes. Firmer this time, I dragged my lips over her belly button and up to the valley made by her ribs. I tasted flour on her skin even here, and smothered a laugh.
Above me, she sighed and said, “You’re back on track with that distracting thing.”
Suddenly impatient, I stood and pulled my shirt over my head. I was rewarded with a breathy sigh and a bitten lip that made it incredibly hard not to be cocky. And not to take her right then.
She swallowed, drawing my eyes to her neck. God, I didn’t know what it was about her neck, but it was constantly my undoing. I felt like a teenage boy, wanting to mark that pale, unblemished skin as mine again and again. I brushed a thumb over her pulse point, and she swallowed again, her eyes wide. I laced my fingers through her sleep-addled curls, and tilted her head back.
“How about now?” I asked.
If she was even half as distracted as I was, I’d say I’d done my job. Her eyes pulled away from my bare chest and she said, “Uh . . . what?”