“Sit there while I get the first aid kit.” I turn off the TV on my way to the bathroom.
When I return to the small kitchen, Keats is sitting at my little table viewing the framed photo booth shots of his mother and me on my bookshelf across the room.
I plop down in the chair opposite his, taking his injured hand in mine. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with wife-material Sofie right about now?”
He raises a brow at me. “I didn’t want to.”
“You mean she didn’t want you.” I gently lay gauze over the wound and cut adhesive strips to keep the material in place.
“No, I didn’t want her. I thought I did,” he says and I tense up, “but I don’t. Besides, she’s looking for a good, Brazilian man. I’m neither good, nor Brazilian. I set her up with Tomohiro.”
“You’re an idiot,” I say, closing the first aid kit and standing up to walk away. It hurts too much to be close to him. “That’s two women you spent a lot of time and energy on that you’ve just decided aren’t for you. Fickle much?”
“I thought you’d be happy that I’m not with Sofie.”
“Why would I be?” I ask, my mask of indifference threatening to crack.
This is sounding too promising. But I’ve been wrong before. I turn away to hide the hope in my eyes, but he takes me by the wrist and turns me to face him. He stands up and with shoes on, he’s an inch taller than me.
“’Cause you said you weren’t in love…with Byron.” He smiles tentatively at me, eyes flicking over to my lips. His intention becomes clearer as the space between us seems to shrink.
“I write porn.”
That stops him in his tracks, but the smile remains. “I know about Miz Peggy now.”
“So you know about the dating service?” I watch the smile turn bemused on his face, so I explain, “Before she started seeing Pete, I hooked your mother up with some of my customers—just the ones with positive reviews.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because I think you’re about to tell me something important, and you need full disclosure before you say what I think you’re going to say.”
He starts to shake his head. “Jess, I already know—”
“No, you don’t. I need you to understand that I’m nothing like Isabella or Sofie. I’m not trophy wife material. Oh shit, I just said wife. You see, I totally don’t know how to behave. You’re probably just here for a booty call ’cause you think I’m a total slut with a booty call guy.”
He shakes his head again. “If that makes you a slut, then what am I? You can’t possibly think I’m perfect. I can be a real asshole. I’m late all the time, and I don’t always have the best ideas.” He visibly swallows, like it was hard to admit his flaws. “But you seem to like me anyway.”
He takes another step towards me.
“My name’s really pronounced ‘Hoggen’,” I blurt out, “not ‘Hog-gen’, but not ‘Hay-gen’ either.”
“Jess, just shut up and let me kiss you.” He bridges the gap between us till his chest touches mine. Then he tips my chin up with his forefinger, angles his head to the side and leans in till our lips touch.
I push him away even though my whole body is humming from that gentlest of touches. “No.”
I realise I want more. Just sex with Neil I can handle. But just sex with Keats would kill me—slowly and with a smile on my face—but it would still kill every self-respect I have for myself, because I want him too much.
“Why not?” He looks confused.
“What? You expect my underwear to just fall off because the great Keats McAllister has decided he wants me after all? Fuck you.”
“But I cut my hand…”
“Big deal. You call that a grand gesture?”
“Your balcony’s pretty high…”
“You said it was easy.”
He gives me an exasperated look as I take a step backwards.
“Why are you really here?” I ask. “I thought we were just ‘buddies’? I mean, we slept together once and then you never called me after. Until an hour ago you were still dancing with Sofie. Until last week, you were still scheming to get my best friend back.”
“She’s your best friend now?”
“She’s always been. It’s complicated. Well?”
“I thought I knew what I wanted. I was so focused on my goal, I ignored everything else. I mean, for over a year, I thought I wanted Isabella back. But when you told me I’d done it—I’d broken her and Byron up—I felt nothing but guilt for hurting my brother. I’ve spent the week making up with Byron and trying to figure myself out.”
“You totally ghosted me after Mt Coot-tha. I didn’t see or hear from you for days.”
“I kinda got, um, freaked out.”
“Because of my messed up family?”
“What? God, no. I don’t care about that. I think you’re amazing for being a survivor.”
Hi eyes search mine till I meet and hold his gaze, and I can see he means it.
“So, why did you ghost me?”
“The wedding was coming soon, and I…I thought what we did meant more to me than it did to you.”
The tightness in his mouth surprises me. Could it be that he’s unsure about how I feel about him? Warm coils of hope wind inside me but I need to clarify just a few more things first.
“What about Sofie?”
“I needed to talk to her and end things definitively tonight. The last time I saw her was Melbourne Cup Day. I told her I’d call. I never did. I just couldn’t . She’s not the one I’ve been finding myself thinking about first thing when I wake up every morning, and the last thing before I go to sleep every night.”
I stop breathing. Does he mean me?
Keats reaches for my hand, pausing as if unsure if I’d welcome the gesture. That familiar stubborn streak flashes across his face, his eyebrows knotting before he goes ahead and grabs my hand anyway.
“I’ve had a lot of women in my life, Haugen.”
“Not really winning me over with that…” I say.
“Let me finish. But I’d never had anyone like Isabella before.”
Ouch. I look down where his hand is still holding mine. “You’ve told me that already, and again not really winning me over with it.”
“Wait.” He tips up my chin till our eyes meet. “Look, I thought I wouldn’t find anyone else like her. That I wouldn’t have that kind of connection with a woman beyond the physical again. But I was wrong. Sofie was a lot like her—the full package—”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“Just hear me out, Haugen. I swear, there’s a point to this. So, on the surface, things were great with Sofie. I could see my future with her. But it was boring. So I started thinking, maybe I was more in love with Isabella than I thought. And I refocused on getting her back.
“But when you came to the house and told me the engagement was off, it totally threw me. Then everything happened kinda quickly after that.” He looks searchingly into my eyes. “For the past week, I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell happened to my plans. And I realised tonight when I couldn’t find you at the reception that you happened. I’ve found something more than I ever had with Isabella. I found a friend.”
Tears sting my eyes. Great. The F-word.
“Not winning me—”
His hand on my cheek makes the words die in my throat. The gauze brushes against my skin as I notice the tiny flecks of brown around the edges of his light blue eyes for the first time. His mouth meets mine just as I take in a deep breath, his scent filling my senses—a heady sensation as he presses his lips more firmly against my own.
I pull away. “I can’t do this halfway with you. I don’t want you as one of my booty call guys.”
“Darlin’, if we do this, I’ll be your only booty call guy. I’ll be your only guy. And you’ll be my only girl. There’s nothing halfway about this, Jess. I love you.”
My heart begins to soar, but I catch m
yself. How could he love me? His eyes tell me he’s telling the truth, but even my own parents didn’t care enough about me to be there. I look down, shaking my head.
“Jess, I love you,” Keats repeats. He tilts my chin up, so I am facing him again. His gentle smile melts my heart as his arms circle me. “I love all of you. I love how you make me laugh; how you drive me nuts; how you’re kind of bossy during sex.” He gives me a pointed look after that one, with a grin that has me flustered. “I love that despite what you went through in your childhood, you still turned out okay. And I love you for helping Mom find her smile again.”
I instantly tear up.
“But most of all, I love you for being better than any woman I ever thought I ever wanted. You’re the one for me, Jess Haugen, so you better believe I love you.” He punctuates this with an endearingly shy smile, like he’s suddenly self-conscious after baring his heart to me.
“Keats…” I’m too choked up to continue. I’ve never said those three little words before, and now they’re stuck in my mouth from trying to get out at the same time.
He wipes away a tear from the corner of my eye. “I know, darling. You can tell me how much you love me later.”
He reverently cups my face, then takes my mouth with an intensity that shoots heat all the way down the sides of my legs to my toes. We stumble to the bedroom, Keats grabbing my butt with both hands like he intends to lift me there. But I keep my feet on the floor. I will not be the cause of him injuring his back—what good would that do either of us?
When we reach my bedroom, I suddenly become aware that the lights are on. There’s nowhere to hide. With a wry smile on his face, Keats kicks off his shoes, pulls free of his socks and shrugs off his waistcoat, exposing his plain white shirt. A smile curves one side of his mouth as he tugs his tie off, fingers flying over the buttons of his top till it gapes open and slides off his arms.
In just his kilt, he walks over to me, sinuous body made for sin. Long, lean muscles on a lithe frame, he looks taller than just six feet. But with him barefoot like me, we are eye to eye. This time he grabs my face between his two hands and kisses me again. When he pulls away, he starts to unfasten his kilt.
“No, leave it on.”
He raises a brow at me, smile wicked. I splay my hands over his chest, tracing the warm contours of his body, his skin smooth except for the sparse tuft of hair between his pecs.
“Your turn,” he whispers, nibbling my earlobe.
I scoff.
“If you want to see what’s under this kilt, it’s your turn,” he repeats, dipping his forefingers into the waistline of his tartan. “I want to see you.”
“I’m not…”
He dives onto my bed sideways, patting the space beside him. “Come here, beautiful. Make me a happy man.”
I chuckle but crawl onto my bed, settling on my side to see him better. Also, my breasts look even bigger when I’m on my side and they’re squished together like this. Keats studies my cleavage, his fingers tracing the path his eyes have just taken. With curled fingers, he touches my cheek, opening his hand till it disappears into the tresses of my hair. Keats twirls a lock of it around his forefinger, a smile in his eyes and on his lips.
“I love you,” I tell him finally, the words spreading warmth and peace through me like a secret that’s finally been shared.
Keats smiles. He dips his head to mine and kisses me, his lips soft, stubble rough against me as he rolls me onto my back. He rests his hand on my abdomen. I resist the urge to suck my stomach in. Instead, I put my hand near his, smiling when he threads his fingers through mine. He returns my smile before deepening the kiss, slow and sensuous.
My pulse quickens, my heart almost bursting, as I realise something—I’m about to make love for the first time in my life.
Also by Catherine Rull
Romantic Women’s Fiction/Chick Lit
The Fat Chicks Club (Book 1)
Coming Soon in e-book and paperback
Romantic Women’s Fiction/Chick Lit
The Fat Chicks Club (Books 3 & 4)
Confessions of a Mere Mortal (Book 1 Mere Mortal Series)
Romantic Comedies
Two for the Road (Book 1 Swim Bike Run Series)
Mr Write (Book 1 The Right Guy Series)
Paranormal
Guardian: Recruit (Book 1 Guardian Series)
About the Author
Catherine Rull started writing novels at 15 after learning at school that S.E. Hinton was the same age when she wrote The Outsiders.
Catherine writes humorous Women’s Fiction, Chick Lit, Young Adult, Contemporary Single Title Romance and Paranormal. She is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association (UK), the Romance Writers of America and the 2012 Golden Heart® Finalists’ group, The Firebirds.
Catherine loves travelling (she’s been to 31 countries so far), superheroes, talking to herself to work out dialogue, watching movies and following the NHL. When she’s not writing, she’s busily procrastinating housework.
Catherine lives in Brisbane, Australia with her very understanding husband, Mao Che and their two amazing kids, Alexandra and Atticus.
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