A Date with Desire

by Heather McGovern

Holy wow, they were hard on Wright. She could imagine the hell he’d caught for not making things work with a girl as perfect as Katherine Hurst.

  No—woman. Katherine was not a girl. She probably hadn’t been a girl since she was ten years old.

  Sophie didn’t want to ask. Shouldn’t ask, but the ugliest part of her – the dark place where she carefully hid her jealousy and resentment, any bitterness or other unattractive feelings – had to know.

  “Were you thinking about her?”

  “No.” His answer came quick and Wright chuffed, startling her. “I have more important things to worry about besides all that.”

  More important things?

  Wright’s break up with Kate had come fast and hard. Not a friendly parting of ways or even a consolatory, “Let’s still be friends.” Their relationship got nuked in one day, and it’d stunned everyone.

  The consensus around town, and the inn, was Kate might be the one for Wright. Pretty, sweet, wealthy family to keep his parents happy. Then Wright straight up dumped her.

  Sophie had heard all of this secondhand of course, from Dev, since she and Wright were technically no longer speaking.

  Some tiny, non-envious part of her actually felt bad for Kate.

  Wright had his flaws, and he’d been a complete asshole to Sophie last month, but her family excluded, he was still ten times better than every other guy she knew – which might not be saying much now that she thought about it. Most of the guys in Windamere were dicks.

  “Kate and I were finished weeks ago.” Wright jerked his gaze away before picking up the extinguisher and placing it back on the wall. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “I’m not worried about you.” She crossed her arms as she lied.

  Of course she was worried about him. She worried about everyone under this roof, but this was Wright.

  They’d known each other since the Bradleys adopted her. He was one of her closest friends and they hadn’t spoken in over a month.

  But he was so aggravating. And talking to him again jumbled her nerves, tilting her off balance. The silent treatment had sucked, but not talking at all was still easier than this.

  Before, they could talk about anything. Dates, guys, girls, sports, food, her brother Dev. Nothing was off-limits and nothing was uncomfortable.

  Until Wright went and ruined it all.

  During the planning of the Blueberry Festival, when Dev was completely consumed and distracted by all things Anna, and everyone was busy planning, she and Wright had taken a sharp left turn into terrain neither of them could navigate.

  Now here they were. Wandering, lost, and off track. And it was all Wright’s fault.

  Six weeks earlier . . .

  Sophie swung her feet, her heels bumping the cabinets under the kitchen’s side counter. “Matt might win worst date ever. He didn’t get my humor, I could tell he wasn’t into me, but he still tried to kiss me. No.”

  Wright hopped up next to her, ready to run color commentary on her ill-fated love life, same as they always did. “This is your third date. He must be a little into you.”

  “How do you know it’s our third date?”

  With a pop of his eyebrows, he shrugged. “I . . . I don’t know. Probably because you complained about the other two as well.”

  And there was the tone; the judgment in Wright’s voice when it came to her dating life, and the awful track record.

  He wasn’t wrong. She had a long list of failed second dates and a guy would have to be nuts to want to be with her, but still, Wright could’ve dialed it back a smidge.

  “Matt isn’t into me. He’s into getting laid. There’s a difference.”

  “Then screw him.” Wright bumped his arm against hers. “I mean figuratively, not literally. If he’s that big an asshole, you’re better off finding that out now.”

  They sat close enough together that their arms kept bumping, even when Wright didn’t do it intentionally. She could easily rest her head on his shoulder if she wanted to.

  Which was only every other day.

  With a heavy sigh, she admitted the truth. “He wanted me to be someone I’m not.”

  “Why would he want you to be someone else? That doesn’t make sense.”

  She asked herself the very same question all the time, but digging for the answer would be too painful to bear.

  “I don’t know.” She tried playing it off. “I could just tell. He wanted a certain kind of girl, and I’m not it.”

  “What kind of girl are you?”

  The kind no one really wants.

  “I don’t know.” She bristled at his concern. Wright had his own girl. A perfect paragon of charm and sophistication, who probably had sex with him every night without a single hang up or ounce of neurosis.

  Kate was everything she wasn’t, but Sophie wasn’t jealous. Their happiness gnawed at her insides, but that wasn’t jealousy.

  “You don’t know?” His question dripped with sarcasm.

  “Forget I said anything.”

  “I thought you wanted to talk about it.”

  “It’s just . . . I don’t know. I’m burned out. I’m better off alone anyway. I have my family to worry about. That’s enough to deal with.”

  His arm brushed her again. “You’re not better off alone. Everybody needs someone.”

  “I wouldn’t mind being alone.” Now that her brothers had someones of their own, she might get a little lonely, but she’d survive.

  “Hey.” Wright leaned in before turning toward her. He waited quietly until she met his gaze. “You won’t be alone unless you want to be. You’re great. Matt is the one with the problem.”

  She had no response. Not only because she vehemently disagreed, but because he was so close. Looking at her like he sometimes did, soulful brown eyes, seeing something special in her. She forgot how to speak.

  Her brothers loved her, but as far as romantic relationships, she was terminally solo. A few dates followed by long stretches of a singular existence, her solitude was her choice. It never bothered her until this year. The rest of her family was moving on, finding love and happiness.

  Sometimes, she wanted someone in her life. She wanted to be with someone. And that’s what scared her.

  Being with someone meant letting them in. Too often, letting them in meant losing them.

  In the silence, Wright eased closer, putting his arm around her, trying to comfort. “Soph. I mean it. You aren’t meant to be alone. Don’t say that.”

  “I’m fine. Probably hormones or something. I don’t know.”

  “Maybe because it’s summertime? July is coming up.”

  She turned to him. “How did you—”

  “Come on.” His gaze was tender, brown eyes soft with sympathy. “We’ve lived in the same small town our whole lives. I remember when the accident happened. Everyone remembers.”

  Her parents’ car accident. Her accident. Except she was still here, and they were long gone.

  “Every summer about this time, you’re not really yourself. It’s understandable.”

  Except this was herself. This was who she was. Beneath the managerial efficiency and enthusiasm, she was full of doubt. She might be able to run an inn and wrangle her family, but when it came to handling a personal life, she hadn’t a clue.

  “I was so little when they died.” When she’d loved and lost them. “I don’t know why this time of year still messes with me. It’s stupid.”

  He tightened his arm around her, tucking her close. A comforting hold that soothed her ragged nerves. “No it is not. They were your parents.”

  She’d pressed in close, refusing to cry. The anniversary of their death was coming up on twenty two years. What the hell was wrong with her that this time of year still made her nuts?

  Wright’s warmth and closeness were both things she desperately needed, but would never ask for.

  With him, she didn’t feel alone.

  Theirs wasn’t the kind of togetherness she had with h
er brothers. Never had been. There were times she’d dreamt of them being more than friends. When she was a teenager, again in college, then most recently before he started dating Kate.

  Then reality would kick in.

  They could never be more than friends. Her family would erupt with the shocking development and his family would have a conniption. Toss in that to Wright, she was first and foremost the Bradley brat sister—romance was never going to happen.

  Her consolation was Wright chose to be her friend; he didn’t have to be. He chose to be with her late at night, fixing the world’s problems, and she chose him. It was nice to know that somebody, somewhere liked her for her, and they could be together without fear of everything falling apart.

  He’d rubbed her shoulder, his touch light against the top of her head as he brushed over her hair. “You’re going to be okay. You’re having a bad run of dates and it’s a shit time of year, that’s all. And, you insist on going out with these losers.”

  A puff of laughter escaped her, jostling both of them. Didn’t he see these losers were the only ones interested?

  “Sorry, but it’s true. You could do so much better.” He kept his arm around her, touching her.

  “No I can’t.”

  “Hey.” He leaned away, making her look up. “Yes you can. I don’t want to hear that kind of stuff from you. Got it?”

  Then she wouldn’t say more. Didn’t mean she wasn’t still thinking it.

  Wright tucked her back against him, his hand warm on her shoulder. “I’ll find you someone. I know some decent guys . . . I think. Who aren’t your brothers.”

  As they sat there, Wright trying to think of someone for her to date, the energy between them began to shift.

  The change was so slow, so subtle, that she didn’t recognize the difference until it was already upon her.

  Wright moved his hand to her hair, threading his fingers through the waves to the ends, caressing her back. And she didn’t stop him.

  His touch was nice. Gentle.

  No, it was more than nice. Her skin tingled, warmth spreading from her scalp, down her neck and over her limbs. She craved touch. His touch, and their closeness, even as she knew this wasn’t what friends did.

  She didn’t stop him.

  As a matter of fact, her thirteen year old self was jumping for joy.

  What if?

  What if she and Wright could be more than friends?

  As foolhardy as the thought was . . . what if?

  But Wright had been dating Kate for months now. In Windamere, that was grounds to be called a potential fiancée. The women who Wright dated were always sophisticated, stylish.

  Sophie felt more like a girl than a woman. Half tomboy, half spastic kid sister. For God’s sake, she had freckles and owned one pair of heels.

  Wright didn’t want someone like her. His track record proved it.

  She risked a glance up. He was so close, gaze hooded, and his face even more handsome than usual.

  She wasn’t oblivious to Wright’s good looks. Since she’d come home from college, she’d been even more aware of how truly attractive Wright was.

  Good natured, even-tempered, always steady, Wright. Capable of being as goofy as always, but he’d grown into a man. With a rough baritone voice and more rugged features to match, the lanky frat boy she once knew was gone.

  In the four years she’d been consumed with college, Wright had been consumed with culinary arts—and catching a severe case of hotness.

  Yet, he was still Wright. Like a brother to her, and her brother’s best friend. Thinking of him in any way other than platonic . . . it knotted her up inside.

  But not necessarily in a bad way.

  A thrill rippled through her body.

  He touched her hair again, weaving his fingers through the thick waves. He cupped the back of her head, his palm warm and wide against her skull. Then, so gently she almost missed it, he scratched his nails near the nape of her neck.

  A shiver shot across her skin and she bit down on her bottom lip.

  She wanted to lean into the contact, let him touch her that way, everywhere. Softly drag his nails down her back.

  Oh god, she was leaning into his touch. Leaning into him.

  His hand drifted lower, to the small of her back, as he leaned slightly toward her.

  She wanted him to kiss her.

  For years, she’d wondered about Wright’s kiss. How would it feel? How would he taste?

  As he leaned in, she was frozen by her longstanding curiosity, held in place by her desire to have a guy, like Wright, as her own, but knowing she could never actually have him.

  Wright’s lips brushed against hers, tentative at first. When she didn’t stop him, he covered her mouth with his, and she whimpered.

  He was as warm and sweetly solid as she’d dreamed. Her little noise of need spurred him on, and as he deepened the kiss, all she could manage was to hang on.

  She opened to him and Wright swept his tongue inside her mouth, brushing against hers. He sucked at her bottom lip before dipping in again, and Sophie was like putty.

  Pressed against him, she gave herself over to the kiss.

  This was really happening. It wasn’t a daydream or something she conjured up. Wright was kissing her.

  He touched her face, fingers dancing across her cheek, then down her neck. He brushed past the buttons of her Honeywilde polo and cupped her breast.

  Her begrudgingly small breast.

  But he moaned against her lips. A greedy, carnal noise of appreciation, and heat coiled between her legs.

  Wright wanted her.

  He wanted her.

  Eagerness and need bolted through her, followed quickly by fear. And guilt.

  Wright wasn’t hers. He was with someone else. He had a girlfriend. A decent girl. And Sophie was the other woman. She was no better than a homewrecker.

  Her muscles went stiff as she jerked away. “What—What are you doing?”

  Wright flinched, taking his hands off of her like he’d been burned. In a blur of movement, he was off the counter and on the other side of one of the prep tables. “I don’t . . . I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t know what happened.”

  “You don’t know?”

  Wright had a girlfriend. He was not that kind of guy, and Sophie wasn’t that kind of girl. He was one of the good ones. In her mind, he would never.

  But he’d kissed her.

  Since when did Wright McAdams kiss her?

  Sophie slid from the counter and followed. “That was . . . what were we doing?”

  “Nothing.” Both of his hands went up. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

  “You were doing something.”

  His face drained of color, his eyes going wide before he blinked. A lot. “No, I wasn’t.”

  A honker of a lie if she’d ever heard one and her brain zig-zagged between excitement and disgust, elation and devastation.

  If Wright wanted to kiss her, she couldn’t be a total loss. He dated these perfect women and he was pretty close to perfect himself.

  Except . . . if he wanted to kiss her, then really, he was far from perfect. Guys with girlfriends didn’t kiss other girls. They especially didn’t kiss their best friend’s little sister.

  There was no winning ticket here, no matter how she looked at it. Either he hadn’t planned on kissing her and she did it, and she was slowly losing her mind, or he’d kissed her, and was destroying the pedestal she’d put him on.

  Sophie’s stomach dropped. “You kissed me. I know you kissed m—”

  “No.” Wright gave her a hard look. “I would never kiss you.”

  “I got the towels.” Dev hurried back into the kitchen, dragging Sophie into the present, a knot in her throat from the memory.

  Same kitchen, a totally different night, but her friendship with Wright was still in tatters.

  She had to let go of that night and the look he’d given her. Really
, she needed to let go of all of it.

  The warmth of his arms, the solid caress of his touch. They’d kissed for maybe ten seconds, and even that was a stretch, but everything was different now.

  “Thanks, Dev.” Wright took some towels and headed to the sink.

  For weeks, she’d nurtured the hurt and betrayal, and feeding it had only made the bitterness grow. Since she’d been crystal clear how furious she was with him, Wright barely spoke to her, leaving a gaping hole where his presence should be.

  She didn’t like living this way. This version of who they were now, stilted and awkward, withdrawn from each other’s lives, hurt as much as him saying he would never kiss her.

  The solution was simple. She could stop turning that moment over and over in her mind and try to forget. Rehashing did no one any good anyway.

  If she forgot about the kiss, then they might be able to move forward.

  She could help him clean up the kitchen, fix the mess from his fire, do her best to keep things casual and light from now on, and maybe things would be okay between them again. Somehow.

  The two of them would never be more than friends, but they could at least stop being enemies.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Heather McGovern writes contemporary romance in swoony Southern settings. While her love of travel and adventure takes her far, there is no place quite like home. She lives in South Carolina with her husband and son, and a collection of Legos that’s threatening to take over the house. When she isn’t writing, she’s working out, or bingeing on books and Netflix.

  She is a member of Romance Writers of America, as well as Carolina Romance Writers, and she’s represented by Nicole Resciniti of The Seymour Agency.

  Connect with Heather on her website, Facebook, Twitter, or her group blog. She’d love to hear from you!

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