Seven Hot Nights in Greece
Page 1
Table of Contents
SEVEN HOT NIGHTS IN GREECE
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
SEVEN HOT NIGHTS IN GREECE
The Taylor Brothers Book One
ROSE LANGE
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
SEVEN HOT NIGHTS IN GREECE
Copyright©2018
ROSE LANGE
Cover Design by Leah Kaye Suttle
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-718-3
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
I’d like to dedicate this book
to my husband and our son.
I love you both.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to first give the glory to God, because without Him none of this would be possible.
My parents. You were both supportive when I first said I wanted to start writing romance, twenty-one years ago. You bought me my first Brother typewriter/computer, took me to the library to do research, but most importantly, you encouraged me, fostered my dreams, and had faith in me. I love you both.
My husband of going on fourteen years, thank you for your love, support, and being a cheerleader in this dream of mine. For helping with household chores, cooking a meal, anything to help give me time to write. You’re an amazing man, husband, and father to our son. I love you, babe.
Deborah Gilbert, my editor and the owner of Soul Mate Publishing, thank you for having faith in me, my work, and this trilogy. I appreciate your hard work and efforts on this project.
Thank you to my cover artist Leah K. Suttle for so beautifully capturing my vision. I can’t thank you enough for your hard work and thoughtfulness into creating this cover.
My beta readers, Angela C., Sara A., and Catherine A., thank you, ladies, for taking the time to read and give thoughtful feedback, it is greatly appreciated.
A special thank you to two dear friends, and critique partners. To Sara A. for taking the time to read Emma and Patrick’s story in the early stages. To Angela C. for listening when I needed to run an idea, a plot point, a piece of dialogue, anything by you. I’m grateful, and blessed to have you both in my life.
Last, but certainly not least, to my awesome readers! Thank you for your support, and taking the time to read Emma and Patrick’s story. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
Prologue
Fira, Santorini, Greece
Now or never. It’s now or never, Emma.
She and Patrick were alone on the stretch of beach, and for oh, the last few years she’d wanted to kiss him. Curious about what that would feel like. What would he feel and taste like?
She and Patrick had talked for the last few hours, and time had slipped away. The turquoise, blue-green waters of the Aegean Sea had long since eaten the last remnants of daylight, and it’d been a pity. Sunsets on the island were beyond compare, she thought, recalling the sky awash in rich colors of pink, purple, orange, pale-blue, and peach. Patches of clouds mixed and blended, turning the sky into an oasis and soothing her soul. The sea sparkled, as though someone had taken ten thousand buckets full of diamonds and tossed them, helter-skelter into the ocean.
“The island is breathtaking, isn’t it?”
She didn’t face Patrick, but instead continued to admire the beauty around them.
White grains of sand warmed her bottom as waves gently lapped at her bare feet and ran between her toes. A warm breeze touched her face with its gentle fingertips. Her sandals, long since abandoned, lay haphazardly next to her beach bag at her side. The beauty of the inky black sky, scattered with stars with a gorgeous full moon, made her unable to look away.
Even with her long-time secret crush sitting right next to her. She would sooner die than admit that bit of information.
“It sure is,” Patrick murmured.
She turned to face him, the closeness of him unexpected, as this surely had to be some wonderful dream. Her addled, probably still jet-lagged brain didn’t remember when he’d even moved this close. At this point, who cared?
Emma held her breath as he cupped her cheek, stroking back and forth, before he grazed her lower lip. His eyes lowered to her mouth before roving back up. She gulped. Because this, this was something she’d only ever dreamed about in their high school years, and now into their college days.
Having been with Patrick most of today, her first day on the island, had been the most wonderful time of her life. And now they were alone, without the prying eyes of a crowd. The touch of his hand, warmth of his body, and desire, evident, shining in his eyes . . . Oh my.
“Emma, I’m going to kiss you now. You can tell me if you want me to stop, and I will.”
And just like that, the breath got snatched out of her lungs, because all through high school she’d only ever dreamt of those words coming out of his mouth. Goodness, she hoped this was not a dream and she’d soon wake.
The lump caught in her throat, as her eyes trained on his mouth. “I won’t tell you to stop.”
As if in slow motion, his lips touched hers, and everything blurred in a haze of sea, sand, and sky. Tentatively, she rested her hand on his, before wrapping her arms around his neck, needing to relish this moment. And make it last as long as she could, fearing it would or could somehow end, or worse yet, be a dream she’d soon awaken from.
He leaned them back onto the grains of sand, and his lovely male skin pressed against her, as he threaded his fingers through her hair. His tongue slid into her mouth, and the kiss turned from chaste to ravenous. Oh thank you, thank you, God. It wasn’t a dream as Patrick slid his hand down toward her neck and landed around her waist. He toyed with the thin material of her tank top. The friction of his fingertips on her tummy made her toes curl deep into the sand.
Oh, wow, but he’s a phenomenally good kisser. And the
way he’s kissing me . . . My oh my.
Her heart pounded a fierce and heavy beat, as if it sought escape. She hoped he’d go further and slide his hand beneath to cup her, but he didn’t.
Surprising her, he backed away slightly and paused for a moment. “Tell me to stop now, Emma, or I won’t be able to.”
Keeping eye contact, she swallowed the lump in her throat and grasped his hand, moving it to her breast. “I don’t want you to stop.”
Chapter 1
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Six Years Later
Familiar and mischievous emerald-green eyes greeted Emma and she felt her breath involuntarily hitch as she almost dropped her coffee. She fought to keep control in the enclosed space of the elevator, and the newspaper nearly slipped from her shaky fingers.
Her mind drifted to this man, responsible for countless orgasms, bed head, and sweaty sheets on a trip abroad.
Patrick Taylor.
The man she’d had a crush on all through high school, and well into college, stood right in front of her. Helpless to stop them, sharp, clear-as-if-it’d-been-yesterday images of their first kiss, and their first time making love on that beach, as a dizzying current of memories flooded the edges of her brain.
Seven—count them, seven—amazing nights beyond compare, changed everything.
She’d willingly gotten into a casual, ‘no strings attached’ fling with him on said trip.
Ha, no strings attached, my ass.
Even so, it had resulted in the most spectacular sex, ever, not only limited to bedrooms, but on deserted beaches while the waves lapped at their feet, under an endless canopy of stars. In forgotten, tucked-away caves, broad daylight casting a glow over their bodies. The thrill of potentially getting caught made things hotter.
Goodness gracious, he’d had her in all sorts of naughty positions, had seen every square inch of her. And likewise, as his sharp suit and tie did nothing to hide the sinful perfection she knew lay beneath. Her mouth watered. Those days and nights replayed in her brain, times locked away for years. But now, between his intoxicating scent, and that knowing, heated glance, everything poured out like melted butter.
His hands, furiously tearing at the very little clothing she’d worn, and his skillful mouth, suckling at her breasts. Before going lower, casting aside her bikini bottoms, and using his talents elsewhere and everywhere on her body.
Clearing her throat, she took a sip of her coffee and focused on the elevator numbers across the panel, mentally willing them to go faster. Errant, whispered chatter, and the hum of the elevator blended through the otherwise silent space.
Now was not the time to take a jaunt down sexy memory lane. The paper abandoned, tucked under her arm, she attempted to look anywhere other than at him, even if she felt his gaze locked on her. What could she do? They were in a crowded elevator, for God’s sake.
As she kept her eyes trained on the numbers, she felt Patrick’s penetrating stare burn through her. Hell, he could probably hear her thoughts, and damn it, the elevator needed to move quicker. She needed to get the hell out of there. Stifling air wrapped her in its heady embrace. She was entirely too self-conscious of that heated stare, still trained on her, and if he continued, her knees would surely give way.
Especially if he can read my mind.
Calmly, as if he wasn’t standing a few feet away, Emma shifted the newspaper from under her arm, staring blindly at the first page. The photos, the latest happenings, the small print were all a blur. She couldn’t focus on anything.
Needing to keep a cool head, she took a few cleansing breaths. Despite her pounding heart, Patrick didn’t need to see the effect he had on her.
First things first, she had to find out what on earth he was doing here.
Second, she had to avoid him at all costs, if possible.
The elevator pinged, and, finally, she’d arrived at her destination.
No easy feat in heels, she half-ran, half-walked until she reached the safe haven of her office, nearly spilling her still-hot coffee.
After shutting the door behind her, she set her cup, and newspaper down, and collapsed into her chair. A deep sigh of relief escaped, and she closed her eyes. Holy. Shit. After all this time, what were the odds of running into Patrick, here of all places?
She placed a hand over her heart and attempted to keep herself together. Breathe in, breathe out, Emma.
Who was she kidding? She could not keep calm, as thoughts of him, and those magical nights on Santorini overloaded her senses. How intense the sex had been. How intense he’d been, and how fantastic they’d been together. Her stomach clenched as she remembered the last time she’d seen him before today.
Upon arrival back in the States, he’d completely shut down and erected a wall. As if that week had meant absolutely nothing to him. He’d given her the cold shoulder, and acted like a total stranger, aloof, as though they had not shared the most amazing week together.
She remembered the brisk fall day as she’d made her way to his dormitory, her heart full of hope, and her mind chocked to capacity with questions. She needed to know what’d changed within these last few days. Even though she felt entirely naïve and foolish, she knew she at least had to try. Finally, she’d made her way, climbing three flights of stairs, straightened her shoulders, drew her confidence, and poised her hand to knock.
Whispered, hushed voices from behind the door gave her pause. One of the voices belonged to Patrick. The other to an unknown, but very willing and passionate female, and she’d heard enough. She stepped back as if the door had suddenly burst into flames.
The lump of disappointment tasted bitter on her tongue, landing with a painful thud in her belly. Before anyone discovered her, she quietly walked away. She’d pretty much avoided him afterward, although that hadn’t been difficult, all things considered. He’d graduated a mere few weeks later.
The week in Greece had obviously meant more to her than it had to him, and he had broken her heart.
A light rap at the door drew her attention from painful memories.
Opening her eyes, she watched her best friend and roommate, Sarah, pop her head inside. A sunny smile decorated her heart-shaped face.
Pressing a trembling hand to her chest, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. “Good morning, Sarah.”
“Hey there. Are you okay? The way you ran across the lob—”
“Get in here and shut the door.” Now wasn’t the time to give a long, drawn-out explanation.
Sarah frowned, but did as asked. “What’s going on?”
Enough of this foolishness. Emma stood, tugged her shirt down, and smoothed it out, then calmly made her way to the window. Twisting the blinds partially open, she nearly collapsed at the delicious sight of Patrick, across the lobby, standing with a small crowd gathered near a cluster of desks.
Her heart kicked up a beat when she spotted him, because damn he looked absolutely incredible in that suit, a dashing light heather-gray with a navy, striped tie, and a baby-blue shirt. His body had barely been touched by time, and the suit hugged him to perfection. His handsome face, his smile, and, dear God, everything about him, made her libido do a little jig.
She wanted him flat on his back right now.
Her hand found its way to her burning cheek, and she reined her thoughts in.
Clearing her throat, she finally found her words. “Do you see him? Over there in the gray suit?”
Sarah’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and she let out a low, appreciative wolf whistle. “Who’s the stud?”
“Patrick Taylor.”
Her friend gasped, moving closer to the glass.
Emma inwardly bristled as she watched Sarah about press her nose to the window, as though admiring fresh rolls in a bakery window like a starving woman who’d not eaten in
months. She scoffed because good grief, it appeared nobody was immune to this man’s charms and heady, potent sex appeal.
“The Patrick Taylor? The one you—”
Emma quickly put her hand up, uncomfortable having it voiced out loud. Uncomfortable having her best friend checking Patrick out, not that she could blame her.
An irrational stab of jealousy seeped through her, and she shoved it aside. “Yes. The one I had a fling with in college. Six years ago.”
Her best friend cocked her head, studying him further. “Is he sexy or what?”
Emma couldn’t stop staring either and she took a moment to look at him. A good, hard look. He hadn’t aged a bit, it seemed, sandy, wavy blond hair, a bit shorter now, disarming full lips that spread into a smile, piercing her in the gut, even if it wasn’t aimed at her. He was clean-shaven, and showing off a strong, dimpled, and still thoroughly adorable chin.
Her lips parted as she recalled his enticing, earthy scent filling her nostrils in the confined space of the elevator. And those captivating green eyes. Eyes that could probably see right through her, see her thoughts, very erotic, dirty, she shouldn’t be thinking in the daytime. Would-probably-burn-in-hell kinds of thoughts.
One of her co-workers, laughed, and batted her eyelashes at him, carrying on about God-knew-what. Emma gasped as the brunette grasped his arm, handling him like a juicy, ripe peach at the market, trying to decide if he should come home with her, and already deciding how she’d . . . Over her dead body!
Whoa, take it easy, she chastised herself.
“Hello? Earth to Emma?”
Her friend snapped fingers in front of her face, bringing her back to the present.