by Sara Whitney
The following day, she established a system that allowed herself three minutes to cry in a bathroom stall before emerging to hide her puffy eyes behind big sunglasses for her next on-air segment. Thank God for the relentless Jamaican sun that made them a necessity. Turned out her closest companions in Jamaica were her mirrored sunglasses and her thoughts. Her bitter, heartbroken thoughts.
At least she didn’t have to force her plastic cheerfulness on Ana and Thea, who were stretched out next to her under the early-afternoon sun. They knew she was a shambling wreck and didn’t expect anything other than gloominess from her.
“If you sigh one more time, I’m going to make you eat my sunglasses,” Ana said. “My baby bump and I are absorbing all the UV rays we can, and you’re bumming us out.”
“Sorry.” And then she sighed again. She couldn’t help it.
Ana propped herself up on her elbows and looked at her over the rim of the enormous tortoiseshell frames that Mabel really didn’t want to have forcibly shoved down her throat. “I’m on day three of this beautiful beach vacation. My children, whom I love dearly, are in Iowa with Dave’s parents. I have the finest, fruitiest alcohol-free drink in my hand and eye candy from one side of the beach to the other. Quit raining on my parade.”
“Seriously.” Thea lifted the edge of her floppy hat to squint at the part of the beach where Aiden and Dave were emerging from the ocean. She’d been letting her pixie cut grow out, and she impatiently brushed the dark strands out of her eyes. “Jake’s the idiot who’s missing out.”
“I doubt Jake’s sobbing in his beer over not witnessing a bunch of pasty midwesterners in swimsuits.” There, saying his name didn’t make her cry that time. Progress. Trying to keep it light, she pointed to the two men racing up the beach like puppies. “I mean, there’s exhibit A and B. Nobody’s missing anything with those two.”
“Mmm. If you say so,” Thea said, her eyes pinned on Aiden as he jogged across the sand. And yeah, true, his chest was nice, but it wasn’t the chest Mabel was missing.
Once the guys joined them on the towels, they shook water over everyone to get them all moving toward a restaurant for a late lunch. Ana and Thea both accepted, but Mabel refused to budge.
“Not hungry. I’ll stay in the sun a little longer. I’ve got a book.” She gestured at the paperback on her lap even though she hadn’t been able to focus on a single paragraph for long enough to understand it.
“Suit yourself,” Dave said with a shrug. “Don’t cry to us when you turn into beef jerky.”
She lazily kicked sand in his direction as the four of them gathered their belongings and headed toward the hotel.
Alone finally, Mabel let the book slip from her lap and noticed that Dave had left his flip-flops on the sand next to her. Here’s hoping they were headed to a “no shoes, no problem” kind of place. Laughter erupted from the cluster of bikini-clad Brick Babes down the beach, and Mabel had to admit she was glad they were here. They took the heat off her to entertain the fans, and they all really did seem to be having a great time. Somebody ought to be anyway.
She settled back against her chair and closed her eyes behind her sunglasses. She hadn’t slept well last night or the night before that—or the one before that, come to think of it. Now that she was alone, she was able to turn a newish thought over in her mind. Chicago had radio stations, after all. It wouldn’t hurt to just look. That didn’t mean she’d be leaving Dave or making any major life changes. But looking at job postings? She could do that.
The thought brought a measure of peace to the storm in her heart, and she’d almost slipped into a light doze when a shadow fell across her face as someone stepped between her and the sun.
Not opening her eyes, she gestured toward Dave’s sandals. “Forget something?”
“Yeah, I did.”
The familiar voice had her bolting upright in her chair. She whipped off her sunglasses. “Jake?”
“I forgot to tell you something.”
She blinked up at him, wondering if she was suffering from sunstroke. But there he was, barefoot in a rumpled business suit, carrying his shoes in one hand and his suit jacket in the other.
“Are you really here? On the beach? In a suit?”
His shirt was partially unbuttoned, tie loose around his neck, and he squinted down at her as the ocean breeze ruffled his hair. “I’m really here, and I’m in a suit because finding a last-minute flight to Jamaica is harder than you’d think.” He ran a hand down his face. “I left the office yesterday, went straight to O’Hare, and booked the first flight I could find. I had a few layovers, I’ve been traveling for twenty hours, and I haven’t had anything but airport food for an entire day. But quit changing the subject. I forgot to tell you something on Wednesday.”
He dropped his shoes and grabbed her by the hand, pulling her up to face him. Stubble darkened his jaw, and shadows darkened his eyes. He’d never looked better to her.
“What?” she asked, barely daring to hope.
“I forgot to tell you how much I don’t want to leave Beaucoeur.”
“You don’t?” Her heart squeezed.
He dropped his jacket and grabbed her other hand, running his thumbs over her knuckles. “My Chicago apartment that I wanted to get back to so badly five months ago? It’s empty without your socks and dirty coffee mugs everywhere. When they showed me to my new office at BPS, all I could think was how I prefer the view of downtown Beaucoeur from my closet in the bank building. And the only thing I felt when my boss made the official partnership announcement was how wrong it was that you weren’t there with me. So, no. I don’t want to leave Beaucoeur. You’re in Beaucoeur, and I don’t want to leave you. It’s that simple.”
She gave a short sob and squeezed his hands back, so full of love for this man. “I didn’t want you to leave. I wanted you to stay with me. You’re it for me,” she choked out, finally saying the words to the one person who needed to hear them.
He smiled at her then for the first time since he’d found her on the beach. “You’re it for me too,” he said. “So I quit my job yesterday.”
“No!” Mabel gasped.
“I told BPS I’d be working in Beaucoeur from now on. If they want to keep me on, that’s great. If they don’t, I’ll open my own firm.”
What he was saying made no sense. Not for the Jake she knew. “But all that work, all those years you put in—”
“—don’t matter if my heart’s in Beaucoeur. I’m good at what I do. They’ll either accept that and make me a partner remotely in charge of the Lowell account, or I’ll be my own boss. I’m good either way. As long as I have you?”
The last bit ended on a question, and Mabel realized what he was asking.
“You have me. You’ve got all of me. No more pulling away when it gets rough. I love you. I love you so much. I love you.” She would’ve kept saying it, but he scooped her up to kiss her, stopping her words.
“You’ve got ten seconds to gather whatever stuff you brought with you,” he warned her, “because after that, I’m taking you to our room, and we’re not coming out until we’re forced to seek sustenance. Or until you have some radio thing to do, because one of us needs to keep their job.”
Mabel abandoned her paperback and Dave’s sandals on the beach. She had more important things to think about.
She and Jake held hands as they stumbled across the sand and burst into the tiled lobby of the hotel, making a beeline for the elevator, which moved upward at a glacial pace. They used the whole trip to communicate with kisses instead of words.
When it finally disgorged them onto her floor, she led him to her room. “Do you want to shower, or—”
“Later.” He cut her off, kissing her as he simultaneously backed her toward the bed. “I was afraid I’d never get to touch you again.”
“But wouldn’t you—”
“Seriously, sweetheart, you’re in a bikini, and it’s making me crazy. Showers and talking can wait. I promise we can talk all y
ou want in the shower later.”
He tumbled her to the bed, and they shucked their clothes, desperate to be skin to skin. Mabel was almost dizzy with relief that Jake had come back for her, that he’d chosen her. She pushed him onto his back and climbed over him, kissing his throat, his shoulder, his jaw.
“Don’t ever leave me,” she said, licking along his chest.
“Never again,” he panted, moving his hands up her sides, curving them over her breasts. “I’ll never leave you again.”
She positioned herself over his erection and sank down, too desperate to feel him moving inside her to be patient. His hands gripped her hips as he drove up into her again and again. She rocked against him, moaning at the electric friction and the thrill of Jake’s warm skin against hers.
“Can’t last, sweetheart,” Jake gritted out. “Love you so fucking much.”
Mabel responded by leaning forward and sucking his lower lip into her mouth. “So make me come.”
He groaned and slipped a hand between their bodies to caress her, tipping her gasping over the edge. He followed soon after, shouting her name, and then pulled her down against his chest so he could whisper sweet nothings into her ear as their breathing returned to normal.
They eventually untangled and, wrapped in the sheets they’d ripped from the bed in their frenzy, moved out to the balcony to let the breeze cool their sweat-drenched skin.
Mabel was tucked against Jake’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall as he breathed and marveling that she’d get to experience the simple joy of that forever.
Jake broke the stillness by clearing his throat.
“So, uh, Mabel?”
“Yes, uh, Jake?” she replied sleepily.
“It occurs to me that I don’t have any place to live in Beaucoeur since I gave up my apartment.”
Ridiculous man. Perfect, wonderful, ridiculous man.
“I thought we cleared this up on the beach. Your home is with me.” Then she tapped her chin in thought. “Well, as long as you bring that pink apron with you.”
Epilogue
Six Months Later
“Good night, Robbie!”
Mabel’s cheerful voice floated in from the lobby of his office, and Jake smiled to himself and hit Save on the Lowell Consolidated documents he was working on for Brandon. If his fiancée was here, that meant it was time to wrap up and head home.
Moments later, Mabel poked her head around his office door. Her golden hair caught the glow of the late-afternoon sun, and his breath hitched in his chest. Her beauty still startled him sometimes, shocked him with the knowledge that this woman was his. He suspected he’d always feel that way.
“Robbie says good night, and he wanted to express his thanks yet again for his position as junior accountant at Carey and Associates, CPA.”
Jake shook his head. “At some point he’s going to get tired of thanking me. Until then, I’m letting that junior accountant bring me an extra coffee in the morning.”
She crossed the room and dropped into the chair in front of his desk, her short skirt creeping up when she crossed her tan legs. “So Cheryl’s also gone for the night,” she said, referring to the assistant he’d hired to keep his growing office on track. “It’s just you and me here.”
Jake raised his brows, recognizing that note of invitation in that maple syrup voice.
“Just you and me,” he said. “And our plans to have an early dinner so you can wake up at that ungodly morning-show hour.”
“Yep.” Mabel swung her foot, dangling her sandal off one pink, polished toe. “Early dinner is one of the things we could do tonight. But, I mean, we’re here all alone.”
Jake liked where he thought this was headed and, not wanting to discourage her, repeated, “All alone.”
“And”—she hopped up and leaned across his desk—“for all that talk about your desk fetish when we first started dating, you have never once ravished me in your office, despite the fact that we are newly affianced.”
She had a knee up on his desk now, that utilitarian metal desk he’d picked out in a haze of anger and despondency after she’d crushed him the previous summer. He was grateful now for his foresight in selecting such a sturdy piece of furniture, because Mabel was on top of it now and kneeling in front of him, playing with the hem of her shirt.
“And we’re all alone.” She smiled that Mabel Bowen smile at him and inched forward across the surface.
Jake finally snapped into action, slamming his laptop shut and shoving it into the top drawer, then sweeping all the pens and notebooks and files onto the floor.
“All alone.” He stood and pulled her toward him, eager as always for her mouth and hands and body. “And look, we’ve got a perfectly clean desk right here.”
Mabel laughed and kissed him as if she’d never stop, which suited Jake just fine.
I hope you enjoyed Mabel and Jake’s love story! You’ll see them again in Tempting Lies, book 4 in the Tempt Me series:
Thea needs help renovating her house.
Aiden needs help renovating his reputation.
Nothing a little fake engagement can't fix, right?
Tempting Lies will be available on August 13, 2020. Preorder now!
Acknowledgments
It’s Jake and Mabel’s fault.
My romance-writing journey started close to six years ago with a NaNoWriMo story about a gregarious deejay and a buttoned-up accountant, and I’ve been chasing the high of writing the perfect love story ever since. That journey jumped into hyperdrive in March 2019, when Tempting Talk was named a finalist in the RWA© Golden Heart© awards for unpublished authors. I was thrilled to be included in the final Golden Heart class, and it was the last bit of encouragement I needed to run full-speed ahead into publishing.
However, the book you just finished only shares maaaaybe 30 percent of its DNA with that long-ago first draft. That’s because I spent the last half a decade leveling up and absorbing knowledge like a sponge. My heartfelt gratitude to the members of Heart & Scroll, who provided me with my first and most important writing critiques, and to the Omegas, who are walking alongside me as we navigate Romancelandia together.
Sue Brown-Moore, you nudged me toward a more dynamic and inclusive depiction of Jake’s sexuality, and Mikki Helmer, you helped me bring that to life with authenticity, grace, and humor. Eternal thanks to you both. As always, I’m grateful to Anne Victory for whipping my wayward words into shape.
Over the years, many of my friends were kind enough to read Tempting Talk—so many that I’ve probably forgotten the full list. Thanks to each of you for the feedback and the positivity. And love forever to my best author pals T.M. Cromer, Genevieve Jack, Kate Bateman, Bria Quinlan, J.S. Harker, and Skye Malone.
Jason, you’re my favorite Amazon Music deejay, even if you do play an alarming amount of Ed Sheehan. I love you like Ed loves tattoos.
And finally to you, reader: thanks for coming with me on this writing journey. Stay in touch, and let’s meet back here for book 4!
About the Author
Sara Whitney writes sassy, sexy contemporary romance novels packed with wit, heat, and heart. A 2019 RWA© Golden Heart© award finalist, Sara worked as a newspaper reporter and film critic before she earned her Ph.D. and landed in academia. She’s a good pinball player, a so-so karaoke singer, and an expert TV opinion-haver.
In a funny twist of fate, Sara’s married to a divorce attorney, and she likes to think that her happily-ever-afters keep their household in balance. She and her husband live in Illinois surrounded by books, cats, and half-empty coffee cups. Keep up with Sara by subscribing to her mailing list here.
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