That was pretty much day three.
And four.
And five.
But, by day six, she’d worked herself into a really good mad and started to pack up all his stuff to send to wherever the hell he was. Oh, she’d find him. If the mad kept rolling around like a pig in stink, she’d hunt him down and throw every piece of clothing in his face.
He’d made her unhappy. Her dog depressed. That wouldn’t do at all. She needed some kind of confrontation that released some of the mad barely masking the hurt. She’d get it all out, because he’d ruined her. Rage wasn’t the norm for her at all. The first few days of being depressed, exactly like her, but this uncivilized flash flood of pissed off…no. A part of her, the primitive part, embraced the honest emotion and had no shame for feeling it. And she, all of her, kind of liked it too. It felt real, alive. More so than she had since he’d left. More like how she’d felt when he was around.
Yeah, he’d probably stay gone, but they would end like they started, with a fire and fight until nothing but cinders were left. This would be the one rule they’d follow and then, maybe, she could move on.
Hopefully.
“Fucking Ian,” she muttered darkly.
It took Ian three days at Stanford to work up to a really good temper. A town half full of preppies, the other half with hippies and neither side had a decent pub for him to get wrecked in. Without one, all he did was yammer at the same stiff-necked professionals with more money than sense.
Once the talks were done, it was meeting after meeting to drum up business for his company. He should have been over the moon and back. Dixon Langston, the owner of the small museum, had kept his word. Doors that had been closed previously, swung open wide and the stiff-neck professionals on the other side welcomed him in.
By day four, his consultation business was booked through to the next winter. He was a success.
By day five, he didn’t just have a temper but was spoiling for a good fight. The kind that broke some furniture. Maybe not, but some decent sex bruises because fighting should involve angry sex, at the least. Ian always had the name of the person he wanted to fight with right there on the edge of his mind.
She should be only a passing thought. No. Always. Right. There. Something would remind him of the way she laughed. The dewy feel of her skin after a shower. Her hair spread on her pillow while her nails dug into the soft cotton. Her. Just her. And the ever present thought of her drove him mad as a hatter. So much so, he finally did lose his mind.
Day six and Ian glowered at the first floor flats from his car window. He took a pull on the water, because he could taste her again. He hadn’t been able to get the memory of her taste out of his mouth since he’d left. It tasted bitter twenty-four hours in. By that time he’d come to grips she wouldn’t miss him.
She had his phone number. Not one shite voicemail yelling at him about leaving and not bothering to pick up his stuff. Not a single angry text message that the last exchange between them was a note about dropping off Lexxie.
Dead silence.
At that, it dawned on him, like dropping an anvil on his head. She’d been serious when she said they were done and she wouldn’t be heartbroken. Then his thoughts turned to her doing that dripping-with-sex hip sway in a bar for someone else. Joce didn’t care for him at all and had walked away first. Ach. Made him ache; made him mad. In cycles.
He’d come to the conclusion that if they were going to break up it was going to be ugly and very final. El Fin. Nothing but a complete understanding on both sides that they were done. Not cool tones that left his heart twisting in his chest.
Since he couldn’t take the slow slide into insanity anymore, he’d left Stanford and went to the only place that made sense.
He slammed out the car, stomped up to Joce’s door and pounded on the oak. Lexxie let out an excited yip on the other side and he could hear her nails clacking against the wood, trying to claw her way through it to get to him. Some of the mad he worked up left. Someone loved him. Someone had missed him.
Her owner opened the door and shock crossed her features. Lexxie bolted around Joce and jumped around his legs.
But then her owner’s gaze narrowed to slits on him. “Oh, Ian. Came to say goodbye?”
“Joce,” he barked back, but couldn’t answer the question.
He hadn’t seen her in forever. Looking at her now hit him between the eyes. She wore those silly boxers and had a jumper on. Sexy. Still. Ach. A lot of emotions crossed her face but only one stood out and it dug in his gut—lust. He’d lost himself while with her and forgot where most women wanted him—in their bed and not their heart.
Seeing that first and foremost with her had the mad roaring back easily enough. “Aye.”
Her eyes widened at his tone and her mouth opened and closed. “Are you seriously mad at me?”
“Aye,” he said again and walked past her into the flat.
The door didn’t slam shut and that meant she was still levelheaded about the whole thing. Not even irritated that her discarded lover came over spoiling for a fight. He faced her and hadn’t realized how close behind him she’d been. The deep, angry breath he took in dragged her scent up to him. The very definition of femininity. His fingers itched to grab hold of the jumper and drag her up to his mouth. Maybe the thought got through the anger because the lust deepened in her gaze.
“What were the rules, Ian?” The utter calmness in her voice punched him right in the heart.
“We’d fuck. You asked for your fantasies.” He didn’t add the last one because it had been a rule he’d thrown out, back when he thought she still cared, could care for him. Without thought, he shifted closer to her.
“I didn’t break either of them, but you’re angry at me?” The lust, the fire and passion blared hotter in her gaze.
“Aye.”
“So why are you here? To fuck again?”
Ian looked away, trying to fight back the need he still had to touch her, but his dick had sprang to life the moment she’d opened the door. The cycle of ache started and added sex in to the mix. It was a wonder he wasn’t in a loony bin. It felt like pure madness to be around her and worse when he wasn’t.
“We both know,” he said, “I stopped fucking you a long time ago.”
Her breath caught and she trembled. His brain went on autopilot and, apparently, so did hers because she launched herself at him. He put out his hands to catch her and then buried his fingers in the soft jumper, pulling her closer.
No. No. Argue it out. End it. She didn’t miss you; she missed your dick. But then she made a strangled, frustrated noise and lifted her arms. He yanked the jumper up, threw it across the room, and then froze. She caught his expression and whatever had propelled her to touch him vanished.
Her gaze went back to an emotion that refused to process in his mind as she stepped back. “Fine. You’re angry with me. I’ve got some stuff for you.”
It was hard for him to breathe so he answered without thinking. “Do you now?”
She made a sound between a yell and a growl. The noise brought him up short and then Ian’s gaze went back to the shirt she’d worn under the jumper and his heart tripped in his chest. Irritated to see him on her doorstep was one thing, but now he could hear it all. She sounded as pissed as he felt. Spitting mad. The kind where if you raised your voice above a certain decibel it would just turn into screaming, so you kept it low and calm. Joce was livid.
Lexxie had been sitting at the door, watching them but trotted over to him. He scooped her up. She wiggled in his arms and tried to lick his face. He pulled back, laughing softly and scratched under her neck.
“You missed me girl? I missed you. They don’t make socks as warm as you.” He glanced up and Jocelyn swallowed, looked away and then moved over to a box near the kitchen.
Ian frowned though he wanted to grin like a sodding idiot. “What’s in the box?”
“Your things.” Her words were clipped. “Was about to call you and as
k you where I could send them.”
“So nice of you.”
She laughed. “I am, aren’t I? My first urge was to burn them on the barbeque outside, but that screamed a little too much like She-Devil and I didn’t want to come across crazy. Even though you drive me nuts sometimes.”
He smiled, the fight not draining out of him because they were going to fight, but the ache loosened from around his heart. “And then what did you decide to do?”
“Cut them up into little pieces.”
“Everything?” he asked.
“Everything you left. Including your tooth brush. Do you want to know why? Do you want to talk?”
Since her voice was raising above the raspy calm, he put Lexxie down. The dog plopped right on his foot. “Let me have it then.”
“You left, you goddamn bastard. Yes, bastard. We were dating and not in a way. You lived with me. We had fantastic sex. I wasn’t just some lay to you. Don’t lie to me. Don’t you dare. You may know meaningless, but I know what more is like.”
“You do know that.” He kept his voice calm and knew how much madder it’d make her.
“I do,” she threw at him. “And when you have it and things break, you don’t just leave a note. You don’t act like you can’t see me when I’m across the room. You look at me with longing, goddammit.”
“True.”
She huffed and paced faster. “Stop agreeing with me. I want to fight. An ugly, knock-down-drag-out fight. I want to fight like we fuck. Dirty and both of us need some bruises when we walk away from this. That’s who we are.”
He shrugged, watching her get more riled up. After days of believing, weeks really, that Joce didn’t care enough to fight with him, this was a beautiful sight. “Except when you’re cooking for me.”
She waved her hand. “Yeah, that’s beside the point, because I am never cooking for you again. You left me. You bastard.”
He stuffed his hands in his pocket. She wasn’t done. Was just getting started if the flush on her face was any sign. He gave her extra fodder. “Aye. I am a dobber, but you stood in your bedroom after we did something incredible. Something that meant something out of bed and you fucking knew it. When I think on it now, I could see it as plain as day on your face, but I couldn’t understand what it was before. And then—and then you gave me nothing but a cold shoulder. How dare you?”
She practically snarled at him, and he grinned. “What the hell are you smiling about? Yes, I—we—you were leaving me. How—why would I just rip my heart out and hand it to you just so you could stomp on it? Why?”
“Because when you love someone, you don’t be daft. You let them know. Who gives a shite if they throw it back at you or walk away from you? You tell them. As fucking loudly as you can. Just so they know. That’s living, Joce. Bucket list material. You walked away first and it hurt like a son of a bitch. My first. My real first. You’re my bastard, Jocelyn.”
He let out a breath because his heart was galloping in his chest, and she’d gone silent. “I’m not here for my clothes. I don’t give a shite about them. I could buy more, but I left them with you, hoping you’d call me a bugger. Do anything. Say anything to me, but you didn’t. Why?
“Ach,” he said, the temper not feigned now. “Doesn’t matter, because still you stand there not saying anything when you’re wearing my fucking shirt.”
“What?” She stopped pacing and looked down. Cambridge stretched across her high and tight breasts. She gasped and covered the words with her hands as though that would do any good.
His heart softened even more. “Did you miss me? Is that why you’re wearing it?”
She sighed and met his gaze, letting her arms drop down to her sides. “It still smelled like you.”
“And?” he pushed for her to question him.
She swallowed, licked her lips and finally asked, “Do you love me?”
“Aye.” She ducked her head and bit her lip.
Fucking Joce. “Did I go and make you cry?”
“Yes.”
“Can I kiss you now?”
She sniffed. “My dog won’t let you move.”
“Food,” he said to Lexxie and she jumped up and toddled to the kitchen. He stepped forward and Jocelyn met him halfway.
God, he’d missed her. He buried his hands in her hair and kissed her first before anything else could be said. Or before words even bothered to show up in his head. Her fingers curled into his shirt and she kissed him back just as hard.
He pulled away only enough to look at her for what felt like the first time. “No way can I be away this long again. I’d worked myself into a good temper. And I made you wait to hear me say I love you. That puts me in the wrong.”
“Ian?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
He grinned at her. “I knew the moment I saw the shirt.”
She huffed again. “Well, pretend like you didn’t and the words—”
He kissed her, hard. Again. And again. “I knew.”
And then he saw when she got it. “I get wallet space.”
“I get a tweed jacket. Got any single friends we can torture? I think that’ll be our weekend fun.”
She laughed and shook her head. “I think we can come up with better ways to entertain ourselves. Never went out for drunken Karaoke. A tat. Was kind of busy. If you don’t mind doing it all again. With me.”
“I like that sound of that.”
“Aye?”
“No ‘r’, my bonnie lass.”
She grinned. “Still don’t know what that means, but I love the sound it.”
“We’ve got time.” She frowned and worried her lip. “Ask,” he said.
“But your business?”
“The whole goal was to get the contacts, get bigger and make a home base. Being the boss, I’m saying home is here. Because I can’t be without you. If you don’t want me, let me know now. I’m not the guy with words or flowers, but I will love you. If I have to leave, it’s you I’m always going to come back to. And if I have to wait, I’ll do it. For you.”
She shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. “You don’t have to wait. There’s no end date for me. Not with you.”
“Aye?”
“If you miss me or I miss you, either of us can hop on a plane. Have phone sex, too. Never done that, by the way.”
“No?” he asked with interest.
She shook her head again and smiled. “Couples do anything and everything to make it work because it matters.” Her voice broke. “You matter to me, so much.”
At that, Ian kissed her again, deeply, because he could and he needed to. She was sweet and right. Perfection. And without a doubt, he knew she loved him. Smartly, and with his heart somewhere between his throat and chest, Ian considered himself one lucky bastard.
About the Author
Melissa Blue’s writing career started on a typewriter one month after her son was born. This would have been an idyllic situation for a writer if it had been 1985, not 2004. Eventually she upgraded to a computer. She’s still typing away on the same computer, making imaginary people fall in love.
Where to find me online:
www.themelissablue.com
Where to sign up for my newsletter to get updates on new releases:
Newsletter
Special Thanks
Like all my books it’s taken a village to make it presentable. So in no particular I will like to thank Suzan Butler, Sasha Delvin and Holley Trent. Aimee Duffy took the brunt of the first draft so she gets a huge, huge thanks. She also checked to make sure he sounded like a truly Dirty Scot. Last but not least, Jennifer Leeland who not only read the second draft, but listened to me whine for months about this book. I can’t thank any of you enough.
Shawna Guzman, the editor of many of my books, gets her own paragraph in this thanks. She knows why.
Anything wonky in this story falls squarely on my shoulders. They tried. They really did try.
Other Titles by Me
lissa Blue
Her Insatiable Scot, Under His Kilt series
Keri Pearson is currently between jobs, so there’s nothing to lose when her cousin promises her a glowing recommendation from a top expert in their field in exchange for a small favor. All she has to do is lie about who she is and pretend to be married to a charming Scot for three hours. Her sexy-as-hell pretend husband makes it too easy to play the part of newlyweds. The last thing she should do is trust him or the genuineness of his lust or adoration, but his touch ignites an unexpected desire.
Tristan Baird turned his back on his past with plenty of regrets, but when his brother blackmails him, Tristan can’t say no. Given his brother saved his neck, an afternoon doing what he does best doesn’t seem like too much to ask. And it’s for a good cause. Doing the job right guarantees his brother and new wife will have the home of their dreams. But his stunning accomplice complicates the job. She is everything he always wanted and couldn’t have. The kind of woman who is too smart to ever trust a former conman.
The three-hour commitment stretches into five sexually charged days as they fight the explosive connection. As each day passes, Keri must remind herself what is true and what is false, but the lines are blurring. Tristan can only hope his past doesn’t come back to ruin their future.
Shamelessly Taken, Den of Sin series
Layla Gunn booked a single night in the infamous hotel for a chance to remember what it’s like to be wanted and wanton. The last thing she expects is to come face to face with an old friend from college. Can she still live out her fantasy?
Christopher Trevino is ready to move past his grief, but he can’t seem to find comfort in just anyone’s arms. So when he walks into the hotel room and sees his former classmate, he can’t help but feel this meeting was destined.
One night turns into the next morning. Can they walk away or will they find more than a night filled with passion?
What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 9) Page 138