Return of the Jerk
By Andrea Simonne
Copyright © 2015 Andrea Simonne
All rights reserved. Published by Liebe Publishing
First Electronic Edition, September 17, 2015
Edited by
Hot Tree Editing
www.hottreeediting.com
Interior Design and Formatting by
Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable
www.perfectlypublishable.com
Cover Copyright © Katie Little Fotolia.com
© Ryan Christensen istock.com
Cover Design © by LBC Graphics
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Liebe Publishing
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Table of Contents
Return of the Jerk
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Books by Andrea Simonne
Acknowledgements
About the Author
BLAIR MOANS SOFTLY.
Desire spirals through her as his hand glides slowly over her breast and down her stomach, caressing, moving lower until his fingers are brushing between her thighs. She knows what he wants. He loves to tease, loves to watch her arch into him, and she loves to give him what he wants as her thighs fall open for him, granting access.
“Perfect,” he says, his voice rumbling with approval. “So perfect.”
His body is warm and powerful at her side where she’s tucked into him, his cock hard against her hip.
Blair gasps when his fingers slide home. So good. Passion takes hold, gripping her, turning her inside out.
“Please,” she whispers, trying to reach for him. “Just this once.”
His muscular arms keep her still.
“But why?”
There’s no reply.
He’s breathing hard, though. Unsteady. Blair can hear it and knows he’s excited, too. It’s the same every time. He drives her crazy, drives her to the edge until she’s begging him to take her, but still he won’t.
She turns her head to see his face in the moonlight. The room is dark, but she can see him clearly. His familiar features. The ones she fell in love with the first time she saw him. That knowing smile. But it’s his eyes that grab her attention and always have, like the sun shining through stained glass. Golden-green.
“You want me,” he whispers. His fingers tease again, bringing her pleasure as they deny her everything. “And you always will.”
“Fuck.” Blair opens her eyes as morning light streams through her bedroom window, her body still humming with arousal. She rarely swears, but she’s had enough.
Five years.
That’s how long it’s been since she’s seen Road. Five long years. And yet these dreams are plaguing her like a song stuck on repeat.
I should divorce him.
Any sane woman would have divorced him right after he left their four-month marriage. Abandoned her. Just packed his stuff and left one day. No goodbye. Just a short note left on her pillow with a simple ‘this isn’t working for me.’ And he’s never looked back. She always tells people they were together a year because the truth is too embarrassing.
Nathan ‘Road’ Church didn’t want her. Not at all.
But whatever. She’s over him. Water under the bridge, as they say. It’s not like she hasn’t had her share of boyfriends since then because she’s dated plenty, though none of them have been serious. If someone serious did come along, she’d divorce Road in a second. Of course, she’d have to find him first. Last she heard, he was in Budapest doing God knows what, and before that it was Thailand, and before that, India. Her best friend, Tori, is his sister and despite Blair’s standing order that they never discuss Road, occasionally information on his whereabouts slips through.
Not that I care. I’ve definitely moved on.
She pretends he doesn’t exist and, for the most part, is successful. If it weren’t for these tormenting dreams!
Blair shoves the covers back, checks her phone and sees it’s almost seven. Normally, she’d be at La Dolce Vita, the bakery she co-owns with her business partner, Natalie, but it’s her day off. They moved to a new location recently, had a write-up in Seattle Magazine, and as a result, business is booming. Blair’s wedding cakes are more in demand than ever.
I’m going to call Mia today and tell her to put the paperwork through.
Mia is her divorce lawyer, the one she hired right after Road left. She had Mia draw up divorce papers, but then Blair changed her mind and told Mia to forget it. The month after that, she called Mia and told her to go through with the divorce, but then Blair changed her mind again. She usually calls once or twice a year, changing her mind every time.
I’ve been too busy, that’s all.
Blair goes over to her closet, where her clothes are neatly organized by type and color. She grabs a pair of black track pants and a white University of Washington T-shirt to slip on, pulling her auburn hair back into a high ponytail so she can go for a run.
Her condo is on Eastlake in Seattle, and she loves the eclectic neighborhood. There are shops, cafés, and historic buildings. She bought it three years ago when the market was low, and as a result was able to afford a corner unit with a view of Lake Union. Her run takes her all the way down to the water near the colorful houseboats and by the time she makes it there, she’s breathless and dripping with sweat.
Her iPod blasts “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” by The Supremes as she walks back up the sidewalk to cool down.
Near the front of her building, she notices a strange guy sitting by the entrance—some kind of bum wearing disheveled clothes. He’s sporting chin-length blond hair, his head bent as he studies his phone. This is generally a safe neighborhood, but Blair is still cautious living in the city.
Is he waiting for somebody?
She wonders if she should say something to him. The front entrance is always kept locked, but what if he tries to slip in behind her? As she moves closer, she notices his jeans and shirt are wrinkled, but even sitting down, she can tell he’s tall and broad-shouldered. Maybe he’s not a bum. In truth, he’s kind of hot.
When she’s a few feet away, he suddenly looks up and Blair’s heart stops. The Supremes are still playing. Diane Ross’s sweet voice soars as all the blood rushes to Blair’s head and her stomach drops.
His eyes are golden-green.
Staring in shock, Blair
rips her earbuds out.
“Road?” she breathes.
“Princess.” He grins at her.
She can’t speak. Adrenaline rockets through her as she watches him get up from where he’s sitting. There’s a beat-up leather backpack next to him which he swings onto his shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” she finally manages to say.
“Just flew in this morning.”
Blair’s eyes roam over him, taking in his gray T-shirt and faded jeans before settling on his face again. He looks different, but weirdly the same, too.
“Why?” she asks, dumbfounded.
And suddenly it’s like the first time she ever saw him. Back when she was a quiet thirteen-year-old, the new kid who kind-hearted Tori befriended and invited over one afternoon. Tori lived in a small rambler on a rundown street. The garage door was open and motorcycles were parked in the driveway. Older teenagers were playing Frisbee in the front yard while Van Halen’s “Running with the Devil” blasted from the stereo. The Frisbee landed at Blair’s feet and when she picked it up, the most breathtaking guy she’d ever seen in her life loped over to pluck it from her hand. “That’s my brother, Road,” Tori said dismissively. “He’s a tenth-grader.” Road grinned at her, those golden-green eyes flashing, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, and Blair’s entire world shifted on its axis.
It’s never shifted back.
“Let’s talk inside,” Road says.
“I haven’t seen you in five years.”
He reaches down and takes the keys from her hands, somehow figuring out which one opens the main entrance. “Come on.” Road holds the door open for her, and Blair has no choice but to go over. He hands her keys back and follows her inside.
When they’re in the elevator, Blair tries to pull herself together. I can’t believe this is happening. She takes a deep breath, trying to recover from the shock. Her eyes find Road. He isn’t looking at her, but watching the floors light up.
“How did you know where I live?” she asks, just before the elevator arrives at her floor.
“Tori gave me your address.”
Blair decides she’s going to murder Tori. Right after she finds a new home for all Tori’s animals.
Once they’re inside Blair’s condo, Road tosses his backpack down like he owns the place and turns toward her. “Need to take a shower and crash. Want to show me the way, babe?”
“Look, you can’t stay here!” Blair tries to quell her rising panic. “You need to find someplace else. Just call Tori, or Kiki, or even your mom.”
The kitchen and living area in her condo are all one open space. Her living room is tidy and comfortable with a white couch and wingback chair, a flat-screen television on one wall above a gas fireplace. She loves her condo, loves the perfection of it. It’s small, but always clean, with everything where it’s supposed to be. Her peaceful sanctuary. On the wall opposite the television are floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books flawlessly organized by the Dewey Decimal System, which Blair prefers over the Library of Congress Classification. She’s heard all the arguments and still considers LOC inferior to the purity of Dewey.
Books and baking. The two loves of Blair’s life. There used to be three, but she’s over Road.
So over him.
Standing there, he takes this all in before walking over to her kitchen’s island, pulling out a white wooden chair to sit down. His intelligent green eyes take her in next, traveling the length of her body. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be under Road’s laser focus and she squirms a little. His eyes go back to her face.
“You look good, princess.”
Blair knows she doesn’t. She’s sweaty from her run. It figures the first time she sees Road again she’s wearing track pants and no makeup.
“Can’t stay with Tori and her menagerie,” Road tells her, yawning. “I’ll never get any sleep. Kiki’s all frantic planning her wedding. And my mom . . .” Road just shakes his head. He doesn’t have to say anything more. Blair already knows his mom’s house is full of people partying around the clock.
“What about all your cousins or friends? There must be someone.”
He closes his eyes for a long moment. She studies his face and notices the dark shadows under his eyes, the strain around his mouth. Road does look tired. Despite that, he’s as appealing as ever. What’s more, she recognizes that quivery sensation in her stomach he’s always evoked.
“Babe,” he says, opening his eyes. “I’m too exhausted to have this conversation right now. Shower. Sleep. Then we’ll talk.” He unfolds himself from the chair, grabs his backpack and heads down the hall without another word.
A few moments later, Blair hears the shower running. The nerve of him! She immediately grabs her phone and texts Tori.
Road is here. You are a dead woman.
Blair is pacing her small kitchen, trying to calm herself, when her phone chirps.
He’s there?! Tori texts back.
Yes. Why did you give him my address?
He asked. How is he?
Blair grits her teeth. Did you hear me? You. Are. Dead. And then adds, He’s fine. Tired.
Don’t be angry. I didn’t know he was coming to you.
I don’t want him to stay here. He has to go!
I’m sure it’s only temporary.
It better be.
Come on, you owe him this much.
And there it is.
Blair stares at that text for a long moment. Bites her lip. Tori is the only person in the world who knows the truth about her marriage to Road. Even Road doesn’t know the whole truth.
A couple days. She texts Tori. That’s all he can stay.
Tell him to call me!
Blair puts her phone down, taking a deep breath as she tries to figure out how she’s going to handle this. She’s surprised he doesn’t have a woman lined up somewhere, some girlfriend to take him in. In truth, Road could walk into any bar in the city and women would be tripping over themselves to take him home.
She hears the shower go off. He was never one for long showers. All the details about him are coming back now, the running list she always kept of his likes and dislikes. His favorite food is Mexican, his favorite dessert carrot cake. Road is one of the few people she’s met who doesn’t like chocolate. She studied him for years, greedily cataloging every habit and nuance, hoping for the day when he’d finally notice her.
That day never came.
Blair snorts softly. I probably know him better than he knows himself.
By the time he comes out of the bathroom, Blair is in the kitchen making herself a latte. She turns but freezes when she sees him.
Road is standing by the island, naked except for the white towel wrapped around his waist. His blond hair is wet and parted down the center. He’s studying his phone again, and Blair can’t pull her eyes away from all that lean, hard muscle. Road looks like a surfer taking a break from the waves, except he isn’t tan. Whatever he’s been doing these past five years, it hasn’t been sitting around eating candy. He’s in phenomenal shape.
“Babe.”
Blair’s eyes flash to his face. Embarrassed to have been caught staring at his body, she gives him a haughty look. “My name is Blair. Not ‘babe,’ not ‘princess.’ Blair. Got it?”
A smile plays around his mouth. “Was just going to ask if you have a washer and dryer I could use for my clothes.”
She sniffs haughtily. “There’s a washer and dryer in the closet next to my bedroom.”
“Thanks.”
Blair goes back to making coffee, grinding the beans then loading the espresso machine. After making a few shots, she looks up and startles. Road is standing right behind her.
He’s leaning against the counter, still wearing the towel.
“I assume you want coffee?” she asks, not looking at him.
“Sure.”
“Do you want it iced or hot?”
“Whatever you’re having is good.”
&
nbsp; She reaches into the cabinet next to him to get a couple of glasses down. His freshly showered skin smells like the citrus body wash she keeps in her bath. There’s something else, though, the delicious scent that’s all his own. She’d recognize it anywhere—the smoky hint of autumn leaves burning.
Ohmigod.
That smell. It goes straight to her head like a drug. Like crack cocaine. She’s dizzy as all the emotions she once felt for Road come crashing over her. Blair’s hands shake and she tries to hide it, quickly turning away from him.
She grits her teeth. I’ve moved on. I’m not a lovesick idiot anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.
Luckily, his eyes aren’t on her, but studying his phone as he thumbs in something. She makes an iced latte for each of them and nearly adds sugar to his because she remembers that’s how he takes it, but stops herself.
“Here,” she says, shoving his coffee toward him on the counter.
“Thanks.” He puts his phone down and picks up his latte.
She watches him take a drink. “There’s a sugar bowl next to the espresso machine.”
“Don’t need it.”
She almost corrects him. Since when doesn’t Road take sugar in his coffee? But she realizes in time how stupid she’d sound.
“Thank you, Blair.”
She turns her head to look out the kitchen window at the apartment building across the street. “It’s just a latte.”
“No, I mean thank you for letting me invade your space like this.”
Blair struggles not to be rude. “Tori wants you to call her.”
“Will do.”
Neither of them speaks for a few seconds and finally Blair can’t resist. “Why did you come here?”
He watches her, but doesn’t reply.
“I’m sure there are plenty of women you could stay with in Seattle.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Don’t need that kind of complication right now.”
Blair stares down into her milky drink. Because, of course, I’m not a complication. Suddenly, she’s pissed. Seriously pissed. How dare he show up here after all this time! What gall!
“And besides,” he puts his glass on the counter, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I’m still your husband.”
Return of the Jerk (Sweet Life in Seattle, Book 2) Page 1