by Moore, Becky
This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents
are either products of the author's imagination
or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2011 Becky Moore.
www.BeckyMoore.net
www.Twitter.com/beckym_romance
www.Facebook.com/BeckyMooreRomance
www.Dolly.Sickles.org
Originally published May 2011
by XOXO Publishing as The Right Words.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce
this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever
.
Closer to My Heart, by Becky Moore
Jane Porter’s life is all about fiction, but when it comes to dealing with her inconsiderate upstairs tenant, she’s all business. The cuffs are off when her noisy neighbor jolts her out of a sound sleep with a cacophony of banging thuds and her erstwhile favorite workout musicians, the Ramones.
Imagine her surprise to find the offending party is not her flighty neighbor, Amber … but a sizzling, melt-your-panties Adonis, Lucas Moore. Discouraged when a recurrent nightmare drives Lucas from another sleepless night, he figures a hard run is the perfect physical distraction to help him get back to sleep.
But half an hour into his groove, pounding on the door stops him in his tracks. Who knew opening it would change the course of his life. Yet, one look at the breath-taking woman demanding entrance put his whole body on alert—and a serious strain on his self-imposed celibacy.
Can a dangerous, ex-government agent and a friendly, outgoing writer have anything in common other than combustible physical attraction? And when the flames of passion are banked, can Lucas and Jane trust the tentative bond they’re building beyond the bedroom? Sometimes, the right words can make all the difference in the world.
For Matt, who always makes my heart beat
a little faster, even after all these years.
Contents
Chapter One 4
Chapter Two 9
Chapter Three 15
Chapter Four 21
Chapter Five 27
Chapter Six 32
Chapter Seven 38
Chapter Eight 41
Chapter Nine 46
Chapter Ten 51
Chapter Eleven 54
Chapter Twelve 62
Chapter Thirteen 67
Chapter Fourteen 80
Chapter Fifteen 87
Chapter Sixteen 94
Chapter Seventeen 99
Meet the Author 108
Chapter One
Jane Porter squeezed her goose down pillow tighter around her head to try and block out the incessant pounding and blaring tunes of The Clash coming from the efficiency apartment in her attic. She’d only gotten into bed two hours ago and, until the cacophony of sounds started, she was enjoying the blissful after-effects of her migraine medicine kicking in. Three songs in, however, the pain was beating out the remedy.
“Shut up!”
Oh, God. She flipped onto her stomach, groaning, and resettled the pillow to try and drown out the sounds. I deserve a medal, she thought. Maintaining her fledgling camaraderie with her flighty neighbor, Amber Taylor, was going to kill her…or cause her brain to melt down. Even on good, migraine-free days, it was difficult at best to get along with that Barbie-bimbo—a self-centered, high maintenance, whiner of a slut who thought the world revolved around her and that any male within sight or scent of her should fall to their knees to worship her greatness. Jane snorted at the picture that popped into her mind of Amber standing spread-eagled at the front of the kindergarten class she taught, with one of the dads sitting on his knees going down on her, and the shocked expressions on the kids’ faces. Eww.
She groaned again, irritated that she was letting the pain drown out her patience. Jane found it was best to not dwell on how much she hated Amber; it made it easier to live with her.
But the pounding music was making her rethink her decision to open her home to a roommate. It was getting harder and harder to remind herself that she wanted the hustle and bustle of another living soul in the house with her.
When her grandmother died last Christmas and left the old brick mansion to her, Jane had been more than happy to leave Manhattan for Durham. Her work as a travel journalist kept her on the move, and for the last six years had lived out of a series of suitcases, hotels and friends houses. Hence, the thought that a roommate would be “fun”. Gah!
The old homestead was nestled deep within the historic Forest Hills area of town. It was a gorgeous Georgian-style mansion, with nearly 6,000 square feet. It was big and stately. And quiet. And lonely.
By Easter the silence had begun to make Jane crazy, so she’d taken a three month assignment in Costa Rica. While she was gone, contractors had segmented the third floor into an efficiency apartment—though it was larger than any apartment she’d ever had in Manhattan or Paris—and put an addition off the kitchen for her art studio and kiln. Now it was just right. And it was home.
A realtor had introduced her to Amber, who was in her first year of teaching. Amber was young and quiet, cute, and seemed like the perfect tenant. Apparently, Amber was living on her own for the first time in her life, and while she was quiet and demure in the classroom, her crotch was a revolving door for anyone so inclined on the weekend. Crap, she’d even give Miss Kitty a run for her money.
They were four months into a six-month lease, and the only thing keeping Jane from kicking Amber out on her ass was the lease they’d both signed. Legal and binding, damn it. Fucking Amber!
Jane glared at the ceiling, willing the noise in the attic to stop. But it was no use. The pounding went on and on. God, she had to get some sleep. With a muttered curse, Jane pulled the phone onto the bed and called Amber to pick up. Of course voicemail picked up.
“Amber … it’s Jane. I’m not sure what you’re doing up there, but you’ve got to stop. It sounds like you’re running with a herd of elephants. I was up late last night with a deadline and I’ve only been in bed for two hours. Please give me another couple of hours with some peace and quiet and I’ll go over to Duke Forest with you and run. I’ll even treat us to lunch afterward.”
She sighed and hung up and then went to the bathroom while she was up. The motion made her stomach lurch, so she sat on the toilet until she was able to stagger back to bed without vomiting all over the bedroom.
Twenty minutes later the banging continued enthusiastically.
“Shit.” She was going to have to go up there.
She was all the way at the attic landing outside Amber’s door, knocking with the flat of her hand, when she realized she was in her summer jammies. The only thing covering her little bikini panties was an old threadbare T-shirt with ‘Rough Riders’ emblazoned in pink rhinestones across the chest. She groaned and let her head drop back on her shoulders. Great.
Staring at the ceiling, she reached out to knock again—but instead of the solid door, her hand met solid, unyielding flesh. Crap!
She sucked in a quick breath, jerked her head up and came face to face with a tanned Adam’s apple. Ooh, and little dribbles of sweat trickled down it.
“Noooo,” she wailed. Then with a thud she dropped her forehead to rest in the solid notch between two very fine pectoral muscles. Neither she nor Mr. Pecs said a word.
Lucas Moore was stunned.
“Uh, ma’am, are you okay?” He tapped her shoulder with his fingertips, and cupped the small, toned curve of her shoulder. “Honey, come on. How can I help you?” He moved his hand over her warm skin, making contact with wispy, butterfly touches. Goosebumps trickled in the wake of his big hand.
He tucked his chin and looked down at this small, cu
rvy woman plastered against his body. Ah, man, she fit him perfectly. Whoa—he stilled at the thought. He looked down at her again and realized that she was naked. Well, mostly naked. His eyes trailed up the length of her long, toned legs. They were beautifully shaped and lightly tanned. Blood was pooling low in his groin; he could feel it rushing in his ears from his head down to his stiffening dick. He wanted to run his tongue along the shadowed groove of the long, curved muscle of her quadriceps. God, he wanted to spin her around and pin her to the door, and grind against her. It’d been so long since he’d been with a woman.
She made a little sound of distress and he snatched his hand away immediately, wiping it on the leg of his pants. The heat of her body temperature was burned into his palm. He let out a deep breath and stepped back. Her boneless body followed, though she jerked a bit like she was trying to stand on her own.
She squeezed her eyes closed and tears coated her long eyelashes. She shuttered and mumbled, “Sorry,” and when he leaned down to hear her better, she sucked in a quick breath. Before he could get a word in she pushed urgently against his chest and looked up into his questioning gaze. She covered her mouth with her small, clammy hand and with great urgency she shook her head NO!
Then she burst into motion, scrambling past him and into the apartment.
His eyes opened wide. “Whoa—you okay? Wait a minute!”
He ran after her and stopped when she slammed the door to Amber’s bathroom. Just in time, too, because he could hear her vomiting—violently. He swallowed.
“Honey, are you okay?” he asked softly.
He leaned his ear against the door and listened. When it was quiet he let himself in.
The lid on the commode was closed and her head was lying, face down, in the crook of her right arm. When he walked in, she stirred enough to reach up, flush the toilet and tear off a couple squares of toilet paper to wipe her mouth. His heart stuttered at the site of tears streamed down her face. She looked so small and fragile curled on the floor.
He grabbed a washcloth from the shelf above the toilet and ran it under cold water, and then stooped down behind Jane. He curved his big chest a bit over her shoulders, and even though he tried not to crowd her, he could feel her stiffen. But once he lifted her hair and laid the cool cloth against her nape, she relaxed.
Chapter Two
“Hey,” Lucas said softly. “I realize you don’t feel good right now, but I’d, uh, really like to know who you are.” She didn’t move or speak. “And why you showed up here in your pajamas,” he muttered under his breath.
He moved the cool cloth, gently, along Jane’s shoulders and the side of her face. He tried not to touch her more than he had to, but he was compelled to help her. And good Lord, it was impossible to ignore how beautiful she was. She was so delicately put together. Her skin was bronzed and healthy, like she enjoyed time outdoors. Her limbs long and lean, and toned. And even though she’d just been sick, the cloth moving over her skin made her scent fill the room, and fill his mind. She smelled like lilies and jasmine, and hot blooded woman. He squeezed his eyes shut, and moved away to sit on the side of the bathtub. She probably wouldn’t appreciate his boner branding her back.
“Ma’am, please tell me how I can help you.”
He reached over her to the sink and grabbed the mouthwash, poured a capful and waved it in front of her nose. She moaned and gingerly lifted her head. Murmuring ‘thanks,’ she took the cap and swished out her mouth with the cool Listerine. She lifted the toilet lid and spit out the mouthwash, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
She opened her mouth to talk to him, but decided against it and instead grunted inelegantly.
He chuckled, and smiled down at her. When she reached up to rub her temples, he shifted so he could reach out to cup her head in his large hands. She jerked when he touched her, and then stilled. But as he pressed along the grooves in her scalp, gently working his fingers throughout her hair, she groaned deeply and then snickered.
“Got a headache?” he asked quietly.
“Migraine,” she whispered. With her face down, Lucas had to lean over to hear her.
“I finished my deadline—early this morning—and fell into bed. Not long before you started doing … well, whatever you were doing.”
Lucas stilled his hands for a minute, realizing that his ad hoc cure for insomnia … Amber’s treadmill … had woken her up. Crap, he muttered, and that made her smile.
“I’m sorry. The treadmill was loud, huh?”
She nodded. “It’s okay; you didn’t know.” She shivered, and he watched, mesmerized, as goose bumps raced across her flawless skin. He leaned down to kiss her shoulder, but stopped just before his lips made contact. He gulped and sat back up.
“I’ll be right back.” He dashed into the bedroom to grab a shirt out of the laundry basket.
When he returned Jane was swaying on her feet, walking slowly out of the bathroom.
“Hey! What are you doing!” he barked, and ran over to her. She jumped and would have stumbled if he hadn’t wrapped his long fingers around her biceps to steady her.
“I need to go back downstairs so I can lie down. I’m so tired, and if I can just get a little sleep my headache will go away.” Gingerly, so as not to move her head any more than necessary, she tried to pull free of his grasp. His hold was implacable, so she just relaxed her body and slumped against his chest.
“Oof,” he murmured. The shock of her curvy little body slamming against him threw him off guard, and before he could pull away, her belly butted up against his groin. He gasped and jerked his hips back, mortified that his body was acting against his will. He had to open his mouth to get a deep breath, and if she noticed, she had the grace to keep her mouth shut.
He draped a soft, old blue chambray button-up around her shoulders and pulled her arms through the sleeves. He looped the top two or three buttons quickly so it wouldn’t gape open and distract him, and bent at the knee to gently lift her high into his arms.
She squirmed a bit at first, pushing limply at his shoulders.
“Wait,” she protested weakly, “I don’t even know you.” But she was already snuggling into his grasp, clearly choosing comfort over confrontation. His body was so hot, pumping out heat like an overactive furnace. “What are you doing in Amber’s apartment?”
He hitched her up higher, getting a better grasp on her, and when he started walking, she gulped loudly and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Um, I’m Lucas Moore, b—but you can call me Luke.” Christ, she’d rendered him stupid. The backs of her thighs were cool resting against his forearm, and he could feel the gentle play of her toned, womanly muscles rippling beneath her skin. He cleared his throat and started over.
“Amber is marrying my brother, Andrew.” He rotated his torso, along with Jane in tow, to look at the clock in the kitchen. “Well, by now they’re bound to be fortified with enough whiskey to make it through the ceremony. They flew to Scotland yesterday.”
He walked into the great room, and sat down on the oversized two-seater chair. Fatigue still hit him quickly, so if he had to rest, it didn’t get any better than with a beautiful woman warming his cock. And this one was so fucking hot that he could almost ignore the tug in his shoulder. He liked sharing his lap.
She was muttering something to herself, working it out in her mind. Luke smiled, even though this was one of the weirdest situations he’d ever been in. He couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say. Amber had some things to say about her square peg landlord.
“Oh, God, now I remember Amber telling me about that. She’s going to be gone until the semester starts in six weeks, right? I guess the biking tour she and Andy are taking in Scotland is more like a honeymoon. Duh.” She snickered and shook her head. “When I’m on deadline, I don’t really pay attention to anything else.”
She was quiet for a moment and then pumped her fist in the air. “Oh my god, her lease will be up by the time she gets back ... And th
en it’ll be time for her to move out!” Her victorious outburst was short-lived before she groaned and pressed her fingers against her temples.
“Not a fan of Amber’s, huh? You must be Jane, right?” his voice was quiet, and so sexy, rumbling through her body. Even with a pounding migraine all of her girlie parts sizzled. The ones resting on his overly lumpy lap. Good Lord, the lap with the wonderful feeling erection riding her cheeks. She gulped.
“Uh, mmm hmm.” She nodded. “I am Jane and I live downstairs. And you’re totally right—I’m not a fan of Amber’s.” She grinned sheepishly at him. “You know, I don’t normally let strange men hold me.”
She felt, more than heard, his chuckle as it rumbled through her again. Everything feminine in her tingled. And, ooh, the ripple of the muscles in his torso as he moved made all her sexual synapses fire. She could feel herself getting wet and prayed that he couldn’t feel the crotch of her panties against his lap.
“Crap, I’m just laying here in my underwear. I can’t make myself get up, though. You’re so warm and comfortable. How big are you anyway?”