Seven Hot Nights in Greece (The Taylor Brothers Book 1)

by Rose Lange

  “Did you need something?” she croaked.

  He didn’t say a word as he stepped forward, pressing his chest against hers. He walked them backward, into the hollows of the closet.

  After shutting the door behind him, the small space engulfed them in darkness, only enhancing her sensitivity to him. Namely, her sense of smell and hearing, as her breath intermingled with his, as though to dance.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled the scent of Patrick, and oh my word. How she longed to bury her face in the crook of his neck, to take deep, appreciative whiffs.

  Her train of thought broke, and she opened her eyes, him wrapping her face within his palms. Rubbing back and forth, and forth and back, deliberate, gentle strokes, as if he’d memorized the planes of her face. She tried flicking her tongue to the corner of her mouth to gather moisture, but failed.

  She was unsure of his intentions, but honestly, she relished the feel of him as she leaned into and sought his touch. The darkness hindered nothing. She didn’t need to see his face clearly, for she knew every last square inch, every feature by heart. From the dimple in his chin, to his smile, and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed.

  His lips descended and rained kisses along her forehead and hairline.

  Surprising her, he made his way down her nose, kissing along the bridge and onto her cheeks.

  Cradling the back of her head, he murmured, “Damn, baby, but I’m fighting a losing battle.” With those words, he made a soft landing on her lips.

  Chapter 14

  Rationally, Emma knew Patrick didn’t want her beyond a casual sex relationship, but in this moment, logic lost the battle.

  She put her arms around his neck as renewed fervor settled in her bones. Every part of her relished his touch, and the sensations he elicited injected liquid fire in her veins—a fire that would surely burn her beyond measure in the end, and the sad part was she didn’t care.

  Wanting more, she wove her fingers through his hair, and gravitated lower. Grasping him tighter around the neck, she angled her mouth for a deeper, hungrier kiss.

  No guilt, no shame, she took what she’d been craving for days now. He groaned into her mouth and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt. He gifted kisses to the skin above her breasts. She thrust her chest forward, willingly granting better access. She tilted her head back and, dear Lord, his lips felt good.

  Then he took it one step further. Lowering his hands to her backside, he lifted her against him in a tighter, intimate fit, and she realized how affected he was. The ridge of his erection, hard as granite between them, sent warm, delicious flutters unfurling and fanning out in her belly, spreading downward, straight to the knowing rhythm between her legs—a rhythm that came alive with Patrick.

  He’d been etched in her mind, and buried in her skin, for far too long now, carving himself into her DNA years ago.

  She hadn’t let go and had paid the price.

  Painful memories snagged against the sharp edges of the past, taunting her. His kisses lured her further away from reality as he moved from her lips to the edge of her jaw, traveling to her neck. He suckled on the earlobe. Gritting her teeth, she stifled a moan, because, damn, his lips . . .

  She placed her hands on his chest and gave him a not-so-gentle shove, her shaky fingers fumbling for the light switch.

  A fine sheen of sweat beaded at his forehead and he as appeared just as disheveled and out breath.

  “Patrick, no, please. I can’t do casual.” Anger with herself made her voice sharper than intended, but she didn’t care. She’d too easily fallen under his spell.

  He nodded, putting his hands on his hips, and her eyes roved to the obvious bulge in his pants. She cleared her throat and forced herself to look away, praying her appearance didn’t appear too disheveled, as she quickly buttoned up her shirt.

  He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  She nodded, and then with rubbery arms, she opened the door and walked away from him.

  ~ ~ ~

  Patrick made his way home, where he changed out of his suit and tie then drove to meet Mike at a local bar for a game of pool and a much-needed beer, or maybe two or three beers.

  Jesus, but the days at work had been hell.

  First, he’d flat-out lied to Emma. Second, he’d hurt her. Third, my God, he was crazy about her, and that kiss in the supply closet should have never happened. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, but whatever it was, it had not been with his brain.

  That one kiss disturbed the tinder, had sparked the flames all over again.

  Sweet, potent, seductive, Emma’d tasted as she always had, her curves lush and ripe against him.

  He realized he’d do anything to protect her from pain, even though he’d just caused her pain.

  An hour later, he arrived at the bar. A bell jangled overhead as he entered and The Rolling Stones played on the jukebox, blending with errant chatter and bottles clinking.

  He spotted Mike, holding his cue stick.

  His brother nodded in greeting. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

  “Not much,” Patrick mumbled.

  Mike frowned, handing him a stick and a beer from behind him. “You sure?”

  Ignoring the question, Patrick leaned over and took the first shot, sending the balls scattering and clanking across the aged green felt. “I’m fine.”

  He speared his brother with a shut the hell up glance, in no mood to talk. The push and pull going on inside made him cranky and irritable.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re lying?”

  “Because you’re an idiot, man,” he barked.

  Mike put both hands up and shook his head. “Dude, calm the fuck down. Do you want to tell me what heck is going on?”

  “I’m no longer seeing Emma. I ended our . . .” He paused, the heat and smoke surely covered his face. “. . . relationship.”

  The words felt bitter on the tip of his tongue. The still-fresh bleed in his heart clawed at his stomach as he remembered that morning.

  “Why?”

  “Because . . .” He took a swig of his cold brew. “I should know better than to get involved with someone at work.”

  His brother scoffed, leaning over as he took his turn, and sent the striped orange ball flying into the corner pocket. “I call bullshit.” He straightened. “Now do you want to take a crack at the truth?”

  Patrick took a swig of beer, and set it down. Finally, he took his shot before answering. “Because I love her.”

  There, he’d said it out loud, and he had to admit, it felt amazing, even as a twist of guilt stabbed his gut.

  Scared of having someone he loved taken away, again. Frankly, it’d hurt too damned much the first time. It’d hurt so much he never thought he would be able to love again.

  A smile decorated his brother’s face. “Man, that’s awesome. I gotta say, I’m happy as hell for you. Have you told her how you feel?”

  Patrick shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Then why’d you lie to her?”

  If he couldn’t be honest with Emma right now, he could at least be honest with Mike.

  Swallowing a lump of pride, Patrick realized now was the time for honesty. “I’m scared to death.”

  He did not divulge his dream where he’d held Emma, dead in his arms. The sharp mental image still messed with his mind and clung to his brain like a cobweb.

  “Of?” Mike prodded.

  Unable to put a coherent thought together, he took the easy way out. “I need a cigarette,” he blurted.

  The answer took Mike aback, a surprised arch of his brows greeted his hairline, but he didn’t say a word as they walked outside.

  Cool night air hit Patrick’s skin
, soothing him, but it wasn’t nearly the kind of balm he needed. Digging a cigarette out of the pack of Marlboro Red’s in his back pocket, he put one to his lips, lit it, and took a long, smooth drag, filling his lungs. He blew the smoke out and closed his eyes then put it back to his lips and took another puff before Mike finally spoke.

  “This is unlike you, man. I thought you’d quit smoking.”

  Patrick turned to face him. “I did.” He took several more drags.

  A look of concern crossed his brother’s features. “Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

  After a few more calming puffs, Patrick threw the cigarette into the smoker’s tree, and finally decided he’d lay it all out on the line.

  He swallowed the hard lump in his throat before speaking. “I’m afraid of the same thing happening to Emma. I’m afraid of getting hurt if something happened to her, because . . . I love her, and it would break my heart.”

  Relief swamped through him as one by one, each confession poured out. Normally, he kept his feelings to himself but he’d been carrying this burden around for too long.

  “I understand you’re scared. That you don’t want to get hurt, but you’re already hurting Emma by pushing her away.”

  Patrick nodded, his brother hitting the nail right on the head. “Fuck, I know it.”

  His brother assessed him. “Then tell her, bro. Tell her how you feel.”

  Patrick nodded but knew it would be far easier said than done.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Mike gave him a hearty whack on the back. “Now, what’s say we have another beer and finish our pool game?”

  ~ ~ ~

  Emma curled up on her mom’s outdoor patio chair. The back deck offered a view of trees blending with late morning the sky and sunshine.

  A soft, blue and white-checkered afghan covered her legs from the cool morning breeze, a peaceful calm of the country, far off from the city and its noisy companions. Here, the sound of birds and animals chattering and tweeting surrounded her.

  Here, she could be truly alone with her thoughts, although Patrick never strayed too far from them, and it proved frustrating.

  Sipping her second cup of coffee of the day, she felt the soothing liquid going down her throat.

  Leaning her head back, she ran the last few days, weeks, and months through her mind.

  Who knew that day on the elevator would change everything?

  The last few days, still vibrant, the energy that surrounded her whenever Patrick was near, most especially remembering that kiss from a few days ago.

  He may have said he couldn’t get involved beyond a physical relationship, but his actions bespoke another message. Kissing her forehead, and gently across the bridge of her nose, and cheeks. Then, good God Almighty, the way he’d kissed her, and not any ordinary kiss, a kiss that spoke directly to her heart. Each time in his arms proved magical.

  Frustration gripped her insides and she dashed the images away. Bottom line? She needed some time away.

  That kiss still haunted her.

  Happy when the weekend arrived, she’d made her escape Friday night after work. She packed her bag and told Sarah she needed space.

  Traveling the almost two-hour drive to Appleton to recoup at her mom’s, she acknowledged that she desired distance from her apartment, where flashes of memories scattered throughout the four walls. In her bedroom, in the kitchen, and even right down to the living room floor. Each square inch of the space held an essence of Patrick.

  As the sliding door opened and shut behind her, she turned around and faked a smile.

  “Good morning, honey. How are you holding up?” her mom asked and took a seat next to her, hazel eyes shining with sympathy.

  Emma nodded. “Okay, I guess. I’ve been better.”

  “You’re not fooling anybody. It’s Patrick, isn’t it?”

  Heat stole up her neck. “No, Mom.”

  Her mom laughed softly. “Emma, come on. You had the same lovesick expression on your face six years ago after your trip abroad. You’ve had that expression ever since you first laid eyes on him when we moved next door to the Taylors. Your sophomore year of high school, I remember it well.” Sadness tinged her voice.

  Emma gave her mom a sideways glance. She didn’t recall telling her about their seven-night affair, so how did she know? Or for that matter, did she know?

  Then, a nostalgic look crossed her mom’s features. “As soon as he’d learned I was a widow, Patrick offered to help me in any way he could, and pretty much right away. He was a gentleman, that boy.” She took a sip of her tea.

  Emma smiled, recalling the early memories of him. She raised the mug to her lips and hoped to keep her feelings at bay. Although with her mom, that was a pretty tall order because she’d never been good at hiding her emotions and her mom was good at finding out what had really been on her mind.

  “Have you told him how you feel?” her mom asked.

  Guilty as charged, Emma shook her head, taking another sip of her coffee. “No.”

  Her mom chuckled, pressing a comforting hand to her knee. “Sweetie, you need to tell him how you feel. At least lay it all out there, and then he’ll know. One way or the other.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Emma said, feeling better than she had in days.

  “How about you and I get dressed and go do a little shopping? Have lunch? Maybe catch a movie?” her mom asked.

  Emma nodded, feeling better already. “Yes, that sounds great.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Despair and Saturday night proved a poisonous combination. A week passed since their fall out, and even if he’d been the one to break things off, Patrick missed her like crazy.

  Two in the morning, he stumbled into his apartment, drunk to high heaven, with a willing brunette behind him. She was constantly grasping his rear end and wrapping her arms around his waist, and he didn’t bother flipping on the lights as they made their way inside. She forcefully backed him against the door. Her large breasts spilled out over her low-cut top and she licked her lips, zeroing in on his, tilting her head to make a landing.

  Her lips were soft, and the warm pressure would’ve felt nice years ago, but he at the moment felt . . . nothing, because all he could picture was holding Emma, his sweet Emma, in his arms.

  Her endearing face captured his mind. He wanted to hold her like the precious woman she was, to marry her and to watch her belly grow and swell with children.

  The brunette’s kisses turned hungrier, even as his desire proved non-existent. She grasped him around the neck, moving to his shoulders, then his chest, and even lower until she grasped his rear end and squeezed. A hazy, drunken stupor clogged his brain. But he realized exactly what she was after.

  She paused. “I’ve wanted you since the moment you walked into the office, Patrick. And I’ll make this real easy for you. Take me to bed, and I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” she said, her voice a husky murmur.

  Gently, he pushed her away and shook his head. “Caryn, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”

  As though she hadn’t heard a word he’d said, she grasped his groin, and tried to unbutton his jeans.

  He removed her hand. “No, I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”

  She frowned, her face covered with regret. She forcefully pulled him closer again, nibbling at his neck, before he gently, but with force, pushed her away.

  “I think it’s best if you leave.”

  A flash of anger crossed her features as she pursed her still-wet lips. She crossed her arms across her chest, nearly thrusting her large breasts out of her low-cut shirt, as if in invitation and in the hopes he’d change his mind.

  He stepped aside and opened the door for her, stating another brief apology before she silently left his apartment.
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br />   What in the hell were you thinking?

  He hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem.

  First, going to a bar tonight, getting drunk to numb the pain, and unfortunately running into a woman from the office, and now.

  This.

  It was a disastrous choice to bring her home, and he should’ve taken a cab. She’d insisted on giving him a ride home, and he’d foolishly agreed.

  He’d been thankful for the last tiny thread of common sense, even if his head felt like it’d been stuffed with cotton balls.

  Stumbling his way to the bathroom, he hit the light then took a couple of aspirin from the medicine cabinet. After flipping the top of the bottle off, he filled a glass next to the sink, popped them into his mouth, and swallowed. He prayed it would help the throbbing of his skull.

  Fully clothed, he crawled into bed to sleep off this nightmare of a night.

  ~ ~ ~

  The weekend slipped by, and despite her own personal hell, Emma decided she would make the most of the situation.

  She’d worn the new red button-down blouse she’d found while out shopping over the weekend, pairing it with her black pencil skirt and nude pumps. Red, a bold, bright color, was a good choice. Exactly what she needed to bolster her morale.

  Recalling her mom’s words, Emma knew she needed to speak with Patrick. Though she didn’t know what she’d even begin to say, but she hoped the right words would form when the time came.

  Cursing her memory, she realized as she stepped out of the elevator that she’d forgotten her coffee.

  The coffee at work wasn’t the greatest but it would have to do. She quickly put her things in her office and made her way to the break room, where a group of four women huddled in the corner, chattering and giggling at an inside joke.

  She walked past them, and after pouring her coffee, she grabbed two creamers, but the next words from Caryn’s mouth stopped her.