True to You (A Love Happens Novel Book 3)

by Jodi Watters

  “No sparring tonight, ladies. We’ll save that lesson for a later date. Maybe when there’s not so much, uh, enthusiasm within the group.”

  “Good idea, Grady. You’re so intuitive.” Smiling, Macy rocked on the balls of her feet and flipped her hair.

  Professional regardless of her blatant flirtation, Grady detailed the course curriculum, and Macy took the time to translate to Olivia, in case she’d suddenly gone daft. “He’s right. We need to learn the basics first. You have to walk before you can run. Also, the chick with three names wants to kick your ass. You better watch your back, girlfriend.”

  “Thanks, but I figured that out when she publicly announced her desire to fight me. And you just did the hair flip. That’s two steps away from a blowjob. He’s Ash’s employee. Control your urges.”

  “Um, for your information, the hair flip works.” She glanced at Grady, who was talking to the class as a whole while covertly—and continually—checking out Macy’s rack. “I have his full attention now. Considering your dry spell, maybe you should try it.”

  Olivia spent the ninety-minute class learning how to eye gouge, rib jab, and crotch kick like a pro. Tools that would be useful should the grinning shark glaring daggers come at her on the dark walk to the car.

  More importantly, she spent the time devising a plan to seduce a man she most likely loved, but most definitely loved to hate. And it started with a hair flip and a blowjob.

  Anger was a wonderful thing. It was protection. Insulation. A way to feel something, anything, when every other emotion coursing through your mind and body was too scary, too torturous, simply too awful to process.

  Anger was a living, breathing way of life for Olivia, and the poison had been directed at one person, and one person only.

  It motivated her to wake up in the morning, put her feet on the floor, and get out of bed. To take a shower without collapsing. To be a productive member of society. To do it all again the next day.

  The first six months, she’d been raw and bleeding. Numb.

  But then the rage crept in, taking the baton from depression, her inner turmoil a constant reminder that she’d never return to the carefree, untroubled woman she’d been before—the wife who was loved and in love.

  Yet somehow, in these last few weeks spent playing house with Ash, that anger had started to change. To morph into a sad acceptance, absent the wrenching pain that usually spurred her anger. She was still rip-roaring pissed, for sure. At Ash, at the universe, at Rosa’s God. At herself.

  But she was also, inexplicably, having real moments of happiness. Of hopefulness.

  What she wasn’t having, much to her vocalized dismay, was any more orgasms.

  “You’re doing it again,” Ash muttered, his massive shoulder holding up the bathroom doorway, his hot gaze tracking her body.

  “Doing what?” The lipstick in her hand stilled as she assessed him in the mirror’s reflection.

  Freshly showered and naked except for a worn pair of unbuttoned jeans, he was Monday morning eye candy, and she wanted a lick. She’d drop to her knees right now and enjoy a good long suck if he’d allow, but Ash was a man who took his mission seriously.

  “Wearing that don’t-touch-me-I’m-a-professional-woman dress, along with those fuck-me-hard-and-fast-from-behind heels. It’s gonna make every man who sees you hard as a nail spike, including me. I’m not good with mixed messages.”

  “Mixed messages? You’re the one holding out. I’m ready to bend over, and you’ve gone all timid virgin on me.”

  And her black sleeveless dress and strappy heels were certainly business appropriate. The hem hit just above her knees, even if it was snug and only allowed for thong underwear. No woman wanted embarrassing panty lines.

  Against her back in a flash, the muscled weight of him surrounded her, his palms flat against the vanity, caging her in. Lipstick smudged the mirror as she dropped the tube, reaching for him as the hot lash of his tongue tickled the skin below her ear.

  “Does this feel timid and virginal to you?” Lifting her to her tiptoes, he rocked his hips, the steely length of his erection sliding along the seam of her ass. “Or does it feel like a good start on a nail spike hard-on?”

  Cocooned within him, she clutched his corded forearm. “Let me take care of that for you.”

  A head taller than her, they locked eyes in the mirror, his thumb swiping across her lips. Maybelline’s Bruised Plum stained his finger.

  “Thinking about these shiny lips wrapped around my cock is driving me insane. I’ll blow in thirty seconds.”

  “I hate to keep repeating myself,” she drawled, nipping the fleshy pad of his finger, “but I’m happy to give you a hand. A nice, firm, oiled-up grip. I won’t even time you.”

  He laughed, his arms tightening in an embrace. When he kissed the top of her head, Olivia’s heart melted. Summoning the hate didn’t work. Searching for the resentment was futile. Both were MIA.

  “Someone’s trying very hard to reach you,” she murmured, his pocket ringing for the tenth time since sun up. “And you’re gonna be late again. You don’t have to wait for me.”

  “Don’t care.” His mumbled response mussed her hair.

  Those blue eyes held her spellbound, and she grinned, knowing he hung around an extra hour every morning so they could leave together, his cell ringing off the hook as they rushed out the door. Caroline had started texting her every day, too, offering personal thanks for sending him to work a happy man.

  The woman had no idea he’d show up a whole lot happier if he’d let his cock out to play once in a while, but apparently Olivia wasn’t the only one settling back into married life with surprising ease.

  Ash was downright Husband of the Year, walking through the door each night around six, eager to see her. Traveling was part of his job, she knew. Unlike The Unit, he’d been an open book about Scorpio Securities, their assignments worldwide and generally dangerous. So far, he’d remained home, though, a complete turnaround from their first two years of marriage.

  His lips traced the shell of her ear. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Not really sure.” He shrugged. “For agreeing to this. For holding up your end of the bargain and coming home. For listening when I talk about Scorpio and ignoring the disgust I can’t hide when you talk about the vineyard. But mostly, for giving me a second chance.”

  “I agreed to a summer of sex,” she clarified, for her benefit as much his. “Not a second chance.”

  “Same thing.”

  “It’s not the same thing at all. And I’m tired of talking. For the last two weeks, I’ve told you everything about my day except how much wine I drink when Marshall isn’t looking. I believe in testing the merchandise. Call it quality control.”

  She had to give Ash credit. His body language gave nothing away at the mention of Marshall, a marked improvement in a relatively short time. Residual anger from both sides was in short supply these days.

  “I enjoy our conversations,” he pointed out. “I get off talking to you. So far, best summer ever.”

  “How about we both get off with some hot and sweaty summer loving.”

  “Not sure what you mean. I’ve been loving on you already. Going on six years now.” His eyes locked on hers in the mirror. “Probably won’t be stopping anytime soon.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of loving, touching, squeezing. S-E-X, if you need it spelled out.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m trying to say I love you. L-O-V-E, if you need it spelled out.”

  Laughing at his declaration was easier than acknowledging it. “That’s your hard-on talking.”

  “No, it’s me talking, Liv.” His tone was serious, but a ringing cell phone saved her.

  “Answer that stupid thing before they send SEAL Team Six to find you.”

  Mentioning his respected comrades earned her a grin. “Those buffoons couldn’t find me if I stood in Times Square.”

  Slid
ing against his erection one last time, she rushed to wrap up her morning routine. Trey had requested an early morning meeting to discuss retailer targeting, and her commute was a killer.

  “Nolan, what the hell? Call Sam when I don’t answer.” Ash’s gaze followed her as he pulled on a T-shirt, listening to the caller. “You’re on the emergency rescue in Acapulco. Some stupid gringo stole a shitload of coke from the wrong cartel, and now they have his girlfriend. Her family would like her back. Preferably in one piece, but they’ll take two, if no other choice.”

  Slipping on a gold bracelet Ash had given her for their first anniversary, she watched him pace, engrossed in conversation. “No, I’m not going. Yeah, I know I usually do, but I’m staying put for a while. Sam, too.”

  When the piece of jewelry caught his eye, and he gave her a small smile, the voice on the phone rose. “Yeah, I’m here. Mike and Grady will ride shotgun, but you’re leading. You’ll have to run this without your buddy Beck. I need him here.”

  Then he laid out a laundry list of instructions seemingly off the top of his head. A flight into the region via an international carrier. A stop to buy weapons from a shady but money-hungry villager. An exit plan that included a high-speed boat ride up to Nuevo Vallarta via the Bay of Banderas.

  Somewhere in there, they would waltz into a drug cartel and scoop up a hostage like it was nothing more than grabbing a carton of milk from the grocery store.

  Acapulco wasn’t one of the worst cities in Mexico. It was one of the most dangerous in the world. Beautiful to visit, as long as you didn’t get yourself kidnapped. She expected Ash to pull out his trusty olive green duffel and hit the door running. He delegated instead.

  Yet another sign of his newfound allegiance to her.

  His large hand snagged hers just as she hit that door herself, waving goodbye.

  Ending the call, his focus was back on her. “For real, Liv. I love you.”

  “Yeah? What do you love about me?” Her tone was sarcastic and skeptical. Four years’ worth of skeptical. Where was his allegiance then?

  His head shot back in surprise. “A million things.”

  “Like my willingness to play second fiddle while you played Call of Duty, the live version?”

  “That’d be one of the million, sure.” The sudden edge in his tone matched hers.

  “Was another that you could mosey on home and get laid whenever the mood suited, then hotfoot it back to The Unit before you lost your swagger?”

  “It was a perk, I admit, but that’s not what has your back up. It’s because this is good.” He motioned between them. “You and me? We’re still good. Without the vineyard, The Unit, or the sex, this is still fucking great. Deny it all you want, but I know you feel it, too.”

  “What I feel, besides annoyed at Rosa’s continual attempts to log our sexual interaction and chart my cycle,” she pointed out, “is horny.” Sliding her sunglasses on, she swung open the front door. “All of which, is thanks to you.”

  “Wait.” His grip on her hand tightened. “Rosa charts your cycle? Why?”

  “You’re a relatively smart man. Figure it out.”

  “I’m guessing it has something to do with the tampered condoms you mentioned, am I right?” His grin was sinful. “I’ll modify my mission to include a pregnancy clause.”

  The mere hint, even said in jest, brought the hate. “Good boy. You got it right on the first try. Pat yourself on the head, and beg for a treat. Don’t bother adding that clause.”

  “Olivia.” Despite her struggle, he tugged her back inside and closed the door. “It was a joke. A bad one, yeah, but that’s all. I won’t apologize.” He paused, letting that sink in. “And do you find it ironic that we keep having deep relationship discussions while you literally have one foot out the door?”

  “Yeah, I do. How’s it feel?”

  “It fucking sucks.” His lips quirked, blue eyes dancing. “I hate the taste of my own medicine.”

  Cupping her neck, he laid those lips over hers in a hard, clinging kiss meant to connect emotionally more than physically.

  Releasing her, his mouth hovered. “But I love the taste of you. Reason number three.”

  “There you go again, using that love word like it means something.” Nipping at his bottom lip, she grinned, the anger gone as quickly as it came. “I really have to run. If I get a speeding ticket, you’re paying the fine.”

  After another kiss and a fortifying whiff of his spicy scent, she flew out the door.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’.” His voice trailed after her. “I’ll text you the other nine hundred, ninety-nine thousand reasons.”

  Ash was a man of his word.

  Her phone had been blowing up all day, the twinkling text notification ringing randomly, never silent longer than a half hour. She hadn’t made it out of the condo’s parking lot before the first one came.

  7:38 a.m. I love your cooking, which hasn’t killed me yet.

  7:40 a.m. I love your driving, which hasn’t killed me yet.

  It beeped in the middle of her meeting, distracting her and putting an already annoyed Trey on high alert. He’d arrived promptly for a meeting she’d shown up twenty minutes late for, staring long and hard at her wedding ring. A ring she now wore without hesitation, no matter where or what her business that day. For reasons she wasn’t ready to analyze.

  8:24 a.m. I love the way your lips move when you read the newspaper.

  8:59 a.m. I love that you cry at Subaru commercials, no matter how many times you’ve seen them.

  9:22 a.m. I love that you have a very specific ratio of ice to water when drinking ice water.

  9:43 a.m. I love that you use this same unscientific ratio when drinking any iced beverage. It’s not anal at all.

  It beeped while she walked the rows of grapevines with Marshall and Benny, her heels sinking into the rich earth as they took soil samples and inspected the fruit for insects, freeze damage, and delayed growth.

  10:32 a.m. I love that your skin smells like happy hour at a beach bar in Tahiti.

  10:47 a.m. I love that you can peel an apple in one long, spiraling slice.

  11:06 a.m. I love the way you touch me after a deployment. Insistent, but gentle. Like I’m fine glassware you covet, but are afraid to use.

  It beeped while she sat on a granite bench in the rose garden, the slab underneath her cold despite the ninety-degree day. Her usual spot to have lunch, she ate a fruit salad and stared at the precious words etched into stone. Some days lunch was followed by a quick detour to the bathroom to fix her mascara. Today she returned to her office smiling.

  12:10 p.m. I love the way the hair at your temple curls into corkscrews when you sweat.

  12:22 p.m. I love that sexy gasp you make the first time I slide completely inside you.

  12:45 p.m. I love that you don’t need me to change a flat tire, but you do need me to kill a spider.

  It beeped while she processed the weekly payroll and accounts payable invoices, printing checks she wasn’t authorized to sign. Only the man in the office next to her could sign them, and much to Olivia’s irritation, the man sending the flattering texts.

  1:10 p.m. I love the way you snore.

  1:11 p.m. Yes, you snore. Yes, I love it. Deal with it.

  1:50 p.m. I love the way your accent deepens when you’re mad. Or aroused.

  2:21 p.m. I love when you laugh. It’s liquid sunshine injected straight into my veins.

  For years, she’d questioned Marshall’s insistence that Ash remain an officer of Coleson Creek Winery, having full access to the bank accounts. It flew in the face of his hostility toward his only son, but she’d long given up trying to understand the dysfunction.

  Right now she was focused on her impromptu visit to Ash’s office, impulsiveness and a low-grade sexual fever quickening her steps. As the elevator ascended to the sixteenth floor, stopping along the way to drop off passengers, she scrolled through his texts again, though she’d memorized them at first sight.<
br />
  Little things he loved, details so inconsequential she would’ve bet money he’d never noticed, tallied electronically. It was a curve ball. A revelation. One of the most romantic things he’d ever done.

  But it was his latest message, sent forty-seven minutes ago, that spurred her ambush.

  2:42 p.m. I love that you once loved me. I hope you can love me again.

  Five minutes later, she was speeding down the blacktop road, the vineyard in her rearview mirror.

  “Hey, pretty lady.” Caroline was now her biggest fan. “Can I tell him who you are this time? Or do you wanna have some fun and mess with him again? I’m up for getting him riled. We’re less exciting than an accounting firm until Ali has her baby next month.” She clutched a handful of manila folders, stacking them straight before sliding them into a file cabinet. “Sam’s as cool as a cucumber, but Ash won’t let him go farther than a twenty-mile radius. You’d think he was the brand-new father. He’s as jumpy as a virgin at a prison rodeo.” Her brow rose in a perfect arch. “And that’s real jumpy.”

  Ash’s concern, as far as Caroline described it, gave Olivia pause. The sunny yellow nursery flashed in her mind, with its antique crib and loyal white Labrador waiting to be a big brother.

  The hurt came as it always did, sharp and swift, hidden behind a smile. It eased quickly this time, no sweeping tide of anger chasing it, and she was grateful. The blanket of pain might be lifting, mercifully after four years, but the jab to her heart was welcome. It meant she remembered. She hadn’t forgotten like everyone else. Like Ash.

  “Give Ali my regards the next time you see her.” Congratulations felt premature. “I’m sure she’s excited.”

  “Of course.” Caroline nodded. “You two should meet. Have lunch. Your husbands are as close as brothers, so it only makes sense you’d be great friends.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” Her gracious manners were behind the reply, but there were two glaring reasons why such a relationship would test Olivia’s religion.

  The first went without saying. The second just as obvious. She was the soon-to-be ex-wife of one of those two men as close as brothers. Labor Day poisoned Kool-Aid was on the menu.