The Holloways (Made for Love Book 3.5)

by R. C. Martin

  A year and a half ago, she was fun to play with. Our chemistry was intriguing, a truth not even she could deny. I wanted her. The challenge of enticing her with all that I had to offer, making my intentions perfectly clear, was rewarding, even if only to see her squirm. Her denial made me want her more, and her refusal to succumb to my advances made her all the more alluring.

  For her, I would have ignored the ring. I don’t fuck with married women, but for Logan, I would have bent the rules. Perhaps the mere fact that I would be willing to make her an exception is exactly the reason why she’s so completely out of bounds to me. It’s irritating as hell, and putting up with this shit is precisely why there are rules.

  I’ve been out of bounds before. That bitch fucked me over and I’ll never forget it.

  Logan isn’t a bitch. Logan wouldn’t fuck me over—or under, or anyway that I might prefer. She’s different in ways I’ve yet to be able to explain. Being in her presence pisses me off, turns me on, and humbles me all at once. It’s a fucking mind game—except, it’s not a game! And that has always been the issue. She’s never been willing to play the game, and yet I feel as though she has won.

  She wears victory well.

  When the check comes, I welcome the distraction of paying for our bill and look forward to leaving the restaurant to head back to the office. As we stand, exchanging our goodbyes, Mr. Helix helps Logan with her coat. She thanks him, saying something about Valentine’s Day and his wife, and then we’re headed in our separate directions—Mr. Helix to his vehicle, and Logan and me to mine.

  Valentine’s Day. For years, the fourteenth of February has been an excuse for me to prey on the lonely. If I’m in the mood, picking up a woman on this senseless occasion the masses refer to as a holiday is almost as easy as breathing. Some are so desperate for affection, it’s comical. While there are a few who might find my tactics base or vulgar, I see no reason to feel remorse when, in the end, I always bring these women’s bodies immense pleasure. For one night, I insure that they forget that they are lonely—and is that not a gift?

  Love. They think that’s what they want, but it’s not. Or, perhaps it is. Perhaps they have never experienced the reality of love and the way in which it can tear a man to pieces. It is possible that that they don’t understand what it is they crave because they don’t know what it means to love.

  I know first hand, and I’m convinced that love is overrated.

  Though, to fuck—to fuck is divine.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Logan begins, pulling me from my thoughts as I open the passenger side door of my Land Rover for her to climb in. “What happened to your Porsche?”

  “Stowed away for the winter.”

  “Oh. Of course. That makes sense,” she says, offering me a kind smile.

  I shut her in, feeling unnerved as I walk around the back of the vehicle to make my way to the driver’s side. Women feeling comfortable around me is not usual. Either they are extraordinarily professional or incredibly flirtatious; indifferent or weak at the knees. Quite honestly, there is no in-between. Except, Logan has become…warm. She is neither hot nor cold; and that smile—I’m not sure what to do with it.

  “So, that went well,” she sighs as I start the car, backing out of the parking space.

  “Yes. As soon as we get back to the office, we’ll sit down and—”

  “Actually, do you mind if we start tomorrow? I have a few things I need to wrap up before the end of the day. I can’t be late getting out of the office tonight.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes before I respond. “I presume you have plans for Valentine’s Day?”

  “Do you?”

  A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth before I reply. “Is there an offer attached to that question?”

  She scoffs, lifting her hands and then dropping them back in her lap as she looks over at me. Her irritation makes my smirk turn into a full on smile.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what, Logan?”

  “Don’t do that—don’t play dumb. You know exactly what you’re doing. Why, at every opportunity, do you insist on indulging in self-gratification at my expense?”

  “Pardon?” I ask, giving her a sidelong glance before focusing my attention back on the road.

  “I’m trying here, Judah. I’m trying so hard. You make it nearly impossible to be nice to you. Do you have any friends? I’m not even kidding—I genuinely want to know.”

  I don’t answer her right away. Instead, I think of Benjamin. My brother is the closest thing I have to a best friend. We used to spend more time together, when we were both living in Denver, and we have plenty of acquaintances that we share—but friends? I don’t trust easily or often. As long as I have a body to keep my bed warm on occasion and a job that sustains me, I don’t see the need in seeking more from the people who surround me.

  The more you expect, the easier it is to be disappointed.

  “I fail to see the significance of your question.”

  She huffs out a sigh and folds her arms across her chest. “Two minutes,” she states.

  “Two minutes?” I mutter, irritated that she is being anything but clear right now.

  “For two minutes, I’m just going to be Logan and you’re just going to be Jude. You’re not my boss, I’m not your employee. I just need two minutes. Will you give me that?”

  I arch an eyebrow at her, looking into her green eyes as she stares at me with determination. I offer her a curt nod as I pull up to a stop light, curious to hear what she has to say.

  “Let’s be honest. You are a very attractive man. You might not know this, but around the office, you’re known as the panty-melter. When I first met you, panty-melter was exactly how I felt about you. Then I got to know you, and you know what? You’re an asshole! At least, I think you’re an asshole. Brilliant—I mean, you are a brilliant, genius designer—but an asshole, nevertheless.

  “I get it, you know? I mean, I don’t know your story, but I think I get it. I used to be a bitch—like, a total bitch. Then Roman happened. I fell in love, I found God, and my inner bitch…she’s in hiding most of the time, too bitchy to be able to handle all the fucking love.

  “Then you show up! You show up in all of your asshole glory and it’s so obnoxious. You act like you want me, but you don’t. Not really. I’m married and that’s complicated; not to mention, we work together on a permanent basis now. I’m good at what I do—I mean, I’m really good, and you make me better. I think you know that. I think you love that. But instead of just being my mentor, instead of just taking me under your wing and making me the best damn protégé you’ve ever had, you insist on taking it one step further—like my awesome brain isn’t enough for you.

  “I’m trying to be nice, here. I really am! You have so much to offer and I appreciate that. Who knows, maybe we could even be friends—that is, if you’re capable of being one. I don’t know—I might like the guy underneath the asshole. He has very good fashion sense, so, you see, we have a few things in common. But you have to stop coming on to me. It’s not funny or sexy or even tempting. So just…stop.”

  She inhales deeply and exhales slowly just as a car behind me honks the horn. I sit staring, taken aback by all that she had to say. She turns her head and points out the windshield before she speaks again. “The light’s green. You better go. Also, I don’t know if that was two minutes, but I’m done now.”

  I force my attention in front of me as I lift my foot off the break and surge forward into traffic. Her words play on repeat in my head over and over—not all of them because, damn, the woman can talk—but there are a few choice words that I doubt I’ll be forgetting any time soon. Asshole. Brilliant. Asshole. Bitch. Love. Asshole. Married. Mentor. Friends. Asshole.

  I have no idea how many times she called me an asshole. I’ve certainly been called worse. What has me confounded is her idea that she and I might actually be able to work together as…friends. I shake the thought away as I try and unpac
k the rest of what she said. She’s right. I am brilliant. She’s amazing as well. The two of us together would make a remarkable team within Eddalyn’s Interior. To disregard the potential that lies within her, to throw it away with an infatuation that will lead absolutely nowhere, to step out of bounds, it would be more than irresponsible—it would be stupid.

  I’m a lot of things, but I am no fool.

  “Tomorrow, then,” I say, breaking the silence between us. “We’ll start the new project tomorrow.”

  When I unlock the door and step inside, I’m overwhelmed with the incredible smells coming from the kitchen. I grin, setting my things down as I shut out the cold and lock us in. I shrug my way out of my coat and drape it over the armchair in the living room as I sneak my way towards Roman. He’s humming as he stands busy at the stove, so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice when I come up behind him. I wrap my arms around his waist and he jumps before he peeks at me from over his shoulder.

  “Hey, babe,” he says in greeting, resting one of his hands over mine.

  “Hey. What was that you were humming?”

  He shrugs as I press my cheek against his back. “Nothing, really. I haven’t written anything in a while and I was just seeing if I could dream something up.”

  “Mmmm,” I hum, giving him a squeeze. “I like it when you play for me.”

  He chuckles softly. “I know you do. Come ‘ere,” he insists, lifting up his arm, my signal to duck under and wrap myself around his side. He hugs my shoulders and I smile up at him before he presses a kiss against my lips. “Maybe I’ll pull my guitar out a little later. You hungry?”

  “Starving! It smells so good in here. What are you making?”

  “Chicken marsala. It’s almost done. As soon as the asparagus comes out of the oven, we can eat.”

  I reach up my hand and cup it around his cheek. He looks at me, an unspoken question in his eyes. “Thank you,” I murmur.

  “For what, babe?”

  “For taking the night off to be with me. I know your semester just started and you’ve got a lot going on.”

  “I’m never too busy for you.”

  I push myself up onto my tiptoes and kiss the corner of his mouth before I begin to pull away. He tightens his grip around me and I smirk at him. “Can I go to our bedroom for a second?” I ask teasingly.

  “Nope.”

  My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “No?”

  “Nope.”

  I laugh, trying again to pull away from him, but he refuses to let me go. “Rome, I want to get out of these tights. They’re killing me.”

  “Oh. Well, we can’t have that.”

  “Yes. I’m glad we agr—”

  I gasp and then giggle as he turns away from the stove and then reaches his hands up my skirt until they are around my hips. He grabs hold of the top of my tights and then slides them slowly over my legs, sinking down until he is squatting in front of me. I brace myself against his shoulders as he takes off one of my shoes, freeing my foot of the now uncomfortable fabric of my tights; he then repeats the act for my other foot before he stands, shoving the waistband into his back pocket. I shake my head at him, looking at my stockings as they hang down the back of his leg.

  “I’m not ready for you to head back there yet.”

  “Oh? I have a surprise?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Baby,” I whine, propping my hip against the counter. “You said no gifts. I thought we were on a budget.” I frown, thinking of all the things I had to talk myself out of buying him for the occasion.

  “I did. And we are. It’s not a gift—not exactly. Just—just don’t go back there. How about you set the table?”

  I playfully narrow my eyes at him before I snag my tights from his pocket and smack my hand against his ass. He chuckles and I take my things to the living room, discarding them before I wash my hands and begin setting the table.

  It’s only a few more minutes before the asparagus is done and dinner is served. Sitting together at the table while we eat doesn’t feel extraordinarily special, but that’s what I love about it. When Roman is in school, his days are long and his nights are spent either teaching yoga or doing homework. What he said earlier is true—he’s never too busy for me—but when he’s in work mode, it’s easy for me to slip back into work mode, too. We spend many a night eating dinner across from each other in the office that we share. Sometimes, it isn’t until we’re cuddled together in bed that we get to tell each other about our days.

  So this—a normal dinner at the table with my husband—it’s exactly how I envisioned our romantic evening in to celebrate Valentine’s Day. We take our time, eating slowly as we chat and laugh, and when I’m finally finished, I’m stuffed. I clear the table, fully prepared to start on the dishes, but Roman stops me.

  “Leave them,” her murmurs, his lips pressed against the top of my head. “We’ll worry about them later.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask, following his lead as he takes my hand and pulls me out of the kitchen.

  “Positive.” He stops when we reach our bedroom door and then tells me to close my eyes. “I just need a minute.”

  “What are you up to?” I ask with a grin.

  “You’ll see in a minute.” He presses a quick kiss against my lips and then leaves me alone in the hallway. I wait for longer than a minute, but no more than five, and then I feel his lips on mine again. “You can open your eyes, now.”

  When I do, I look straight up into his brown irises. He winks at me and then holds out his elbow. I slip my hand around the crook of his arm and follow him into our bedroom. Only the bedside lamps are on, but its more than enough light to see the rose petals he’s sprinkled across the bed and the bouquet that sits atop my nightstand.

  “Roman,” I sigh, stopping to admire the sight.

  “Come on. We’re going to hang out in here for a while first.”

  He escorts me to the bathroom and I gasp, my jaw falling open as my eyes dance around the room. There are white pillar candles everywhere—across the counter, lined up in front of the shower door, scattered around the edge of the tub—the tub that’s filled with steaming water and floating rose pedals. It’s beautiful and impossibly romantic and I love it so much.

  I throw my arms around Roman’s neck, pulling him down so that I can reach his mouth. His lips curl into a smile against mine before he kisses me in return. His fingers find the zipper of my skirt just as my tongue seeks entrance into his mouth.

  “Babe,” he whispers, his hands moving away from my fallen skirt and under my sweater. I sigh into his mouth when he palms my breasts and gives me a squeeze. “If we don’t slow down, we’ll never make it into the tub.”

  I giggle, kissing him once more before I pull away. “Fine,” I concede, reaching for the bottom of his shirt. “Hey,” I coo, helping him out of his jeans. “Can I be Pretty Woman tonight?”

  He laughs, cupping his hands around my face. “You’re my pretty woman every night, Mrs. Holloway,” he tells me, resting his forehead against mine. “But, yes—you can sit in the back tonight.”

  “Yes!”I reply with a grin. I pull away from him and search for a hair tie. Once my hair is piled on top of my head into a knot, I finish taking my clothes off before I climb into the tub. I lean back against the edge, the hot water on my skin causing my body to relax instantly. I spread my legs and peer up at Roman, lit only by candlelight, and wait for him to join me.

  My big dick gets hard right before my eyes, and I pull my lip between my teeth.

  In this moment, I feel loved, cherished, and absolutely beautiful.

  This man is my fairy tale.

  Looking at her—naked, legs spread, waiting for me—all I want to do is crawl in and sink into her warm center. I sigh, reminding myself to be patient, and then climb into the tub after her. As soon as I lean back against her chest, she wraps her arms and her legs around me. I can’t help but smile; she loves getting to be the big spoon when we’re in the tub.
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br />   I prop my arms on top of her legs as she rests her cheek against the top of my head and we sit in silence, simply enjoying the nearness of each other. When she begins to trace lazy circles with her fingers against my chest, I close my eyes and sigh. There’s no place I’d rather be than in her arms right now.

  “I didn’t tell you,” I begin to say, suddenly remembering the events of my morning.

  “Tell me what?”

  “I went into Little Bird this morning to get a coffee and I ran into Brandon. He proposed a few days ago.”

  “Did she say yes?”

  I open my eyes, tilting my head back to peek at her. “Do you really have to ask?” I inquire, thinking back to the few times Daphne and Trevor have had us all over for couples night at their house. “You’ve seen those two.”

  “Yeah,” she says with a half-hearted laugh. “You’re right. Well, that’s great. Good for them.”

  “Yeah,” I murmur, turning my head and resting it back against her shoulder.

  “Mm,” she hums, her fingers coming to a halt. “Did Daph send you the picture she took of Care today?”

  “MmMm,” I reply, shaking my head.

  “She was wearing the pink outfit we got her a few weeks ago. It fits now. Perfect timing.”

  “You’ll have to show me later.”

  I feel her nod before her legs squeeze around me tighter. “I can’t wait until we have one,” she whispers.

  I blink and suddenly it’s really hot. “Logan, are you—?”

  “I know,” she interrupts, squeezing me again. “I know we said we’d wait and talk about it later. I know that when I brought it up before, it was way too soon. But it’s been a few months now.”

  “Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” I mutter, still feeling a bit anxious.

  “Can we—I mean, would it be okay if we talked about it now?”

  “Uh, sure. Okay. We can talk about it.”

  “You don’t sound very sure…” she says, barely above a whisper.

  I pinch my eyebrows together and take a deep, silent breath. She’s right. I don’t sound very sure—but it’s got nothing to do with her or even my desire to have kids. Fatherhood just seems scary as hell. I watch Trevor with Caroline and I’m amazed. I never could have imagined the version of him that he is with his daughter. It’s like he’s a different person, except he isn’t. Just like with my sister, he’s so attuned to her; and there’s this gentleness that only she can bring out of him.