by Amy Olle
Dirty Play
A Nolan Brothers Novel ~ Book Three
Amy Olle
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Books available in the contemporary romance series about the Nolan brothers (in chronological order):
Beautiful Ruin (Noah and Mina - available now)
Sweetest Mistake (Luke and Emily - available now)
Dirty Play (Jack and Haven ~ available now)
Copyright © 2016 by Amy Olle.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the email address below.
Amy Olle
[email protected]
www.amyolle.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Cover Design by Okay Creations
Editing by Hot Tree Editing
Dirty Play/ Amy Olle. -- 1st ed.
Ebook ISBN 978-1-944180-04-4
Print ISBN 978-1-944180-05-8
Chapter One
When it came to men, Haven Callahan had rules.
Hard, staunch, non-negotiable rules.
The kind etched in stone, locked in a tomb, and tattooed on the heart and mind.
Rule Number One: No sex on the first date. Not anymore.
Rule Number Two: No kisses on the neck. Neck kissing was her kryptonite. Her Achilles’ heel. The warm brush of a man’s mouth on the vulnerable spot beneath her ear or over the sensitive skin above her clavicle stirred something deep inside of her. Lust? Arousal? Passion? The perfect concoction of all three? Whatever it was, it drained her of her will to resist his tantalizing manliness, and before she intended, and long before he deserved it, she’d be handing over her heart to him to do with what he pleased.
Rule Number Three: No sappy declarations, grand pronouncements, or talk of The Future. Marriage, children, cohabitation, weekend trips to Minnesota to meet his parents—all equally likely to make her break out in hives. All forbidden.
Rule Number Four: No relationship could be permitted to last beyond ninety days. Anything longer than three months and she was bound to agree to marry the jerk.
Marriage was not an option. Not for her.
A violation to any one of her rules and Haven immediately ended the relationship, often lashing out in a way to irreparably sever the bond. She didn’t intend to be such a crazy bitch, but destroying the relationship beyond repair or recognition was the only thing that cleared her skin of the itchy hives.
Non-negotiable.
Sometimes, it was the only way to save her from herself.
Charlie knew Haven’s rules, which was why she gaped stupidly at him now while the raucous Friday night bar crowd swirled around them.
“You think we should move in together?” Her voice pitched high above the din in the packed bar. “You and me?”
A sheepish smile touched the neat features of his face. “When Kaitlyn and Logan are married, you’ll be moving out. I thought you could move into my place.” He lifted his shoulders. “Permanently.”
“Permanently?” Haven ran a hand down her bare arm to chase away the goose bumps prickling over her skin. “We’ve only been dating a month.”
“Six weeks.” Charlie’s brown eyes warmed. “And it’s been a great six weeks.”
Now that Haven’s roommate, Kaitlyn, had met the love of her life and agreed to marry the poor fool, she and her soon-to-be husband, Logan, were busy making plans for their future. Plans that didn’t involve Haven living with them.
Haven made decent money working as a bartender, but it wasn’t nearly enough to afford a place on her own in Seattle.
That didn’t mean she wanted to live with Charlie.
Permanently.
“Charlie, you know how I feel about this. I—”
“Callahan!” her boss barked from the far end of the bar. “Less talking, more pouring.”
Haven snatched a clean pitcher off the stack and thrust it under a beer tap. She wrenched the handle and golden liquid flowed into the container.
“Look, you don’t have to answer right now,” Charlie said. “Just… think about it.”
She slid the pitcher across the bar to the waiting customer and accepted their debit card in return. At the cash register, she swiped the card.
Could she do it? Could she commit to one person? For ninety-one days, let alone forever and ever?
She was thirty-two years old, and Charlie was the almost perfect guy for her. Really, he was. He was nice, and he was cute, in a nerdy-scientist kind of way. Though not a scientist, he was an accountant who owned his own place, liked crossword puzzles and nature hikes, and used smiley faces in his texts. He was dependable and reliable.
Perfectly predictable.
What’s more, he knew where her clitoris was located.
Granted, he attacked the sensitive spot as though it was an out-of-balance spreadsheet, but at least he cared about giving her orgasms. Not every guy was so considerate, she well knew.
Still, her stomach wrenched with knots when she returned the card to the customer and side-eyed Charlie, who watched her with sincere brown eyes.
Panic squeezed her throat. “The thing is… I’m not ready for such a big commitment.”
The slash of hurt that chased across his face plucked a chord on her tone-deaf heart.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
And she was sorry. She wasn’t a completely heartless bitch, after all. No matter what her stepmother might say.
Haven pointed to the next customer, who shouted out his drink order. At the tap, she filled a pint glass with premium lager. When she turned back, Charlie scowled at her across the bar top.
“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this,” he said. “I’m not asking you to marry me. At least, not yet.”
The pint slipped from her hand and exploded on the concrete floor at her feet. “Ma-marry you?”
His thin lips pinched. “Is it so far-fetched?”
She gaped at him. “Yes. It’s beyond far-fetched. We’ve been dating for a month.”
On a curse, she snatched a towel from below the bar and dropped to her knees to sop up the broken shards of glass, beer soaking through her blue jeans. She flung the mess into the sink and plucked a clean glass from the rack.
At the tap, she thrust the pint under the nozzle and wrenched on the handle. When she handed the man his drink and change and he slipped away, she risked a glance at Charlie.
“I’m sorry if you think I misled you.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “I told you I don’t want anything long-term. I don’t want to get married. Ever.”
A light flashed in his eyes. “I thought this was going somewhere, but all this time, it meant nothing to you? I meant nothing to you?”
Did it bother her that she didn’t feel something deep and profound for the man she’d been sleeping with exclusively for several weeks?
Maybe.
A little.
Okay, honestly, not really.
She’d planned it this way. She’d picked Cha
rlie—so unlike any other guy she’d ever dated before—precisely because he didn’t arouse her passions.
Passion was dangerous to someone like her.
“I told you—”
“I know, I know. The rules.” Anger cluttered his tidy features. “Yeah, you told me, but then you spent the last six weeks sucking my dick and I thought things might’ve changed.”
She swallowed her gasp and pushed a slow, sardonic smile to her lips. “Don’t be such a romantic, Charlie. You’re making it impossible for me to refuse you.”
A trio of women shoved their way to the bar. Haven offered them a stiff smile and then set to work mixing three fruity cocktails.
Maybe it was time she added a few new rules. Or better yet, chucked the rules altogether and tried celibacy.
Who was she kidding? If celibacy were an option for her, she would’ve taken that route long ago. Trouble was, she enjoyed sex too much, and after a time, solo sex didn’t deliver lasting satisfaction.
She craved what only a man could give her. A hard, warm body over hers. A masculine scent teasing her senses. The reminder that she still lived and there was yet some pleasure, maybe even some affection, to be found in this world.
She arranged the bright red concoctions on the bar before the women and accepted a debit card from one of them.
Charlie had the decency to appear ashamed when he pushed into her line of sight. “Haven, I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m frustrated and….”
Haven dragged the card through the card reader. “It’s fine.” While the machine churned, she scratched an itch at the base of her neck. Her fingertips detected the unmistakable bump of a welt. “But I think it’s probably best if we move on.”
He rocked back on his heels.
Haven ignored the guilt that swamped her and handed the woman her card.
Charlie’s features twisted into a determined scowl. “No, you know what? I’m not giving up on you. On us.”
Haven froze.
The women halted in their retreat and turned round eyes on the suddenly impassioned Charlie.
“We’re good together.”
Haven shrugged. “We’re okay—”
“And you’re scared. That’s all this is.”
“I know I’m scared. I admit that, but it doesn’t change anything—”
“However long it takes you to get over this phobia, I can wait.”
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Oh, no. Please, don’t—”
“If it takes a year, or two, then so be it.”
“Charlie, listen to me—”
“And then, when you’ve come to your senses, I’m going to marry you, Haven Callahan. Mark my words.”
Synchronized sighs of contentment eased from the trio of women.
Haven shrank back and wiped viciously at the beads of sweat on her forehead.
Charlie’s mouth kept moving as he spoke words she couldn’t hear over the hammering of her heart. The pounding thundered through her veins, echoing inside her skull with sickening thuds.
“No.” The denial leaked through the narrow opening of her throat.
He remained undeterred. “…and then we’re going to live happily ever after. For the rest of our lives.”
His words struck with the force of a physical blow.
For. The. Rest. Of. Our. Lives.
She was shaking her head. “I won’t marry you.” Or anyone else. “I’m completely fucked-up, Charlie. You need to move on or you’ll be waiting forever for a future that won’t ever come. Never, ever.”
It was cruel. She often was cruel, because it beat the alternative of going all-in on somebody, loving them with her whole heart, only to find out they couldn’t see it through to the end. They couldn’t stay, couldn’t stand by her, with her, and when they left, she’d have nothing but a broken heart and a renewed determination not to let herself be so vulnerable ever again.
With panic screaming through her, she somehow managed to walk, not run, to the end of the bar, past her snarling boss, and exit the barroom through a set of swinging doors. At her locker, she retrieved her jacket and purse, and kept right on walking out the back door.
Outside, the city sidewalks were crowded with late-night revelry. Fear nipped at her heels, and she craned her neck to glance over her shoulder. She increased her pace. Her spine stiff and straight, she dodged bodies.
She was desperate to be away from the place where Charlie had threatened to claim her future, and the heels of her ankle boots struck the concrete sidewalk with jarring jolts. Soon, she struggled to draw painful gulps of cold December air into her aching lungs.
She plunged into the apartment she shared with Kaitlyn and slammed the door shut behind her. Pressing her back to the heavy wood, she sucked in greedy swallows of air. Her cheeks were wet, but she didn’t have time to think about why.
Kaitlyn and Logan, snuggled under a blanket on the sofa, regarded her with curious gazes.
Haven forced a weak smile. “Hey, guys.”
Logan squeezed Kaitlyn’s shoulder and the expression on her pretty face shifted from inquisitive to reluctant.
She stepped out from under the blanket. “Um, do you have a minute?”
Haven willed her panicked heart to slow. “Sure. What’s up?”
But she already knew.
“Logan and I, uh, we found this great place in South Newcastle. We put in an offer, and we just found out the house is ours.”
“Congratulations.” Haven’s voice sounded strained and tight to her own ears. “When do you move?”
“At the end of the month, when our lease here is up. I’m sorry—”
Haven waved off Kaitlyn’s next words. “Don’t be sorry. You should be happy.”
Naked relief swamped Kaitlyn’s features, and her soft smile brightened into a full-wattage grin. “I am happy. So, so happy.”
Haven gaped at her roommate for a moment. Kaitlyn did, in fact, look happy. Stupidly happy. But how could that be? How could it feel good to depend on someone else? To be completely vulnerable to another person?
Pleading exhaustion after a grueling work shift, Haven sought the sanctuary of her bedroom.
In the shower, where she hoped to wash away the hives before any more formed, reality crept in. Had she just walked off her job? The tentacles of fear coiled tighter around her throat.
After her shower, she dressed in yoga pants and a tank top. Her body trembled, the compulsion to run still reverberating through her, and she paced the bedroom like a caged animal. Had the room always been so small? Or were the walls actually closing in on her?
She needed space. She needed to put some distance between herself and the fear.
By now, she knew the fear never really went away. She scratched at a fresh hive.
It was true that she couldn’t outrun the fear, but she could outsmart it. Distract it and confuse it until it lost sight of her amidst the chaos she created.
Chaos. Chaos was her ally. Where to start?
Run!
She could run. Leave Seattle.
At the thought, the vise squeezing her chest began to ease.
Yes, that was it. She needed a fresh start. She’d find a new town, a new job, a new life. This one free of men. Well, for as long as she could go without, anyway. A billion distractions awaited her somewhere.
But where? Her gaze swung to the map hanging on her bedroom wall, stuck with hundreds of pins marking the places she’d visited or lived over the past decade.
Yanking open the drawer of her nightstand, she fumbled for her dart case. Her fingertips brushed over the faded photograph, but she pushed aside the photo of Ryan with his disapproving brown eyes and grasped the sleek black leather case.
In front of the map, she poised with a metal dart between her thumb and forefinger, raised it before her face and, closing her eyes, let the arrow fly.
It struck the wall with a satisfying thud. She sidled closer and peered at the spot on the map pinned beneath the sharp point.
Biting down hard on her bottom lip, she wondered how her foul mouth and sarcastic disposition would go over in the South.
She sighed. Oh well, the dart had spoken.
Georgia would give her the sizable wedge of distance she required.
Plus, it was nowhere near Milwaukee.
She plucked her cell phone off her nightstand and settled on the bed to do a little research about her soon-to-be new hometown.
She’d browsed for several minutes when the phone chirped with an incoming e-mail. Reading the name of the sender, Haven grew instantly alert.
Emily Cole?
She sat upright, the memories rushing forth.
Her college roommate, Emily, had been an incredibly shy but impossibly sweet girl. She and Haven, opposites in so many ways, nonetheless became fast friends. By the time they’d reached their senior year, Emily had become the only real friend Haven had ever known. A true friend who didn’t compete with her for boys or call her a slut behind her back.
But Emily left school a semester early, and shortly after that, Haven’s life took a dramatically different turn.
With a tap on the screen, Haven opened Emily’s message and started to read.
Emily expressed her regret that she hadn’t e-mailed Haven more often over the years, but in two weeks, she was getting married and she wondered if Haven could come to the wedding. Then she apologized for the last-minute invitation, noting that it was a bit sudden.
She went on to write how much she’d love it if Haven could attend, though she totally understood if Haven was unable to make the trip to the remote island in northern Michigan on such short notice.
Haven sat back in bed. “Holy crap,” she said to the empty room. Despite herself, she laughed. A wedding, huh? Seemed to be the day’s theme.
She reread the e-mail, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Emily wrote the way she spoke, in a rush of tangled uncertainty. Except without the stutter.
Of course, Haven hated weddings. The last one she’d attended, for two of her coworkers, she’d broken out in hives on the way and ended up sneaking out halfway through the ceremony.