Kiss Me, Chloe

by Shéa R. MacLeod

  “Of course. Go ahead.” I waited to see which box the tick would go in. Taking calls during a date was a big no-no, but it was family. I totally understood family.

  He stepped away slightly. “Sis? What’s wrong? Is Dad all right?” He listened, his expression easing. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks for letting me know. Love you, too. Bye.” He hung up and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Fortunately, yes,” he said. “My dad. He has heart problems, and he had an episode tonight. They had to rush him to A & E.”

  Accident and Emergency was the British equivalent of the ER. “Oh, no. I hope he’s okay?”

  Bram chuckled and slung an arm around my shoulders. “He’s fine. Heartburn, thank goodness. But my sister wanted me to know in case Mom called. She can be a little dramatic about things like this.”

  The tick went into the “plus” column. “That was nice of her. It’s good you’re close to your family.”

  “Family is everything.”

  Dammit. Another tick in the “plus” column. “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “Now.” He pulled me closer, and I could feel his heat branding me from shoulder to thigh. “Where were we?”

  I couldn’t remember, so I blurted the first question that hit me. “Uh, where did you grow up? Around here?”

  “Not far. Reading.”

  Reading was about a twenty-five minute train ride outside London if you took the express train. It was a pleasant little town, though not exactly what I’d call posh. “Nice.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Tell me more about your family.”

  “We’re all quite busy these days, of course, but we try to take time out now and again to get together, catch up. Mum would have our hides if we didn’t.” He smiled fondly, his face softening a little. I caught my breath. He was so beautiful. I reminded myself I was not supposed to be falling for him.

  “Are any of your siblings married? Have kids?” I asked.

  “Nope. So far all single. How about you? Brothers and sisters?”

  I told him about my two sisters, many nieces and nephews, and my parents, now retired. “I miss them a lot,” I admitted. “But I love London, and we stay in touch. Plus I try to visit every year, though sometimes it’s every other year.”

  “What brought you to London?”

  I wasn’t sure how much to tell him. I barely knew the guy. I glossed over it. “I was sort of bored with my life, you know? Same old routine. When I saw this job with the Historical Trust, I jumped at it.” I didn’t tell him about my inheritance. Last thing I needed was him thinking I had money so he could sponge off me.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. The sincerity in his tone almost made me drop my guard. Almost.

  Chapter 16

  BRAM PAID THE CAB DRIVER and walked me to my door. I added another tick to the “plus” column. Not only was he walking me to my door, he’d sprung for the cab ride home. I fidgeted a little under the porch light, but when he leaned in to kiss me, it felt totally natural. His lips, velvet soft, fit perfectly against mine. His tongue was warm as it slipped past my lips to dance with my own tongue. He tasted of peppermint and arousal and promises of things to come.

  I leaned into him, swept up in the moment. He pulled me tight against him, hands roving across my back, dipping to cup my butt. I sank fingers into his silky hair and caught a very faint moan. I was pretty sure it was me, but maybe not.

  “Want to come up?” I asked. I hadn’t meant to. It just slipped out. Okay, so Bram might not have permanent potential, but as Kev said, he could be Mr. Right Now. One night. I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t.

  “Heck, yes.”

  He trailed me up the stairs but didn’t let go of my hand, even when I unlocked the door to my flat. The minute we were inside, my coat hit the floor, followed by his. I barely manage to close and lock the door before he’d plastered me against it, rucking up the hemline of my skirt and pulling my blouse free of the waistband.

  I started to unbutton his shirt but lost my balance and ended up yanking it apart. Buttons flew everywhere. One of them pinged off a lamp.

  “Ouch!’

  “Are you okay?” I asked, trying not to giggle.

  “Danged thing hit me in the forehead.”

  The giggle burst free. “I’m sorry.”

  He gave me that long, slow, deadly smile. “Oh, you will be.”

  My own buttons went flying.

  WHEN I WOKE THE NEXT morning, Bram was gone. For a split second, my heart sank. Then I told myself I was an idiot. I shouldn’t be disappointed. I should be relieved. This had been a one-time thing. A total one-off. One of those live-in-the-moment kind of things. It was never happening again.

  I staggered out of bed stark naked and grabbed my red and white polka dot cotton bathrobe from the chair next to the bed. Shrugging into it, I made my way to the kitchen, still only half awake. There was a fresh pot of coffee with a mug waiting next to it. Beside the mug was a note. I plucked it from the counter and flipped it open.

  Dear Chloe,

  Sorry I had to leave so early. I’d rather have stayed in bed with you.

  Unfortunately, duty calls. Last night was amazing.

  Can’t wait to see you again.

  Yours,

  Bram

  I quelled the silly little jump my heart made. I was suddenly feeling ridiculously giddy. When was the last time a man had had balls enough to tell me he couldn’t wait to see me? This side of never, that’s when.

  I read the note again. Duty called? What sort of duty called a musician out of bed at whatever o’clock? I wasn’t even sure when he’d left, but it had certainly been long before musician hours.

  I frowned. No, wait. His day job, whatever that was. We’d never gotten back to it. That must be it. But what kind of weird job called a person in an a Saturday morning? Well, lots of them, if I were honest. Still, it seemed odd to me.

  Not that it mattered what his day job was. He was still a musician, even if it was part time. And musicians came with more garbage than a landfill. Between late nights and groupies and dramatic personalities, even if he was flakey, those were things I really did not want to deal with.

  Regardless, that little voice inside me still bounced with glee. Apparently it hadn’t gotten the memo.

  Chapter 17

  MONDAY WAS INSANE. I didn’t know what had happened over the weekend. Had elves come in and created more work for us poor office drones? Who knew? In any case, I barely had time for lunch, never mind thinking about Bram. Not that it stopped me.

  He’d texted over the weekend, and I texted back, even though I told myself it was an exercise in futility. Actually I was surprised he bothered. I figured he’d gotten what he wanted and would move on like a good little flake. Apparently he hadn’t gotten the memo either, because he wasn’t moving on. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. My brain was warning me to back away, but my heart had joined the Olympic gymnastics team.

  My cell rang, and I answered it without looking at the screen. “’Lo?”

  “Hi, Chloe,” Bram’s rich voice floated over the airwaves, sending shivers to places I’d just as soon ignore while at work. Olivia swiveled around to watch me avidly. I ignored her.

  “Bram. Hi.” I paused, unsure what else to say, wishing I could ignore the way my skin started tingling and the butterflies in my stomach let their presence be known.

  “How’s your day so far?”

  I glanced at the clock: 4:00. Two more hours to go. “I’m surviving. What’s up?”

  He chuckled, as if amused by my cut-to-the-chase attitude. “I have a proposition for you.”

  Red alert! Red alert! “Yes?”

  “I know it’s early days yet, but my family is having a get-together at my parents’ house in Reading this weekend. I’d like you to come with me.”

  Holy crickets. Was he crazy? “Um—”

  “There’s also a mini music festival at the Jazz Club in Re
ading. There are going to be some amazing artists there, including some all the way from America. I figured we could do the jazz thing Friday evening and Saturday, and then Sunday put in an appearance for the family thing. What do you say?”

  “You want to take me to meet your family?” My brain zeroed in on the important part of the conversation. Was he insane? We barely knew each other. I mean, I was all about meeting new people, but his family?

  “Sure. Yes. Why not?” He sounded terribly casual about the whole thing. Probably he took tons of girls home. Although, if I were honest, he didn’t seem the sort. But one never knew with musicians. Sometimes they seemed normal and responsible. That’s how they sucked you in.

  “I don’t think—”

  “I promise. It’s going to be amazing.”

  Olivia leaned over and slapped a Post-it note on my computer screen. It read: “Say yes, or I will kick your arse.”

  Holding back a laugh, I finally gave in. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Great. It’s going to be fun. You won’t regret this.”

  I already did. Oh, who was I kidding? I couldn’t wait!

  WE TOOK THE TRAIN TO Reading. It wasn’t a problem for me, but I found it odd Bram didn’t drive, especially as he’d warned me his parents’ house was “out in the countryside.” Which meant it would be a nightmare to get there unless someone picked us up at our hotel in Reading, or we paid a fortune for a cab. My guess was Bram was planning for the former after he pulled the old “my car’s in the shop” line. I didn’t buy it for a second, but I went along with it. Probably he couldn’t afford a car, and that was fine. Lots of people in London couldn’t afford cars, including yours truly. I just wished he’d have been up front about it.

  London’s towering glass and steel high-rises and looming historical buildings gave way to the lower sprawl of the suburbs. The red brick Victorians faded to lighter brick, pre-war era houses, and then pebble and dash post-war abodes. Finally the vista opened up into wide, grassy pastures and small copses of leafy green. Station signs with their little red rail logos and plain black letters on white flashed by the window, almost too fast to read. Burnham, Taplow, Maidenhead, and Twyford.

  The train was crowded despite it being at least two hours before work let out. It wasn’t unusual for London workers to take half a day on Friday and slip out to start the weekend early. Many who worked in London actually lived a several-hour commute outside the city. I’d once had a co-worker at the Trust who lived in Eastbourne on the coast, over an hour and a half away by train. He’d stayed in town with his brother during the week, then on weekends went home to his family.

  Everyone was chatty and excited, clearly already in party mode. A group of young guys lounged in the corridor between cars, drinking out of cheap beer cans. Across from us, a young couple with two small children were eating a packed lunch of what looked like cheese and tomato sandwiches and roast beef-flavored crisps. The British loved their bizarre potato chip flavors. Some were tasty and some were just plain weird, in my opinion.

  Behind us a group of women dressed in hot pants, crop tops, and feather boas giggled and told dirty stories. One of them wore a tiara and a white sash with the word “bride” in pink letters. The sash was decorated with tiny plastic penises. I was pretty sure they were already half drunk.

  “Wonder what kind of trouble the hen party is going to get up to?” Bram whispered.

  I grinned. “No doubt it will involve puking and strippers. Not necessarily in that order.”

  At the station, Bram waited politely for the Hen Party to clear the car before hauling out our luggage, not that we had much. He’d brought a duffel bag, and I had one of those small rolling suitcases like the flight attendants have. I offered to take my bag, but he insisted, so I let him exercise his gentlemanly skills. Outside the station he paused, a frown creasing his handsome face.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, trepidation churning a hole in my stomach.

  “I ordered a car to take us to the hotel. It doesn’t look like it’s here.”

  I’d heard that before. Excuses. Lies to cover up. Had he actually ordered a car, or was he just trying to sound important? I told myself not to be such a suspicious twit, but it wasn’t easy. “Are you sure you gave them the right time?”

  I almost expected him to throw a tantrum, but he remained calm. “I’m certain. I’ll give them a call.” He pulled out his phone.

  The quick conversation gave me some relief. He’d definitely ordered a car. There was just traffic. I could hear the profuse apologies from the other end.

  “No worries,” Bram said smoothly. “These things happen. Do you have an estimated time of arrival? Yes, that will be fine. Thank you.” He hung up. “A bit of a delay thanks to traffic. The car will be here within the next five minutes.”

  Sure enough, about two minutes later, a simple black sedan pulled up to the curb. The driver jumped out. He was wearing a kurta pajama, a calf-length shirt over pajama-like pants, and a red turban. His bushy black beard was liberally streaked with gray. He nodded to Bram. “Mr. Halliday?” he asked in a thick Indian accent.

  “Yes.”

  The driver went around to the back of the car and opened the boot, helping Bram stow the luggage. “Sorry about the lateness,” he said as we climbed into the car. “Last guy was late and then the traffic.” He shrugged. “What you gonna do? Terrible some days, you know?”

  Bram again assured him it was fine and confirmed the address. We pulled out into traffic, dodging and darting around cars until I thought I’d throw up.

  I half expected to wind up in some sleazy hotel with fifty-year-old carpets and bedbugs, but he’d booked us into a decent hotel. Nothing fancy, just a chain hotel, but it was clean and comfortable. And naturally, he’d only booked one room.

  I stared at the large bed with some trepidation. I told myself I was being ridiculous. We’d slept together already, for crying out loud. This was not a big deal. I’d just never gone away with anyone before. This was totally new territory for me. Granted, I was all for trying new things, but this was kind of a big step.

  “I can get a second room,” Bram said, noticing my discomfort.

  “Oh, no, this is fine.”

  “No, really. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I assumed... I’m an idiot.” He picked up his bag and started for the door. “I’ll get another room.”

  I grabbed his arm, stopping him before he reached the door. The minute we touched, that zing was back, overriding any discomfort I might have been feeling and giving me a whole new level of discomfort. The good kind. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just me. I’m, ah, nervous,” I admitted. And I was. The whole idea of going away with him, like we were some kind of couple, freaked me out on many levels. I barely knew the guy.

  And yet my heart raced every time he was near. When he wasn’t, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I found myself looking forward to the weekends when I would see him again.

  I was falling for the man. Musician or not, he was under my skin, and it was too late to do anything about it. I swallowed. “Stay.”

  “Are you sure?’

  “I’m sure.”

  He set down his suitcase and then cupped my face in his hands. He stared at me for the longest time before lowering his mouth to mine.

  If there was such a thing as angels, they were dancing and singing and shouting hallelujah right about then. I shivered in delight as he wrapped his arms around me and drew me in, so close I could feel every hard line of his body.

  When we finally came up for air, he whispered, “If you insist.”

  “Oh, I do.”

  NEEDLESS TO SAY, THE whole jazz festival was a loss. We managed a whopping thirty minutes at the club before hands started roaming, and we rushed back to the hotel. We barely left the room until Sunday, when we were forced out by an 11:00 a.m. check-out and Bram’s brother picking us up in his swanky Mercedes S-Class. Bram and I slid into the backseat.

  “Chloe,
this is my brother, Jonathan. Jonathan, this is Chloe.” He gave me a heart-melting smile.

  I felt tingly all of a sudden, and I wanted nothing more than to drag him out of the car and have my way with him. Instead I focused on his brother, the one Bram had said was a doctor. “Hi, Jonathan. Nice to meet you.”

  “My friends call me Jamie,” he said with a grin that reminded me of Bram. Except where Bram was dark-haired and blue-eyed, Jamie’s hair was a riot of chestnut curls, and his eyes were the color of toffee.

  “Since when?” Bram asked with a frown.

  “Since I got tired of people calling me Dr. Jonathan Harker.”

  “Who the blazes calls you that?”

  “Seriously. You were named after the hero of Bram Stoker’s novel?” I asked, trying to hold back a giggle.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Jamie said wryly. “At least now people think of the kilt guy from that show, and they think it’s hot.”

  “Let me guess. Your sister’s name is Lucy.”

  “Mina,” they said in unison.

  I laughed. “Of course.”

  “What do you do, Chloe?” Jamie asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

  “I work for a charity. The Historical Trust. I manage their web store, organize events and travel, push paperwork. That sort of thing.”

  “The Historical Trust. That’s impressive.”

  “She’s also an amazing jazz singer,” Bram pointed out with a pride that lit a warm glow inside.

  “You and your jazz,” Jamie said with an eye roll. “He did tell you he’s the black sheep of the family, didn’t he?” But he said it with a grin, so I knew he was joking. Clearly he loved his brother. I took an instant liking to Jamie. Maybe I should try and hook him up with Olivia. A doctor had to be better than a musician, and certainly better than Paul.

  We zipped through the countryside, the sound of the tires humming over macadam lulling me into a meditative state. Tall hedgerows on either side hemmed us in, the thick branches of leafy English oaks meeting overhead to form an endless tunnel of green. Here and there a break in the hedgerows allowed us a glimpse of a cute country cottage or a half-timbered farmhouse.