The Stubborn Love Series: Books 1-5 Contemporary Romance Series

by Wendy Owens

  Emmie always pretends to be annoyed, but it is clear she has fallen right into place in her role as Mrs. Bennett. I’m happy for her. The walls she had up when I first met her seem to be completely demolished. This is her family, and it is clear they can’t live without her. I think part of me envies her. I’m not sure exactly why, but there is a familiarity in being back with boys. I know my life is with Henry, and soon we will be starting our own story, but I can’t help feeling like sometimes she stole my identity. I feel terrible for even thinking it.

  Once breakfast is over I will spend my morning either sketching or sewing. Tossing out the old drawings and starting from scratch has been the best decision I could have made. Now that I am beginning to see the results there is no doubt in my mind. The ideas are just blowing out of me, sometimes faster than I can record them. All one has to do is look around this sleepy little town to see the effect it’s had on everything from the color palette to the textures of fabric I’ve used.

  My work is busting out of the small room I’m staying in. There are stacks of fabric choices all over the kitchen and stock room. I have even taken to storing some of the boxes of supplies in Christian’s back room, which is less than ideal with all of the wood shaving that happens in there.

  Once my work filled mornings are done, I help Emmie out in the gallery so that she can make everyone lunch. She spends her mornings painting and her afternoons running the gallery, switching off with Colin who takes care of the massive online orders in the afternoon. We’ve become a well-oiled machine. In the afternoon I manage to squeeze in some more work time before we all knock off early for the evening.

  Every night seems to hold a new surprise. A gathering in the town park, dinner at a neighbors, or even neighbors coming over to their house. Everything is so yummy that I have to continually remind myself that I have a wedding dress to fit into.

  “What are you up to today?” I hear Christian’s voice over my shoulder.

  I don’t turn to look at him; instead, I continue my work with my seam ripper, removing my latest sewing blunder. “What I’m always up to—work.”

  He sits across from me at the dining table, watching me. I glance up self-consciously. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “You work too much,” he states with a furrowed brow.

  I shake my head then return to the ripping. “Gee, thanks for the observation.”

  “No, I just mean that you’ve been working your ass off since you got here. How about you have a little fun,” Christian suggests.

  “I’ve been having fun,” I insist.

  “I mean more than the Grandma/Grandpa nights Em and Colin plan for you,” he argues, reaching out and placing his hand over my work, gaining my full attention. “Let’s go have some fun.”

  “Like what?” I stare at him suspiciously.

  “I don’t know, we used to go all day without ever making plans—just seeing where the day would take us.”

  I smile as I remember the carefree times of my youth, then shake my head as the reality of the impending deadline jolts me back to reality. “I can’t, I have too much to do.”

  He takes the shirt I was working on out of my hands and stands up. “Come on, would it kill you to have a little fun?”

  He extends a hand, and I feel my heart start beating hard and fast in my chest. What’s this big deal? It’s just one day. I could use the break.

  I jump to my feet and exclaim, “Let’s do it! Are jeans and a t-shirt okay?”

  “I hope so, because I’m not changing,” Christian says as he tosses the shirt I’d been working on onto the dining room table and drags me out the back door.

  “Wait, shouldn’t we tell Em where we’re going?” I ask with concern.

  “Why, do you need permission?” He laughs.

  In an instant, the adrenaline kicks in, and I suddenly feel alive. I’ve been going through the motions all month long, surrendering to the routine, and not realizing it is starting to suffocate me. “Hell no, let’s go.”

  A few seconds later and we are in the truck, speeding out of the gravel lot.

  “So where do you want to go?” he asks me.

  “I have no idea, I assumed you had some sort of a plan.”

  “Because I’ve always been the guy with a plan, huh?”

  “Point taken,” I acknowledge his sarcasm. “So what is there to do around here?”

  “How do you feel about a road trip?” he questions, looking at me, his smile revealing his dimple.

  “How far are we talking?” I’m suddenly worried about what I have agreed to.

  “You okay if we head into the city?”

  “Austin?”

  “Unless you know of another city I don’t know about,” he fires back.

  “You really are charming, aren’t you?” I grumble.

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” He smiles slyly.

  We make small talk on the drive. He keeps asking me questions about Henry’s upcoming visit. I’m not sure, at first, why he is so curious, but then decide to leave it alone. As we near the city limits I wonder if he has figured out a plan for this late afternoon.”

  “Okay, obviously we’re headed somewhere, so where are you taking me?”

  “I remembered you loved to dance. Do you still go out dancing a lot?” He answers my question with a question of his own.

  “Henry isn’t really into the scene, but I’ll go with my girlfriends sometimes,” I answer, then realize the answer was in his question. “Wait, we’re going dancing? What kind of club is open in the middle of the day?”

  He squints his eyes as he thinks about my question. “Well, I’m not really sure if I would call it a club.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think I like the sound of this.”

  Christian laughs. “What, don’t you trust me?”

  “Not in the least,” I huff, glaring at him suspiciously.

  “Ouch, that hurts, it really hurts.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Spill it, where are we going?”

  Before he answers, I watch as he pulls onto the exit. I look around for some sign of where we might be headed, when I see a sign that reads Congress Avenue.

  “All I ask is you try it, and if you have a horrible time, we’ll go do something else,” Christian offers.

  I laugh. “In my experience, when someone offers a disclaimer like that, it usually means I’m going to have a horrible time.”

  The truck pulls to one side, and with a hard bump as we hit part of the curb, I see the sign for the business where we parked. “The Two Step,” I read out loud.

  He pulls into an open spot and after placing the truck in park and looks over at me with a devilish grin. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says.

  “I doubt that.”

  “I was the same way when I first tried it, but it’s a lot of fun, I promise.” I stare at him, eyebrows high on my forehead. “Come on, worst case, they have killer mozzarella sticks.”

  “Of course they do,” I grumble as I push open the heavy door and make my way out of the truck.

  “When did you become such a stick in the mud?” he asks me, and I find the words sting a little.

  “I’m not a stick in the mud,” I insist.

  “We’ll see,” he taunts, opening the wooden door to the establishment. It doesn’t matter that I know he’s manipulating me, it’s still working.

  I look around the place that has a dance floor with a two-story ceiling. Everything is wood, and not in a good way—from the floors to the walls, to the tables and chairs, and let’s not forget the wagon wheel light fixtures hanging from the ceiling.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “All this place needs is a big wooden Indian in the corner, and it would be one for the record books,” I joke.

  “There’s one in the back hallway by the bathrooms.”

  “Of course there is, how silly of me,” I mutter.

  We make our way across the main seating ar
ea to the bar, where Christian orders us a couple of diet cokes and asks if we can get some mozzarella sticks. The bartender informs us the kitchen is closed until five, but he’s happy to get us the diet cokes. When he walks away I say, “I thought you were kidding.”

  “About what?”

  “The cheese sticks.”

  “Oh,” he begins, “Heck no. I guess we’ll have to order some when the kitchen opens.”

  I sit on the cowhide barstool, another first in my life, and watch the various couples on the dance floor. The size of the crowd surprises me, considering it’s only a quarter past four.

  “Did you bring me here to do some line dancing?” I can’t stop myself from laughing as I jokingly ask.

  Christian doesn’t answer me right away. He stands, taking a swig of his soda, before slamming it on the counter and grabbing my hand to pull me to the dance floor. “Ever done the two step?”

  “No, and I can’t say I’ve ever wanted to,” I yell, as he drags me behind him effortlessly.

  We pause at the edge of the dance floor, waiting for the song to end. “What are we doing?” I whisper.

  “Wait for it,” he instructs me.

  I watch as other couples begin to gather around the edges. The room falls silent, and the crowd emerges onto the floor. Christian steps out onto the wooden arena and, with a flick of his wrist, he pushes me away from his body and then pulls me back in, my back pressed up against his chest.

  A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard, surprised by the suddenness of his moves. A shiver runs down my spine as I feel his strong arms wrap around my waist, his hot breath on my cheek.

  “I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” I moan, secretly not wanting him to stop.

  “Just have fun with it,” he whispers in my ear, and I feel my knees buckle for an instant.

  I hear the woman at the microphone give a loud scream, trying to pull everyone’s attention in. She proceeds to announce the dance style and exactly how everything is going to work, but she is speaking so fast I barely understand what she says.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I protest, starting to feel anxious about my foreign surroundings.

  “You’ll be fine, just watch what everyone else does and go with the flow.” His advice does not bring me any comfort.

  Before I can think, the music begins, and we are off. Christian escorts me from one side of the dance floor to the other. In one second my backside is pressed up against him, and in the next I spin around and am handed off to the next man.

  I feel my head begin to swirl and my heart pound as I jump across the floor. Christian is right; I only step on a couple sets of toes before I fall into the rhythm of the movements. It is invigorating. I haven’t felt so alive since ... well, for as long as I can remember. Each gentleman I dance with seems more chivalrous than the last, with Christian occasionally working back into my partner rotation.

  When the song finally comes to an end, I find myself panting, but better than that, laughing. Laughing so hard it hurts.

  “Are you having fun?” Christian asks, his arms wrapped around me for support.

  “Are you kidding?” I gasp between breaths. “That was a blast.”

  “I told you,” he exclaims. “Now what, you want to ride the mechanical bull?”

  I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “No, I think I’ll stick to dancing.” Just as the words leave my lips the next song comes on—a slow song. I sigh, the pure joy of the moment shifting to awkwardness.

  Christian doesn’t miss a beat. His hands link behind my lower back as he pulls me in close. Instinctively, I lift my arms and wrap them around his neck. We begin swaying mindlessly to the music. I’m careful not to look into his eyes, but standing so closely, it is difficult.

  “I’m really glad to see you having so much fun,” he says.

  I blush. Why am I blushing? Damn it. “Thanks for getting me out of the house.”

  One of my hands slips from behind his neck, and instead grips his arm. I can feel his fingers playing with the waistband of my jeans, flicking the fabric back and forth. Even though I don’t want to, I find myself looking up into his eyes, searching for some idea of what he might be thinking.

  He’s already staring down at me, and in an instant, our eyes lock. I don’t notice when we stop swaying; we’re just standing on the dance floor, looking at each other.

  “Are you all right?” he whispers.

  I lick my lips, swallow, and nod my head yes. He presses himself against me, and I feel him trailing his fingertips across the top of my panties. I know I should push him away, but I can’t.

  “Are you sure?” he asks again. I know what he’s actually asking me. He wants permission to go further. Why aren’t I pushing him away? The pull between us is growing stronger with the intensity in his eyes.

  I close my eyes and force myself to turn around; I need to walk away from him before I lose all control. Before I can take a step, I feel his arms wrap around me from behind and pull me back in, his hot breath blowing into my ear as he speaks deeply, “The song’s not over.”

  His lips graze my ear, but rather than move them away, he lets them linger, touching my flesh ever so slightly. I can feel a stirring from within my body, and it’s alarming, to say the least.

  “I’m so glad you decided to come for a visit,” he says, our bodies backed up against one another, once again swaying to the twang of the love song.

  “Is it hot in here?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “I think it’s hot in here. We should get out of here.”

  I can feel his lips shift into a smile against the tip of me ear. The song finally slows and then falls into complete silence. His arms are still around me as I wait for him to move first. He doesn’t.

  Lifting my hands, I break his grasp and rush off the dance floor. I can hear him calling after me, but I don’t stop. I walk as fast I can, straight out the front door, gasping for air, swallowing as much of the freshness as I can.

  “Paige!” Christian yells as he emerges from the door behind me. “Will you stop? What is going on with you?”

  I can feel myself trembling. I turn around and stare at him, my eyes full and wet, and lifting a finger, I point at the door and ask, “What in the hell was that?”

  He doesn’t look away; he’s watching me, and I feel my chest begin to constrict again. He walks forward, moving in close. “What do you want it to be?”

  I shake my head. “I can’t do this,” I protest, wiping a tear from my eye before it falls, my voice cracking.

  He steps back, looking toward his truck, then down the other direction of the road. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

  “What?” I ask, confusion consuming me.

  “Clearly we both need a breather. Let’s take a walk, and I promise I’ll keep my hands in my pockets.” I know he’s joking, but in the back of my mind I’m thinking that might be a good idea.

  I want to be back in the safety of my little room at Emmie’s, but in this exact moment, the thought of getting back in the small, close quarters of the pickup truck’s cab does not seem wise. “Walk where?”

  He thinks for a second. “Actually, I have a really great treat for you.”

  Looking at him, I force a smile and nod in agreement.

  “We have a little bit of a wait, but about a half-mile down this road is Congress Avenue Bridge. At sunset, a ton of people gather on the bridge to watch the bats fly out,” he explains.

  “Bats?” I ask cautiously.

  “Trust me, it’s breathtaking. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing that whirlwind of creatures flying up into the orange sky.

  We walk to that bridge, and we watch those bats. Thankfully what happened on the dance floor doesn’t come up again.

  Chapter Eleven

  THANKSGIVING IS ALMOST here, and though I’m looking forward to a break, what I’m looking forward to the most is seeing my sweet Henry. Christian even seems excited to officially meet him. I thou
ght after what happened on the dance floor he would start acting weird, but he seems to be fine.

  “Emmie, can I borrow the truck?” I call into the gallery. Silence. I add, “I need to pick Henry up from the airport.”

  “Sure thing, hon, the keys are—”

  “On the hook, I know.” Without a moment’s hesitation I slip the keys off the hook and am out the back door, patting my pockets to ensure I have my phone and wallet.

  “Hey, where you headed all dolled up?” Christian yells from the courtyard, using the back of his arm to wipe away the sweat from his brow.

  In my lifetime, I’ve seen Christian naked more times than I can possibly count. I have been in Texas for a month now, and have seen his muscles glistening with sweat but still, a lump always forms in my throat when I see him in such a state. I tell myself, it’s a natural reaction, it doesn’t mean anything. I mean, really, with those jeans he wears, it’s like his body’s begging to be noticed. He’s an attractive guy, but so is Henry. Why am I even thinking about this? Because of that damn night at the dance club, that’s why. I can’t quit thinking about his. His breath on my cheek, his lips on the tip of my ear. He’s acting like nothing happened, and I wonder how he does it.

  I glance down at my outfit. I don’t think I would exactly call myself dolled up, but I do want to impress Henry when he sees me for the time in over a month. Based on Christian’s words, I am guessing I picked the right outfit.

  The little summer dress is not one of my own creations. It’s a rarity for me to wear something I haven’t made. I can’t believe it’s November, and I’m wearing a summer dress. Of course I’ve paired it with the cutest cardigan with iron-on patches of blue birds near the top button and knee-high boots. I do look cute, and I know it. The green in the dress even makes my eyes pop.

  “I’m picking up Henry from the airport,” I holler back, not wanting to linger while Christian is in his current super-hot, sweaty, sexy state.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot that was today.”