Just one kiss (The Ashcrofts Book 1)

by Anderson, Poppy J.

With Amy, he wasn’t just having a good time. He was able to kick back, tune out, and forget all his worries. With her, he’d experienced true spontaneity, and he enjoyed that immensely. Last night, the apartment had been so hot that they’d kept getting up for cold, wet towels to put over the fan. Unfortunately, that hadn’t done much to cool down the room. The thought of bringing Amy into his air-conditioned hotel room had been very tempting, but instead, she’d surprised him by dragging him out into the street at three in the morning.

  Patrick had been perplexed by her insistence that he get up and get dressed hen he just wanted to stay in her cozy bed. But she hadn’t backed down—she’d wanted a nighttime stroll. And so they’d sauntered through a maze of deserted alleys hand in hand, until they’d reached a fountain that was splashing like temptation itself.

  While he’d considered quickly dipping his feet into the cool water, she sat down on the marble edge, took off her shoes, and immersed her legs.

  “Isn’t that forbidden?” Patrick had asked suspiciously, and she’d replied with a mischievous laugh.

  “Are you afraid the fountain police will show up?”

  “Very funny.”

  “I promise I’m not going to snitch on you. Come sit with me!”

  So he’d joined her, still suspicious and wary, and put his feet in the wonderfully chilled water, too. “My guidebook says the police take no prisoners when it comes to trespassing in Roman fountains.”

  “Do you want me to stand guard?” She’d leaned her head against his arm and intertwined her fingers with his. He couldn’t say why his throat had suddenly felt tight.

  “I’ll take my chances,” he murmured. “As long as you bake me a cake with a file in it after they drag me away to jail.” He laid his chin on top of her head.

  Even though Patrick had to admit that he was a little worried the fountain water would give him a nasty rash, he had felt an utterly unfamiliar contentment, sitting there silently with Amy, listening to the spluttering and splashing of the fountain.

  For him, it was a completely novel experience to be with a woman who was this straightforward, life-affirming, and affectionate. Every day, her naturalness enchanted him further, made him wish he could have her around all the time. He was a fool in love, he admitted to himself, and she had mesmerized him. He couldn’t wait to get to know her even better.

  ***

  Patrick was lying in the sun, almost dozing, ignoring the book that lay lonely next to the deck chair. He yawned against the sunlight, before turning his head to watch Amy, who was standing in front of her easel in an oversized T-shirt, assessing the canvas before her with furious concentration.

  He smiled as he turned onto his side, letting his gaze travel up her bare legs. She’d been standing on her roof terrace staring at her half-finished painting for all of ten minutes now, her brush poised in hand. He’d often watched her paint over the last few days, and he still wasn’t tired of witnessing her struggle to finish the painting as she saw it in her mind’s eye.

  When she turned her head and caught his eye, his heart immediately started to beat a little faster.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied despondently, putting her brush down and pulling a face. “I’m stuck.”

  She shrugged, sighed, and came over to him. Today, she was hiding her blond curls beneath a scarf with a wild pattern, which, together with her bare feet and the faded tee, made her look like some sort of street urchin. Thanks to her bare legs and the occasional flash of her panties underneath the shirt, Patrick hadn’t been able to read even a single page of his book. Not that he was complaining?

  “That bad?” He studied her unruly hair, which kept snaking out from under the scarf, and scooted over so she could sit down beside him.

  “I guess that’s what we call painter’s block,” she mumbled unhappily, but offered him a grateful smile when he put his hand on the back of her neck and started to massage her there with gentle fingers.

  “Well, I like what I’m seeing so far,” he declared honestly, looking at the huge canvas, half of which was still bare.

  “You say that about all my paintings,” she complained, a hint of amusement in her voice.

  “Because I like them all.” Patrick had to smile when he looked at her face, which was smudged with paint of various colors. He’d often seen her like that—so focused on her work in progress that she was oblivious to the fact that she was getting paint all over herself.

  “You’re biased,” she said. “And you know that if you told me you didn’t like them, you run the risk of not seeing me naked anymore.”

  “You got me,” he murmured with a grin, and put a hand on her bare knee. Then he feigned seriousness. “Is that a real risk?”

  “Patrick,” she whined. “I’m never going to finish this piece. I should go throw it in the Tiber.”

  She had spoken with such conviction, he gave a strangled chuckle. “No, don’t do that. Why don’t you put it aside and wait for a wave of inspiration?”

  “I wish it were that simple,” she mumbled Then, giving him a sideways glance, she grinned slyly. “You know, I haven’t done a nude since college. Would you volunteer?”

  “For a nude painting?” He turned onto his back, tucked his arms beneath his head, and offered her a cocky grin. “Do I get something in return?”

  Her blue eyes twinkled softly. “I could make you a cup of coffee.”

  “A cup of coffee?” He wrinkled his nose. “That painting might be shown in a museum one day. Everyone will see me naked. You can’t come up with something better than a cup of coffee?”

  Her fingers rasped across the stubble on his cheek. “How about a shave?”

  “That sounds a little better.” He gave her a mock serious look, ignoring the fluttering sensation in his chest when her smiling eyes met his. “But what will my mom say if she sees me in a painting, in the nude?”

  “Good point,” Amy replied cheerfully. “How could you look her in the eye?”

  “I’m more worried about what she’d tell her women’s group.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t know my mom. She’d take a photo and show it to all her friends.”

  Amy guffawed. “Really?”

  “Oh yes,” he sighed. “She would thoroughly enjoy embarrassing me in front of everybody. She always shows visitors to the house photos from my childhood, usually the ones where I’m a chubby kid with a gap in my teeth. When I introduced my college girlfriend to my parents, my mom dug out those terrible photos and made me the laughingstock of the afternoon.”

  Instead of professing her sympathy, Amy laughed heartily.

  “Hey, it’s not funny,” he complained.

  “Yes, it is,” she replied gleefully. “I already like your mom.”

  “No surprise.” Patrick started caressing her knee. “Female solidarity?”

  She nodded and studied him with curiosity. “It sounds like your relationship with your mom is a good one.”

  “A very good one,” he confirmed, feeling the urge to tell her everything that was on his mind. He pressed her knee and mustered a weak smile. “My mom has always tried to compensate for my father’s absence from my siblings’ and my life,” he said lightly. “While he was always working, neglecting the family, Mom was always there. Naturally, we have a much closer and more affectionate relationship with her than we ever had with him.”

  Amy touched his cheek. “I didn’t know you had siblings.”

  “Barbara and Stuart,” he told her calmly. “Barbara is a year younger than me, married with two kids, which means I have two nephews. Stuart is only twenty-one. He’s still in college.”

  “And you get along well?”

  “Yes, we do. Barbara can sometimes be a bit too snobby, and her husband is more dull than any accountant you’ve ever seen, but we get along well.”

  Amy tilted her head to one side. “Sounds as if you like each other.”

  He gave her a surprised look. “Of course we do. We’re
family, after all.”

  For a fleeting moment, regret darkened her features like a shadow, causing him to continue quickly.

  “Stuart annoys me sometimes. Unfortunately, he’s pretty bad at staying out of trouble. He was close to being kicked out of college his freshman year …”

  His attempt to shift her mood worked. “Does he take after his big brother?” she teased.

  “Can’t deny that.” He offered her a wide grin as he pulled her onto his lap and against his chest. “Where else would he get it?”

  “I see.” She snorted and leaned her head on his shoulder. “How is your mom doing,” she asked softly, “now that your dad is gone?”

  “She’s okay,” he replied in a low voice. “It’s like …”

  “Like?” she probed gently.

  Patrick groaned. “It sounds awful, but my dad didn’t deserve my mom. She always cared more about and for him than the other way around. I don’t actually think he even cared or noticed that he was neglecting her.”

  “I’m sorry,” Amy whispered against his throat, helping to dissolve the lump that had formed there when he thought of his parents.

  “Don’t be,” he answered with a show of nonchalance. “Mom’s still grieving, but I think she’ll come to terms with it.”

  It was a while before she said something again. “My dad never got over losing my mom. Shortly after she died, he began to drink a lot.”

  When he heard her voice so hoarse and halting, he hugged her closer. She sounded so despondent, he nestled his face against hers. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you,” she rasped. “I remember when we were a happy family. Then this accident happened, and nothing was the same as before. A few years ago, I heard that my dad had died. It was a disconcerting feeling. I was supposed to grieve for him. But instead …” She shrugged, suddenly shy again.

  “I understand,” Patrick whispered softly. “Really, Amy. I do.”

  She laughed nervously. “Oh my, I ruined the mood.”

  “Not at all.” Patrick swallowed and exhaled.

  “Come on, who wants to listen to a sad story like mine?” she asked, trying to sound as if she were joking, but Patrick sensed the vulnerability underneath.

  “I want to hear it,” he murmured.

  She slowly tilted her head back and searched his eyes, looking thoughtful. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  She gave him a shaky smile. “Will you still pose for me in the nude?”

  Patrick groaned, pretending that it cost him a terrible effort to give in to her request. “Alright. If you insist …”

  She chuckled. “Thank you.”

  “But I don’t want to do it out here,” he added, “if I’m going to have to stand around naked.”

  “But the light out here is ideal,” Amy joked, before leaning in to kiss him.

  Chapter 7

  It was late afternoon, and Amy was lying in the tub, relaxing in the cool water. For almost two hours, Patrick had worn her out in bed, which meant she felt satisfied and happy, but also comfortably numb and totally exhausted. Her head lay heavy on the edge of the bathtub, while one hand trailed dreamily through the foam. From under half-closed lids she watched Patrick, still stark naked, shave off his stubble.

  He seemed fully focused on what he was doing, so it was the perfect opportunity to study him in detail, marveling at the way she was always melting in his presence, like the proverbial butter in the sun. It might sound terribly cheesy, but every time he smiled at her, her heart skipped a beat, and the butterflies started dancing in her stomach. She had never felt this way before, and Amy feared she was well on the way to falling in love with the dark-haired man and his broad smile, the man considerate enough to go grocery shopping when she had to work into the evening. She was falling deeply and hopelessly.

  His cheerful whistling distracted her from her thoughts, making her focus more fully on the naked Adonis in front of her again. He stood with his back to her, and contrary to her languor, he didn’t appear exhausted at all, humming and whistling to himself, cheerful and merry.

  Amy envied his vigor, for all she wanted to do after their sprawling sex was sleep. But instead they were supposed to attend a concert he’d been looking forward to for days. He’d been talking about it ceaselessly, and two days ago, he’d proudly presented her with two tickets, which he’d gotten up early for that morning.

  That’s why she wasn’t complaining about how demanding and shitty her day had been. She didn’t say anything, even though she’d been close to quitting today. She enjoyed guiding tourists through Rome, but she disliked that her boss seemed to want to employ dishonest methods. Today, she had flat-out refused to sell overpriced souvenirs to her unsuspecting groups. After debating her boss for almost half an hour, she’d been very close to quitting on the spot.

  Which was why she’d have preferred a relaxed evening at home, instead of going out to a stuffy club to listen to live rock music. However, one look at Patrick’s beaming face had been enough to banish that wish from her tired head. She loved spending time with him, and she wanted to show him how much she appreciated being with him.

  She grinned as her eyes roamed his glorious back, and when he moved in front of the mirror, she admired the play of the muscles underneath his skin. Her mouth went dry when she discovered the small, crescent-shaped marks that her fingernails had left on his shoulder. They hadn’t faded yet. Languidly, her gaze traveled south, down his narrow hips, coming to rest on his perfectly shaped buttocks. She grinned and tilted her head to one side, thinking that it really wasn’t fair that any man could look this good.

  Patrick wasn’t merely a handsome man adept at exhausting and satisfying her in bed. He was also a fantastic boyfriend. With him, she felt right at home. She could simply be herself. She’d never before experienced this certainty with another person, the certainty that she could confide in him anything that might be on her mind. She was unafraid to tell him everything about herself.

  Patrick gave her a questioning glance in the mirror. “Don’t you want to get out of that water at some point?”

  Amy grinned and shook her head.

  “Your skin will get all shriveled and pruney,” he warned with a chuckle, before wiping the rest of the shaving cream from his face.

  “I don’t care,” she professed, stretching like a cat and letting her gaze travel his naked body with a provocative smile. “I actually really enjoy lying here.”

  “I see.” He turned around, crossed his arms, and let his eyes roam her naked form in the water. “If you don’t want to get out of the tub, I think I’m going to get in.”

  “If you do that, you’ll flood the room,” she warned, a chuckle in her voice.

  He pursed his lips and pretended to consider it. “It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

  “Oh no, please don’t,” Amy moaned. “Thanks to you and the last two hours, I’m sure I’ll wake up sore as hell anyway.”

  “My poor darling,” he commiserated.

  The endearment sent a jolt of heat through Amy’s entire body. Trying hard not to let on how surprised she was, she nodded, feigning outrage. “I had hardly closed the door when you practically jumped me.”

  “I’d never do such a thing,” he disagreed huskily. “I just missed you like crazy.”

  Her heart started beating another wild tattoo. Breathless, she watched him squat next to the bathtub, looking determined.

  He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, starting to gently nibble on her fingertips. His green eyes were aglow, and a mischievous smile played on his lips as he trailed his other hand through the water and placed it on her belly. “How can I ever make up for that?”

  “You’re crazy, Patrick,” she whispered, amused, and then brushed a strand of black hair from his forehead.

  “Crazy?”

  “Oh, yes,” she insisted.

  His fingers slipped between her thighs and gently touched her swollen flesh. He kissed her fingertip
s and gave her a covetous look. “I may just be crazy with lust for you,” he admitted, “but that is nobody’s fault but your own.”

  “My fault?” Amy swallowed and automatically strained against the hand that was caressing her underwater.

  “It sure is,” Patrick explained patiently. “While you were gone, I kept thinking about you. And when you finally came home again, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

  Amy sat up in the tub. She turned toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck so she could kiss him. “I’ll admit it’s nice to hear you’ve missed me so badly,” she whispered against his lips.

  He pulled her up gently and lifted her from the tub. After a long, drawn-out kiss, he said hoarsely, “Glad to hear it.”

  ***

  As Amy and Patrick stepped into the dive bar, she pressed against him. This was the place where the concert would take place, the one he’d been looking forward to so excitedly? Countless drunken people were bellowing and cheering, staggering through the joint, apparently having a grand old time. Even the man next to her, whom she’d so far considered rather conservative, seemed to be greatly enjoying himself. He’d gotten two gigantic beer glasses, handed her one of them, and was now pushing right into the densest fray with her trailing after him.

  The place was packed, tight and smoky. The musicians on the little stage seemed to have finished a few bottles before their set, and they were playing and singing their hearts out while the audience danced with wild abandon. The bar reeked of stale beer, chairs were kicked over in the heat of the moment, waitresses carried trays loaded with drinks through the crowd, and the music kept blaring.

  Despite her earlier tiredness and exhaustion, Amy let the boisterous mood envelop her, drained her glass of beer with a few large gulps, and then danced to the music, romping and raving along. Patrick was wearing jeans and a faded, ripped T-shirt, and now he was belting out a song Amy had never heard before, wearing a wide, happy grin on his face. He drained his glass quickly and got them two new beers.