Loving Hard (Single Ladies' Travel Agency Book 3)

by Carina Wilder

  I never wanted him to be a rebound. But I certainly never wanted to ache like I’m aching now, either.

  The only thing I want to do right now is call him and hear his voice. I’m in serious withdrawal mode, and I feel like he’d calm me down. But that’s just the problem. I know in my heart of hearts that I shouldn’t see him anymore. At all. I shouldn’t talk to him, text him, email him. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

  Because the thing is, I think I know what’s happened. I’ve turned into reverse Julia Roberts.

  I’m a girl, standing pretty fucking far away from a boy, asking him not to love her, because if he does she’ll have no choice but to love him back.

  I’m basically fucked, and not in the amazing, tender, sensual Galen way. I’m fucked in the my head hurts and I want to curl into fetal position and lie in the woods for six months way.

  When the words for my next blog entry don’t come to me, I pick up the phone and text Katherine. I think I’ve figured out what I need: To get the hell out of London right now. I need to escape this place, which was supposed to be my escape from everything else. My own stupidity has created a twisted vicious circle.

  Hi Katherine, I write, when we last spoke you mentioned a place outside of London where I could run away for a couple of days. Does that offer still stand?

  A few minutes later she writes back.

  Yes—you’re welcome to my house in the Cotswolds. You just need to find the hidden key. I’ll email you instructions. There’s a train up from Paddington Station, then you can catch a taxi into town.

  Great, thank you.

  Everything all right?

  Fine. I just want to get out of London and see a bit of the rest of the country. I’m sort of itching to run away to some hilly spot and get away from buildings for a bit.

  God, I’m such a liar.

  Right—okay. Sending you an email with details now. Let me know if you need anything else.

  This is good. This is what I need. To run away and avoid further temptation. Galen will understand, I’m sure.

  If this doesn’t cure me of my addiction to a certain beautiful man, then I’m screwed. But with a sinking realization, it hits me that if it does cure me of my Galen addiction, I’ll be crushed.

  By mid-afternoon, I’m on a train to the town of Moreton-in-Marsh, which I think must be the most British-sounding name that’s ever existed.

  As per Katherine’s instructions, I grab a taxi that takes me into a quaint little town called Chipping Campden. It’s the most idyllic place I’ve ever seen. It’s all peaked roofs, weather-worn limestone façades worn by years of rain, and friendly-looking locals. Warm window displays are all set for winter in the tiny shops that line the High Street. The windows themselves are divided into square, leaded panes and look out onto the street invitingly, calling out to me with their Christmas trees and promises of gifts. Leather boots, teapots, wool coats all say “You need me. Buy me. I’ll make your imperfect life perfect, I promise.”

  Liars, all of them. No boots could fix this hole in my heart. No teapot, however sweet. Not even chocolate can cure what’s ailing me at the moment.

  When we’ve turned onto Essex Road, I ask the driver to let me out at number twenty-three. He pulls up to a pretty little stone cottage, hidden away behind brambles and an old wooden fence that seems to be strategically falling apart in such a way that it somehow manages to look exquisitely beautiful. Somehow it doesn’t surprise at all me that a house of Katherine’s would be so freaking pretty.

  I find the key hidden precisely where she said it would be, under an old vase in the side garden. When I make my way into the house, I pull off my boots, toss my backpack aside and drag myself into a sitting room. A beautiful, large window opens up onto the street, and a fireplace sits in wait for a fire.

  In the distance I can see a little town square, and beyond that, a small general store. I make a note to head over later and grab some supplies when I’ve summoned the energy, namely wine and chocolate.

  I glance down at the Stepbitch. It’s 4:18 p.m. Apparently I’ve done twelve thousand steps since midnight, but I know better than to believe it. Those weren’t steps. That was my time with Galen. There is literally a record of our love-making on my wrist right now, reminding me what I left behind. Reminding me what I could have had tonight, instead of this wretched return to solitude.

  As I stare into space, I ask myself what would make me feel better. And the only realization that comes to me is that he would. I miss him. I wanted more of him and I got scared, so I ran away from him as fast as my legs would carry me.

  Isn’t that insane? I’m so scared of how I feel that I needed to let him go. So scared that I’ve pushed it too far, too fast. Scared of losing him by being reckless, so I deliberately sabotaged us. I deliberately made sure we’d lose one another.

  None of it makes sense, now that I think of it. Maybe I should talk to him. Sort through my feelings, open up about how frightened I am of ruining things for us both. Galen is a great listener. I know he’d understand. I know he’d want to hear my voice.

  Resolute, I pick up my phone, formulating the words in my mind, preparing myself for our difficult but necessary conversation.

  But I stop, my heart pounding fiercely when I spot a text message from him.

  Riley—have to head out of town tomorrow. I guess it’s for the best; we should spend some time apart.

  Hoping you’re okay.

  xo,

  G.

  Fuck. It’s too late.

  No, G. I’m not okay. I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.

  Twenty-Three

  Riley

  The next morning, a red wine hangover making my head spin a little, I awake to see the sun pouring into the bedroom from between the curtains. I stretch my arms over my head before I remember where I am, and why I’m here.

  Heartache sets in to match my head’s discomfort.

  Picking up my phone to check the time, I see that there’s another message from Galen.

  Haven’t heard from you. Please let me know you’re all right.

  My finger lingers over the keypad, tempted to reply. But I know it’s better not to. Better to be cruel and awful and make him hate me than to dwell on what can never happen.

  I’m liberating us both.

  I get up, shower, and head out to go for a walk. If I’m going to function on my own, I need to start now. And damn it, this place is pretty. I should be happy to walk around and look at the sights.

  I start at one end of town, where I find a beautiful little café. Realizing that I need to eat more than whatever the hell I consumed last night, I hop inside and order a coffee and a fried egg.

  When that’s done, I start walking again. It’s already close to noon; my Galen deprivation and self-pity apparently caused me to sleep far too long.

  As I make my way through the town, I peer in through shop windows, and even sneak a peek at the odd inviting living room. At the far end of town, I come upon Campden’s famous St. James’s church, which was apparently built in the thirteenth century. The day is drizzly and wet, and the streets are slick with rain. Like the other buildings in the Cotswolds, the church is built of a sort of brown-grey limestone that’s beautiful, but draws me into a sort of melancholy even deeper than where I was before. Its colours seem to weep with the land’s wetness, dragging in tears down the church’s tower and buttresses.

  “I feel you, man,” I say as I approach, walking through rows of ancient gravestones. “I feel your pain.”

  The front door is wide open, so I wander in to take a look. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I stroll forwards, looking up at the vaulted wooden ceiling overhead.

  It’s beautiful, but all I can think is how much I wish Galen were here with me. He’d be able to tell me about the structure, its history, all sorts of things. He’s so good at that.

  I wish so hard that he were with me, apparently, that I can hear his voice inside my head. “Riley!” he calls out.


  The sound of rapid footsteps pulls me out of my dream-state and I spin around, looking to see who’s chasing after me. Surely I’m not imaging those.

  In a far corner, tucked away from the front door, I spot a crew of people milling about surrounded by a couple of strange white umbrellas and a set of lights.

  But the person jogging towards me down the aisle…is Galen.

  Well, this is as close as I’ve ever come to jumping out of my skin.

  “You didn’t answer my texts,” he says. For once he doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look happy at all.

  “I know,” I reply. “I’m sorry. Wait—what the hell are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same.”

  “I needed to run away, so I borrowed Katherine’s cottage…but you?”

  “I have a shoot here in the church. Penny, my agent, called me about it yesterday, after you…”

  “Fuck,” I say way too loudly. I glance over at the crew in the corner. A woman is standing there glaring at me.

  “Who’s that?” I ask.

  Without looking, Galen replies, “That’s Penny. I’d wager that she hates you right about now.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because given that I interrupted the shoot to come running at you, she probably suspects that I adore you. And of course she’d be right to think so.”

  Adore me?

  My poor heart. I can’t take this.

  “Galen…” I start. What am I going to say? I adore you too, even though I shouldn’t?

  “I know,” he replies. “A year and all that. I know.” But he reaches his right hand out and cups my chin. “We had a deal, Riley. You and I had a deal. I would have stuck with it, for you. I only want what’s best for you. I want you happy. I would never try to lock you into something you’re not ready for.”

  “I know,” I reply. “I wasn’t so much afraid of you as myself. Do you know what I mean?”

  He nods. “I do. So what do you want, then?”

  For a moment I think about how much I’ve missed him since I left his place. “I’ve felt sad ever since I walked out of your flat,” I tell him. “All I wanted was to talk to you.”

  “So talk to me. Let’s go out after I’m done here.”

  “Fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “And then what?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll take you to dinner. We’ll wander. Then…”

  “Then…” I echo.

  “Then you tell me what you want. Whether it’s for the next few hours, days, whatever. I will bring you to the airport myself when it’s time for you to leave, Riley. But please don’t tear yourself away again until you have to. If you want me to call you Miss Simmons I will. I will shake your hand when I say good-bye, if that’s what you desire.”

  “You know that’s not what I desire,” I tell him, stepping forward. I put a hand on his chest, and he pulls it to his lips to kiss it.

  “It’s not what I desire, either,” he says. “I told you—I want as much of you as I can have. But I will not pressure you.”

  As I watch him kiss my knuckles, something inside me gives way. “You can have all of me, Galen,” I tell him. “All of me, until the day I leave. It’s going to be hard, but it’ll be harder to say good-bye to you sooner than that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod.

  “I won’t hold you to it. You can change your mind anytime. Just do me a favour—if you do, talk to me about it.” He leans in. “But just so you know, I can still taste you on my lips. So you think about whether you’re willing to let me slip my tongue over you again. Because I’ll eat your pussy until you get on that damned cursed plane back to the United States. After that, we can try to be friends. I’ll leave you alone for ten months if that’s what you want. But for now, I want you. I adore you, and I don’t care who knows it, Riley Simmons.”

  My body responds by threatening to fall over.

  Ten months, I repeat to myself like a vicious mantra. Ten months.

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to talk about eating pussy in church,” I tell him, smiling.

  Galen turns his face skyward. “Apologies, Lord.” He pulls his chin down and looks at me. “Now tell me, are you going to come watch me work, since you bailed on me last time?”

  I glance over at the corner again. Galen’s agent is giving me the serious stink-eye. “I don’t know…” I begin. “I think Penny wants to claw my eyes out.”

  “Of course she does. But I know you could take her. Come on,” he says, taking my hand in his and guiding me over. A moment later I’m sitting on a hard wooden pew. His agent from hell is standing off to the side, her arms crossed, an angry look on her face. Meanwhile, Galen is stripping off his shirt despite the fact that it has to be about thirty degrees in here with the door open.

  I’ve seen him shirtless, of course. For forty-eight hours straight, in fact. But I still gasp when my eyes follow the lines of his chest and abdomen. I still get pangs between my legs. I still feel something in my chest like a cross between pride and affection for that incredible, chiseled frame of his, because it’s the exterior of the man I’ve grown to adore so much.

  I almost want to look away, because it feels like the whole world must know what’s going on inside me. I’m laid bare to them, stripped of everything but the growing feeling of love inside me.

  Love.

  Yes, I feel love for this man. Genuine, pure, sweet, warm, naughty…love. So, this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

  The photographer starts barking out orders and Galen moves around, using the strange, beautiful light in the space to illuminate his gorgeous face. He seems to understand exactly how to angle himself to get the best shot, to use the filtered rays of the sun to highlight his features.

  At one point he holds his prosthetic arm over his head, spreading the fingers his brother designed as he holds a pose for a few seconds, then seamlessly moves his body into another shape. All the while, the camera’s shutter is snapping open and closed rapidly, stealing hundreds of shots of the beautiful creature that I only wish I could keep.

  My lip quivers a little as I watch. It hurts to look at him, but I’m so proud of him, too. So proud just to know him. A tear slips down my right cheek and I wipe it away, too frustrated with myself to allow such a show of emotion. This isn’t about me; it’s about Galen. It’s his day, his shoot. I’m only a bystander.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t he?” says a woman’s voice as I watch. Oh, God. It seems his agent has moved behind me, uninvited.

  “Yes, he is,” I reply quietly.

  “Too bad he’s impossible to tie down,” she sighs. “Always on the prowl, that one. Always looking for a new conquest. Galen isn’t a man who settles down with one woman, you know. He’s a player of the worst sort. You should get away while you have a chance.”

  I spin around in my seat and glare at her, my emotions coming to a boil. I’m not an idiot; I know exactly what she’s doing.

  “I’m not concerned at all as to whether he’ll settle down with me,” I reply. “My only intention is to have a lot of sex with him. Wild monkey sex, for days on end. He’s really, really good at it, you know.”

  When I turn back to face the action, I see Galen lose focus for a moment as he pulls his gaze towards me. A brief, reassuring smile on my part seems to get him back into the zone.

  “Fucking hell,” Penny blurts out before stomping off towards the front door of the church.

  There’s no way that she or anyone else could tell me what Galen is, because I know exactly what he is.

  He’s the best man I’ve ever met.

  And I’m going to sleep with my arms around him tonight.

  Because I can.

  Twenty-Four

  Riley

  When the photo shoot is finished after a few hours, Galen throws on a sweater, grabs a couple of bottles of water, and makes his way back to me.

  “How are you doing?” he asks, taking a swig of water and offering me the other bottle.
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br />   “I’m fine,” I reply, though the truth is far more complicated than that. “I mean, I’m not a hundred percent fine, but I’m okay.”

  “I saw Penny come over to talk to you. I hope she did’t say something stupid. Given that she left, I’m assuming that she realized quickly that she wasn’t going to get very far.”

  I rise to my feet. “She did say something stupid, but it doesn’t matter,” I reply. “She obviously likes you a lot. I feel a little guilty for shutting her down like I did.”

  He runs a hand through his messy hair. As I crack open my water bottle, I let myself stare at him a little. Watching him work his shirtless body for several hours straight has given me a serious case of the hornies.

  “Yeah,” he says, “well, Pen can like me all she wants. I have no interest in her. Never have. There’s only one woman on my mind these days, and she’s standing right in front of me.” He steps forward and lays a gentle kiss on my lips, drawing a smile from them. “Let me take you for a wander?”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  We venture out into the air, which has shifted from a drizzly, wet morning to a frigid early evening. Snow has begun to fall in giant flakes, which is giving the idyllic little town the appearance of absolute perfection. As we leave the church grounds, I gasp at how picture-perfect this place has become.

  “How can any place be so beautiful?” I ask. “I mean, London is gorgeous, but this is like something out of a fairy tale, or at the very least a very cheesy greeting card.”

  “The Cotswolds is considered the most beautiful part of the country by some,” Galen says as we stroll by some old stone row houses that glow from within with firelight. “Though there are other lovely bits of England, of course. The Lake District, Cornwall…I’d love to show them to you sometime.”

  “That would be nice,” I reply. “Of course, I’m not here much longer…”

  “True, but there are daily flights, you know. There’s no rule saying you have to stay away forever, is there? Perhaps, after ten months are up...”