by Marie Harte
She paused.
He didn’t know if he should speak, so he waited.
* * *
What the hell was he waiting for? That was her big moment, the big speech, where he was supposed to sweep in with the grand “I love you.”
“Well?” she snapped.
“Oh, I can talk now?”
She waved her hands at him. “Yes.”
“I love you.”
“Okay. And?”
“That’s not enough?”
“Argh!” She clutched her hands in her hair, recalled she had soiled gloves on and threw them to the ground, then had to work to get the dirt out of her hair.
“Wait, stop.” He was laughing. “Baby, stop. Zoe, I fucking love the shit out of you, okay? I’m a mental case with issues that I’m working through, but the biggest kicker to the whole mess was the thought of having to give you up. Because even if I was nothing, I had you. For a time. Then I got turned around and mixed up, and I thought, No, I can’t have her. But I wanted you, so damn bad.”
She had to kiss him. He had the same thought, because he leaned in at the same time she stood on tiptoe.
Once their lips met, it was like warmth returned to her soul. She hugged him, trying not to cry again. God, she’d cried so much the past few weeks. “I missed you.”
“Oh, baby. I missed you too. I’m so sorry for—”
“No more apologies. Not today. Knowing you, you’ll have plenty more to make in the days to come.”
“In the days, weeks, months, and maybe if I’m lucky, years to come?”
She felt such joy she wanted to burst. “I’m game. But you need to talk to me when you need space. Not just take off for days, okay?”
“No more of that. Zoe, I’m making plans for the future.” He swallowed. “For our future, if you’ll have me.”
She blinked. “Are you proposing?”
“Please. Without a ring? And still being a mental patient?”
“Would you stop calling yourself that?”
He laughed. “I’m pre-proposing. Life with you is what I want. But I still have a ways to go to get better.” He brushed more dirt from her hair.
She hoped she looked better than she thought she did. Pre-proposing? Yes! “So, um, don’t you want my answer?”
“Not if it’s a no. If it’s a no, just wait until I can ask again, with flowers and a ring and maybe a degree in exercise science. I’m going back to school. I had a talk with Mark, and we have some really cool ideas for therapy through exercise. Like, mental therapy, not physical therapy. Stuff especially for veterans.”
“You’ve been talking to Mark?” She blinked.
“Well, after I jacked him up to make sure he left you alone, I realized I’d been fed some bad intel. So then I apologized, explained I wasn’t right in the head, and he got it. We talked. I played more racquetball and then realized his aunt owns this place and asked him for a favor. But somehow Hope got involved, and—”
“Surprise!” Hope, Mark, and an older woman walked out onto the porch. “So are you back in love now?” Hope asked.
“Well?” Mark checked his watch. “Hurry it up. I have things to do. Sorry, Aunt Peggy, I have to run. But I’ll call you later.”
“Yes, dear. Thanks for bringing me home.” Aunt Peggy held up her thumb, then turned it down. “Which one?”
“Up,” Zoe yelled and laughed when Gavin lifted her and whirled her around. “Oh, man, I’m getting dizzy.”
“Love will do that.” Gavin smiled.
“So will little to eat and going in circles.”
“Oh.” He set her down.
“Hey, Mark, are you single?” they heard Hope ask.
They didn’t hear his answer as she followed him back into the house.
But Gavin shook his head. “No way.”
“I agree. No.” Yet, Mark wasn’t a bad candidate for a break in Hope’s supposed streak in dating losers. What could it hurt?
Then Zoe didn’t care, because Gavin was kissing her and making plans for their happy reunion. And her pink yoga pants.
Chapter 19
It was a beautiful wedding. The bride had walked down the aisle with a handsome stud, and Zoe had beamed when he’d winked her way before handing Amanda off to her groom-to-be.
Hope sighed. She’d known Amanda for years, and now another of her friends had found true love and the man of her dreams, while Hope had a date who’d left early due to a problem at the office with a patient complaint.
But hey, at least she’d had a good-looking professional on her arm. Her other friends had been jealous, not realizing Mark had done her a favor for taking such good care of his aunt’s place. Thank goodness for Zoe’s gardening skills. Peggy was so thrilled she’d asked Hope to house-sit the next time she went away.
No fool, Hope had immediately agreed.
Too bad she didn’t have the hot man to go with the cool house. She liked Mark, and he was sexy and rich, but he did nothing for her. She sighed.
Men. They all sucked.
Except for her family.
She joined Gavin, now looking happier than he had in a while, as he stood with Zoe and another woman, Nicole. She held an adorable little towhead in her arms. “Mikey, say hi to your Uncle Gavin and Aunt Zoe.”
Gavin looked a little pale until Zoe wrapped her arm around his waist and smiled. “Gavin would just love to change his diapers, Nic. When can we babysit?” Then she and Nicole laughed at Gavin and told him to stop being an idiot. “I’m kidding,” Zoe said. “Baby steps, okay?”
Nicole beamed. “I’ll bother you two later. Mikey and I have to sucker Aunt Amanda and her new husband into sitting for us when they get back from Paris.”
“Good luck,” Gavin called out, then turned to Zoe, his heart in his eyes. “I love you so much, Pink Yoga Pants.”
“I love you too, Smoky.”
They kissed.
Hope wiped happy tears from her face. Another Donnigan brought down by the love of an amazing woman. Now that just left her and Theo to get out from under Linda’s fat thumb.
She stayed at the party and pretended she was having fun, then left when no one would notice her leaving early. Honestly, that one groomsman had better learn to keep his hands to himself.
She didn’t want to head back to her lonely apartment in Queen Anne, so she drove instead to Gas Works and parked, then walked to an unoccupied spot where she could look over Lake Union. The wind blew, but the warmth of the evening sun kept her comfortable enough. She didn’t much care about the state of her outfit, the pink cocktail dress pretty but too trendy to keep.
Hope sighed. She was twenty-nine years old. Old enough to have a life, a relationship, a great job. So why was she still hopelessly single, living in just an okay place, and dissatisfied with life? She wasn’t her cousin’s charity case. She worked hard for Cameron’s investment firm. Had learned a lot and even started to invest her own money wisely. And her cousin—her boss—treated her like a valued employee. She’d earned her place there.
But she had no special man in her life, just an endless string of disasters behind her. She only wanted to be loved and taken seriously. Geez, her family respected Theo more than they did her, and Theo was twenty and still not sure what he wanted to do with his life.
“So. This is where you spend your time slumming now.”
Startled, she shot to her feet. “Greg?” She glanced around. Most of those who’d been milling close by were departing. She wouldn’t be noticed unless someone stood directly below the hill she was on.
He smirked. “Not so tough now without your brothers, are you, bitch?” He took a step closer. He had at least a hundred pounds on her and an attitude she’d dumped. “How about telling me I’m sorry and meaning it? Or better yet, showing me how sorry you are?” He leered at her breasts and smirked
.
She didn’t wait for him to attack first. Hope punched him right in the nose, grabbed his arm and twisted, then kicked him in the side of the knee.
He went down with a startled yelp and clutched his face.
Wow! That self-defense class actually worked.
A shadow suddenly covered her, and she saw the giant behind Greg, staring at her in shock.
Oh my God, it’s him. Del’s brother. That hot hunk of man who had mistake written all over him. The gorgeous tattoo artist and possibly the worst man she should lust after, considering her track record. Also the reason she kept her distance from her McCauley cousins as best she could, Mike and Del especially.
“Ah, need some help?” J.T. Webster asked in that rich baritone that sent shivers down her spine. Between her legs. Oy.
Dark, sexy, and built. And those eyes. A dark, melty brown that seemed to invite a girl to take off her clothes before she knew what she was doing.
Hope coughed. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” She stepped over Greg, then turned to ask, “Greg, why are you here?”
He responded in a nasal whine, “To tell you to get your brothers to lay off.”
She frowned. “Huh?”
“They put a beatdown on him months ago.” J.T. frowned. “They’re still bugging you, douche bag?”
“Put a tire iron to my car last night,” Greg said through a bloody nose. “Wrote me a threatening note too.”
“Not my brothers. They’re too busy to deal with you, dickhead.” Hope turned on her heel and walked back down the hill, too fast, toward her car.
Just as she stumbled, J.T. grabbed her.
She clutched his thick forearm and stared at his hand, seeing his darker skin against hers. Noticing how graceful and long his fingers were. How sensual… Heat sizzled along every nerve in her body.
She refused to meet his gaze, though she felt it burning through her like a laser. He guided her down the hill, then slowly let go, his fingers trailing her arm to her wrist, then the back of her hand, a whisper of touch.
He walked her back to her car in silence.
“Th-thanks.”
He nodded. “I was passing by and saw some guy going up the hill, but the woman at the top—you—didn’t seem to know he was there. He watched you before he walked up. I didn’t get a good vibe.”
“Oh. Yeah, he’s an old ex.” She frowned. “Not sure what he’s talking about with my brothers. They wouldn’t be bothering with him. Heck, I haven’t heard from the guy in months.”
“Odd.” He nodded, looking her over. “You look pretty.”
“Thanks.” They just stared at each other. “I was at a wedding.”
He glanced at her fingers. “Obviously not yours.”
“Right. Pink dress. Not white.” She pointed to herself.
He smiled. “I like pink.”
Oh God. He was flirting with her. Danger! Danger! Everything feminine in her preened and counted down a timeline to when she could legitimately audition to be his personal mattress. First date? Third?
Just another potential bad decision on her list of bad decisions.
Nope. Not this time. Not this girl. “Thanks again.” She smiled, waved, and rushed into her car so fast he blinked and she was gone. She checked her rearview as she drove away and saw him staring after her.
Man, her mother would burst a blood vessel if Hope brought him home. J.T. Webster—a man with a questionable background, rumors of jail time, a tattoo artist, and a giant who looked like he ate mean for breakfast. Now to stop thinking how amazing it would be to flaunt him under Linda’s nose and instead focus on better life choices.
She pulled into her apartment complex and parked, then checked her phone, only to see more haranguing from Queen Linda, the Donnigan matriarch who had never made a mistake in her whole damn life.
Thoughts played through Hope’s brain, the flickering of plans made and refined. Like what kind of tattoo she planned to get the next time Linda jumped her case.
She smiled. “Bring it, Linda. And I bring him.”
For more Marie Harte
check out her next book
All I Want for Halloween
On sale September 2017
Here’s a taste of Marie Harte’s new Halloween romance!
All I Want for Halloween
Chapter 1
September 29
Seattle, Washington
“It was the punch heard ’round the world! Or, at least, around the motorcycle world. Harrison ‘Gear’ Blackstone and Brian ‘B-Man’ Gandanna are quits! That’s right, you heard it here first. Rumor has it Gear and B-Man have been fighting over the future of Motorcycle Madnezz for months, and now it’s finally come to a head.”
“That’s right, Katie. But my sources tell me the problem really lies with sexy Sahara, Gear’s fiancée. Or is that ex-fiancée? The pair hasn’t been spotted out together in months.”
On the television, the on-air hosts continued to gossip about the angry, bearded giant shoving cameras out of his face while he stormed to a tricked-out motorcycle—complete with a skull-painted body and ape-hanger bars—and roared away, leaving a chaotic mess on the set of yet another doomed reality show.
Sadie Liberato watched Motorcycle Madnezz’s employees staring from the departing giant to a flustered couple. Probably B-Man and Sahara. B-Man sagged to the ground, his eye puffy, blood gushing from his nose, and sporting a split lip. Near him, the busty blond shrieked and cried and generally became histrionic as she blathered about true love and lawsuits. The screen then cut to a replay of the bearded giant smacking the crap out of B-Man. And all while the camera crews, the garage employees, and millions of Americans watched from their TVs.
Talk about living a nightmare. Considering she’d only paused her channel surfing in hope of seeing some eye candy—and because there was nothing else on—Sadie had to admit the drama made a nice break from the boredom of watching men tinker with bikes. Meh. Motorcycles. Wrenches. Who cared?
“Will this be the end of Motorcycle Madnezz? I can’t imagine my Thursdays without Gear and B-Man. What about keeping up with Sahara’s amazing style? What will we do? Unless Sahara’s mother returns for a much-welcomed cameo, giving the guys a chance to patch things up. Or Smoke and Chains take on Torch and Skid in a motorcycle showdown, like they did last year. Remember, Don?”
“I do, Katie. We should—”
Sadie muted the television and laid her head back on the couch. She had her feet propped up on the coffee table and her lanky frame sprawled on her ugly yet comfy sofa while she thought about how dull her life seemed compared to the craziness of the TV show…and how much she preferred it that way. A cheery commercial for Party City Halloween came on, and she groaned at the reminder, having procrastinated about getting her costume ever since her brother, Elliot, had forced her to accept a costume party invitation.
So of course her brother chose that moment to reenter the living room. Elliot saw the ad, then turned to her, glaring. Any hope that he might cease nagging her about the stupid party vanished the moment he opened his big mouth.
“The party is in three more days. Don’t make me dress you, Sadie. Because I can, and I will. So if you don’t want to go as a pasty Smurfette, a flying monkey, or a killer clown, I suggest you get a move on with the costuming.”
“We have thirty-three more days until October 31st. Tell me again why I can’t skip this Halloween party when it’s not even Halloween.” Sadie glared at her younger brother. Though Elliot had a few inches on her, he hadn’t grown so tall that she couldn’t still maneuver him into a headlock. Thirty-one to her thirty-two, and still as annoying as he’d been as a toddler constantly stealing her Monopoly money.
“First of all, anything that gets you out of those clothes”—he pointed at her sweats—“gets my vote. Second, you’re turning into the store hag. Limp hair, no
sense of style, and you growl at all our customers. Growl…like a dog. And third, your clothes.”
“You said clothes already,” Sadie growled. She tightened the band holding up her hair, which wasn’t limp, and then heard herself growling. He gave her a knowing look. She cleared her throat. “Well, you did.”
She glanced down at her sweatpants and raggedy matching sweatshirt, then compared her state of dress to Elliot’s navy slacks and white button-down shirt. He had his dark hair slicked back, his square jaw cleanly shaven, and he smelled amazing. Some expensive cologne, no doubt a gift from his latest ex-boyfriend. Her brother, Prince No-Commit, held a matching suit jacket over one shoulder.
“You look like a model in a GQ ad,” she complained.
“Screw that. I look better than a model in a GQ ad. And speaking of models, my new friend, Pierre Gallant—only the hottest up-and-comer to score a Calvin Klein account—and I have a date tonight.” He grinned. “What do you think of this?” He posed some more, and Sadie shrugged, not surprised her brother had nabbed a supermodel. He’d done a little modeling himself right out of high school, and for a few years he’d traveled the world.
Unlike Sadie, the homebody of homebodies.
“You look handsome.” What else was new? Her brother could wear a sack and look stellar. As luck would have it, he and their sister Rose had gotten their good looks from their parents. Hell, even their cousin Ava was a beauty queen. Sadie did average, even cute, passably well. She’d inherited her mother’s sharp tongue and her father’s height and muscle. A lot of good that did her outside the gym.
Elliot smoothed down his shirt, plucking at a stray thread. “I know I look handsome. It’s an innate gift.” Without missing a beat, he added, “And it’s important you go Saturday night. A friend of a friend invited me—”
“So you go.”
“—to put a face with the outstanding food we’ll be providing. With the number of influential people and big-shot locals in attendance, we’re easily going to build more business. But I need you with me, talking up Sofa’s, not catering tables. That’s what I hired Theo, Gina, and Tory for. We cook it; they serve it; we mingle.”