by Amanda Rose
“Why were you doing that?” I ask gently, trying to bring the conversation to a point we can actually talk about what’s bothering him.
“I was trying to avoid this conversation,” he says, finally looking up at me. I find myself just looking at all the different flecks of colour in his eyes. The copper tones seeming even more vibrant in the lighting of this room.
“Why?” I finally ask, after managing to pull my eyes away from his.
“Because I was a dick earlier, just walking in on you guys, and then storming off like a spoilt child. I’m sorry, Tamara. I didn’t mean to make you think that I was mad at you for sleeping with them, you’re free to do whatever—whoever you want,” he says, sitting back in the large leather office chair.
“Oh,” I reply. Well, if he wasn’t jealous about Blake or Spencer, and if he isn’t actually all that interested in me, what was the problem?
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, standing and stepping between my legs. He pulls me forward, so I’m right up against him as he kisses me. I slip my arms around his neck and return the kiss eagerly, but I’m a little unsure at what is going through his head. He pulls back and runs his fingers softly against my cheek. “I’d like to think I’m one of those people, that is, if you’ll forgive me for being an ass earlier,” he adds.
I smile and instead of answering him with words, I tug him back down to me, pressing my lips back against his as I wrap my legs around his waist. I feel the tension leave his body, his shoulders relaxing as he melts into me, returning the kiss. I reach for the buttons on his shirt, but he pulls back. Frowning, I try and tug him back to me. He kisses me again, but more restrained than before, and then he pulls away again, stepping back a few paces.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
“Nothing, I just can’t do this at the moment, Tamara. Can we talk later?” he asks. I nod, not able to get words out. Did I do something wrong? I mean he kissed me, I couldn’t have read the signs that badly, could I? He presses a kiss to my forehead, and quickly leaves the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
I stare at the door for a few moments, hoping he’ll just wander back in and that it was a bad joke or something, but I hear the soft sounds of his footsteps on the stairs as he goes down. Moving off the desk, I slip into the leather seat. I open up the internet browser, and my eyes catch on the photo that is on display.
It’s a photo of Noah and a pretty, brunette woman at a party. He looks gorgeous as he looks at the camera smiling, his arm around her waist and drinks in both of their hands. I notice the banner behind them. It’s a lilac banner and ‘Happy engagement Noah and Kara!’ is written across it in silver. I look down at the huge rock on the woman’s left hand. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I shut the internet window and stand, stepping away from the desk as I stare at the home screen of the computer. It’s a group picture of Noah, Blake, and Spencer. They’re skiing by the looks of it, but I can’t really focus on that right now. All I can do is stare as thoughts slam through my mind.
I just kissed an engaged man. Hell, they could even be married now for all I know. A married man . . . what the hell am I going to do now?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sitting down on Spencer’s bed, seeing as he is currently snoozing with Blake in mine, I pull my phone out. I ignore the missed calls and even more messages from my mother and instead hit the button to call Whitney. The dull sound of ringing chimes out from my phone.
“Come on, pick up, pick up,” I mutter, tapping my fingers on my knee impatiently.
“Whitney’s whorehouse, you got the dough, we got the hoe. How may I be of service?” she answers cheerily, yet somehow managing to hit the word service with just the right amount of sultry.
“Hilarious,” I say, my voice sounding bland even to me.
“What’s up, buttercup?” she asks, losing the pep.
“Okay, so you know I am stuck on the island?” I begin.
“Is this about your mum freaking out, because if so, you know I think you should just tell her to go fu—”
“It’s not about my mum,” I say quickly, cutting her off from shouting more obscenities about my mum than I care to hear.
“What is it, then?”
“It’s, well I’m staying with these three guys because the hotel closed,” I explain.
“Are they hot?” she asks. I chew on my lip while I think of a way to adequately describe them. “I’ll take your silence for that they are smoking hot,” she says.
“Yes. They are, okay, but that’s not the issue. So, I may have slept with two of them . . .,” I trail off, realising how bad that sounds to my own ears. Crap, what have I been thinking?
“Yes, girl! You get you some, what’s the problem?” she asks, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
“Well, the problem isn’t Blake or Spencer, it’s their housemate,” I answer.
“Blake and Spencer, hot names, you need to send me some snaps. But, what about their house mate? Is he super-hot too? Gonna collect ‘em all?” she teases.
“Well we kissed . . . .”
“Aaaannnnddd?” she asks, dragging the word out dramatically.
“And, then I found out that he is either engaged or married, you know, just the usual standard jackass move,” I reply.
“Shit, he didn’t,” she says.
“He did. He left the computer in the office open on a picture of his engagement party for god’s sake,” I reply, feeling the frustration reach its peak. I feel hot tears run down my face from the anger rolling through me. I look down and notice my free hand shaking on my lap, so I tuck it under my leg.
“What an asshole, did you slap him? Are you going to slap him?” she asks. I roll my eyes.
“When have you ever known me to slap anyone?” I reply.
“Never, you’re just a little tame like that. It’s a good thing I’ve got enough claws for us both,” she replies.
“By claws do you mean those horrendous fake nails you have? Because if so, yes, you for sure have enough claws for the both of us,” I say teasingly.
“Ouch, maybe kitten does have some verbal claws at least,” she replies, and then, I hear her sigh. “What are you gonna do about jackass, then?”
“I don’t know, play dumb and stay away from him as much as possible for the next few days? I don’t really have a lot of options here. I mean, I’m stuck on this island, there is nowhere else to stay, and it’s fucking minus whatever degrees outside and covered in snow, so I couldn’t even stay in my car if I wanted to. The only way off this damn island is by the ferry—which isn’t running—or a private fucking plane, which I clearly don’t have access to,” I reply, my words tumbling out in a rush.
“It’ll be okay, calm down,” she says soothingly, her words only making the tears fall faster down my face.
“I feel like such an idiot. I mean I know I only just met the guy, but I feel deceived,” I reply.
“It’s okay to feel like that, hun. He should not have kissed you if he has a woman already. We can work something out, just breathe, Tamara,” she says.
“I’m okay, I’m just . . . what if Blake and Spencer also have girlfriends, wives even? I just I can’t even think about that,” I reply, feeling terrible about myself.
“Wouldn’t they live with them?” Whitney asks.
“They might do. Noah and Blake are only here at Spencer’s house for the month, and from what they’ve said, Spencer moves a lot anyway,” I explain.
“Hm, so it sounds at least like Spencer might be unattached?” she says.
“Maybe, but I think Spencer and Blake are a package deal,” I reply, with a cracked laugh.
“Package deal, huh? I’ve gotta go to a tiny population island if that’s what’s on offer,” she replies jokingly.
“What am I going to do?” I ask seriously. There’s a long pause before she answers.
“I have a suggestion, but you’re not going to like it,” she says.
“Go on?” I prompt.
�
��You could ask your mum, to ask her husband, to ask his even more rich-ass brother for help?” she suggests.
“Your suggestion is to ask my mum for help?” I whine.
“Sorry, Tam. But, that’s your only option for a private plane, which means it’s your only option to get out of there,” she says.
“Great, just great. She just tried to set me up with a job at his company, Whit. If I ask for this, she’ll guilt me into taking it, I know she will.”
“Could you not just let her think you are taking the job and then not?” she suggests.
“Whit!” I whine her name. “You know I couldn’t lie if my life depended on it,” I say.
“I know, but it was worth trying. Damn, girl, what are we going to do with you?” she asks. I sigh, wiping the tears from my face. Blinking my eyes and refusing to let any more follow.
“We pick me out a new work wardrobe, I guess. I’ll call my mum,” I say, the inevitable sinking in. I knew this would happen. She always gets her way somehow.
“If you’re sure . . . but just know you don’t have to take some stupid job because she bails you out of a mess. She’s your mum, it’s her job to bail you out,” Whitney says gently.
“I know that, Whit, but my mum never got that memo,” I reply, sighing deeply. “Look, I better go. The sooner I grovel to mum, the sooner I can be on a plane off this damn island,” I reply.
“Okay, sweetness. I’ll see you when you get home then. Text me, okay?” she asks.
“Of course I will. Talk later, Whit.” I reply.
“Good luck, talk soon,” she replies. I cut off the call and let my head fall into my hands. I take a few deep breaths and then sit back against the headboard, flicking through my phone contact list. This could only end in grovelling and my humiliation.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Creeping into the guest room, I'm surprised to find it empty. Blake and Spencer must have moved to Blake's room. I flick the light on, considering nobody is here, there is no reason to be discrete. Throwing my suitcase onto the bed, I quickly make my way around the room grabbing all my things. I toss them in messily, not caring if things take longer to sort through later. I grab my shower stuff from the bathroom, and pack that in too, before squishing the suitcase top down and zipping it up, just about getting the zip done all the way. I didn't even need to sit on it. I grab my laptop bag, and slide my laptop in.
With my stuff all packed, I look sadly around the room I barely spent any time in. “Bye, Stronsay,” I whisper to the empty room, as I turn to leave.
I creep down the stairs, thankful it's so early that all the guys seem to be sleeping still. I pause in the hallway by the door, noticing a notepad and pen by the house phone. I grab the pen and notepad and scribble a quick note explaining that I'm leaving, forgoing an explanation as to why. Then I slip my boots on, and grab my coat, pulling it on quickly, knowing just how cold it'll be outside.
I leave the house, dragging my suitcase across the snow-covered ground to my little, beat-up Corsa. I throw the suitcase in the boot, and my laptop bag on the passenger seat and then set off for the airstrip.
The short drive seems to take forever, the light snow beating down onto my windscreen. I drive slowly, I tell myself it's a precaution to be safe on the icy roads, but in reality, I am savouring my last views of Stronsay. The waves crashing in the distant water, the white snow-covered fields, and all the open space. Despite it being such a small island, not one inch of it feels cramped. The early morning sky is a light blue, the snow falling looks out of place against the clarity of it. I drive past several farmhouses and cottages, and then finally, Stronsay Airport comes into view.
Calling it an airport is generous, the place consists of a small, white building, with a dark, shingled roof. On one side of the building, across the road is a field which according to the sign on the fence is normally occupied with cattle, not that I can see any. On the other side of the building, behind the metal gate is the runway, a small private plane waits on it, all ready to go by the looks of it.
I park my Corsa by the building, and just sit there for a moment looking at the plane, a sinking feeling settling into my stomach. I take a deep breath and step out into the cold, slinging my laptop bag strap over my shoulder, and walking around to the boot to grab my suitcase. Just as I am pulling it out, I notice a car coming towards me, speeding down the road.
I slam the car boot down, and drag my suitcase along behind me as I head for the gate. The car screeches to a stop. I don't turn around as I push open the gate. Someone steps out from the airport building, a man in his late thirties by the looks of it. He waves me over, I step forward, but a hand grabs my shoulder and spins me around.
“Why the hell are you just leaving like that?” Blake asks, his face is a mixture of confusion and hurt. The look in his eyes cutting me deeply.
“I got a ride sorted, so I just figured I'd go home,” I lie, gesturing to the plane.
“But, why would you just go without saying anything?” Spencer questions as he joins us by the gate.
“You guys were sleeping, it was kind of a ‘leave now or be stuck on the island for another few days’ kind of deal. I figured a note would suffice,” I reply curtly, noticing Noah heading over to us, too. I place my laptop bag on the ground next to my suitcase.
“Your note didn't really explain anything, Tamara,” Noah says, as he reaches us.
“I figured it covered all the bases,” I retort, not able to meet his lying eyes.
“It said, and I quote, “Sorry, sorted a plane to go home. Thanks for letting me stay, I'll miss you all, Tamara.” That's not exactly a good explanation for leaving without saying anything to us,” Spencer says, running a hand through his tousled, blond hair. He looks completely on edge for some reason. Blake steps closer to him, their bodies almost touching, and he visibly relaxes from the closeness.
“What more do you want me to say?” I ask, letting go of my suitcase handle to fold my arms across myself.
“The real reason you're leaving, maybe?” Blake prompts. When I say nothing, he huffs. “Is it because of me and Spencer? Do you have an issue with how we are with each other?” he questions. My jaw drops.
“Of course I don't have an issue with you and Spencer. I'd hardly have slept with you both at the time if I did!” I snap, shocked he'd even jump to that conclusion.
“Then what is it?” Noah asks gently. His soft tone, and innocent act pissing me off majorly. He'd made me feel like a complete fool. They all had.
“It's you, okay?” I snap at him.
“What?” they all seem to question in unison, the other two looking between me and Noah.
“What did I do?” he asks.
“You kissed me, twice,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“I was under the impression you enjoyed that as much as I did,” he replies, the crease in his brow deepening as he frowns.
“So, what if I did? That's not the point here,” I reply. A few hot tears threaten to escape my eyes. I blink furiously to keep them back. I will not show weakness.
“I don't really see what the problem is. I thought we were clear on the fact we were all okay with you being interested in all of us, if that's what you're talking about,” Blake says.
“That's not the issue, Kara is the issue,” I snap, completely losing my cool. I hated to be made to feel like an idiot, and they all are making me out to be a fool.
“How do you know about Kara?” Noah asks, the words so quiet I barely catch them.
“You left the internet open on a picture of you two at your engagement party for god's sake!”
“Fuck,” he mutters, his eyes widening as realisation hits.
“So which is it, are you two still engaged or are you married now?” I ask, not able to keep the question in if I tried.
“He's neither,” Spencer answers for him.
“What?” I ask, not understanding.
“Kara and Noah split up three years ago,” Blake explains. Noah look
s completely mortified, and is staring at me silently.
“Why would he have a picture of her up?” I question, not willing to fall for it so easily. When something sounds too good to be true, it normally is.
“Someone commented on it, I just clicked the notification and it came up. You knocked as I clicked on it, and that's when I opened the word doc,” Noah explains, he pulls out his phone and taps on it a few times, before turning it around to face me. There is the picture of him and Kara, he scrolls down, showing a comment from someone called Daniel dated last night. He then brings up his profile, and shows where it lists himself as single. “One more thing,” he says, cutting me off as I open my mouth to speak. He brings up Kara's profile, showing her relationship status. She's married to someone called Jacob. Damn.
“Shit, I'm so sorry,” I say. How could I have jumped to conclusions like that?
“I wouldn't have kissed you if I was with someone,” he says, narrowing his coppery-brown eyes on me.
“So, you only left because of that?” Spencer asks. “And, you like us, all of us?” he adds. I chew on my lip as I look between the three of them. Of course I like them all, they were a perfect mix. I nod, the lump forming in my throat stopping me from speaking. Blake tugs me to him, and tilts my head up crashing his lips down onto mine. He kisses me hard and fast, completely dominating the kiss as I melt against him. He turns me to face Spencer, holding my hands behind my back as Spencer cups my face in his, before leaning down and kissing me too. As he pulls back, his blue eyes meet mine.
“Please don't go, Tamara, just stay a little longer. I don't know what this is, but it feels right with you here with us,” Spencer says gently. He presses another soft kiss to my lips before pulling away.
“Ditto on his sentiments, beautiful. Stay. We can see where this takes us,” Blake whispers in my ear, before he lets go of my hands. I turn to face Noah.
“I'm so sorry—”