“My teakettle whistled and then I spotted you down here. You look like you could use a warm drink.”
“Do I?” He palmed his neck and glanced behind him. Maybe she’d misread this situation after all.
“Unless you’re waiting for someone?”
She’d seen him in town with a waifish blonde woman a handful of times. Claire, Hayden had gleaned. Tate’s girlfriend and very recently, fiancée. The other woman seemed proper and rigid, and Hayden’s first thought was that she was an odd match for the always bright and cheery Tate...though he wasn’t bright or cheery at the moment.
“No. I was at the Pony,” he said of the restaurant up the hill from here. “The rain caught me.”
“I’d offer to drive you home, but I don’t have a car.” One of the luxuries she’d given up to afford to move to Spright Island, but the sacrifice had been worth it. Peace had been worth it.
Every shop or store in the community could be reached on foot if she planned ahead, and she had a few friends in the area or could call a car service if she needed to venture farther.
“But I do have tea.” She opened the door wider.
“Of course. Thank you.” He stepped into the studio, his shoes squishing on her welcome mat. “Sorry about this.”
“No worries.” She locked the door behind him and grabbed a towel from a nearby cabinet. “Clean, fluffy towel? They’re for my hot yoga classes.”
He accepted with a nod and sopped the water from his hair.
“Tea’s in my apartment.” She gestured to the open doorway leading upstairs. “Don’t worry about wet shoes. I’m not that formal.”
Tate followed her upstairs and inside her blessedly spotless apartment. She’d cleaned yesterday. She was fairly tidy, but some weeks got the best of her and she didn’t get around to vacuuming or changing her sheets.
By the time he was in the center of her living room and she was shutting the door to the staircase behind her, she was questioning her invitation.
A man in her apartment shrank it down until it felt like she lived in a cereal box—and this man in particular infused the immediate space with a sizzling attraction she’d felt since he first shook her hand.
Hayden Green, he’d said. You have the perfect last name for this community.
Now, he pegged her with a look that could only be described as vulnerable, as if something was really, really off. She wanted nothing more than to cross the room and scoop him into her arms. But she couldn’t do that. He had a fiancée. And she wasn’t looking for a romantic relationship.
No matter how hot he was.
“Tea,” she reminded herself and then stepped around him to walk to the kitchen.
Two
Tate slipped out of his leather jacket and hung it on an honest-to-goodness coatrack in between the door and the television. His shirt beneath was dry, thank goodness, and his pants were in the process of drying, but he kicked off his shoes rather than track puddles through Hayden’s apartment.
Since he’d personally approved the design of every structure in SWC, he knew this building. He’d expected her place to be both modern and cozy, but she’d added her own sense of unique style. Much like Hayden herself, her apartment was laid-back with a Zen feel. From the live potted plants near the window to the black-and-white woven rug on the floor. A camel-brown sofa stood next to a coffee table, its surface cluttered with books. Oversize deep gold throw pillows were stacked on the floor for sitting, a journal and a pen resting on top of one of them.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.” He was still drying his hair with the towel when he leaned forward to study the photos on the mantel above a gas fireplace. He’d expected family photos, maybe one of a boyfriend, or a niece or nephew. Instead the frames held quotes. One of them was the silhouette of a woman in a yoga pose with wording underneath that read, I bend so I don’t break, and the other a plain black background with white lettering: If you stumble, make it part of the dance.
“Do you have a tea preference?” she called from the kitchen.
“Not really.”
He didn’t drink tea, though he supposed he should, since he’d recently learned he was from fucking London.
“I have green, peppermint and chai. Green has caffeine, so let’s not go there.” She peeked at him before tucking the packet back into the drawer like she’d intuited a pending breakdown.
Great. Nothing like an emasculating bout of anxiety to finish up his day.
“Peppermint would be good if you were nauseous or ate too much, and chai will warm you up.” She narrowed her eyes, assessing him anew. “Chai.”
“Chai’s fine. Thanks again.”
She set about making his tea and he watched her, the fluid way she moved as she hummed to herself in the small kitchen. Stepping into Hayden’s apartment was a lot like stepping into a therapist’s office, only not as stuffy. As if being in her space tempted him to open up. Whether it was the rich, earthy colors or the offer of a soothing, hot drink he didn’t know. Maybe both.
He was surprised she’d invited him in, considering she’d found him standing in a downpour staring blankly at the window.
Probably he should get around to addressing that.
She set the mugs on the coffee table, and he moved to the sofa, debating whether or not to sit.
“You’re dry enough,” she said, reading his mind. She swiped the towel and disappeared into the bedroom before coming back out. Her walk was as confident as they came, with an elegance reminding him of Claire.
Claire. Her last words to him two weeks ago kept him awake at night, along with the other melee of crap bouncing around in his head.
I can’t handle this right now, Tate. I have a job. A life. Let’s have a cooling-off period. I’m sure you’d like some time alone.
He felt alone, more alone than ever now that the holidays were coming up. His adoptive parents were fretting, though he tried to reassure them. Nothing would reassure his mother, he knew. Guilt was a carnivorous beast.
Hayden lit a candle on a nearby shelf, and he took back his earlier comparison to Claire. Hayden was completely different. From her dark hair to her curvy dancer’s body.
Pointing to the quote on the mantel, he said, “I bet you’ve never stumbled a day in your life.”
With a smile, she sat next to him and lifted her mug. “I’ve stumbled many times. Do you know how hard it is to do a headstand in yoga?”
“How is the studio doing? I was considering trying a class.” A clumsy segue, but that might explain why he’d been lingering outside like a grade A creeper. “I’ve been...stressed. I thought yoga might be a good de-stressor.”
“Yoga’s a great de-stressor,” she said conversationally, as if him coming to this conclusion while standing in a downpour was normal. “I teach scheduled group classes as well as private sessions.”
“One on one?” He’d bet her schedule was packed. Being in her presence for a few minutes had already made him feel more relaxed.
“Yep. A lot of people around here prefer one-on-one help with their practice. Others just like being alone with no help at all, which is why I open the space for members once a week.”
“That’s a lot of options.” She must work around the clock.
“There are a lot of people here, or haven’t you noticed, Mr. Spright Island?” She winked, thick dark lashes closing over one chocolate-brown iris. Had she always been this beautiful?
“I noticed.” He returned her smile. There were just shy of nine hundred houses in SWC. That made for plenty of residents milling around town and, more often than he was previously aware, apparently in Hayden’s yoga studio.
“I don’t believe you want to talk about yoga.” Her gaze was a bare lightbulb on a string over his head, as if there was no way to hide what had been rattling around in his brain tonight. She lifted dark, in
quisitive eyebrows. “You look like you have something interesting to talk about.”
The pull toward her was real and raw—the realest sensation he’d felt in a while. It grounded him, grabbed him by the balls and demanded his full attention.
“I didn’t plan on talking about it...” he admitted, but she must have heard the ellipsis at the end of that sentence.
She tilted her head, sage interest in whatever he might say next. Wavy dark brown hair surrounded a cherubic heart-shaped face, her deep brown eyes at once tender and inviting. Inviting. There was that word again. Unbidden, his gaze roamed over her tanned skin, her V-necked collar and delicate collarbone. How had he not noticed before? She was alarmingly beautiful.
“I’m sorry.” Her palm landed on his forearm. “I’m prying. You don’t have to say anything.”
She moved to pull her hand away but he captured her fingers in his, studying her shiny, clear nails and admiring the olive shade of her skin and the way her hand offset his own pinker hue.
“There are aspects of my life I was certain of a month and a half ago,” he said, idly stroking her hand with his thumb. “I was certain that my parents’ names were William and Marion Duncan.” He offered a sad smile as Hayden’s eyebrows dipped in confusion. “I suppose they technically still are my parents, but they’re also not. I’m adopted.”
Her plush mouth pulled into a soft frown, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I recently learned that the agency—” or more accurately, the kidnappers “—lied about my birth parents. Turns out they’re alive and living in London. And I have a brother.” He paused before clarifying, “A twin brother.”
Hayden’s lashes fluttered. “Wow.”
“Fraternal, but he’s a good-looking bastard.”
She squeezed his fingers. There for him in spite of owing him nothing. That should’ve been Claire’s job.
“I was certain that I was the owner/operator of Spright Island’s premier, thriving wellness community,” he stated in his radio-commercial voice. “That, thank God, hasn’t changed. SWC is a sanctuary of sorts. There is a different vibe here that you can’t find inland.”
“I know exactly what you mean. I stepped foot in my studio downstairs that first time, and it had this positive energy about it. Does that sound unbelievable?”
No more unbelievable than being kidnapped in another country and having no memory of it.
“It doesn’t sound unbelievable.” He took pride in what he’d built. He’d poured himself, body and soul, into what he created, so it wasn’t surprising some of that had leaked into the energy of this place.
“I was also certain I was going to be married to Claire Waterson.”
At the mention of a fiancée, Hayden tugged her hand from his and wrapped her fingers around her mug. He didn’t think it was because she was thirsty.
“When I found out about my family tree, she bailed on me,” he told her. “I didn’t expect that.”
He raked his hands through his damp hair, unable to stop the flow of words now that he’d undammed them. “You invited me in for tea thinking I had something on my mind. Bet you didn’t expect a full-blown identity crisis.”
Her eyebrows dipped in sympathy.
“I just need... I need...” Dropping his head in his hands, he trailed off, muttering to the floor, “Christ, I have no idea what I need.”
He felt the couch shift and dip, and then Hayden’s hand was on his back, moving in comforting circles.
“I’ve had my share of family drama, trust me. But nothing like what you’re going through. It’s okay for you to feel unsure. Lost.”
He faced her. This close, he could smell her soft lavender perfume and see the gold flecks in her dark eyes. He hadn’t planned on coming here, or on sitting on her couch and spilling his heart out. He and Hayden were friendly, not friends. But her comforting touch on his back, the way her words seemed to soothe the recently broken part of him...
Maybe what he needed was her.
He leaned forward, his eyes focused on her mouth and the satisfaction kissing her would bring.
“Tate.” She jerked away, sobering him instantly.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” What the hell was he thinking? That Hayden invited him in to make out on her couch? That sharing his sob story would somehow turn her on? As if any woman wanted to be with a man who was in pieces.
He stood to leave. She stood with him.
“Listen, Tate—”
“I shouldn’t have come here.” He pulled his coat on and shoved his feet in his shoes, grateful for the leather slip-ons. At least there wouldn’t be an awkward interlude while he tied his laces. “Thank you for listening. I’m really very sorry.”
“Wait.” She arrived at the coatrack as he was stuffing his arms into his still-wet leather coat.
“I’m going to go.” He turned to apologize again, but was damn near knocked off his feet when Hayden pushed to her toes, cuffed the back of his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers.
Three
Hayden had fantasized of kissing Tate ever since she first laid eyes on him. She knew he wasn’t meant to be hers in real life, but in her fantasies, well, there were no rules.
Of all the imagined kisses they’d shared, none compared to the actual kiss she was experiencing now.
The moment their lips touched, he grabbed on to her like a lifeline, eagerly plunging his tongue into her mouth. His skin was chilly from the rain, but his body radiated heat. She was downright toasty in his arms...and getting hotter by the second.
She tasted dark liquor—bourbon or whiskey—on his tongue, but there was a tinge of something else. Sadness, if she wasn’t mistaken. Sadness over learning he had a brother after all these years—a twin brother. Wow, that was wild...
A pair of strong hands gripped her waist. Tate tugged her close, and when her breasts flattened against his chest all other thoughts flew from her head. The water clinging to his coat soaked through her sweater, causing her nipples to bead to tight peaks inside her bra.
Still, she kissed him.
She wasn’t done with this real-life fantasy. A brief thought of Claire Waterson crashed into her mind, and she shoved it out. They were broken up—he’d said so himself. Hayden had nothing to feel guilty about.
Besides, he needed her. Whenever she’d been lost or sad, she’d taken solace in her friends. That was what she offered to him now.
A safe space.
She pulled her lips from Tate’s to catch her breath, her mind buzzing and her limbs vibrating. His chest and shoulders rose and fell, the hectic rhythm set by the brief make-out session. An unsure smile tilted his mouth, and she returned it with one of her own.
“Better?” she asked.
His low laugh soaked into her like rum on spongecake. He pulled his hand over his mouth and then back through his hair, and her knees nearly gave way. It’d be so easy to lean in and taste him again, to offer her body as a place for him to lay his worries...
“I didn’t mean to take advantage of your hospitality. Honest.” His blue eyes shimmered in the candlelight.
“You didn’t. I always serve tea with French kisses. It’s a package deal.”
“The best deal in town,” he murmured. He stroked her jaw tenderly, those tempting lips offering the sincerest “thank you” she’d ever heard.
“Call a car,” she said, before she asked him to stay. “It’s pouring out there.”
“Actually—” he opened the door that led down to her studio “—I could use a cool, brisk walk after that kiss.”
She smiled, pleased. It wasn’t every day she could curl a hot guy’s toes. She considered this rare feat a victory.
“I’ll lock the studio door behind me. There are some real weirdos out there...”
She grinned, knowing he was referring to himself.
Before he pulled the door shut, he stuck his head through the crack. “You don’t really kiss everyone you offer tea, do you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She was tempted to put another brief peck on his mouth, but he disappeared through the gap before she could. A fraction of a second later, she was looking at the wood panel instead of his handsome face and wondering if she’d hallucinated the entire thing.
“Hayden, Hayden,” she chastised gently as she engaged the lock and drew the chain. She turned and eyed the mugs of tea, Tate’s untouched and hers barely drunk. His lips hadn’t so much as grazed the edge of that mug.
But they were all over yours.
That spontaneous kiss had rocked her world.
She dashed to the window and peered out into the rain, hoping for one more glance at her nighttime visitor. A dark figure passed under a streetlamp, his shoulders under his ears, his hair wet all over again. Before he disappeared from sight, he turned to face her building and walked a few steps backward. She couldn’t see his face from that far away, but she liked to believe he was smiling.
She touched her lips.
So was she.
* * *
Three wet days later, the rain had downgraded from downpour to light drizzle. Even walking across the street to Summer’s Market yesterday for ingredients for blueberry muffins had left Hayden wet and cold. She’d returned home soaked to the bone, her hair smelling of rainwater.
Which, of course, reminded her of The Kiss from the other day. She hadn’t seen Tate since. Not that she’d expected him to stop by, but... Well, was hope the wrong word to use?
Over and over, she’d remembered the feel of Tate’s firm lips, his capable hands gripping her hips, the vulnerability in his smile. The ways his eyes shined with curiosity afterward.
Knowing she’d erased some of his sadness made her feel special. She was beginning to think she actually missed him. Odd, considering the concept of missing him was foreign until that kiss.
The chilly bite of the wind cut through her puffy, lightweight coat, and she tucked her chin behind the zipped collar as she crossed the street to the café.
Christmas Seduction Page 2