by L.H. Cosway
“Well, are you ready to go? Your man friend’s downstairs, and it looks like he parked on double yellow lines.”
“He’s not my man friend. He’s Neil. He’s my soulmate,” I crooned, and Sarita made a gagging noise.
“Oh, man. You’ve gone all romantic. Is this why you’re dressing like a proper lady for once?”
“Partly,” I replied, waggling my eyebrows secretively.
I’d been thinking a lot about what Neil said to me after I told him that I dressed in oversized clothes to avoid unwanted sexual attention on the internet. He’d then pointed out that I dressed in oversized clothing all the time, not just while live streaming. It had happened so gradually that I didn’t even realise the clothes thing had leaked into my everyday life. Now, I was making a conscious effort not to hide myself under layers of fabric and instead celebrate the shit hot body I’d been blessed with.
“Right, well, we’d better get a move on. The party starts soon, and traffic might be heavy.”
I nodded and grabbed my handbag. The gods had been benevolent and decided to bless Michaela with sunshine for her outdoor engagement party. In London, there was always a chance of rain.
Sarita and I headed downstairs, and Neil was standing outside his car, looking shiftily from side to side to make sure there were no clampers lurking in the shadows. He was wearing a suit, and I just about fell over, swooning so hard.
“Pardon me, Mr Bond, but you don’t happen to have seen a man hanging around? Brown hair, glasses, about this tall?” I asked teasingly as I approached.
Neil rolled his eyes and grinned as his attention fell appreciatively over my dress. “You look …”
“Like a stalk of broccoli. I know,” I finished for him, sticking out my tongue. He reached forward and grabbed my wrist, pulling me to him.
“That’s not what I was going to say, and you know it,” he murmured, whispering his lips across mine and sending a flurry of dirty thoughts through my head. “You look beautiful.”
“Let’s go,” Sarita said, hopping into the back seat. “We still have to pick up Mabel, and I hate being late.”
Neil cast me a searing smile before walking around the car and opening the passenger side door for me. I could certainly get used to this gentlemanly behaviour, I thought as I climbed in and strapped on my seatbelt.
On the drive, my phone buzzed. I sifted through my bag and pulled it out.
Adam: Okay, I did it. I just told Winona that I like her.
My pulse pounded as I read the message. This was so exciting.
Afric: Oh, my God! What did she say?
Adam: She said … the feeling is mutual.
Afric: Gah! I’m so happy right now!
Adam: And I just booked a flight to Miami to see her. This could end disastrously. I burn like bacon in the sun.
Afric: Pack lots of sunscreen, then. I want all the details. You have to promise to update me in real time.
Adam: Lol. I’ll try my best.
I put away my phone, still grinning as Neil pulled up to the hotel. A young guy in a waistcoat took his keys to park the car for him. I slid my arm through his as we took the elevator up to the rooftop garden where the party was being held. The doors opened into a gloriously sunny scene. There were tables topped with pretty flower arrangements while hotel staff handed out glasses of champagne to guests.
Michaela and James appeared, James in a suit and Michaela wearing a pretty red sundress.
“You two managed to work things out then?” she whispered in my ear as we hugged and I handed her the gift I brought.
“Yes, we did,” I replied.
Her smile was pleased. “I’m glad.”
“Me, too.”
Michaela turned her attention to Neil. “James tells me you’re starting an event planning business.”
Neil dipped his head. “It’s still early days, but yes.”
“Great,” she said, casting her fiancé a little glance. “Because James and I wanted to be your very first clients.”
Neil blinked. “Pardon?”
“We want you to plan our wedding,” James said, and my chest filled with happiness for Neil. I knew he was nervous about this career change, and getting the chance not just to plan an ordinary wedding, but a wedding where the groom was a celebrity, was a big deal. He could really make a name for himself with this.
“Wow, um, I don’t know what to say,” he replied, taken aback.
“Say you’ll do it,” Michaela urged.
“Okay,” Neil bobbed his head. “I’ll do it.”
“Fantastic. I promise not to turn into a Bridezilla,” Michaela joked, and we all laughed.
Two hours later, I was veritably stuffed on scones and cakes and tiny, tasty sandwiches, not to mention copious amounts of champagne and tea. Neil warned me the mixture would give me a stomach ache later, but I assured him I was made of stronger stuff.
Neil and I stood by the edge of the roof garden, staring out at the city skyline beyond. His hand came to rest on my lower back, and I felt the heat of him sear into me like a brand. I’d never tire of his touch, of the way he looked at me with such love and affection in his eyes.
I nudged him with my elbow. “So, have you had a nice day?”
“Yes, aside from having to avoid a mountain load of dairy, it’s been very pleasant.”
“Afternoon tea is quite dairy heavy, isn’t it? I never realised before.”
“So much clotted cream,” Neil groaned, and I chuckled.
“I salute your willpower for resisting. But damn it, now I have to rethink my birthday plans. I was considering making it an afternoon tea.”
“No girlfriend of mine plans her own birthday,” Neil chided. “And besides, I already have a surprise in mind for you.”
“Oh?” I said, curiosity piqued. “What’s the surprise? Give me a clue.”
Neil’s lips twitched as he bent close to murmur. “It might involve me dressing up as a certain actor from a certain episode of Lip Sync Battle.”
My eyes widened in delight. “Oh my God, seriously? I’m going to die of anticipation. Why does my birthday have to be so far away? The wait will be agony.”
“Speaking of agony,” he said, lowering his mouth to my bare shoulder and delicately scraping his teeth across my skin, awakening all the tiny nerve endings that lived there. “I’m surprised I’ve managed to keep my hands off you in this dress.”
I arched my back as Neil’s hand drifted lower. “Be careful,” I whispered. “You’ll scandalise the other guests.”
“Most of them are drunk on champagne and refined sugar. I doubt they’ll notice,” he whispered back, nipping my ear and soliciting a quiet moan.
“Can I stay over at yours tonight?” I asked, turning to gaze up into his handsome brown eyes.
“You can stay at mine every night if you want.”
I moved closer, pressing my lips to the underside of his jaw. “That’s a dangerous invitation, Mr Durant. I might end up leaving a toothbrush in your perfectly ordered bathroom.”
His eyes glinted. “Do it. I dare you.”
“What if I clear out a drawer for myself and leave all my night things in it? Won’t that mess with the neat structure of your personal space?”
He was already shaking his head. “I welcome you to be as messy as you like. In fact, I insist. My life has been way too ordered for way too long. It’s about time I let in a little chaos.”
I reached up, placing my hand on his neck, and he practically undulated at my touch. “Okay, then,” I said close to his mouth. “Dare accepted.”
He smiled right before I kissed him, and then his hands were in my hair, and he was backing me up against the railing. We were being incredibly inappropriate for a daytime affair, but I was too lost in him to care. Besides, Neil was right about most of the guests being drunk on champagne. I was pretty sure I spotted Michaela’s dad, who was a vicar, cheekily pinching his wife’s backside as they danced to Michael Bublé.
Nei
l groaned into the kiss, and my body melted into his. His hand in my hair gripped firmly, tilting my head so that he could deepen the kiss. I had so much love for him there was excess slipping out and going everywhere like someone left the bath running too long and water and suds were overflowing. I loved him so much I would fight to the death for him. I’d climb mountains for him. I’d do anything to ensure his happiness and health, and I knew the feeling was mutual.
I never imagined I’d find someone like Neil. Someone who didn’t get tired of my overzealous personality or my gaming or my need to tease him relentlessly. He loved me for those things instead. He loved me for exactly who I was, and that was a rare feeling, indeed.
Looking back, I couldn’t believe I’d considered his friendship merely a sidequest when the whole time he’d been a brand-new adventure, an all-encompassing journey that wouldn’t be completed in a few short hours but would instead last an entire lifetime.
END.
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Six of Hearts Sneak Peek
If you enjoyed Sidequest for Love then you might also like L.H. Cosway’s highly acclaimed Hearts Series, available now in Kindle Unlimited. Read on for a sneak peek of book #1, Six of Hearts.
BLURB:
When Jay Fields, world-renowned illusionist, walks into her dad’s law firm Matilda is struck speechless. Not only is he one of the most attractive and charismatic men she’s ever met, he’s also a mystery to be solved.
Jay wants to sue a newspaper for defamation, but all is not what it seems. Matilda is determined to discover the true story behind Jay, however, when he becomes an unexpected roommate, she is not ready for how he will wheedle his way into her affections and steal her heart.
The man is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, and though she can’t yet see the bigger picture, Matilda can’t resist following along for the thrilling and heart-stopping ride.
EXCERPT:
Making my way down the narrow staircase that leads out of the building and onto the street, I bump into a tall man with golden-brown hair. I wouldn’t normally notice a man’s hair so specifically, but this guy has some serious style going on. It’s cut tight at the sides and left long on the top, kind of like a sexy villain in a movie set in the 1920s. I stare up at him, wide-eyed. He’s wearing a very nice navy suit with a leather satchel bag slung over his shoulder. Even though it was the first thing I noticed, his hair pales in comparison to the wonder that is his face. I don’t think I’ve ever been up close to such a handsome example of the male species in my life.
Why can’t men like this write to me online? I ponder dejectedly.
Because men like this don’t even know the meaning of the term “socially awkward,” my brain answers.
My five-foot-something stares up at his six-foot-whatever, and I think to myself, what’s a prize like you doing in a dive like this? Actually, now that I’m looking at him, he does seem vaguely familiar, but I can’t put my finger on where I’ve seen him before.
Probably on the pages of a fashion magazine, if his looks are anything to go by.
If it hasn’t already been deduced from the fact that I can’t even find a date using the romantic connection slut that is the Internet, then I’ll spell it out. I’m useless with men, and I’m talking all men. Even the nice approachable fellows. And I’m not looking at a nice approachable fellow right now. I’m looking at a “chew you up and spit you out” tiger.
Rawr.
Since the entrance to the building is so narrow, we have to skirt around each other. I give him a hesitant smile and a shrug. His eyes sparkle with some kind of hidden knowledge as he lets me pass, like beautiful people know the meaning of the universe and are amused by us ordinary folks who have to bumble along in the dark.
I’m just about to step out the door when the tiger starts to speak. “I’m looking for Brandon Solicitors. Do you know if I have the right place?”
I step back inside.
He sounds like Mark Wahlberg when he’s letting his Southie roots all hang out. His deep American accent makes me want to close my eyes and savour the sound. But I don’t do that – because I’m not a complete psycho.
“Yeah, this is the place. I work here, actually. I’m the secretary slash receptionist slash general dogsbody. It’s my dad’s firm,” I reply. Too much information, Matilda. Too. Much. Information.
The tiger smiles, making him better-looking, if that’s even possible. And thankfully, he doesn’t comment on my fluster. “I have an appointment with Hugh Brandon at nine. I’m Jay,” he says, and takes a step closer to hold his hand out to me. My back hits the wall, his tall frame dwarfing mine. I don’t think he realises just how narrow this space is, and now I can smell his cologne. Wow, it’s not often that I get close enough to a man to smell him. And Jay Fields smells indecently good.
“Ah, right. Jay Fields. Yeah, I have you pencilled in. You can go on upstairs, and Dad will take care of you,” I reply, shaking his hand and letting go quickly so that he doesn’t notice my sweatacular palms. “I’ve got an errand to run.”
He stares at me for a long moment, like his eyes are trying to take in my every feature, but that can’t be right. When he finally responds, it’s a simple, “I won’t keep you, then, Matilda.”
God. Why does the way he says “keep you” in that deep voice have to make my heart flutter? It’s been literally thirty seconds, and I’m already well on my way to developing a crush.
He makes some keen eye contact with me, then turns and continues up the stairs to the office. I’m already on the street when I realise I hadn’t offered my name, and yet he knew it. Perhaps he’d been browsing our website. Our offices might be shoddy, but I always make sure to keep our online presence up to scratch. There’s a picture of me, Dad, and Will, the other solicitor who works for the practice, on the “About Us” page.
So if he knew who I was already, why did he ask if he had the right place?
Miracle of all miracles, was he actually, like, chatting me up or something? Be still my beating heart. Or is he just the friendly, chatty type? I consider these questions as I walk inside the café three buildings down from our office and order two lattes to go. I briefly think about ordering something for the tiger, aka Jay Fields, but he might be one of those picky coffee drinkers, so I don’t.
When I get back, I find Dad’s shut himself inside his office with Jay, and the next appointment is already waiting to be seen. She’s a middle-aged woman wearing a neck brace. I haven’t had the chance to look at her information, but I can imagine what she’s here for. Some sort of accident claim.
What I really want to know is what Jay’s here for. Yep, I’m already wondering about this man way too much. I remember him calling up last week to make the appointment, and somehow I neglected to ask him what kind of a claim he wanted to make. It’s weird, too, because I have my set spiel for appointments, and I never forget to ask for all the information I need. It’s almost like my subconscious knew I was speaking with a gorgeous man, thus rendering me double “F-ed”: frazzled and forgetful.
Knowing Dad will want his caffeine fix as soon as possible, I knock lightly on the door and wait to be let in. Dad calls for me to enter and I do, opening the door with the paper coffee cup in my hand. Jay’s sitting in the seat in front of Dad’s desk, his hands clasped together over his head as he lounges back, casual as you please. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk to Dad and give him his beverage. He seems a little out of sorts, so I put a hand on his shoulder and ask, “Everything okay?”
Dad looks lost in his own head for a minute, and I have to repeat the question a second time to get him to answer me.
“What? Oh, yes, everything’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, chicken,” he mutters.
“It might be me who’s the problem,” Jays
puts in. “I just presented your old man with a case he’s not sure he wants to take.”
I look at Jay now, my brow furrowing. Who the hell is this guy? What he’s said has piqued my curiosity, though, so I close the door and fold my arms. Unless I’m needed to take notes, I don’t normally sit in on meetings with clients, but Dad’s demeanour has put me on edge, my protective instincts kicking into gear.
Jay grins in a way that makes me think he’s pleased with my attention. “Oh, now she’s curious.”
Okay, this man might be beautiful, but he’s also kind of strange.
“Did you want to make a claim against someone?” I ask, because Dad still isn’t talking. I suppose he’s still considering whatever Jay’s case is.
“Nope. I want to sue someone,” says Jay, all matter-of-fact.
“For what?”
“Defamation of character,” he answers before pulling a newspaper out of his bag. He flips through it, folds it open to the page he’s looking for, and hands it to me. I glance down at the tabloid, scanning the bold headline that reads, “Illusionist Jay Fields Causes Death of Volunteer.” I let my eyes drift briefly over the article, which features a promotional picture of Jay holding up a six of hearts card. Oh. Now I remember where I know him from.
A couple of weeks ago The Daily Post broke a story about an Irish-American illusionist with a new show coming to RTÉ. He was filming an upcoming episode when a tragic accident hit. I scan the article before me, recalling the details. A couple of hours after wrapping up the filming of an episode where Jay was paying homage to Houdini by re-creating a version of his “Buried Alive” stunt, the volunteer who’d taken part had died of a heart attack.
What Jay proposed to do was to put the volunteer, David Murphy, into a hypnotic state whereby he would only breathe in very little air, allowing him to be buried for twenty-four hours in an empty grave and not suffocate in the process. An impossible feat, many would say. The volunteer was given a panic button, and if anything went wrong, he could press it, and he’d be immediately dug up. In the end the panic button wasn’t needed, and he miraculously managed to survive the entire twenty-four hours underground. However, when he went to bed that night, he suffered a fatal heart attack and died.