Spring Fever: A Four Seasons Novel

by Geneva Lee

  I had definitely never walked out naked to Roman before. He’d undressed me or I’d kept my shirt on or we’d been treading water in the ocean, but I’d never gone to him like this—bare and vulnerable.

  Our wedding night seemed like a pretty good place to start.

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. Roman’s back was to me as he poured champagne into two flutes.

  “Someone knows,” he said, without looking at me. “Look what was in the fridge.”

  “I suspect I know who.”

  “Let me guess..” Turning then, his mouth fell open. He abandoned the champagne flutes and stepped closer to me. I couldn’t move, locked in his penetrating gaze.

  “Mrs. Markson.” He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me roughly to him.

  “You’re still dressed.” My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him down for a kiss.

  “Care to remedy that?” he asked as our lips met. All my vulnerability melted away as his body pressed hard into mine. I pushed his shirt up, and he whipped it over his head so quickly I only had a second to register the absence of his kiss before our tongues tangled back together. Roman’s hands slid from my hips to cup my ass, lifting me up and around his waist. He held me there—steady and strong—while he explored my mouth. The ache in my chest built until I felt as though I was so full of him that I could float away from wanting. His lips left mine, dropping kisses along my neck, as he worked his way up to my ear.

  “I’m glad we got married in the morning,” he murmured. His breath was warm, and it tickled against my sensitive skin, sending ripples of anticipation through my body.

  “Mmhmm” was all I could manage past the dizzying longing pulsing through me.

  “Now I can make love to you all day.” He carried me to the bed, laying me down cautiously, as though I was made of glass—something fragile and precious. My eyes didn’t leave his face, even as I heard a zipper. Roman stepped out of his pants, our eyes trained on one another. With gentle hands he pushed me up toward the pillows at the head of the bed.

  “What do you have in mind?” I asked.

  “I want to worship my wife. Get comfortable,” he told me, dropping to his hands and knees and pushing my legs open. “I’m going to be here a while.”

  My head fell back as his tongue dipped between my legs. He paid homage there, kissing and sucking until I was on the edge. But he didn’t let me fall over it. The result left my body humming with a pleasure so intense that it vibrated through my skin. Every nerve was on alert, desperate for release and desperate for him to continue the beautiful torture.

  When I couldn’t take it anymore, his mouth vanished and my eyes flew open to find him kneeling on the edge of the bed, a smug smile on his face.

  “The wedding vows said “to have,” I said with a groan. “I looked it up.”

  His grin widened. “Is that a hint?”

  “I’m just following the rules.”

  “In that case.” Roman gripped my thighs and lifted me to meet him, entering me with a smooth, powerful thrust. I gasped, overwhelmed by the moment. My husband was touching me. My husband was inside me. Nothing about that scared me, it exhilarated me. I circled against him as the pressure in my body built.

  “I love you, Jessica Stone-Markson,” he said in a soft voice, sending a surge quivering through me. He pushed against me, harder, responding to the clenching need of my body and I felt another ripple.

  “I love you,” I said breathlessly, “for as long as I live.”

  Roman groaned, the declaration sending him over the edge. He drove deeper, releasing me in waves of pleasure that coursed through my limbs, turning my bones to jelly until I was little more than a puddle under him. Collapsing down, he gathered me in his arms and held me against his chest while the dizzying bliss dissolved. Our skin was slick with sweat and our breath came in heavy pants. I became aware of his heart, pounding against my cheek. The haze in my head cleared and I stroked a finger down his chest.

  “If that’s what it means to be an honest woman…”

  Roman’s eyebrow cocked up. “An honest woman, eh?”

  “What would you call me?”

  “A beautiful, kind, strong woman.” He nuzzled into my hair. “Although I’d be happy to make an honest woman out of you again.”

  “Oh yeah?” I said, my tone ripe with challenge.

  Roman’s face split into a grin as he rolled on top of me. “Oh yeah.”

  I lost track of time, the day sweeping into twilight before we stumbled out of bed to replenish our bodies.

  “There’s not much in here,” he said. “Want to go out? We can pop by the hospital.”

  I nodded, tossing him a bag of mixed nuts from the gift basket the resort had left on the counter.

  “I thought these were more your speed,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

  I groaned as I pushed up on the counter. “Very mature, Mr. Markson.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Markson.”

  The name felt warm and comfortable, and I pretended to study my chocolate covered strawberry as I blinked tears out of my eyes. But Roman wasn’t so easily fooled.

  “Hey,” he said, tipping my chin up with his finger. “I won’t call you Mrs. Markson if it upsets you.”

  I smacked his shoulder and laughed as the tears spilled out. “Happy tears.”

  “Oh,” he said, but it was clear he was confused.

  “I’m still keeping my name,” I told him, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t like being reminded that I’m your wife.”

  “You’re my wife,” he said with emphasis and I cried a little harder until I tossed the strawberry on the counter and wrapped both my arms around his neck. Our lips brushed softly together as we held one another, marveling in the power of small words.

  The ring of Roman’s phone broke us apart and he crossed the kitchen. As soon as he saw the screen, his face paled and I was on my feet, at his side. Our hands threaded together and I whispered, “I’m here.”

  His fingers tightened their grip on mine as he answered, and in that moment, I understood what I had really promised him. Saying I do wasn’t a means to a happily ever after. It didn’t mean there were no more challenges facing us. It meant we would face them together. I’d been scared of marriage until Roman, but know I knew that it was more than empty promises. It was a partnership between best friends. It was the start of our family, and as I watched Roman’s face go slack with grief, I felt his pain as acutely as if it were my own. When he laid the phone down, he opened his mouth to speak and couldn’t. I dropped a finger to his lips and shook my head. He didn’t have to say it. My hand stayed firmly in his, because we both knew we were stronger together. We always would be.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of Cassie’s story, Hot Summer Nights!

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  Life isn’t about finding true love—it’s about reaching it.

  First comes love, then comes marriage…and then there’s the third wheel. Cassie Hart has watched her best friends find the perfect guys while she kissed a lot of frogs. So when she finally realizes that it’s easier to order shoes online than it is to find a decent man, she gives up. No more men. No more romance. No more waiting for true love.

  Instead, she decides to focus on her new internship and life outside men—until fate deals her a hand of ex-boyfriends and one infuriating new boss. Try as she might to avoid love, she’s about to learn life isn’t about finding the one. It’s about reaching him.

  And now a sneak peek of Hot Summer Nights!

  Seattle, Washington was a veritable minefield of ex-boyfriends. Turn a corner. Step o
ut of a building. Grab a quick bite to eat. And boom!

  I had found myself face-to-face with three already, and I hadn’t even finished the first day of my internship. I was beginning to wonder if the university had started a male consignment program, loaning out every eligible bachelor on campus to the greater metropolitan area. Not that all of them were still eligible—and none of them were available, according to my standards.

  My day started with running into Luka, a.k.a. Mr. Freshman Year, while trying to pay for parking. As if paying twenty-five dollars for the privilege to leave my car wasn’t bad enough, the machine wouldn’t take my card. When the man behind me kept persistently clearing his throat, I’d finally lost my cool and spun around. “Do you need a cough drop, jacka…?”

  The words died on my lips when I saw those familiar blue eyes. I’d peered into them enough a few years back to have each fleck in his irises memorized. If only I’d bothered to look a little deeper. That had been hard given his off-the-charts hotness. I’d been taken in by his unruly blond hair and square jaw. The two hours a day he spent in the gym hadn’t hurt either. Not initially. It probably should have clued me in that he was a Grade A narcissist.

  “Cassie?” He sounded as surprised as I felt, which was a much-needed boost to my confidence. Maybe he hadn’t expected to run into anyone he knew, or maybe—just maybe—I’d come a long way from the nineteen-year-old girl he’d known. I’d traded in my yoga pants and Uggs for Jimmy Choos and pencil skirts. I was well past my basic bitch stage. Now, I was a badass bitch.

  “The machine is broken.” As far as I was concerned that was the only explanation. I’d tried for five minutes to get it to accept payment.

  “Let me try.” Luka’s lips quirked into the arrogant smirk I’d once found so charming. Back then it had won him an all-access pass to my panties. Now, I fought the urge to slap him. Did he not recognize my new status as a badass bitch?

  Obviously not, because he swiped the Visa from my hand. Stepping forward, he flipped it over and swiped it. The payment processed instantly.

  Life must be easier for the really, truly stupid. They probably weren’t aware when they did something really, truly idiotic. Though I was not really, truly stupid, I was now very well-aware that I’d done something really, truly idiotic.

  A string of curses slipped from my mouth that would have made a sailor blush.

  He handed the card back to me. My parking spot was secured, but my dignity was in shambles.

  “Thanks.” I stuffed the card in my purse and avoided eye contact. Why couldn’t it have been a stranger behind me? A soccer mom or a wizened old executive? Someone who wouldn’t have noticed I didn’t know how to use a credit card machine.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, as he punched in the number of his parking spot and paid for it.

  “Internship,” I bit out, eyeing the exit. “Actually, I need to go or I’ll be late.”

  He pocketed his receipt. Turning to face me, his eyes swept over my body, paying extra attention to my chest. “We should hang out sometime. God, you haven’t changed a bit.”

  I couldn’t stop myself. If Luka didn’t think I’d changed, he had another thing coming. “Me or my tits?” I spat. “It’s you who haven’t changed.” I didn’t wait to see if I’d wiped the smug grin off his face. I was out of the parking garage instantly.

  Yes, I still had the same body—thanks to five hours a week at the gym. But equating me with my breasts was exactly why my relationship with Luka hadn’t worked out. His attention didn’t extend postcoitus. I’d wanted a commitment and all he could offer was orgasms. That had been enough for a while. But when the eyes that wandered over my body started to wander in other directions, I’d kicked him to the curb.

  I made a mental note to park in another—less convenient—parking garage and moved on with my life.

  The trouble was that my life was following the cues of a Dickens novel, complete with the ghosts of boyfriends past. When I popped into the coffee shop on the corner, the brown eyes accompanying the barista were all too familiar. It was Mr. Nice Guy himself. Danny lit up when he saw me, which made me feel two inches tall despite my five-inch heels. He was the definition of a nice guy. Too nice. We’d dated after a string of bad decisions and a tequila-induced vow to give up bad boys.

  He was writing my name on a cup before I could back out the door I’d just entered.

  “On the house!” he called cheerfully, starting to make my drink without waiting for my order. Danny remembered how I took my coffee. Because Danny was an honest-to-god, good person—and I was dirt.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, shifting back and forth on my heels. If he let me pay for it, I would have something to do besides stare at his angelic face beaming back at me. It’s important to note that Danny was smoking hot in a sorta boy-next-door way. Even in the requisite Sound Coffee t-shirt he wore, his muscular upper body was on display—a body he’d gotten from rock-climbing, biking, and volunteering at the local animal shelter. As he finished up my drink, a thick lock of brown hair fell into his eyes. He pushed it behind his ear. I’d seen him do it a million times. In a way, it was comforting. And therein lied the problem with Danny. He was comfortable and safe. Everything I had thought I wanted.

  No matter how hard I’d tried—and we’d dated for months—it had been like kissing my brother. We’d never even made it past second base. I’d broken up with him over text because ending it to his face would have been worse than kicking a puppy.

  Naturally, he’d taken it well and judging from the genuine happiness radiating from him, I hadn’t done any long-term damage. So why did I still feel so awful?

  “How are you?” he asked as he slid a cardboard sleeve over my cup.

  “Good.” I accepted the free drink. After all, it was a big day. A free drink was like a little karmic good luck charm. Maybe I hadn’t been so terrible to Danny after all. Maybe I wasn’t a garbage person. Maybe I was being given the chance to see how much I’d changed. “How are you?”

  I took a tentative sip of the drink he’d handed me. Three shots of espresso, skim milk, and the tiniest pump of mocha. It was exactly how I liked it.

  “Great.” He leaned forward so we could talk over the clatter of the coffee shop. “I’ve been working here since my dad died. I’m trying to save up tuition for one more year, so my mom doesn’t have to help me with a student loan.”

  The coffee turned to ash in my mouth and I nearly dropped the cup. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Danny. I hadn’t heard!”

  “It’s okay.” He dismissed my shock with a wave of his hand. “It’s been two years. I miss him, but I know he’s watching out for me.”

  Two years? It didn’t take much mental arithmetic to recount where I’d been two years ago. I’d been fresh off my text break-up with Danny and hitting the bars with my best friends and a couple of fake IDs. As much as I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t told me, I knew the answer. Why update an ex-girlfriend who couldn’t even break up with you in person?

  “We should get together sometime,” I said guiltily, thanking him one more time for the drink as I took off. I dumped it in the first garbage can I saw. That was where I belonged: in the garbage. Now I had to find a new drink, so I wouldn’t have to repeat that interaction every time I went for coffee—if I could bear to face him again.

  Maybe I could face Danny again if I was clear that I wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship. Then we could hang out. A friend might be exactly what he needed. Not that he didn’t have any. He’d always been the guy surrounded by buddies. Probably because he was the guy you could call to help you move or paint a room or mow your lawn. Danny was possibly the world’s last nice guy. I was still considering how I could make it up to him when I entered the lobby of NorthWest Investments for the first time.

  I had completed my interviews over the phone and on campus, which meant I’d never seen the offices before. Given what I knew about the business, I’d expected a cramped, cubicle-ridd
en studio. The owners of the group weren’t much older than me. The CEO wasn’t even thirty. Despite the fact they’d been buying up neglected Seattle landmarks and restoring them, I hadn’t expected there to be real money behind the operation. Everything from the floor-to-ceiling windows, polished marble floors, and the gleaming bank of elevators proved me wrong. I’d been excited to cut my teeth working in public relations for a start-up. Standing here, I was elated—and nervous. This internship was obviously a much bigger deal than I had thought. I allowed myself a moment to let it soak in. It wasn’t a real job—not yet. But it was the closest I’d ever come to one.

  Shouldering my bag, I started toward the reception desk before skidding gracelessly to a halt as a man stepped into my path. Running into Luka had felt like a bad omen. Catching up with Danny had left me reeling. But the last person I wanted to see, in the last place I wanted to see him, waited for me inside the NorthWest Investments lobby.

  Trevor, the most recent catch that I’d released, held up his hands in surrender. He’d made a similar gesture when I’d caught him with another woman last Christmas. The vulnerability didn’t jibe with the rest of him. He’d talked a big game and his ability to romance had completely blinded me to his bad behavior. In my book, he would always be Señor Douchebag.

  My mind began to race. What was he doing here? Had he followed me? Maybe I’d gone to the wrong place. I double checked the door and saw that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Then the pieces began to click into place. I’d applied for this summer internship last fall during the dark period when we’d still been dating. Fury burned through me as I realized what had happened.

  He’d applied for the same internship.

  Hot Summer Nights is available now!