The Shacking Up Series

by Helena Hunting

“Unless you want to lose the shorts, too, yeah.” She grabs her wine and focuses on the TV again.

  “What if I’m commando?”

  “Even better,” she mutters.

  “You do realize this is objectification, right?”

  She lifts her gaze briefly. “You asked how you could make the view better and I showed you. No one said you had to keep your shirt off.”

  I stretch an arm across the back of the couch and spread my legs. Her gaze drops.

  “What about my view?”

  She gestures to the TV. “You can always change the channel if it’s a problem.”

  “I’m not talking about the TV.”

  She looks down at what she’s wearing, stretches her legs and wiggles her toes. “I’m not wearing socks, so your view is fine.”

  “I don’t think we’re even here.” I gesture to my chest and then motion to her.

  Ruby fingers the strap of her tank. “You mean this?”

  I quirk a brow and wait.

  She doesn’t look away as she lowers her hands to the hem. I stop breathing. I stop moving. I stop everything. That camisole, the one that barely hides anything anyway, rises up, up, up, exposing her belly ring and she keeps going until it’s over her head and on the floor. She’s braless. We’re totally even now.

  I push up off the couch as she struggles to bring the footrest back up. I straddle the chair and her legs, forcing her to make space for my knees.

  “I’m not sure this chair can handle both of us.” She palms my erection through my shorts.

  The tinkle of a bell draws our gazes away from each other for a second. Francesca has found one of her toys and seems to want to play. She’ll have to wait her turn.

  “I guess we’re about to find out how much it can take.” I put one hand on the backrest, pushing to make it recline. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?”

  “Do what?” She slides one hand up my chest.

  “Fuck you in this chair. I wanted to do it that first night you were here.”

  “Is that right?” She hooks her feet around my waist.

  “It is. I wanted to bend you over, yank these fucking shorts down, and find out exactly what it was like to be inside you.” The backrest seems to be stuck. I push harder and all of a sudden it drops back with a huge crack and we land in a heap on the floor, with me on top of Ruby.

  She looks around, startled. Francesca bounds past us, down the hall toward our bedroom.

  “Huh. In my imagination we got a lot further than this though.”

  “You killed my chair!”

  “Your chair was too fragile.” I kiss her neck.

  “I love this chair.”

  I lift my head. “More than me?”

  She makes a noise and gives me a look. She’s perfectly annoyed.

  “If this chair can’t even withstand my love for you it’s worthless anyway. I’ll get you a new one. Or we can use that one—” I motion to the one that’s still intact. The huge chair we can both fit in. The one we can screw in comfortably.

  “I think you broke my chair on purpose.”

  “Untrue. If you hadn’t started taking off my clothes and then your clothes, your chair might very well still be in one piece.” I drop my head and kiss the tip of her nipple.

  Her hand goes into my hair, gripping tight to keep me there, her voice is breathy now. “I knew I should’ve moved it to my apartment.”

  I move to her other nipple. “What would be the point since you’re not going to be there much longer.”

  “I still have”—she gasps when I bite gently—“some time on the sublet.”

  I push up on one arm so I can look at her. “You don’t have to stay until the sublet is up. Besides, my place is closer to the theater.”

  “By all of five minutes.”

  “Why can’t you make this easy for me? Does everything have to be hard?”

  She smiles and tightens her legs around my waist, pulling me closer until my erection is pressed against her.

  “I like hard things.”

  I ignore the comment, although it isn’t easy. “I want you to move back in.”

  Her smile drops a little. “I thought we were waiting until the sublet is up.”

  “Do you want to wait until then?”

  “Well, it’s been the plan.” She plays with the hair at the nape of my neck. It’s what she does when we’re having conversations she’s unsure of.

  We’re still lying sprawled out on the floor. I push up onto my knees, which causes another huge crack and the top and bottom of the chair separate completely. At least there’s absolutely no way to fix it now.

  “Are you committed to sticking to the plan?” I fold back on my knees and rearrange her until she’s sitting in my lap.

  She glances at the broken chair beside us on the floor and nudges the top with her toe. “I don’t have to be.”

  “Then move back in. You’ve proven you can do this on your own and I know that’s important to you. We both know you can. I want us to do this together.”

  “Are you sure? It hasn’t been that long . . .”

  “It’s been months if you count all our video chat dates.”

  “You make it sound like bad Internet dating.”

  My stomach drops a little. Maybe I’ve read all the signs wrong and she’s not as interested in taking this to next level like I am. “Is this you skirting an answer?”

  “You’re so cute when you’re insecure.” She wraps her arms around my neck. “I just wanted to give us enough time to make sure it’s not all hormones driving us, and you know, that the sex wouldn’t get boring or anything.”

  At my narrowed eyes she leans in and kisses me softly through a smile.

  “Of course I want to move back in with you.”

  “We can clean out your apartment tomorrow.”

  She laughs. “No rush, though, right?”

  “I want what I want, and I don’t want to wait if I don’t have to.”

  “It must’ve been hell for you to wait more than five weeks between first kisses.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay, tomorrow we move me back in.”

  “And tonight we celebrate.”

  “Oooh . . .” Ruby bites her lip. “What kind of celebration?”

  I slide my hands down to cup her ass and pull her tight against me. “A naked one, with lots of orgasms. You in?”

  “Will there be naughtiness to go with the nudity and the orgasms?”

  “Isn’t there always?”

  She doesn’t need to answer and I don’t need to say anything else. She skims my lips with her fingertips, then replaces them with her mouth.

  Every kiss is an echo of the first time. Accidental or not, some part of me recognized her as my future and now she’s mine to love.

  Acknowledgments

  To my partner and best friend, thank you for being my number-one supporter, and thank you to my family for always having my back. Debra, my soul sister, my girl-bestie, the pepper to my salt, I love you. Thank you for being with me all these years.

  Kimberly, thank you for always being there to field questions, to be my cheerleader, my problem solver, and the most incredible agent. I’m so honored to work with you.

  To my team at SMP, thank you for making this such an amazing experience. Rose, your belief in my words still makes me all sappy.

  Jenn, Sarah, and Nina I couldn’t do any of this without all of you. I’m constantly amazed by how incredible you all are, and I’m so very lucky to have such a phenonmenal team.

  Hustlers, you are such an amazing and wonderful group of women. I’m so very fortunate to have you all on my side.

  Beavers, you’re my safe place and the best cheerleaders. I love being able to share all my boys with you!

  To my Backdoor Babes: Tara, Meghan, Deb, and Katherine, I’m so glad I have somewhere to talk about inappropriate things.

  Pams, Filets, my Nap girls, 101’ers, my Holidays and Indies,
Tijan, Susi, Deb, Erika, Katherine, Shalu, Kellie, Ruth, Melissa, Sarah, Kelly, Melanie, and J—thank you for being my friends, my colleagues, my supporters, my teachers, and my soft places to land.

  Jessica—thank you for kicking my butt so I can sit in a chair for a lot of hours every day.

  To all the amazing bloggers and readers who have come on this journey with me: Thank you for believing in happily ever afters.

  Acclaim for the novels of Helena Hunting

  “On my all-time favorites list.”—New York Times bestselling author Alice Clayton

  “A unique, deliciously hot, endearingly sweet, laugh-out-loud, fantastically good time romance!”—New York Times bestselling author Emma Chase

  “A hot roller coaster of a ride!”—New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent

  “Helena [Hunting] is the queen of sexy Rom Coms.”—USA Today bestselling author Daisy Prescott

  “Everything I want in a romantic comedy—sizzling chemistry, laugh-out-loud humor, and plenty of steamy hot sex. I loved it!”—Melanie Harlow, USA Today bestselling author

  “Ms. Hunting’s brand of storytelling is compelling and character-driven, and returning to it felt like getting together with a beloved friend from school days, leaving me wondering why we hadn’t caught up with one another much sooner.”—Natasha Is a Book Junkie

  “The story came alive so vividly in my mind. My heart raced, I laughed out loud, I just was completely drawn in from the very beginning.”—Aestas Book Blog

  “Helena Hunting delivers the usual panty melting steam and comical antics we’ve all come to know and love!!”—Wrapped Up In Reading Book Blog

  “Helena Hunting is one of those authors who has mastered weaving romance with smart sexy humor while integrating a touching story line with raw emotional undertones that can pull all the heartstrings.”—Four Chicks Flipping Pages

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  SHACKING UP. Copyright © 2017 by Helena Hunting. All rights reserved. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.stmartins.com

  ISBN 978-1-250-13332-8 (e-book)

  ISBN 978-1-250-15047-9 (trade paperback)

  First Edition: May 2017

  Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, ext. 5442, or by e-mail at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

  HOOKING UP

  HELENA HUNTING

  An Imprint of St. Martin’s Press

  For Debra. You’re the pepper to my salt, always keeping it spicy.

  Prologue: No More Bad Boys

  Amie

  I scan the room, searching for familiar faces—anyone in my department at Moorehead Media who I know well enough to strike up menial conversation with. As I perform my visual sweep, I note a small cluster of men at three o’clock. The cluster effect isn’t unusual. This entire party is made up of human semicircles, half of them wearing fake smiles, feigning interest in conversations, the other half using it as a means to conduct business under the influence of alcohol.

  My gaze snags and catches on one man in particular. He’s not engaged in his semicircle discussion. I know this, because he’s looking at me. Or at least he’s looking in my direction. He’s dressed like every other man in this room—dark suit and tie—but his face, dear lord, is stunning. High cheekbones that belong to a model, strong jaw, plush lips, perfect nose, eyes framed with thick lashes. His dark hair is cut short and styled in a way that reminds me of a 1950s mobster. Clean cut, refined, exactly the opposite of my usual type.

  I keep my hands cupped around my empty glass rather than giving in to the urge to fidget.

  After what feels like far too many seconds of prolonged eye contact, the same heat that caused my cheeks to flush moves through my body, making my scalp, among other places, tingle. I look over my shoulder, just to make sure it’s really me he’s staring at so intently. Behind me is a group of women in their fifties, so unless he’s into MILFs, I’m the focus of his attention.

  A smile pulls the corners of his mouth up, flashing white teeth and popping a dimple. He absently addresses his group and then he’s moving in my direction. I don’t think I know him. I’d remember a face that gorgeous. As he closes in on me I note how arresting his eyes are. A shocking shade of blue, made more vibrant against the dark hair. His patterned tie matches his eyes. I’m sure it’s purposeful.

  He stops when he’s just inside my personal space, the tiniest bit too close to be perfectly comfortable for strangers. His smile grows, his dimples deepening, eyes searching my face with an expression I can’t quite read.

  “Hi.” His voice is a gentle caress that begins at the column of my throat and travels down my body, all the way to the sensitive place at the back of my knee.

  “Hi.” I break the eye contact for a moment, unnerved by his intensity. I take in the rest of him in the seconds of visual disconnection. He’s a big man, broad with heavy shoulders and thick arms. I imagine there’s definition under that suit based on the tapered waist. His dress shoes are two-tone black and white brogues, as if he’s flipping off the pretension of this party with his choice of footwear.

  He chuckles softly, bringing my attention back to his face. He shakes his head, tilting it to the side as his grin becomes sheepish. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . you’re just . . . wow. I’m Lexington.” He extends a manicured hand.

  “I’m Amalie.” The awkwardness seems to cut through the intensity. At least until I slip my fingers into his palm. The jolt of energy that floods my body forces me to suppress a shudder.

  He envelopes my hand in both of his. “Amalie. That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I’d say the most captivating woman in the room, really. I wasn’t sure if someone had snuck something into my drink and I was hallucinating. I’m very pleased that isn’t the case.”

  Is this guy for real? “I’m sorry, what?”

  He bites his lip and drops his gaze, almost shyly, then glances around the ballroom before turning that smile back on me. I can’t decide if this whole shy thing is part of an act.

  He makes a sweeping gesture, his gaze following his hand. “You’re a knockout. Where’s your date?” Subtle. He’s a master of flirting, that’s for sure.

  “Um, I don’t have a date.”

  “Fantastic. Hard to believe, but great news for me.” He lifts my hand and bends his head. The cuff of his shirt pulls up, exposing a sliver of colorful ink at his wrist. Maybe he’s not quite as clean cut as I first assumed. I wonder how far that ink goes. Alarm bells go off in my head as his soft, warm lips brush the back of my hand.

  The electric snap of lust has me snatching my hand away. My mouth is suddenly desert dry. What the hell? I laugh, but it’s a needy sound. I don’t know what else to do, so I take a sip from my empty glass, the three ice cubes tinkling in the bottom.

  “Let me get you a drink,” he offers.

  “Uh . . .”

  “I’m not asking you to marry me, yet.” He winks. “Just have a drink with me. We can talk. It’ll give me a valid reason to keep checking you out. It’ll be fun for both of us.”

  Oh my God, this guy is full of lines. I laugh again and duck my head.

  “Unless you’d rather cut out of the party early and catch the next flight to Vegas. Get to know each other on the way to our wedding instead? I’m pretty sure we could be back for work on Monday.”

  I’m sure my smile matches his. He’s having way too much fun with this. “I’ll take the drink.”

  “You sure? I can hook us up with a private jet. We could engage in all the wedding night festivities on the way, you know, just to make sure we’re compatible and we’re not making a mistake.”

  “You’ve got this all mapped out, do
n’t you?”

  “Not at all. Flying by the seat of my pants, really. I was just giving you options since you seemed on the fence about the drink.”

  “I think a drink is a good place to start.”

  “Cautious. I like that. What’s your poison?”

  Men like you. “A vodka-soda would be lovely.”

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t disappear on me.” He winks again and then moves through the crowd toward the bar.

  I exhale a deep breath. I really shouldn’t be encouraging him. I’ve promised myself I’m going to take a break from dating after the last fiasco. One of my most recent mistakes in the man department told me he was in the import-export business. It wasn’t until we were on our way back from a weekend trip to Mexico that I discovered he wasn’t talking about legal imports.

  Twelve hours detained in an interrogation room in a Mexican airport, followed by a long trip home with my irate father had me promising not to make any more of these bad decisions. But it’s been two months of celibacy and movie nights with my best friend, Ruby. A drink and a little flirting can’t hurt.

  “Amalie Whitfield?”

  I glance up to find a handsome, vaguely familiar man standing in front of me. He has sandy blond hair, warm blue eyes, and a straight, regal nose. “Hi. Hello.”

  He leans in, a soft smile on his lips. “I’m here to save you.”

  “I’m sorry?” Maybe there’s a full moon tonight.

  “From my cousin, Lexington. I saw him talking to you a moment ago and I felt I should warn you. He’s got quite the reputation in this circle with women. I wouldn’t want you to get caught up with someone like him.”

  “Oh, uh . . . thanks?” Of course I attract the bad ones.

  “I’m just doing my due diligence, saving a beautiful woman from making a terrible mistake.”

  I laugh, disconcerted. The last thing I need is to disappoint my parents again, or almost end up in prison.

  “I’m Armstrong.” He extends a hand and I take it. He lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckle. “Are you enjoying my party?”