Spring Fling Page 8
“Slow down, Speed Racer. We’re not anything.” The words hurt as I spoke them, but sometimes the truth did.
“He could move back to Atlanta.” She lit up as if I hadn’t spoken. “It’ll be perfect.”
“Did you hear me?”
She waved her hand around. “Yeah, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said you don’t know what you’re talking about,” she reiterated slowly. “Once I got over my initial rage—”
“You couldn’t be mad at me over that,” I interrupted. “The two of you don’t even remotely look alike, and you’ve never shown me a picture.”
“Not at you.” She waited for me to catch on. Eventually I figured out she meant Doyle. “Anyway, when I saw you and Hale together, I finally understood why you’ve always been so restless. You’ve been waiting for him, even though you didn’t know it.”
“He aggravates me,” I admitted, but she was totally right about the energy part. We had that in spades. Whether it was positive or not was a different story.
She clapped her hands together. “That’s what makes it so fun.”
“It was just a thing here.” I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince myself of that or Roxy.
“Whatever you say.” She yanked the towel from her head and shook out her hair. “We’ve got our work cut out for us though. Hale isn’t going to be happy you didn’t go after him.”
“We had an argument.”
“Right before he left, did he hang around by the door?” she demanded.
“Yeah…and?”
“You might have to apologize—”
“For what? I didn’t do anything wrong.” Except stand there when he confessed he was broke and nearly homeless. What kind of selfish person was I? When I’d had nowhere to go, he’d given me a place to stay.
“Just for anything. All he wants is an ‘I’m sorry’.”
“Nobody wants a hollow apology,” I argued.
“It’s not hollow. You’re sorry he’s not here right now.”
Damn it. She had a point.
“Are you good here with Marco? Or do I need to hang around?”
“Get out of here. Anelise shouldn’t be manning the library on her own anyway.” She shooed me with both hands. “Tell my brother he better call me.”
* * *
I missed a direct flight to Atlanta by fifteen minutes.
I’d hoped to catch Hale at the airport or on the plane. That hadn’t happened, but at least Roxy had given me his phone number. Unfortunately, it went straight to voicemail every time I called. As soon as I made it to Hartsfield-Jackson, I’d try to reach him again.
After waiting three hours for a flight that was going to Miami and then Atlanta, I was finally on board and settled in my first-class seat. Back to reality. Except nothing felt the same.
I couldn’t put myself back into a box I didn’t fit in any longer. Sure, I was still me, but at home, I was the buttoned-up version of myself. I didn’t want the librarian who improvised with underwear for a bathing suit to be put on a shelf. Risks were okay to take. There was one person who had given me the safety to figure that out. One who helped me past a hump I hadn’t been able to get over on my own. One who made me burn up reminders that held me back. One who calmed me and set me on fire at the same time.
“Miss, can I offer you a beverage?”
I started at the flight attendant’s voice. She waited for a response with a plastic smile.
“No, thank you,” I said tightly.
She moved on, and I slumped in my seat. I’d missed Hale by fifteen minutes. Fifteen.
“Sir, can I offer you a beverage?”
“Painkiller, please.”
I jolted upright and slowly turned toward the aisle and found myself eye level with dark denim. Up, up, up my gaze went until it landed on familiar dark eyes.
“You’ve got something that belongs to me.”
My heart stopped for a second before stuttering back to life. I rifled through the seatback pocket in front of me and held out the barf bag to Hale, who stood in the aisle. “This what you’re looking for?” I joked, even as a thrill went through me that he was here.
He squatted down next to me, his large frame taking up most of the aisle. “I don’t have anything to offer you. Not even a peppermint, if you can believe it.” I swallowed hard when he ran his knuckles down my cheek. “You’ve showed me what life can be. That even when stuff falls apart, it’s not the end of the world. If every day with you is like the last two, I want more.”
“Because you’ve never had more fun.” My favorite words tumbled out as I stared at him.
“Never.”
“Sir, please take your seat.” Legs and a skirt were all I saw of the flight attendant. Hale was completely my focus.
“If you get throw-up on your shirt, the only extra I have that fits you doesn’t have any buttons,” I said, angling my knees out so he could get in the seat by the window.
He tilted his head to the side. “Did you take one of my shirts?”
I nodded and grinned. “Maybe now I won’t have to burn it.”
He stepped over my legs and settled in next to me. I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his face to mine.
“I get an F in the ‘no strings attached’ part of this.” I kissed him before he could respond.
His mouth molded to mine as his hand cradled my head. There was a heat and a sweetness in his touch. Once again, my world righted itself.
He rested his forehead on mine. “I owe Roxy. She told me what flight you were on and upgraded my ticket.”
I couldn’t be mad about that. “I thought you were already gone.” I pulled back so he could see my face. “But I’ll always come after you. Even if it takes me a few hours to figure it out.”
He ran his thumb across my lips, a satisfied expression on his. “You won’t have to. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Your drink, sir.”
Hale accepted the Painkiller without looking up. He lifted it as if in toast. “This reminds me of a woman I met in the islands.”
“She better be a librarian with a penchant for thongs.”
“The one and only.” He grinned and offered me a sip.
“The ones at the resort were better.”
“Because they were all rum.”
I smacked him in the arm. “Those drinks are the reason we ended up here.”
“Nope. It was a sick kid, Roxy, and my charming personality. The alcohol had nothing to do with it.”
“I still don’t know if I even like you,” I said, unable to keep the smile off my face.
“You do,” he assured me. He took my hand as the plane rolled back from the gate and leaned in conspiratorially. “And I more than like you.”
Six Months Later
Smithe
* * *
“I’m here for the Sexcapades Book Club.”
Two familiar hands planted on the reference desk.
I darted my gaze around and found the stacks empty before I slipped on my serious librarian mask. “That’s a very exclusive book club. We don’t let just anyone in.”
Hale leaned closer, his minty scent invading my space. I inhaled automatically, never able to get enough.
“Glad to hear that.”
I pretended to scrutinize his face when I already knew every detail. “Hmm, I don’t think you qualify.”
“I’m a founding member.” His chest puffed out.
“Who told you that?”
He plucked a piece of soft peppermint candy from the bowl I now kept on my desk and popped it into his mouth. Then he rounded the wood furniture without a single regard for my personal space.
He rolled my chair back and rested his ass on the edge of the desk, positioning his legs between mine.
“I got an order.”
“You did?” I said, far too loudly for the library. “One of the local hotels?”
“A resort. A wh
ole chain of them.”
“What?”
For the first time in weeks, the stress lines on his face seemed a little less pronounced. Since we’d returned from the Caribbean and decided to make a go of our relationship, he’d survived off small orders around the Southeast, and Roxy had forced him to take a loan from her when she’d found out he was in trouble.
“Remember that champagne flute I told you I gave to the manager of the resort in Antigua? The one I designed?”
“Yeah.”
“He just called me. He’s had the glass on his desk since I left.”
“I thought he blew you off.”
“He did, but his boss from the corporate office saw it last week and loved it. Now they want a thousand of them.”
I jumped up from my chair and threw my arms around him. “I knew you could do it.” I kissed him until we were both out of breath.
“That’s a little inappropriate for work, isn’t it?” He dipped his head for one more taste.
“Totally, but I like to live on the wild side.”
“Lucky me.” He squeezed my hip. “There’s more.”
“What else?”
“Pack your bag, Patch. We’re going back to Antigua.”
“We are?”
“Next week. The corporate guy wants to see my designs for the dinnerware in person,” he said proudly.
“Are you serious?!” I squeezed the life out of him in my excitement.
“One hundred percent. The parent company for the resorts is based in London. We haven’t nailed down anything yet, but he wants to meet about me supplying the tableware at the four new properties they’re slated to open in the next two years. And they’re interested in making the champagne flute, and matching wine and water glasses, their exclusive stemware.”
“Hale.” I cupped his face, tears stinging my eyes. “I can feel it. You’re going to get that whole account.”
“We are. If you weren’t behind me—”
“You did this,” I insisted.
“You’ve supported me when there wasn’t much of a reason to.”
“I believe in you.”
He hugged me and nuzzled my nose. “Can you come home early?”
I checked my watch. “Hang out for thirty minutes, and it’ll be time to go anyway.”
“I can do that.”
I rolled up on my toes and touched my mouth to his ear. “The book club meets at our house tonight.”
“I get to pick the topic.”
“And what’s that?”
“Honeymoon sex.”
“We’ve already covered that, remember? We started the club on my best friend’s honeymoon.”
He snaked his arms around me and rested his forehead against mine. “I was thinking this time, maybe it could be ours.”
* * *
The End
* * *
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Afterword
Ideas for stories come from all kinds of places, many of them based on actual events. We didn’t have a lot of criteria for this project. The main thing was a getaway fling. Immediately, those gorgeous looking couples resorts in the Caribbean came to mind. If you’re in the US, you’ve probably seen the commercials with the white sand, turquoise water, and frolicking lovers. The problem was we needed a way to get two singles together on an island of attached people.
Here comes the part loosely based on a true story. We took liberties to make it fit the book, but the part where the mother on the plane tells her son “This time when you throw up, try to get it in here.” and hands him the vomit bag is true. Only in real life she said that after a man in the seat next to her child refused to swap seats so she could sit beside her little boy. The man got up so fast after that you’d have thought the seat was on fire.
We changed it up a little, but this did the trick to get Smithe and Hale together. And we loved every second of their journey. They made us laugh, tugged on our heartstrings, and sent us to Costco for a giant tub of soft peppermints.
And what about that Roxy and Marco? They are something else. In case you want more of them (we definitely do!), your wish will be granted. Make sure you’re subscribed to our newsletter for more details when we have them.
Remember Roxy and Smithe mentioning their co-worker back home? The name Anelise came from a contest we had in our reader group, Addicted To Love Stories, on Facebook to have members names in an upcoming story. And here’s something we haven’t shared anywhere yet—-Anelise is going to meet her match. Let’s just say there’s going to be some love in the library stacks.
Until next time, thank you for reading and reviewing. We love each and every one of you.
* * *
XOXO,
Grahame Claire
Bonus fun fact: Grahame has actually vomited on a plane during takeoff. (Airport lounges, Bloody Marys, and high rates of speed do not mix well. She has not had a Bloody Mary since.)
Also by Grahame Claire
PATHS TO LOVE SERIES
It’s Not Over
Three Dates
Righting Our Wrongs
Heartbreaker
Dangerous Redemption
Thick As Thieves
About the Author
A writer. A blogger. United by our love of stories and all things romance. There was definitely some insta-love. Hello? Books involved. A little courting. A lot of writing. The result...Grahame Claire.
Soulmates. Unashamed of our multiple book boyfriends. Especially the ones that rooted in our heads and wouldn’t leave us alone. Don’t worry. We’ll share.
Pleased to meet you.
Our favorite thing about being an author is you, the reader. So please, reach out. If you want to get on the exclusive mailing list (trust us, you do), you can do that at www.grahameclaire.com/newsletter.
Let’s chat books on Goodreads. We can gossip about our book boyfriends on Twitter at @grahamewrites, Facebook at www.facebook.com/grahamewrites, Instagram @grahameclaire, or send us an email anytime at grahame@grahameclaire.com.
* * *
Follow us on BookBub at www.bookbub.com/authors/grahame-claire
For Chloe.
I love you.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Also by Parker S. Huntington
About the Author
* * *
Emery Winthrop
Eighteen Years Old
* * *
If you want to date a boy Daddy doesn’t own, you’d have to leave the state, I reminded myself as I snuck my way from Daddy’s mansion to the servants’ quarters. The chill of the North Carolina winter taunted me, nipping at my bare arms. Like it was trying to tell me something. Maybe even stop me.
It knew where I was heading.
Who I was headed to.
Reed Prescott.
Love of my life.
The man I’d pined for since his daddy took a job as my daddy’s groundskeeper. Mr. Prescott moved his wife and two sons here, and I’d been in love with Reed Prescott since.
Don’t worry, Emery. You know what you’re doing. It’ll be worth it.
Tucked beside a purple heart pergola was the Prescott’s tiny two-bedroom cottage. I slipped my key into the back door lock and turned it as quietly as I could. The door creaked and so did my steps as I slithered past the kitchen and crept into Reed’s bedroom.
/> Reed was the school’s golden boy. A blond-haired, blue-eyed, All-American Southern boy with a charming drawl and a reliable smile. And those two dimples. One on each side, each time he smiled.
God, I loved him. Every time I saw him, my stomach quaked like it’d been hit by an avalanche, and tonight, I was going to sleep with him. I was going to sleep with my best friend.
“Are you awake?” I winced. My voice had come out tentative, but the Southern drawl still filled the room louder than I’d intended.
I took a step deeper into the small space and shut the door behind me without turning on the lights. No sense in waking Mr. and Mrs. Prescott. Not a hint of moonlight filtered in past the black-out curtains, but I’d been in Reed’s room enough to reach his full-size bed in the center without missing a step.
“Wake up,” I urged, not quite knowing what I’d say when he did, indeed, wake up.
Reed had friend-zoned me in elementary school, but I planned on changing that tonight. He stirred in the bed, rustling the sheets as I took a seat on the edge and shook his shoulders a bit.
“It’s me.” I exhaled all my uncertainty and made my move, straddling his bare chest before he could say anything. Pressing a finger to his lips, I spoke before he could, “Don’t say anything.” Don’t stop me. “Please. I just… I’ve been waiting too long. I want this. I want you. Now.”
He didn’t say anything, so I shook his shoulder again and whispered, “Wake up.”
Slipping my silk robe off my body, I tossed it to the floor. My lace bralette and matching panties might as well have been nothing with how naked I felt right now. Reed’s hands met the narrow curve of my waist, lazily, as if he was still half asleep. The sheer size of his palms made me feel little as I rubbed myself against his broad chest.