A Joss & Braden Novella

STARS OVER

CASTLE HILL

SAMANTHA YOUNG

Samantha Young is a New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author from Stirlingshire, Scotland. She's been nominated for the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Author and Best Romance for her international bestseller On Dublin Street. On Dublin Street is Samantha's first adult contemporary romance series and has sold in thirty countries. Samantha's YA contemporary debut The Impossible Vastness of Us releases from Harlequin Teen, June 2017.

Visit Samantha Young Online:

www.authorsamanthayoung.com

@AuthorSamYoung

Samantha Young’s Adult Fiction

On Dublin Street Series

On Dublin Street

Down London Road

Before Jamaica Lane Fall from India Place Echoes of Scotland Street Moonlight On Nightingale Way Until Fountain Bridge (Novella) Castle Hill (Novella) Valentine (Novella) One King’s Way (Novella) Stars Over Castle Hill (Novella) Hart’s Boardwalk Series

The One Real Thing

Every Little Thing

Standalone

Hero

Into the Deep Series

Into the Deep

Out of the Shallows

Published by Samantha Young

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © Samantha Young, 2017

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

Cover Design by Samantha Young

Stock photos provided by Deposit Photos © Konradbak & © StockCube E-Book formatting by Indie Formatting Services

For the readers all over the world who embraced Joss and Braden with more love and support than I could ever have hoped for.

THE WORLD WE MADE

Usually when I finished a book I felt a level of apprehension before sending it to my agent and editor. That was natural, I guessed. But as I watched my printer whipping out the novella I’d spent the last month writing, I had to admit that what I was feeling was a different kind of apprehension.

This was the first time I wanted Braden to read one of my stories before anyone else. Even before beta readers.

It was mostly due to the personal nature of the story.

“Mum!”

I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing my twelve-year-old daughter was about to bust into my office, even though my “Crabbit Writer at Work” sign was on the door. Everyone in our family knew I only put the sign up when I was in the zone and really didn’t need interruptions creating havoc with the flow of words.

Braden bought me the sign. After eighteen years in Scotland, I knew that crabbit meant “grumpy as hell.”

As much as I appreciated the sentiment, I argued that I was not grumpy.

I was temperamental. There was a difference.

Braden just laughed but I was being completely serious.

I told him that, too.

He laughed harder.

Impossible man.

“Mum!” Beth threw open my office door but I was braced for it. I was already facing the door, waiting to hear her latest catastrophe or thrilling story. Every day in a preteen’s life was wonderful and horrifying and life or death.

At least in my preteen’s life.

“Mum, we need to go shopping on Thursday night. Please! It’s Cassie Hogan’s birthday party and I can’t go in a dress that everyone in my class has already seen.”

“You own a thousand dresses.”

Beth made a face. “Mum, let’s not exaggerate.”

“No, because we wouldn’t want to do that.”

She ignored my sarcasm, very much used to it and adept at it herself. “Please, Mum. Amanda and Sarah said they’re getting new clothes for it.”

“And if Amanda and Sarah ju—”

“Don’t say ‘jumped off a bridge.’ Everyone says that. And you’re a writer, Mum. Doesn’t that mean you have to be original or something?”

I stared at her, trying very hard not to burst out laughing. It would only encourage her and the girl teased me enough. I didn’t think a day had gone by when she didn’t tease me about my accent. Living with Braden for so long, I’d picked up Scottish inflections in a way I hadn’t when my mom was alive. Now I had this weird American-Scots accent that Beth loved mimicking. “I’m sorry, were you asking me for something?” I asked.

Beth smiled sweetly. “Please, Mum.”

Shopping. Hmm. I knew only one way we’d get through it.

Ellie.

Ellie was much better at the shopping thing than I was. It was hilarious how my kid could be so much like me, and yet such a girly girl like her Aunt Ellie. Beth had more clothes and shoes and nail polish and pink and posters of an irritating, globally successful boy band on her bedroom walls than twenty preteen girls put together. “Fine. But we’ll ask Aunt Ellie if she’s free to come with us.”

Beth patted my shoulder, giving me an unintentionally (or at least I hoped) patronizing smile of sympathy. “Already did. We both know you hate shopping. I only asked you to join us out of politeness.”

“And I have the credit card to pay for the dress,” I reminded her.

“That too!” Beth grinned cheekily and sauntered out of my office. “Mum’s busy,” I heard her say snottily.

“You went in!” my nine-year old son replied.

“I’m older.”

“That’s your answer for everything,” Luke whined as he barged into the room. “Mum,” he raced toward me with all the exuberance and energy of his age. Fuck, I envied him. “Where’s my football socks?”

I brushed his dark blond hair off his face and he ducked to the side to avoid any more grooming. “Which ones?”

“My lucky ones,” he said, like it was obvious. Only nine, and already giving me the “duh” voice. I wanted him to be four again and always running to his mommy for cuddles.

“Damn time and its envy,” I muttered.

Luke made a face. “What?”

“Remember talking rule number two.”

“Mum,” he whined, lolling his head from side to side, “I’m too old for that.”

“Rule number two,” I insisted.

“It’s not ‘what,’ it’s ‘pardon.’” He rolled his eyes.

Seriously. I was so sure the rolling eyes thing happened later with boys. Of course, Beth had been rolling her eyes at me since she was three.

“I haven’t washed your lucky socks yet. You don’t have a game until next Saturday.”

“But I’m going to play Five-a-Side on The Green with Allan.”

“And you need your lucky socks for that?”

“Yeah. I want to win.”

“Baby, I’m guessing by how thin those lucky socks of yours are getting, they only have so many more games in them. Do you really want to waste their luck on a non-game game?”

As he opened his mouth to speak, I said, “And you’re not playing Five-a-Side football that far away from the house.”

I had to stop myself from smiling. When my son frowned, he frowned. Somehow he managed to put all of his face, not just his brows and eyes, into the expression. It was impressive. And adorable. Which I’m sure is not at all what he was going for. “It’s only five minutes away.”

“In a city, five minutes away is far enough for some miscreant to steal you from us.”

“What’s a miscreant?”

In answer, I handed him my dictionary. Accustomed to my method of teaching them to reach for knowledge themselves as much as possible, Luke flipped through it for the answer. “Did you ask your dad if you could go?” I said.

“Yes, but he said no.” Braden strode into the room with our youngest, Ellie (so named after her aunt), in his arms. Ellie was eighteen months old and already a total daddy’s girl. I couldn’t blame her really.

Right now, however, Braden was scowling at Luke. “What have I said about going behind our backs to ask the other once one of us has said no? When one says no, the answer is no, Luke.”

Luke scrunched up his face, and I could sense a tantrum on the horizon. “I’m bored!”

Yup.

“And I said that I’d come with you if you wanted to play football on The Green.”

“No one else is bringing their dad! I’ll look like a wee kid!”

“News flash,” Braden leaned down, shifting Ellie in his arms, “you are a wee kid. And if you raise your voice at me again, I will ground you for a week.”

“Ground me, then, because I cannae go out anyway!”

“It’s can’t,” I threw in.

“Cannae, cannae, cannae!” he yelled, jumping up and down.

I winced. My kid was loud when he wanted to be. Too loud! “Ah, can it.”

“Right, you’re grounded,” Braden declared.

“Oops!” Ellie cried out and then giggled.

Braden and I looked at each other and struggled not to laugh.

Luke was not in the mood for laughter. “Mum!” he hurried over to me, shifting from side to side like he needed to pee. “Tell him!”

“Kid, bring the noise level down. And you heard your dad. You’re grounded. Believe me, it pains me more than you.”

“Ha ha!” Beth shouted from outside the door.

“You’d better be laughing at your own brilliant thoughts, Beth Carmichael, and not at your brother’s incarceration!” I called.

“Definitely the first one.” She peeked her head around the doorjamb. “And not the funniness of Luke talking himself into a grounding.”

“Shut up!” Luke lunged toward her and Braden caught him by the back of the shirt as Beth took off squealing.

“Oops!” Ellie cried again.

“We need to teach her a new word.”

“I don’t know,” Braden said, letting go of Luke, “it does seem to fit the situation when she uses it.”

“Oops!”

“Or not,” I said.

He snorted as Ellie reached out her little arm toward Luke. “Uke! Uke! Want Uke!”

Luke obliged and held out his arms for her. Once she was settled in his strong little-boy arms, my chest filled with more emotion than I could cope with. “I wish Beth was like you, Ellie,” he said.

Braden smirked. “Don’t worry. One day she’ll be old enough to be just as annoying. Enjoy this while you can.”

Luke sighed, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Fine. We’ll watch cartoons. Since I’m grounded.” He grumbled to his little sister all the way out the door.

And there was blissful quiet in my office.

Braden turned to stare at me.

I stared back.

And then I huffed, “You’re the one that wanted kids.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who was so damn sexy I couldn’t keep my hands off you or my powerful, baby-making semen out of you.” He grinned.

I wrinkled my nose. “Charming.”

“Always, babe.”

“Okay, I thought you knew this already but clearly not, so heads-up: Semen? Not a sexy word.”

He wandered over to me, sliding his hand around my waist to pull me into him. “Noted.”

I melted into his strong heat, unable, even after all these years, to be in a room with my husband and not eventually end up attached to him in some way.

He kissed the side of my neck, and then my printed manuscript caught his eye. “What are you working on?”

“On that subject … my ‘Crabbit Writer at Work’ sign apparently no longer works.”

“Do you want me to get something with a more aggressive tone?”

“Like, ‘Fuck off’?”

“I think that might offend our kids.”

“I don’t think anything offends our kids. We grew those babies with abnormal amounts of emotional thick skin and way too much energy.”

He laughed and reached for the paper. “Enough of the subject change. What is this?”

I turned to face him, absentmindedly tracing patterns on the fabric of his shirt at his chest. “Actually something I wanted you to read before I consider submitting it.”

Curiosity flared in his pale blue eyes. “Oh?”

“I was approached by this author. She asked me if I’d like to participate in a digital anthology. We are to write a novella that’s kind of personal but fictional.”

“How so?”

“The concept is that I write a novella based on what might have happened to me if a pivotal moment in my life hadn’t occurred.”

He shifted, craning to get a look at the pages. “It sounds interesting.”

“That’s what I thought. So I wrote it. I chose to write an alternate reality based on what might have happened if I’d never answered Ellie’s ad for a flatmate.”

“And you want me to read it?”

I picked up the manuscript and held it out to him. “If you’re not busy.”

“Of course not.” Braden accepted the papers. “I’ll read it now.”

That little flurry of apprehension sprung to life in my belly again. “You’re sure?”

He gave me a quizzical look. “Is there anything in here you’re worried about?”

“No. It’s … you might think it’s cheesy.”

He threw his head back in laughter and then laughed harder at my scowl. He kissed the pout off my lips. “You’re Jocelyn Carmichael. You couldn’t be cheesy if you tried.”

I pushed him away playfully. “Once upon a time I would have agreed with you, but then you came along, made me all mushy, gave me three adorable kids who have completely messed up my hormones so I cry at yogurt commercials.”

Chuckling, he settled into my chair and shooed me away. “Go play with the kids. Leave me to read in peace.”

I huffed at the order but moved to exit the room.

At the door, I glanced back to watch as he settled in, kicking his long legs up onto my desk.

I imagined the first words he’d read and wondered what he’d think about where those words were about to take him …

STARS OVER CASTLE HILL

By J. B. Carmichael

AUTHOR NOTE

What if, what if, what if? I’m sure that’s a question we all ask ourselves at least once in our lives. For many of us, I’m guessing we ask ourselves it more than we’d like. Before the year I turned twenty-two, that question haunted me. So much so, I’d confused existing with actually living. But then I met a certain man and a certain young woman on the same day: a day that would change my life forever.

Since meeting them, I’ve asked myself that question a lot less. And in recent years, I haven’t asked myself that question at all.

Until someone asked me to.

What if?

And the words you’re about to read are my answer. I choose to believe this answer because I know with certainty I can’t explain that no matter what time, what day, or what age, I was fated to meet that man and that young woman.

But still … what if?

Time changes us minute by minute. Circumstance, experience, it all changes us.

So … just because you’re fated to meet someone doesn’t mean that your interactions with that person will play out exactly the same; the ending you share with them will be the same in an alternate world where you met before or after your meeting in this one.

The possibilities are endless.

And exciting.

And terrifying.

This is my what if …

THE FEAR

CLUB 39, GEORGE STREET

EDINBURGH

If someone had told me even two years ago that I would freak out about turning thirty, I would’ve laughed at the absurdity. Age didn’t freak me out. There were worse things in life than growing old.

Like never getting the chance to.

But shit fuckity shit fuck, as it turned out, I was turning thirty and freaking out.

I wasn’t where I wanted to be in life at thirty.

Glancing down at my watch as I poured a customer a draft beer, I sighed. In two hours, it would be midnight and my golden carriage of the twenty-something life was about to turn into a giant, decaying pumpkin.

My early twenties had been fine. I perfected the art of avoiding making real emotional connections with anyone and I was certain that was the way I wanted it. No, needed it. The thought of actually letting someone close enough to me for them to be worth grieving over when I lost them made me suffer full-blown panic attacks.

It was easier to be the friend and not the best friend.

Even my once best friend Rhian thought so. We used to be close in that we didn’t want to let the other too close. It worked for us. It was comforting having her there but not really there. But she married her college boyfriend, James. That changed her and we didn’t really have a lot in common anymore.

The same thing happened with my friend Jo. She worked the bar here with me at Club 39, until Mr. Good-Looking-Arty-Tattoo Guy showed up and she became Mrs. Jo MacCabe. I hadn’t spoken to Jo in … God … I couldn’t even remember how many years it had been.

The guy I was serving lifted his gaze from my breasts and gave me a big, flirtatious smile as I handed him his change. I turned away to deal with my next customer because me and men … yeah … that hadn’t happened in a while.

Like, a depressingly long time.

Like, born-again-virgin long time.

Oh, all right, it had been three years since I’d had sex. There was this incident when I was eighteen … I was sleeping around a lot and I woke up one morning with a guy on either side of me and couldn’t remember how the hell I’d gotten there.

Scary, I know.

So I quit the whole sex thing.

And then when I was in my early twenties, I had a fling with my coworker Craig after a seriously delicious kiss at the bar one night. From then on, I had a one-night stand every few months or so, to curb the need.

Until three years ago when I had a one-night stand with a guy who got extremely clingy afterwards. He started turning up at the bar and watching me. When I asked him to stop, he didn’t, and then I slammed him against the wall, grabbed his balls, and threatened to castrate him if he ever came near me again. Thankfully, he didn’t get off on stalking a woman who wasn’t intimidated by him, and I never saw him again.

So that put me off the whole one-night-stand thing.

I’d been through many a vibrator in the last three years.

God, I missed sex.

Maybe three years was enough time to trust that not every guy was a weirdo stalker.

“You’re quiet tonight, Joss?” my colleague Jeb said to me. “You thinking about writing?”

Jeb was nineteen years old and he thought it was cool that I had a book published. In fact, I’d had several published. Fantasy and paranormal fiction. They did okay. I was nowhere near as successful a writer as I wanted to be. I was currently flirting with dipping my toes into contemporary fiction. When I told Jeb that, he thought that meant I wanted my characters to be disapproving and disdainful.

I really hoped it was a case of mishearing me. I hadn’t the heart to correct him.

Plus, it was funny.

For not the first time that night, I asked myself why the hell I was still working in a club with nineteen-year-olds when I didn’t have to. My writing didn’t pay very much, but I had a huge inheritance. I hadn’t been that comfortable using that inheritance, but I started easing up on that a couple years ago. After five years of living in a student flat, I finally had enough. I was twenty-eight at the time. I needed a respectable home. So, I used a small percentage of my significant inheritance to buy a nice two-bedroom flat in Morningside. I turned the other bedroom into an office.

“So why the heck am I still working here?” I grumbled under my breath.

Oh yeah.

Because without this job, I’d be a hermit and if I wanted to write contemporary fiction, I needed to, you know … experience life. If only through others.

However, over the last year I’d started to fear getting older and ending up alone. I never thought I’d fear that. I was supposed to be happy alone.

Fuckity fuck.

My biological clock was ticking and I had to wonder if ending up alone and childless was scarier than the thought of possibly losing again to that sneaky bastard Death.

Some days I would ache deep in my chest, this horrifying longing for a child gripping me. And then other days the thought of having a child, only to lose it, scared the shit out of me.

I was a tangled mess of yucky emotions and at midnight that mess was going to look a lot messier.

“Jeb, we’re out of lime. Can you get some from the back?”

He nodded and disappeared to do so.

“A fellow American. And a beautiful one to boot,” a deep Southern voice said from my right.

I turned and found myself staring at a tall, blond, very handsome guy. He had green eyes and right now they were focused solely on me. “A fellow American. And a Southern gentleman to boot.”

He held out his hand. “Travis.”

I shook it, getting a little sexual thrill from the strength in his big hand. “Joss.”

“How long have you been in Edinburgh, Joss?”

I glanced down the bar to make sure Jeb was back and dealing with the customer who was waiting. I looked back at Travis. “Twelve years.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Twelve years and you’ve still got your accent?”

It was true I hadn’t picked up any Scottish brogue living here. I think it was because I didn’t spend nearly enough time around Scots unless I was working. And even then, we got an eclectic group of accents coming through Club 39.

“I guess not.”

“I’m here with the U.S. soccer team. I leave tomorrow.” His eyes drifted over me, blatantly sexual. “I can’t believe I’ve been here all week and I’ve only just met you.”

A snort escaped me before I could stop myself. “Really? Does that work for you normally?”

Travis grinned, unabashed. “Usually.”

“Maybe it’s the accent. That drawl probably has them panting for you over here.”

“I’m not going to lie—it definitely does.” He crossed his arms on the bar and leaned toward me so we were almost touching. “Is it working for you at all?”

I considered the handsome American. If I were a soccer fan, I’d probably be wetting my pants about now. And he was heading home tomorrow. Famous soccer player and heading home to America. Those things made me feel pretty certain he wasn’t going to turn into a scary stalker.

At midnight I was turning thirty years old.

Did I want to do that alone?

Surely that would epitomize my fears and everything I had to look forward to in the coming years.

Maybe I should fight that idea. Push my crippling issues aside for one night and have sex with this handsome soccer player to prove that I could change my life!

Before I could really think about it, I blurted out, “Do you want some company your last night in the windy city?”

Travis’s green eyes burned with anticipation. “I would love that.” He reached for a napkin on the bar and leaned over to take the little pencil I had tucked behind my ear. After he’d written on the napkin, he handed both back to me. “My hotel and room number. Stop by when you get off work.”

What the hell was I doing?

“Great.” I gave him a saucy smirk. He laughed.

“Looking forward to it, Joss.”

“See you in a little while, Travis.”

He walked away, joining a group of men who I guessed were teammates. As they were leaving, Travis threw me a smoldering look that should’ve burst my underwear into flames.

Don’t get me wrong, I tingled a little.

I think if my head weren’t so messed up, however, there would’ve been a lot more tingling.

I hated how the mind could mess with the body.

For the rest of the shift I worked in a daze, wondering what the hell I’d been thinking arranging to meet a man at his hotel room after talking to him for … oh, three seconds.

I glanced down at the napkin in my hand. He was staying in a fancy-ass hotel.

So!

Serial killers could stay in fancy-ass hotels.

He’s not a serial killer.

What was my problem? I’d gone back to strange men’s apartments.

That doesn’t make it any better.

Shouldn’t turning thirty bring with it some maturity and common sense?

“You sure you’re okay?” Jeb appeared at my side. He put his hand on my lower back and I tensed. “Su let it slip you’re turning thirty at midnight. That must be rubbish … working and turning thirty. Not having a boyfriend.”

I tried to make him spontaneously combust by mind power alone.

Unfortunately, Jeb wasn’t good at reading a situation. Instead he leaned in closer. “I usually don’t dip my wick into anything older than twenty-five but you’re fit, Joss, and you’ve got great tits. If you want, I’ll sleep with you tonight?”

Did he …

Was I …

Did he just offer me a pity fuck?

Did a nineteen-year-old boy just offer me a pity fuck?

I shuddered and shoved him away. “Ugh, Jeb, you’re a baby. Fuck. Fuck!” I made a face of revulsion and strode away from him before I decided to knee him in the balls.

I was so going to meet yummy soccer man for some sex, if only to cleanse myself of what had just happened.

***

“What the hell were you thinking?” I hissed at myself as I stood outside Room 343 at 1:30 a.m.

After what Jeb had said to me, I left him to clean up the bar after closing.

Idiot child.

Although now, I was seriously regretting my impulsive decision to come to the hotel to have sex with Travis.

Yes, I was afraid of turning thirty and being alone, something I never thought I’d feel. But wasn’t another one-night stand the exact opposite of what my heart was telling me I wanted?

You don’t know what you want.

Shit.

Feeling suddenly cold—and yes, I admit it, scared—I wrapped my arms around my waist and backed away from the door. I couldn’t go in there. Maybe I was finally growing up because the idea of having sex with a stranger didn’t appeal to me. My body wouldn’t react. At least not in a sexy way.

Decision made, I hurried down the hotel corridor on light feet, breathing a sigh of relief when I stepped into the elevator.

I was exhausted, and ready to sleep away my worries.

To my irritation, the elevator stopped on a ballroom floor. Oh God, please don’t let there be a function going on that involves the soccer team.

That would be just my luck.

Holding my breath, I waited as the elevator dinged as the doors opened. Only one man stood on the other side. A very tall, rugged-as-hell man staring wearily at the floor.

As he stepped inside the elevator, a strange current of electricity zipped down my spine, and all of a sudden I wasn’t exhausted anymore. He was so big, his powerful shoulders stretched the beautiful fabric of his expensive tuxedo as he moved. I felt overwhelmed by him as he filled the space.

I peeked over at him where he leaned against the side of the elevator and ran a hand through his hair. He had a sharp jawline, a cleft chin, wide cheekbones, and a roman nose. Dark stubble shadowed his cheeks and his hair was kind of messy, even before he put his fingers through it. Altogether, his rugged unkemptness seemed at odds with the stylish tuxedo.

And then he lifted his gaze to me; as I froze, he seemed to also.

He had startling pale blue eyes framed by long dark lashes.

He wasn’t classically handsome, but those eyes … gorgeous.

Eyes that instantly sharpened with interest as they moved down my body, lingered over my breasts and legs, before traveling back up to my face.

I felt like all the air had been sucked out of me, and the only way to get the oxygen back was via this man.

Oh boy.

THE ELEVATOR

I couldn’t ignore the sudden increased speed of my heart, of the tightening in my breasts, or the delicious flip in my lower belly as The Tux stared at me.

What was perhaps only seconds felt like hours as my whole body seemed to come alive under his pale gaze.

I liked blonds.

Always preferred them.

And yet … here I was … wildly physically attracted to this stranger who had little flecks of gray in his dark hair. His lips curled up at the corner at my blatant inspection as I responded in kind to his own inspection of me. The action caused laughter lines to appear around his eyes, and damn if that didn’t make him more attractive.

I put him in his late thirties, maybe forty, and by the way his tux fitted his broad shoulders and smoothed down his flat stomach, I deduced The Tux worked out.

The tingling between my legs grew more insistent as I pictured him naked.

As if he suspected where my wayward thoughts had gone, The Tux’s eyes darkened with unmistakable heat.

As his lips parted to speak, the elevator juddered sharply, knocking me off balance. I gripped the handrail behind me for support as my heart tried to jump out of my chest. There was a creaking noise, and then nothing.

The elevator had stopped.

Stuck.

I looked over at The Tux and he threw me a smile, his white teeth slightly crooked. That imperfect smile sent a bolt of longing straight through my chest, and I momentarily forgot the elevator situation.

“Do you think we broke it?” The Tux asked with a lazy drawl.

He had a lovely Scottish accent, soft and sharp at the same time.

“And how did we manage that?”

His grin deepened but he didn’t answer me.

Did he mean we broke it with our sexual chemistry? Because that would mean he was feeling the heat?

Had I walked away from a one-night-stand to encounter the possibility of another? Because … I wasn’t sure I could say no to this guy, no matter how much of a bad idea it was.

Of course you can say no.

You’re not an animal, not a slave to your own lust.

My eyes ran down his back as he turned to pick up the emergency phone.

I imagined what it would be like to dig my fingers into that strong back as he thrust inside of me.

“Jesus Christ,” I bit out.

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Everything okay? You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

Nope. Just fantasizing about fucking your brains out. “A little.”

He frowned. “We shouldn’t be here long. Aye,” he said into the phone, “that’s right, we’re stuck … how long … Can’t you move faster than that? … What good is that? … Fine.” He hung up and turned to me with “bad news face.”

“The company that does their lift maintenance is from East Lothian. So we have to wait for them to come out.”

“Why wouldn’t they use a city company?” I huffed.

“Because that would be too easy.”

I laughed humorlessly at his sarcasm. Shrugging out of my raincoat, I slumped down onto the floor. “Might as well get comfy, then.”

The Tux seemed to see the sense in that and unbuttoned his tux jacket before lowering himself to the floor. His legs were so long, even with bent knee the tips of our shoes touched. For some reason that made me smirk and when I looked up at him, he was smirking right back at me.

“So you’re American?”

“Once upon a time. I’ve lived here a while. Dual citizenship.”

“American Scottish,” he mused, as if he found the concept interesting. And then he leaned over to hold out his large hand to me. “Braden Carmichael.”

I stared at his hand a moment too long, finding myself studying every minute detail, from his long, elegant fingers to his big knuckles and tan skin.

He cleared his throat and I shook myself out of my stupor long enough to reach for his hand.

As skin glided against skin, I sucked in a breath. The calloused roughness of his palm against the softness of mine caused the hair on my arm to rise. Our eyes locked and I noted the slight flare of his nostrils, like he was surprised too by the literal electricity passing between us.

“Jocelyn Butler,” I managed as he tightened his grip on the shake. We stared at one another, and I wondered if he was ever going to give me my hand back. “Joss,” I found myself saying, “everyone calls me Joss.” I tugged gently on my hand and he let go with an obvious reluctance.

“What brings you to the hotel?” he asked.

I made a sexual assignation with a complete stranger and chickened out. “Hanging out with a friend who was visiting. You?”

He gestured to his tuxedo. “Young Scots Award Ceremony. I presented the business entrepreneur award. I’ve come from the after-party.”

“Oh? Carmichael … I know that name. You own businesses here in the city, right?”

“I own a few local businesses, yes.”

Now I remembered. I’d passed his estate agency, and I’d read about more of his businesses in the paper. “You own more than a few. You’ve practically got a mini-empire.”

He scrutinized me. “And what do you do, Jocelyn?”

An involuntary shiver ran through me at the way his deep voice curled around my name. “It’s Joss,” I said. No one had called me Jocelyn in a long time. That name was a part of a different life. “And I’m a writer.”

Interest arrested his features. “Published?”

I nodded.

“Anything I might have heard of?”

“Do you read paranormal and fantasy?” I said, doubting it very much.

“No.” He gave me a small smile. “I’m more of a thriller and military fiction kind of guy.”

“I would never have guessed,” I said, letting my eyes drift over his strong biceps.

Braden shot me an arrogant smolder. The man knew exactly how sexy he was. “If you keep checking me out, I may have to return the favor, Jocelyn.”

Amusement prodded at my mouth but I managed to keep a straight face. “You’ve already checked me out.”

“I meant more. I’ll check you out more.” He smiled, a teasing, deliciously crooked smile that made my lower belly do that little flip again.

“We’re in much too close confinement for that kind of behavior.”

I was joking but Braden frowned. “You sure you’re going to be all right?”

“Huh?”

“Your claustrophobia.”

Oh right. I’d said that, didn’t I? “It’s a very mild case.”

“Right.” He seemed skeptical and even more amused.

I shifted uncomfortably under his intense regard, realizing I wanted this stranger to like me. I didn’t even know him but I wanted him to like me. Such a childish, silly thing to want. I hadn’t wanted anyone to like me since I was sixteen.

My entire body locked as I stared across the tiny distance between myself and Braden Carmichael. Call it intuition, call it whatever you liked, but I had a feeling that this man was going to be dangerous to my emotions.

I wanted out of the elevator.

As if he sensed my changed mood, he frowned. “Let’s keep talking. It’ll keep your mind off it.”

Realizing he thought my mood change was to do with panicking about our confinement, I nodded. I wasn’t sure what to say after our flirty banter.

“I got a call tonight from my kid,” Braden said, leaning his head against the elevator wall and staring wearily up at the ceiling. “Her name is Abby. And she had a nightmare and snuck her mum’s phone to call me. I don’t think there’s a worse feeling in the world than not being there when your daughter has had a nightmare.”

Disappointment plunged into my chest as soon as he mentioned “her mum.” Why the hell was he flirty bantering with me if he was married? I surreptitiously checked his ring finger.

Hmm.

No ring.

Maybe they were separated, I thought hopefully.

No.

Not hopefully!

You are not getting involved with this guy. End of.

Instead I thought about what he’d said about his daughter, how forlorn he sounded. “Why didn’t you leave the party?”

His eyes came to me.

Fuckity shit fuck.

I felt that whole oxygen-deprivation thing again because when he looked at me, it was like he was looking into my soul. Wow. Cheesy.

But freaking true.

And I didn’t want him there.

“Her mum, Kiersten, and I aren’t together. She took the phone off Abby and when I said I was coming to see her, she shut me down. I only get Abby every other week. This is not my week, she reminded me,” he said softly, bitterly.

I felt a welling of emotion in my chest for him. “I’m sorry.”

He gave me a small smile. “Me too. Do you have children?”

I shook my head.

“It’ll be the best thing that ever happens to you. Just make sure you do it with the right person.”

“Why didn’t you?” I said, surprising myself with the personal question. I didn’t usually ask personal questions because it invited people to return the inquisition.

Braden studied for me a moment, and I wondered if my question was too nosy. I was about to change the subject when he said, “She trapped me.”

“By getting pregnant?” I was aghast at the thought.

“By getting pregnant.”

“Why?”

He snorted. “For my money, obviously.”

This was another reason I didn’t tell anyone anything about myself. If a guy got wind of my inheritance, there was no way to tell if that was what was motivating him to pursue me.

“But I split up with her instead. Promised to take care of her and our daughter. Which I did. But it doesn’t seem to be enough. Kiersten … she has her problems. And every day I wake up not knowing what she’ll want to barter time with my daughter for.” He dragged his hand down his face, looking so exhausted, so sad, I found I wanted to reach over and comfort him.

Impulsively, I did, placing my hand lightly on his knee. “Hey, are you okay?”

He looked down where my hand was and then up to my face as I pulled away from him. His whole face softened. “I’ll be fine, Jocelyn. I’m merely tired. But thank you.”

I gave an awkward shrug, uncomfortable with my actions and feelings for this stranger.

“I don’t usually tell strange women my business,” he said, dry amusement in his voice.

I returned it with a wry smile. “Maybe it’s my open, fluffy personality.”

Braden grinned, and I felt like I’d achieved something.

Oh boy.

Definitely dangerous.

His eyes dropped to my breasts again and I swore I felt them swell under his stare.

Sexy bastard.

Still staring at my breasts, he murmured, “I can’t help but notice you’re wearing a T-shirt that says Club 39 on it.”

I glanced down at my shirt. The owner had us wearing tight-fitting black T-shirts with Club 39 scrawled across the left breast in white font. The women’s Ts had a deep V-neck and since I was blessed with a generous cup size and a small waist, I knew I made the shirt look good.

My tips told me that.

And both my male and female customers.

“Of course you noticed that,” I said. “You’ve been staring at my boobs since you got in here.”

Braden gave a bark of laughter and I grinned. “In my defense, they are difficult to ignore.”

“I’ll let you off the hook, then.”

His appreciative smile made me tingle all over. “Club 39?”

“I work there part-time.”

“I’ve actually never been in. The club scene lost its appeal for me a while ago.”

“It’s more of a bar really. And … don’t you own a nightclub?”

“I do. Fire on Victoria Street. But my manager Isla runs the place for me.”

“I can’t even imagine what it’s like having all those businesses to take care of. Do you enjoy all that responsibility?”

“Yes. I have a head for it. And achievement is a small kind of contentment.”

“You must have started young.”

“My father was a businessman. When I was in my twenties, he passed away and I inherited what he had and built on it.”

His twenties? “I’m sorry about your dad. But wow about the businesses. By the time you hit thirty, you’d already made a success of yourself. That’s impressive.”

He seemed to sense what I was saying. “As will you, I’m sure.”

I gave a huff of laughter. “Too late for that I’m afraid.” Under his interested, questioning gaze, I found myself wanting to tell someone how I was feeling. I kept everything bottled up all the time. For once, with this man who had shared a little of himself with me, I wanted to share my fears.

And maybe it was safe to with Braden.

We were stuck in an elevator together, but afterwards I probably would never see him again, so would it matter if, for a second, I let myself be vulnerable with him?

“I turned thirty at midnight.”

His eyes warmed. “Happy birthday, Jocelyn.”

“Thank you. And it’s Joss,” I reminded him.

He smiled unrepentantly.

I rolled my eyes at his boyishness and looked up at the ceiling, avoiding his gaze as I confessed, “I wasn’t here meeting a friend.”

“Oh?”

“No. I was working tonight and I was feeling … I was feeling alone,” I whispered, scared to admit it out loud. “I’ve never felt scared to be alone, not until recently. It feels like time has slipped away, you know.” I forced myself to meet his gaze and I found only understanding.

“Believe it or not, I felt the same way when I turned thirty. Actually, it was when I was turning thirty-one.”

“With all you’ve achieved?”

He nodded. “There was still always something missing. Still is. It felt like … it felt like I’d reached thirty-one and I was supposed to have found something by then. I don’t know what. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Yes.” I nodded, understanding perfectly. “I … my writing career maybe … All I know is I never imagined feeling this way and I’m not sure I even understand. For God’s sake, a few years ago I would’ve died at the thought of telling a complete stranger any of this. I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

“And tonight? Here?”

“Oh. Yeah,” I gave him a sad, slightly embarrassed smile, “a customer flirted with me at the bar, and I didn’t … I thought I didn’t want to be alone tonight so I arranged to come to his hotel room.”

The air in the elevator thickened with Braden’s reaction. He didn’t say anything but his eyes sharpened and his body seemed to tense.

“I chickened out. I was standing outside his room, trying to make myself knock on his door, and I couldn’t. And then I ended up in here with you.”

His gaze softened, the air between us easier.

Was he … was he bothered by the idea of me being with another man?

How could he be?

“Good,” he said, his gaze drifting down my body again and back up. “You deserve better than a quick, hard fuck.”

Then why did I get the impression he wanted to push me onto the elevator floor and have his wicked way with me? “Oh? You wouldn’t want that from me?” I was skeptical.

Braden’s eyes narrowed at my tone. “If we fuck, it will be hard, but it will definitely not be quick.”

The feeling in my lower belly was like the kind of whooshing dip and flip you get on a roller coaster, and I felt the answering wet between my legs.

Holy …

Shit.

We stared at one another, the sexual tension unbearable. My chest was rising and falling fast as I tried to catch my breath.

“Say something, Jocelyn, change the subject, because if you don’t, I’m going to kiss you, and if I kiss you, I know I’m going to want to touch you, and there’s no way I’m doing that in a lift that has a camera in it.”

I exhaled sharply at the sudden fantasy of him doing all that, of the thought of his mouth on mine as his hand caressed my breast, or his long fingers dipped between my legs, or— “Don’t. None of that is going to happen,” I decided. “Not in here or ever.”

Instead of asking why, he gave me a cocky smirk that suggested he didn’t believe me.

Arrogant son of a bitch.

“It isn’t,” I insisted.

“Okay.” He shrugged. “Are we to remain just friends, then?”

“Yes. In this elevator. After that we’re strangers again. So while we’re here, you can call me Joss.”

Braden chuckled. “If you were any other woman, I’d say you were playing hard to get, but I think you actually mean it.”

“I do mean it. Is that unusual for you? A woman not throwing herself at your feet?” I teased.

“Actually, yes,” he said. “Women throw themselves at me all the time.”

I guffawed at his cockiness. “You know, you really need to work on that whole modesty thing you have going on.”

“I’ll get right on that.”

Grinning, I shook my head. “You have enough cockiness for five men.”

“It comes with age.”

“Which is?”

“Thirty-eight.”

He looked damn good. “Hmm. Nah, I bet you’ve been cocky since you were a kid.”

He shrugged.

Which meant he had been.

I bet he’d been adorable, too.

Shit fuckity shit fuck.

“So, working on your birthday? That’s awful, Jocelyn. Why didn’t you make other plans with friends?”

Uncomfortable with the sudden change of subject, I looked at my feet. “The only thing I wanted to do was go to the theater. The opera Tosca was in town. I couldn’t get tickets.”

Braden raised an eyebrow. “Tosca. Very tragic.”

“You know of it?” I was surprised.

He nodded. “Why do you like it so much?”

“About five years ago I worked with a girl who wanted to be an opera singer. She used to play it in the staff room. It drove some of our colleagues nuts, but it started to grow on me. Then one night she was playing this track that …” I shrugged. “I … I don’t know. It got to me. She told me it was from Tosca. ‘E Lucevan Le Stelle.’ Pavarotti’s version. I’d never heard anything so painfully beautiful.” My voice dropped at the end of my confession.

We were quiet a moment and I was afraid he was going to ask me why I was so touched by tragedy. I was not going there.

“It’s a wonderful opera,” Braden finally said.

“Yeah,” I forced a grin. “That’s why it sold out already. So I worked instead.”

“You didn’t want to celebrate with your friends?”

“Tell me about Abby.”

He frowned, seeming annoyed by my evasion, but I was grateful when he said, “Abby is almost six and she’s not like me at all. Very shy.” He shot me a teasing smile.

I laughed. “Oh, definitely not a chip off the old block, then.”

“Here.” He reached inside his tux jacket and pulled out his wallet. From inside, he pulled out a small photograph and handed it to me.

I took it and I felt a surge of unexpected jealousy. It was a photo of Braden with a little girl. He was down on his haunches and she was pulled tight in between his knees, their cheeks pressed together as they smiled for the camera—Braden’s big and crooked and much too attractive, and Abby’s sweet and shy. She was a beautiful child with long dark hair and stunning pale blue eyes. And I envied him her. Or I envied her him.

A knot formed in my chest and I quickly handed the photo back. “She’s beautiful. And she looks exactly like you.”

“That’s where the resemblance ends,” he said, staring proudly at the photograph. “She’s an angel.”

“If her mum is such a bitch,” I said bluntly, “then she must take that from you. Are you hiding the soul of an angel, Braden Carmichael?”

He gave me that smoldering look again as he slipped the photo back into his wallet. “Definitely not, Jocelyn Butler.”

Jump me. Jump me and rip my clothes off. Just do it! I swallowed the thought with a breathless laugh. “Then she’s an anomaly.”

“No. She’s exactly like her aunt. My sister Ellie.”

“Oh. That’s sweet.”

“Jocelyn.”

“Joss.

“Jocelyn.”

I narrowed my eyes at the thick hoarseness of my name. There was a whole lot of sex in his voice. “Braden—”

“Give me your number, Jocelyn. Let me take you out on a date.”

I contemplated it. I really did. As I stared into his beautiful eyes, felt the intensity of his attraction, of our attraction, I wanted nothing more than to say yes if only to be able to spend an entire day in bed with him. Because I had never experienced sexual chemistry like this in my life.

It seemed foolish to ignore the promise of great sex.

But there was something more in Braden’s eyes. I felt like he wouldn’t be happy with only sex. I felt like he’d get so deep inside me, he’d see my soul.

And I was ashamed of my soul.

Broken as it was.

“I can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

Apparently, I wasn’t ready to not be alone after all.

Before Braden could reply, the lift juddered to life. As it began its descent, Braden stood up and held out a hand for me.

I knew if I took it, if I let him touch me again, I might change my mind. So I gave him a sad shake of my head and pulled myself up by the handrail.

He sighed. “It’s a mistake, babe.”

A lovely flutter flittered across my chest at the endearment. “A mistake?”

“Us walking out of here and not seeing each other again.”

“How do you know that? I could be a scheming, crazy, money-hungry, raving lunatic for all you know.”

“You’re not,” he said, with all the authority of man who was used to being right.

“How do you know?”

“I just do. I feel it. And my gut instinct hasn’t let me down in a long time.”

I was quiet a moment, and I felt him waiting expectantly for an answer. If I were a different woman, with a different life, with a different heart, with a different soul, I might have reached for his hand. I might have even reached for a kiss. Because although we’d just met, a kiss wouldn’t have been out of place for us.

But I was me.

Joss Butler.

And I was going to be alone after all.

As the elevator doors opened, I turned to meet Braden’s direct gaze. “Neither has mine.”

And I walked out, brushing past the apologetic staff and maintenance guys, hurrying away from a man who excited and devastated me all at once.

THE PURSUIT

I should have known.

I think deep down, I did.

And there was part of me that was annoyed, scared, and this other part of me (the moronic part) that was thrilled.

Because apparently men like Braden Carmichael went after what they wanted and he had decided he wanted me.

My heart sped up at the sight of him entering the club two nights after our elevator encounter. It was my first shift since that night, it was early, a weekday, so the club was quiet and the music was low. At ten o’clock, I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. My eyes were drawn to the entrance to the club and I watched Braden stride in. I froze as he caught sight of me at the bar, and even across the distance, I could see the determination in his expression. He drew stares from both women and men as he strode across the club toward the bar.

But he only had eyes for me.

And when he came to a halt at the bar, he crossed his arms on the counter and leaned over. “I always get what I want, Jocelyn.”

His sheer will and utter arrogance was almost endearing and I couldn’t help the smirk that quirked my lips. “This is bordering on stalker behavior.”

However, I had experience in that. That guy had made me uncomfortable, unsettled in an unpleasant, aggravated way. I was unsettled because of the connection I felt to Braden. But to my confusion and irritation, I was really glad to see him.

He grinned that crooked, sexy smile. “You didn’t honestly think I’d give up?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Surely this gives me brownie points. I came last night too, but you weren’t working.”

“Was the intention to turn up every night until I appeared?”

“No.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “Why do that when it’s easier to ask one of your colleagues what nights you work?”

“Right.” I shot a look at Penny, throwing Braden and I curious looks. She was working last night. “They’re not supposed to give you those details.”

“I was very charming. Penny didn’t stand a chance.”

“Oh my God.” I hit him with a dish towel. “You are so full of yourself.”

The bastard laughed.

“You need to leave.”

“You don’t want me to leave. And I’m not. Not until you agree to go on a date with me.”

I stared at him, my emotions at war. The truth was when I was in that elevator with him, feeling the fear of the connection that had sprung almost immediately between us, I didn’t want anything to do with it.

And then I got home. Alone. And the minutes turned to hours turned to days in my small, empty apartment, and I started to wonder all over again about what I really wanted.

If I kept letting the old fear win, I might always regret it.

But if I tried to push past that fear and give a date with Braden a go, then surely more time with him would give me the answers I was looking for. I would know for certain what I wanted.

To be alone or not to be alone, that was the question.

He waited patiently.

“Braden.”

“Jocelyn.”

“I’ll go out on a date with you if you stop calling me that,” I bartered.

He shook his head, all sexy and serious. “No go.”

I wrinkled my nose in surprise. “Why?”

“Because when I picture us in bed together, it’s Jocelyn I hear myself saying when I come inside you. Not Joss.”

My lips parted in shock, while my whole body reacted to his words. I wondered how he’d sound as he climaxed, how he’d look, more importantly how he’d feel. I swallowed hard. “I can’t believe you said that to me.”

“I always—”

“And who said we’re sleeping together?” I cut him off, annoyed at how turned on he made me talking dirty to me. It was highly inappropriate to talk to a woman you hardly knew like that. “I said I’d go on a date with you, not sleep with you. And do you speak like that to all the women you’ve just met?” The thought angered me.

Braden shrugged. “No. I don’t. But you don’t feel like a woman I’ve just met. And I didn’t say we’d sleep together on the first date.”

“I didn’t agree to a second date. In fact, I don’t think I really agreed to a first date.”

He sighed, and the sudden seriousness in his expression made me still.

Our eyes locked in that way that made it impossible to look away. “Stop pretending to be offended, Jocelyn.”

“Stop being arrogant. Stop acting like you know me.”

“Stop denying this.”

“Fine.” I jutted my chin in haughty determination. “I’ll go out with you. But you have to stop the dirty talk and be a complete gentleman the whole night.”

He seemed surprised. “You really don’t like the dirty talk?”

I like the dirty talk too much. “No, I don’t.”

Braden studied me. And then he leaned over the bar to whisper in my ear. “Liar.”

I sucked in a breath as the scent of his deep, woodsy cologne and the heat from his body, his delicious voice so close to me, overwhelmed me. My nipples tightened and a pulse started between my legs.

Crappity shit fuck.

He pulled back a little, our faces close, our lips merely inches from each other. Staring soulfully into my eyes, he murmured, “I’ll be a complete gentleman, I promise. Just say yes.”

The blood whooshed in my ears, my heart was pounding so fast.

I nodded. “One date.”

Satisfaction flared in his eyes and I wondered, even hoped, if he’d kiss me.

But apparently he was taking his promise seriously because he pulled back, leaving me feeling somewhat bereft. He slid a card over the bar to me. “Write your number on the back.”

“Ever heard of the word ‘please’?”

He shook his head, grinning. “This whole being-a-gentleman thing is going to be hard when you keep handing me openings like that.”

I laughed and his eyes brightened with something like triumph. “Fine.” I pulled the pencil from behind my ear and wrote my number on the back of his business card.

“You know if you keep acting this excited about it, you might scare me off,” he teased and took the card back.

“I agreed to a date. You didn’t say I had to be enthusiastic about it.”

Amused, he sighed. “Jocelyn Butler, you’re going to be a hard nut to crack.”

“Hey,” I pointed my pencil at him, “there will be no cracking of this nut. Ever.”

“Now whose mind is in the gutter,” he taunted. And with a wink and a deep, sexy laugh that made me want to throttle him and at the same time kiss the life out of him, Braden walked away.

As I watched him leave the club with that confident swagger, I felt a rising panic.

“My God, you are such a lucky bitch,” Penny said.

I glanced at her. At some point she’s sidled up to me and was staring after Braden. When I returned my gaze to him, he was already gone. “You shouldn’t tell strangers what shifts I work. Or anybody else’s shifts, either.”

“What? You would have preferred me to ignore that delicious piece of male property? Did you see his suit? His watch? Joss … you’ve landed the dream with that one.”

I frowned. “He’s got more to him than his money.”

“Yeah. Charm, sex appeal, and I bet a beautifully sculpted arse.”

I grinned at her description despite myself. I bet everything about him was sculpted and beautiful. Oh to find out. “I have no intention of finding that out.”

She whipped me with her dish towel and laughed, “Liar!”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

***

The next day I was out at the supermarket getting groceries when my phone rang in my purse. My heart raced. What if it’s him?

I fumbled for my phone and sure enough, it was an unknown number. A wicked little flutter awakened butterflies in my belly.

“Hello,” I said, glad I sounded casual and not breathless.

“Jocelyn.”

The sound of Braden’s deep rumble in my ear made the butterflies go nuts. “Well, aren’t you eager?” I teased, grinning like an idiot as I walked through the cereal aisle.

“I waited twelve hours. I thought that showed restraint.”

I chuckled. “I guess.”

“I want to take you out tomorrow night,” he said, no bullshit, straight to the point.

I had to admit I liked that side of him. “Okay.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice. A dress, perhaps.”

Hmm. I didn’t like that side of him so much. “I’ll wear what I want.”

He gave a huff of laughter. “We’re going somewhere formal.”

My interest was piqued. “Formal?”

“Yes. I’ll be wearing a suit.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise, Jocelyn. Now give me your address.”

Shaking my head at his bossiness, I sighed. “You really haven’t heard of the word please.”

He was silent and I’d wondered if he’d gotten cut off. “Braden?”

“You told me to be a gentleman at all times with you.”

“And?”

“You keep giving me openings to be otherwise.”

I laughed. “It’s not my fault everything I say makes you think of sex.”

“Yes it is. You have the sexiest, huskiest fucking voice of any woman I’ve met.”

Tingles rushed through all my womanly bits at the compliment. “Let’s steer this conversation back on track because I’m in a grocery store where there are too many ears.”

“Of course,” he said, being all gentlemanly. “So. Your address?”

“Shouldn’t we meet at the place, wherever it is, instead? In case you’re planning to abduct me.”

“I’m picking you up in a taxi. I think you’ll be safe.”

I rattled off my address.

“I’ll see you at seven,” he said.

“See you then.”

“Looking forward to it, Jocelyn.” His voice had gone low, a little throaty, and definitely full of sex. But I didn’t have time to respond because he hung up.

And I was left dazed in the supermarket, wondering what the hell I’d let myself in for by accepting a date from someone who made me feel things I’d never felt before.

Things that scared the shit out of me.

***

Formal wear wasn’t something I owned so I had to go shopping. Not my most favorite thing in the world.

By the time Braden pulled up in a taxi outside my building, I was ready to go. I’d given myself plenty of time to prepare as I didn’t want to be a hot, sweaty mess when he showed up.

My phone rang as I was grabbing my wrap. Braden. “Hey, on my way down.”

“I’ll come up. What’s your flat number?”

Ah, no way was he getting in my apartment yet.

Ever. No way was he getting in my apartment ever.

“I’ll be right down.” I hung up.

When I opened the main door to the building, Braden was standing right there, waiting for me. The breath whooshed out of me at the sight of him again.

I kept forgetting how goddamn sexy he was.

He was wearing a black three-piece suit that fitted him to utter perfection. My eyes traveled over his broad shoulders, down his tapered waist and long legs. An involuntary, very sexual shiver rippled down my spine.

I was so busy staring at him, it took me a minute to realize he was devouring me with his eyes. During my shopping expedition, I’d found the perfect black dress. Knee-length with a fitted silhouette, a square neckline that hinted at my cleavage, spaghetti straps, and a sexy open back. I’d paired it with black strappy stiletto sandals.

The outfit was classy with a hint of sex.

Apparently, Braden agreed.

The heat, the undisguised lust in his pale blue gaze, made me want to run back into my apartment as much as it made me want to jump him.

Braden leaned into me and I startled. But he was only leaning in to brush a kiss across my cheek.

I smiled at my idiocy.

“You look beautiful, Jocelyn,” he said as he pulled back. His eyes narrowed and he gave me that arrogant, hot-as-fuck smirk. “Why so jumpy, though?”

“I’m not jumpy.” I skirted around him, striding toward the taxi. “I’m not very good with surprises.”

Braden moved past me, pulling the taxi door open. “I think you’ll like this one.” He took my hand and like a perfect gentleman, helped me into the cab.

When he settled in beside me, he gave me no room, even though there was plenty. His strong thigh pressed against mine. My chest felt a little tight as his huge presence overwhelmed me all over again.

I wondered if I’d ever get used to the magnitude of my attraction to this man.

Part of me wanted to tell him to take me up to my apartment so we could get the sex over with, so I could get him out of my system.

Instead I held strong, staying quiet, staying put as the taxi pulled into traffic. Obviously Braden had told the driver where we were going before they collected me.

“You’re really not going to tell me?”

He chuckled beside me. “No point. We’ll be there soon enough.”

Wherever we were going was in the city?

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look?” he said.

I glanced up at him, feeling breathless all over again at how close we were. It would take no distance at all for our lips to meet. Our eyes locked, and yes, they were full of desire, but his expression, his words, were filled with sincerity, too.

“Yes. Thank you,” I said, feeling goosebumps along the rise of my breasts. “You look great, too.”

He gave me a nod in thanks and continued to stare into my eyes.

The heat started to build between my legs. I wanted him to touch me. I’d never wanted anything so much in my life.

“Up here, then?” the cab driver called, breaking the spell.

We jerked back from one another, and I realized that Braden’s mouth had almost been upon mine before the driver interrupted us.

Braden frowned and looked outside. His expression cleared. “Yes, thank you.”

I peered out the window, surprise of the very best kind moving through me as I stared up at the theater building and the signage for Tosca across its glass front.

Speechless, I allowed Braden to pay the driver and then help me out of the cab. He didn’t let go of my hand, instead threading my arm through his as we walked up the steps toward the building.

“How?” I finally managed.

He smiled down at me. “I know people.”

I stared up at him in wonder at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you.”

He squeezed my arm. “You’re very welcome.”

And as it turned out, Braden hadn’t only managed to get tickets to an apparently sold-out performance, he’d managed to get us front row, first-level seats, right in the middle, giving us the best possible view of the stage.

As we settled into our seats, I was very much aware of how intimate the seating was. Or maybe it was because Braden was such a big man. His arm brushed mine, his knee touched my leg, even our feet touched.

Theater seats weren’t the most comfortable for a guy his size, which made me appreciate this gesture all the more.

“Did I say thank you?” I said, staring straight ahead so he couldn’t read how much he was affecting me.

However, I should have known Braden wouldn’t let me get away with that.

I felt his fingers touch my chin gently, turning my face toward him. I shivered at the touch, and the arrogant bastard smiled.

This time it was the sound of the orchestra that broke our gazes.

For a while, even as excited as I was to see Tosca, all I could think about, all I could feel, was the heat of Braden’s presence next to me. My breathing felt sharp, shallow, and I was painfully aware of every little movement he made.

Eventually, I was drawn into the opera.

Then I recognized the first strains of “E Lucevan Le Stelle” and I felt a moment’s panic. It tapped into my emotions. It made me cry, when I wasn’t really much of a crier.

I tensed, hoping my tension would stop me from falling into the moment. But I did. I forgot about Braden, I forgot about everything but the way the music and the tenor’s voice made me feel. Though I couldn’t relate to the tenor’s words, the pain in his voice while he sang … I didn’t need to understand the words to understand that kind of pain. Like always, the tears fell down my cheeks before I could stop them.

When the moment was over, I felt the gentle touch of Braden’s lips on my wet cheek. I closed my eyes as his kiss lingered, and more tears spilled beneath my lids. He felt the new tears and in response, his fingers lightly caressed my naked arm in comfort.

When he slowly pulled away, I stared at my lap, unable to meet his eyes.

This time he didn’t push me. Instead he laced his fingers through mine and refused to let go of my hand for the rest of the opera.

***

As we were leaving, I was silent due to my emotional response to the opera. Braden put his hand on my back and it was like being touched by electricity.

My nipples tightened and the soft fabric of my dress felt like a caress, I was so sexually aware of him. But it was mingled with something more than mere physical attraction now.

That connection I’d felt to him in the elevator was back with a vengeance. It did not want to be ignored, and as Braden guided me out of the theater, I wondered how I could possibly try to pretend it didn’t exist.

“I’ll get us a taxi,” he said, pulling me closer into his side as I shivered in the cool night air. “Take you home.”

I tensed in surprise because I hadn’t expected the night to end after the opera. Usually these kinds of dates were followed by drinks at a bar or something, right?

Or in bed.

I glanced up at him and as if he read the confusion in my eyes, he smirked, obviously pleased. “I promised to be a gentleman, Jocelyn. If I don’t take you home now, I don’t think I can hold to that promise.”

“You say that as if I would let you not be a gentleman? I do have a choice, you know.” It came out sharp, a little snotty even, because he had me frazzled. He had me backed against an emotional wall, and my defenses were up.

In answer, he trailed the back of his knuckles along my naked spine and I shivered. Visibly.

I glowered at his smug reaction.

Braden threw his head back in laughter.

And I wanted to laugh with him too. I wanted to curl into his body and feel the vibration of his joy against me.

But all of that terrified me.

I was glad when Braden called for a taxi and it appeared minutes later.

Needing to be away from him, I slid to the farthest side of the bench in the cab and stared out the opposite window.

I almost breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t breach the distance between us. As the cab pulled away, I heard his soft exhalation and turned to frown at him.

His brows creased together as he stared at me.

“What is it?” I said.

Braden gave a slight shake of his head. “Looking at you … the way you are right now in this cab, the look on your face … it … I just got the strangest sense of déjà vu.”

“Maybe we’ve been here before in another life,” I cracked, glad for a distraction.

“Maybe,” he murmured, and just like that he was back to staring at me in that smoldering way of his.

I looked away, pretending control, pretending indifference.

However, it was hard to maintain the façade when Braden insisted on walking me up to my apartment.

“I’ve got the cab waiting,” he said at the main door. “I’m only walking you up to your flat. Nothing more.”

Sensing the futility of arguing with a man who was used to getting his own way, I let him do the gentlemanly thing.

Even if the seemingly simple touch of his hand on my back made me want to rip his clothes off.

“This is me,” I said, stopping at my door.

Braden looked around the stairwell. “This is a nice building. In Morningside. Not cheap.” His speculative gaze returned to me. “You must be doing better with your books than you let on.”

“I inherited money.” As soon as the words were out, I wondered why the hell I’d volunteered them.

This man … oh, he was definitely a devil or something, managing to obtain information from me that I’d kept from everyone else.

He raised his eyebrows but didn’t press the topic. Instead he moved his body into mine and I stepped back to avoid him. But there was nowhere to go as I found my back pressed to my door, Braden’s body touching mine.

He leaned into me and I closed my eyes, my breath caught in my throat.

And then I felt his lips on my cheek, and instead of relief, I felt disappointment.

My eyes opened as he drifted back from me and his expression sharpened at whatever he saw in mine.

“Fuck, Jocelyn,” he said hoarsely. “Do you even know what you want?”

I shook my head.

With a glower of frustration, Braden stepped back and turned away.

My stomach dropped, realizing I’d messed up with all my mixed signals, and I fumbled for my key in my purse, turning to face the door in case the tears I felt building in my throat broke forth.

But I felt the heat, the strength of one hand wrapping around my biceps, the other clasping the nape of my neck, and he was there, my body crushed to his as his lips covered mine. I dropped my purse, my keys, my wrap fluttering to the floor as I clung to him. The smell of him, the sexual dance of his tongue with mine, the feel of his warm hands gripping me tight it … It all overpowered me and I made a throaty sound I couldn’t control.

Braden’s hand tightened on my nape and he groaned, the vibration of it surging through me, skimming down my body like hands teasing my nipples, whispering across my belly and sliding home between my legs. His kiss grew harder, more demanding—long, drugging kisses that stole my breath. We were panting and pulling at each other’s mouths like we couldn’t get deep enough, my nails digging into the fabric of his suit.

When I became aware of his erection digging into my stomach, I was lost. My belly squeezed and I whimpered against his mouth. My need grew hungrier as Braden’s hand slid up my waist, brushing my breast and coming to a stop at one thin spaghetti strap of my dress. He broke the kiss, pulling back only an inch to gaze into my eyes. His own were dark, his lashes lowered over them, his lips bruised. I felt two of his fingers slide under my strap and then he froze.

Frustration and something else warred in his expression, and then his hand dropped back to my waist and he leaned his forehead against mine.

His grip on my waist tightened, as if he was afraid I was going to run away.

“Braden?” I whispered.

His eyes opened and he lifted his head, gently let go of me, and stepped away. “Gentleman,” he reminded me with a wry smile.

But it wasn’t his usual controlled, cocky smile. It was slightly off-kilter.

Like he couldn’t believe how explosive it was between us.

If he hadn’t stopped, I don’t know what would have happened.

I’d felt so lost in him, it wouldn’t have surprised me if I’d let him push my dress up and have his wicked way with me right in my stairwell.

“Right,” I said, a little breathlessly.

His eyes washed over me, and his expression turned pained. “Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I need to leave.”

I nodded, bending slowly down for my keys and purse, shocked by the trembles coursing through me.

“I’ll call you,” he said, drawing my gaze back to him.

Now the look in his eyes was fierce, determined. “Braden …”

“I’ll call you, Jocelyn. And you’ll pick up.”

I glared at him. “So goddamn bossy.”

He gave me a slow, sexual smile that almost lit my underwear on fire. “Babe, you have no idea.”

And on that note, he turned and sauntered down my stairwell and out of sight.

“What does that mean?” I whispered, imagining handcuffs and whips.

I shivered at the thought as I fumbled to let myself inside my apartment.

I wasn’t into the whips idea … but handcuffs … and a bossy Braden in bed?

Let’s just say I undressed and took a long, cold shower.

After freezing my butt off, I calmed down and climbed into bed, feeling exhausted.

My phone buzzed on my bedside table and I reached for it, almost afraid of it. The screen lit up and I clicked on the incoming text.

It was from Braden.

Are you free this Saturday?

Confused, I lay there, knowing that if I didn’t answer one way or the other, I wasn’t going to get any sleep. The truth was I knew what my answer would be. Braden unsettled me, but I was pushing through the fear, because as much as he unsettled me, I craved our next encounter.

Yes. What did you have in mind?

A few seconds later, he replied.

Dinner. I’ll pick you up at 7. Do you like French?

My lips twitched as I fought the desire to reply with something dirty. But I’d warned him against it, so I had to play fair.

Sounds good. See you then.

Closing my eyes, I was surprised when I got another text from him.

Night, babe. xx

Feeling the endearment deep in my chest, I didn’t reply. I laid down the phone and flipped over onto my side, fighting the sudden desire to burst into tears.

It had been a long time since I’d been anyone’s babe, or baby, or sweetheart.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.

THE DATES

We stood on Haddington Place looking down the steps to a basement shop. After having met Braden for coffee, he’d insisted we take a stroll down Leith Walk. Next thing I knew, he’d stopped us here. We were confronted by green double doors, to the left of which was a large window. It curved with the wall and was made up of many little square panes by green-painted wooden frames. Above the window was a black sign with “McNaughtans” painted in traditional gold lettering.

“What is this place?” I looked up at Braden to find him staring at me.

I found him doing this a lot.

Since our opera date two weeks ago, we’d been on one date to the French restaurant. We were now on our third date. Braden was keen, interested in me, and he didn’t mind showing it.

He was also hilarious, intelligent, confident, and kind.

Sexy as hell, too.

And although he had yet to do more than brush a kiss across my lips since our last encounter, he had not ceased in saying incredibly suggestive things to me throughout our dates. I was beginning to think he was a tease. And I was beginning to think it was a deliberate strategy to get me so sexually frustrated, I’d throw myself at him. At least I hoped that’s what it was. I actually couldn’t work out why we hadn’t had sex yet.

“You’ve never been here before?” Braden quirked an eyebrow at me, seeming surprised.

“No.”

“You? The writer? The lover of books? The wielder of words? The mistress of the pen? You’ve never been to McNaughtans?”

I rolled my eyes at his teasing. “No. I’ve never punched a man, either. That doesn’t mean I won’t.”

Braden chuckled and nudged my shoulder with his. “McNaughtans is the oldest secondhand and antiquarian bookshop in Scotland.”

I felt sheepish. “Shit.” I stared down at the shop front. “How did I not know about this?”

He shrugged and grabbed my hand, leading me downstairs. “It’s also an art gallery.”

For a moment all I was aware of was the warm strength of Braden holding my hand. My fingers wanted to tighten, hold on. Thankfully, before I could do that, the rich, musty smell of books overwhelmed me. I stopped in the store, and stared.

Old wooden floorboards and wooden shelving lined the walls; little narrow doorways led to more books, more bookshelves. Everything about the space was quaint and bookish. Deliciously bookish.

It was a special place.

Sensing my diverted attention, Braden released me and I gravitated to the nearest bookshelf. My eyes traveled over the old leather- and cloth-bound books, widening when I saw how old some of the editions were.

Books are amazing.

Obviously.

But old books … There was something extraordinary about picking up an old book and knowing that someone a hundred years before you were born had read it. An old book was a story within stories—it belonged to the story within its own pages but it also belonged to the story of all of the people who’d read it, all the people whose words it had made an impression upon.

I don’t know how long I meandered around the store, my fingertips trailing along the shelves. It must have been a while because I was startled to a stop by a hand on my waist. Braden’s deep voice rumbled in my ear and just like that, the spell the books had cast over me was broken by the visceral one Braden was casting. “It seems it was a bad idea to bring you here.” His lips brushed my ear.

I felt the heat of his body behind mine and a surge of tingles caressed my breasts. The need to lean against him and have him touch me was so strong, I was breathless. What the hell was this guy doing to me?

“I like it here.” I stepped away from him, shooting him a smile over my shoulder.

Braden stared down at me as if he were trying to work me out. “Yes. But I pale in comparison to this, right?”

I smirked and shook my head. “You don’t need me to stroke your ego, Mr. Carmichael. You know you’re interesting enough to hold a person’s attention.” I stopped, staring at an 1843 edition of The Pathfinder.

“Your attention, Jocelyn?”

At the sudden seriousness of his tone, I looked over my shoulder at him. The searching expression in his eyes made my heart speed up. It seemed he was feeling me out, creeping up on me slowly, but with every intention of eventually delving inside of me and discovering all my secrets.

No one had ever shown such interest in me before. It was at once thrilling and scary.

“You have my attention,” I admitted with a shrug. Before he could reply, I gestured around us. “How did you know about this place?”

To my relief, he accepted the subject change. “I’ve lived in this city my whole life. Plus, I used to bring Hannah here.”

“Hannah?”

“Ellie’s sister.”

I frowned. “I thought Ellie was your sister so …”

He laughed. “We have a modern family. Ellie is my half-sister. Hannah is Ellie’s half-sister.”

At my raised eyebrows, he explained, “Ellie’s mum Elodie got pregnant by my dad with Ellie after my parents divorced. Then my dad left Elodie and Elodie eventually married her husband Clark. They have a daughter, Hannah, and a son, Declan. Technically not blood-related to me, but I consider them my brother and sister as much as Ellie is.”

I felt a pang of envy and gave him my back so he couldn’t see. “So Hannah is a reader?”

“Yes. She’s twenty-two now. An English teacher,” he answered, his voice deep with affection. “As soon as Abby was born, Hannah began instilling a love of books in her. She brings Abby here now.”

“What?” I smiled curiously at the way he shook his head, as if in disbelief.

“Sometimes I wonder where the years went. It doesn’t seem so long ago that Hannah was Abby’s age and I was Hannah’s age, leading her around here by the hand.”

“It goes fast,” I agreed, feeling regret and unable to give it a source.

“Still plenty of time to make the best of life, though.”

Our eyes locked.

Braden’s were heated, determined, and they were telling me exactly how he wanted to make the best of life.

With me.

Under him.

Or maybe over him.

But definitely inside me.

Sexual flutters stirred low in my belly and dragged my gaze away. “We will not pollute the oldest secondhand bookstore in Scotland with eye fucking.”

“Well!”

I tensed at the unfamiliar voice and the indignant tone.

Braden stood before me, looking over my shoulder at the owner of said tone, and his lips were pressed so tight, I knew he was dying to laugh.

Slowly, I turned around to face a man around Braden’s age. Half-moon glasses were perched on his long nose, and he glared at me over them.

“Children visit this store, madam. We do not condone that sort of language in here.”

Madam. Ouch.

“I’m sorry.” I winced. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“See that it doesn’t.” He harrumphed and disappeared around a bookshelf.

Braden stepped up to me, barely containing his mirth, as he turned to face me. “Naughty Jocelyn.” He grinned cheekily and stepped around the corner.

I hurried after him. “It’s not funny. Now I have to buy something.”

He chuckled. “Says who?”

“My conscience. I dropped the F-bomb in an establishment that is pretty much a sanctuary of the written word at its finest.”

This only made him laugh harder.

“Anyone ever tell you that you need to grow up?” I said with little seriousness. His grown-up mischievousness was extremely appealing.

“And why would I do that,” he bent down to whisper in my ear, “when this is so much more fun?”

I shivered and pressed a hand to his chest. “Stop.”

“Why?”

“You know why?”

“Do I?”

“You’re overwhelming.”

“Good.”

I stepped away. “Let me look for a book without distraction, okay?”

Ten minutes later I tapped the glass front of a locked book cabinet. “Those!”

Braden, who had been perusing the shelves on the other side of the room, eyed the books. “I’m guessing if they’re in a locked cabinet, they aren’t cheap.”

“But it’s Spenser’s Faerie Queene. In six books. 1897. I want.”

“Careful,” he brushed his thumb over the corner of my lip, “you’re drooling.”

I grinned at him and something flared in his eyes. “Would you please just get the assistant?”

“Why can’t you?”

“The F-bomb incident,” I said.

I could hear him chuckling all the way through the store.

A warm feeling filled my chest at his amusement. A feeling I stubbornly refused to analyze.

“You?” the man with the half-moon glasses said as soon as Braden led him to the cabinet.

“Me. Sorry about before. How much for the Faerie Queene?”

“It’s quite expensive.” He put his hands on his hips. “Why? What do you know of it?”

Amused by his inquisition but not wanting to show it, I kept a perfectly serious expression. “It’s one of the longest poems in the English language, and it is an incomplete epic poem. It was published in two halves at the end of the sixteenth century and is allegorical. The poet Edmund Spenser was shown favor by Elizabeth I because it was thought to be based on her and pretty much describes her as the shi— wonderful. She gave him a pension for the rest of his life because of it.”

The man stared at me a moment and then broke into a wide grin. “A wee bit, then.”

I shared a grin with Braden as the man took a key out of his pocket and opened the cabinet.

“For all six books, you’re looking at fifteen hundred pounds.”

It was a lot of money.

I stared longingly at them. I’d studied the Faerie Queene at university. It was a favorite.

What the hell. “I’ll take it.”

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he removed gloves from his back pocket. I watched as he put them on and carefully removed the books from the cabinet. “Let’s take these up front to the cash register.”

After I’d paid and the books were carefully wrapped and boxed up for me, Braden and I left the store without even taking a peek at the art gallery.

We were quiet a moment, and then Braden laughed.

Confused, I stared up at him. Whatever he saw on my face made him laugh harder.

“What?”

He shook his head.

“What?”

“You.” He laughed. “Fifteen hundred pounds to redeem yourself for saying ‘eye fucking.’ I knew a woman who once tripped into the Mac counter at Harvey Nichols and ended up buying every product they had to balance out her embarrassment, but fifteen hundred pound books for a swear word?”

“I love these books,” I defended.

“You’re fucking adorable,” he said.

I wrinkled my nose. “Braden, I’m thirty years old and I’ve never been adorable.”

In answer, he leaned down and kissed the tip of my nose. “You’re adorable. Sexy as fuck. But adorable, too.”

I didn’t know how to respond and so I stood there looking up at him with my lips parted for words that wouldn’t come.

Luckily I was saved by the sound of his phone ringing. He took it out and gave me an apologetic look. “It’s Kiersten. I’d better answer.”

“Go ahead,” I said, perturbed by the spike of jealousy I felt at the thought of this woman who had a child with Braden. No matter what, she was always going to be a part of his life.

“Kiersten,” Braden answered. My jealousy was somewhat mollified by his flat tone and blank expression, an expression that softened abruptly. “Abby, darlin’. What is it?”

I was transfixed by the look on his face. Hearing his daughter’s voice had transformed him. It was becoming clear that Braden was a very expressive person. I’d been treated to his intensity when he was hot for me. I’d even been treated to a soft amusement that felt like affection, which was nice.

But the look on his face now.

It was deep love.

And for some reason it caused this split inside my chest, this awful, aching emptiness that I couldn’t put a name to.

It took me a moment to realize Braden’s expression had changed again. There was a storm brewing in his pale gaze. “Right … no, darlin’, don’t worry. I’ll be right there … Aye. See you soon … Love you, too, angel.” He hung up and glared at me.

I knew the glare wasn’t for me, though.

“Fucking Kiersten.” He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated.

I was almost afraid to ask. “What is it?”

“Abby says Kiersten has started packing suitcases for them.”

Dread filled me. “Are they going somewhere?”

“No.” He cursed, anger blazing from his eyes. “It’s a ploy. It’s a fucking ploy to get me over there. She knew Abby would call me.”

“What does she want?”

“The usual.” He stepped toward me, his anger changing to regret. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

I wondered what “the usual” meant but I didn’t pry. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Abby comes first. I get that. That’s how it should be.” I grinned up at him so he’d know I meant it. “I’d think you were an asshole if you didn’t go.”

He gave me a small smile and then bent his head toward mine.

My breath caught as I waited, wondering what kind of kiss he’d give me this time.

A simple brush of his lips against mine.

Except no touch from Braden was simple.

A groan of frustration escaped me before I could stop it.

Braden slid his hand around the nape of my neck in answer. Our noses were almost touching as he looked deep into my eyes with that cocky, smoldering heat I didn’t think I’d ever get used to. “Heads-up. I’m not planning on fucking you anytime soon.”

My lips parted in shock at his candor, and I scrambled to cover the fact that he had me off balance. “Not that it would be up to you whether we have sex, but can I ask why not?”

He chuckled at my uppity tone. “Because … if we fuck now before we’ve gotten to know each other better, you might think all I want from you is casual sex. You need to know I’ve set my sights on more than that from you. So as much as I want you—and babe, you have no idea how much I want you—we’re going to take this slow. Or as slow as possible. Do you understand what I’m saying, Jocelyn?”

My breath was stuck somewhere in my body, and I could feel an unwelcome prickle across my skin.

I understood what he was saying.

And it terrified me.

Yet … the thought of this being the last time I saw him terrified me more. To my own shock, I whispered, “I understand.”

His eyes darkened with heat and he kissed me again. This time his tongue touched mine for a second. “I have to go. I’ll call you.”

“You do that.” I stepped out of his hold, sensing I needed to be the one to break contact.

Braden looked a little winded and I wondered what was going on in his head.

But I didn’t ask. “I hope everything goes okay with Abby.”

That seemed to shake him out of his thoughts and grim determination replaced them. “I’ll call you,” he repeated.

As I watched him walk away, I became aware of something.

I lifted my hand and stared at it. Because it was trembling.

I clenched it into a fist, my own grim determination moving through me.

It was time to stop being so damned scared.

And I had hope that for Braden, I might win the fight with my fears.

***

Trusting people didn’t come easily to me but there was something about Braden and his no-bullshit attitude that pulled me in. For that reason, it didn’t surprise me when he called me that evening to arrange another date. I’d asked him how things with Abby and Kiersten had gone but he said he’d tell me all about it on our date. And to my mingled pleasure and fear (a combination of feelings I was growing used to since meeting Mr. Carmichael), he didn’t want to wait to see me.

“I’m taking tomorrow off work and I want to spend the day with you. Are you free?”

I was in the middle of a book deadline. “Yeah, I’m free.”

So that was how I found myself outside Starbucks on George Street the next morning, waiting on Braden. I looked up from my phone and caught sight of him striding toward me. My belly flipped with excitement.

I wanted to spend time with him.

I wanted to spend a lot of time with him.

And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d craved someone’s company this much.

Fear shivered through me, a feeling that was obliterated as soon as he reached me and bent his head to press a soft kiss to my mouth. Then he took my hand and smiled as he led me up the steps to the coffee shop. “How are you?”

Ready to explode with sexual frustration if you don’t put your hands on more exciting parts of me soon. “Good. You?”

“I’m good now.” He gave me a cocky grin and tightened his hold on my hand as we stepped into the busy shop.

“So, what are the plans for today?” I stared up at his profile as he searched the menu.

I liked his face.

In fact, I liked his face more than I liked any other face.

Feeling my gaze, he looked down at me, that soft amusement glittering his eyes again. “Coffee, and then I thought we could wander around.”

“Wander around?”

He nodded. “And talk. Get to know each other better.”

“Oh, I see.” I smirked at him. “This is so we can get to the sex faster, right?”

Braden threw his head back in laughter and I was so busy staring at him, enjoying the sight, I didn’t realize he’d drawn attention from the other customers until— “Braden?”

Both our heads snapped around to the newcomer, and I had to peer past Braden to see whom the voice belonged to. As soon as I did, I wished I hadn’t.

A tall blond was staring at Braden in a way I recognized.

Longing.

Pure longing.

My gaze drifted over her, taking in her long, long pretty legs, her narrow hips, and elegant waist. Her long blond hair floated around her shoulders in perfect tousled waves framing a beautiful face. Not pretty, not even striking, out-and-out, turning-heads-everywhere beautiful.

“Fiona.” For some reason Braden’s grip on my hand tightened when he said her name. I sensed his discomfort and found myself leaning into him in support.

Fiona’s green eyes flew to my face and then back to his quickly. It was as if I didn’t exist. She stepped toward him. “How are you?”

“I’m good. You?” His tone was polite.

“Fine. It’s been a while.”

“It has.”

“Nonfat iced vanilla latte!” the kid behind the counter called.

“That’s me.” Fiona sighed regretfully. “It was so good to see you.”

There was an awkward moment where she waited for Braden to say the same. Instead he said, “All the best.”

Ugh.

I almost felt sorry for her.

She flushed, nodded tightly, and turned to grab her drink. She didn’t look back at us as she hurried out of the shop.

“Ex-girlfriend?” I queried.

His grip on my hand loosened a little. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Let’s get our coffee first.”

Braden grinned when I ordered an Americano to go.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I narrowed my eyes at his mysterious amusement. “Seriously, what?”

“You’re the first woman I’ve dated who ordered a coffee. No nonfat, skinny, iced mocha whatever. Just coffee.”

I grinned at him but I was deadly serious when I said, “Don’t confuse the simplicity of my drink with me, Braden Carmichael. There is nothing simple about getting into this thing with me. Merely a heads-up.”

His eyes smoldered.

“What did I say this time?” I tried to huff but it came out all breathy and turned on.

“We need to get to know each other. Fast.”

This time I was the one who threw my head back in laughter.

And it felt good.

Fuckity fuck fuck.

It felt so good.

***

“So tell me about the model,” I said, as we walked toward Princes Street gardens with our coffees to go.

“The model?”

“Fiona.”

“She’s not a model. She’s a financial advisor.”

“Beautiful and smart.” Wonderful.

Braden shot me an arrogant look out of the corner of his eye. “No need for jealousy, Jocelyn. Fiona and I were casual.”

“She didn’t look so casual back there.”

“We started out casual. As soon as I realized she was starting to get serious, I broke things off.”

“I’m confused.”

“Why?”

“You said you didn’t want us to be casual but you wanted to be casual with her …”

This time he studied me as we walked. “You’re not Fiona.”

Something about this pissed me off. “So you pick and choose who you get serious with?”

Hearing the edge in my voice only seemed to delight him. It was becoming increasingly obvious that for whatever reason, Braden got off on my irritation. “What is bothering you? That I didn’t want more than sex from her or that I want more than sex from you?”

His question stumped me. “I’m …well … look at her.”

“She’s very attractive,” he agreed.

“Is that your type?”

He considered the question. “I suppose you could say so.”

“Well, what does Kiersten look like?”

“Tall. Blond. Beautiful.”

So it was his type.

“You don’t cross me as a woman who’s insecure about her looks, Jocelyn.”

I wasn’t a woman who was insecure about her looks and the fact that he had me questioning my attractiveness pissed me off.

“I’m not,” I snapped, and then gestured to my legs. “But if you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a model.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, I couldn’t give a fuck how tall you are.” He shot me a quelling look. “What are you really trying to ask me?”

“If you’re a serial monogamist?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

But that was what was really bothering me.

The truth was I didn’t know if I wanted to start something with Braden, something serious. The thought made my throat close and my heart speed out of control. But I was playing chicken with my issues and I was determined to at least try to win.

However, I wasn’t too happy about the idea of gambling with my emotional well-being over a guy who was going to decide to get untangled from me three months down the line.

“Okay.” He nodded at me, seeming to sense that I was serious, and that his answer really meant something. “Here’s my history for you, babe. I liked being in a relationship. It was the kind of man I was. And when I was young, too young, I fell in love with a girl called Analise. We married when I was twenty-two.”

The news that he was a divorcee hit me like a punch to the gut. So he definitely could get serious when he wanted to. I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse.

“Analise was an Australian post-grad student. We’d only been together a year before I proposed, and we were only married for two. The first nine months were great. The next three months rocky. The last year hell. We fought a lot. She said I was emotionally distant. And when I think about it, that was true. Thank fuck.” His eyes came back to me. “The thought of handing her—someone as vindictive as her—all my personal crap …”

“Like ammunition in her hands,” I murmured, understanding completely.

He nodded, his gaze sharpening at whatever he found in my expression. “I believe you work hard to make a marriage work. I didn’t want to give up. But one day, not too long before my father passed away, he called me and asked me to check a property we were trying to sell. He told me there had been a complaint about dripping water in the downstairs flat, so I went along to check. I didn’t find a leak, but I found Analise in bed with a close friend of mine from school. My dad had known. They’d been going behind my back for six months.”

The thought of someone doing that to him stunned me. “How could she?” I whispered.

Braden’s eyes softened. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. It was the best thing that could have happened. In retrospect, I doubt I was anything more than infatuated by her.”

“Where is she now?”

“She moved back to Australia when she realized she wasn’t going to get a penny out of me.”

“And from there … did you meet anyone else?”

“I was in and out of relationships right up until I met Kiersten.”

“And she screwed you over, too.” That ache I felt in my chest sharpened, clarified. Braden had been put through the ringer by women. Surely that had affected him.

“I’m not screwed up over women, Jocelyn. Yes, my own mother was not the greatest example, and yes, I’ve had a few women mess me around. But I also grew up with a pseudo stepmum who alone could restore any man’s faith in women. I know plenty of good women. I know they exist. I never wanted anything serious for a while after I had Abby. She deserves all my attention, my focus. I will always put her first. However, that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want. And when I want something badly enough … I’ll go after it.”

I stopped by Ross Fountain. “And you want to try something more. With me?”

In answer, he stepped right into my space and settled his free hand on my waist. I stared up into his eyes, wanting to melt into him and run away from him at the same time. “I can’t do casual with you, Jocelyn.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before.”

“And you want to fuck me,” I cracked.

He bent his head to my ear and his lips brushed my skin. “More than I’ve wanted to fuck anyone ever.”

Despite the warmth of the summer’s day my nipples peaked against my T-shirt and I was trembling from need so much, I clutched tighter onto my coffee in fear it would drop right out of my hand. “What if it’s a letdown?” I whispered.

Braden pulled back to stare into my eyes. “Not possible.”

“You cocky bastard,” I whispered against mouth, “you don’t play fair.”

“I intend to play any way it takes to keep you.”

My eyes widened at his declaration. “You don’t even know me.”

He grinned as he let go of my waist and pulled back. He took a sip from his coffee, his pale gaze glittering with mischief. “That’s what today is about. So tell me … how can a midlist writer and part-time bartender not only afford a two-bedroom flat in Morningside but is able to buy a fifteen hundred-pound book series like she was buying a pint of milk?”

Shit fuckity shit fuck.

I turned away, sipping at my coffee. My parents were killed in a car crash when I was fourteen, leaving me everything. “My family has money.” I shrugged like it was no big deal. “My family, on my dad’s side, originally came from Louisiana. My great-grandfather made a lot of money in oil.”

“Where does your family live now?”

“They moved to Virginia. That’s where I grew up.”

“And they’re okay with you being in Scotland?”

“Well, my mom was Scottish.”

He was quiet a beat. “Was?”

My heart threatened to pound out of my chest.

Tell him!

Tell him the truth or lose out. Again!

I opened my mouth to give him the words, but they got stuck. I was feeling sweaty and dry-mouthed and my heart was racing so hard, I thought I might throw up.

Nothing was worth this feeling, right?

Right?

I mean, he didn’t need to know everything about me right away.

“I …” I stopped because he’d trusted me with a lot and I felt like I owed him an explanation. “It’s not an easy subject for me. My family. And it’s not that I don’t want to …” I gestured between us. “Only … maybe we could table that conversation for later?”

Braden scrutinized me. It felt like he did that forever. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him because in answer, he slid his hand around my waist and led me into walking again. He dumped his empty coffee cup in a trash can and then took mine to do the same. “Tell me why you wanted to be a writer.”

I sagged gratefully into his side and he gave me an answering squeeze. “I don’t know. I love reading. And I’ve always written. It was an escape, I guess.”

“And why fantasy and paranormal?”

“Because reality has no authority there. My imagination controls everything.”

To my surprise, Braden’s hold on my waste loosened a little, like I’d said something that surprised him. I looked up at his profile to see he was staring ahead, wearing a frown.

“Braden?”

He looked down at me.

“You okay?”

After a moment’s contemplation, he said quietly, “It’s funny … I like that I can’t work you out. At the same time, it makes me nervous.”

“You? Nervous?” I laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

He smirked but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You meant it when you said you were complicated, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

He cupped my face in his hands and leaned his forehead against mine. “Fuck, I want to know you, Jocelyn Butler.”

I gripped his waist. “What if you don’t like what you find?”

Something like fear flickered in his gaze but I shook that thought off. Surely Braden Carmichael wasn’t afraid of anything.

“I don’t think any reality exists in which I wouldn’t like you. Even if you make trying fucking impossible.”

I found myself pressing my body into his, loving his words … but wishing that I didn’t see the pleading in the back of those eyes.

He needed me to not make it fucking impossible.

And I knew the reason why.

She deserves all my attention, my focus. I will always put her first.

Abby.

***

The rest of our date was more relaxed. Our “getting to know you” part of it became more lighthearted. We talked about the little things, like movies and music and pet hates.

“You? Mr. I-Tell-Women-I-Want-To-Fuck-Them-In-Public hates it when men don’t open the door for women?”

“Open doors for them, pull out chairs for them, carry luggage for them … It’s called being a gentleman. And technically, you’re the only woman I’ve ever said that to in public.”

“I’m honored.”

He grinned. “What can I say? You bring it out in me.”

As we laughed and talked, I let the beginning of our date fade out and enjoyed myself. Braden was affectionate and I relished his touch, even if it was driving my sexual frustration to new levels.

He even made us stop on the Royal Mile to take a selfie.

I’d flushed with this unknown, overwhelming feeling at the image of me standing cuddled into Braden. He grinned into the camera with that crooked smile while I gave a bemused, half-smile.

“You’re sexy as fuck,” he said, putting his phone back in his pocket.

I grinned up at him, pleased and amused by how annoyed he sounded. “That’s a problem?”

“It is when you’re trying to be a gentleman. Woman can’t even take a fucking selfie without making me want to screw her against an alley wall,” he muttered, grabbing my hand and marching me up the mile.

I laughed so hard, he had no choice but to join me.

THE WINNER

Our next couple of dates went similarly well. We couldn’t see each other the following weekend because it was Braden’s weekend with Abby, so we’d chatted on the phone a lot. It wasn’t the same as being together in person, and when we saw each other the following weekend, one date wasn’t enough time.

For the most part, we focused on lighthearted banter, only getting serious when Braden talked about Abby and Kiersten. It turned out the whole suitcase thing was a ploy. Kiersten had said she was packing up to go home to Dundee because she couldn’t afford to live in Edinburgh anymore.

This was the third time she’d tried this.

And it was the third time Braden had threatened to go for full custody of Abby, ensuring that Kiersten lost the child support she already got, which wasn’t an insignificant amount.

She’d then tried to win him over to her side by sobbing.

It only made Braden angrier and I knew he was worried about his kid.

“A little girl needs her mum,” he’d said helplessly.

“A little girl needs a stable mum,” I’d said gently, sliding my fingers through his.

His hand had curled around mine. “I know. I don’t know what I should do.”

“I think … I think you should start keeping a record of Kiersten’s erratic behavior.”

His eyes had snapped to mine as he processed my words and he’d lifted his hand to my face, his thumb caressing the outline of my lower lip. “Aye. I think you’re right.”

I’d kissed him to comfort him because I couldn’t imagine how messed up it must be to have to think about taking your kid away from her mother.

The kiss had turned heated within seconds and at the sound of laughter behind us, I’d pulled back, remembering we were in a pub.

“I don’t know if I can wait much longer,” Braden had said, his words practically a growl.

“I’m not asking you to.”

***

“You didn’t have to hold my hand all the way up here,” I said to Braden as I turned the key in my door. “I can make it up the stairs when I’m tipsy.”

We’d spent most of the afternoon and early evening in the pub. We’d eaten lunch there first and then sat in a cozy corner enjoying a few drinks and banter that was turning increasingly sexual in nature.

As I pushed my flat door open, I felt Braden’s strong hands on my hips and his warm breath on my ear as he asked softly, “Tipsy, or drunk?”

My breath caught as we stepped inside, Braden close at my back. “Tipsy.”

It was true. I was feeling a little giddy and more talkative than usual, but my vision was clear and my coordination was intact.

And I wanted him.

“You sure?”

Turning around, I reached past him and shoved my door shut, leaning my breasts into his chest as I turned the lock. I tipped my head back to meet his heated gaze. “If you’re wondering if I’m sober enough to fuck without feeling like you’re taking advantage, the answer is definitely yes.”

Braden grinned. “What a mouth you have on you.”

I pressed deeper into him. “You have no idea.”

His hand tightened on my hip and I watched as the teasing glint in his eyes disappeared, replaced by the most intense look of need I’d ever seen.

“Strip,” he uttered quietly, deadly serious.

Shock and excitement rushed through me at the demand, and I felt my legs tremble. Arousal had seized every part of me and I felt very impatient for him. He didn’t need to know that, though.

Indignant, I huffed, “You really are a bossy son of a bitch.”

“Jocelyn …” He dipped his head so his lips were inches from mine, and I had nowhere to look but deep in his gorgeous eyes. “I’ve been fantasizing about seeing you naked since we met. I don’t want to play games. I don’t have the patience for them. I want to watch you take your clothes off and I want to savor the moment. Then I’m going to take you to your room and I’m going to kiss and suck and lick every inch of you. After which we’ll fuck. Hard. Deep. Slow.”

Holy fuckity fuck fuck.

Arousal shot between my legs, making me wet, and it tingled across my breasts, tightening my nipples into hard points.

And I was sure all this man had to do was brush his thumb over one aroused peak and I would come.

Yes, I want you to do all of that. Forever. “Fine. But I get to be bossy next time.”

The intensity in his eyes lightened for a second and he lifted a hand to brush the back of his knuckles down my cheek. “Never change, Jocelyn Butler.”

Eyes locked, I took a few careful steps backward until there was enough distance between us for him to enjoy the show. Butterflies raged low in my belly, a mixture of nervousness and desire. I’d never done a strip show for a guy before.

The truth was I didn’t think I had ever been more aware of my body than I was when I was around Braden. To be honest, I’d stopped caring about my appearance and all the shit that came with it a long time ago. I wore what I liked, I looked the way I looked, and I didn’t care what any guy thought.

But standing in front of Braden, I realized I wasn’t so confident about that anymore. I wasn’t tiny, but I wasn’t tall. I had slender legs and a small waist, but I had boobs, hips, and a definite ass, all of which had grown more lush (to put it delicately) as I approached my thirties. Braden was going to see all that.

Braden who dated model-tall creatures of mythic-like beauty.

As our eyes held, all of a sudden I thought, So what.

He wanted me. Me.

So I threw my shoulders back, my gaze hot and defiant, and Braden clenched his hands into fists, almost like he was stopping himself from reaching for me.

I shrugged out of my light jacket, letting it pool at my feet, and then I reached for the hem of my silk button-down shirt to pull it over my head.

“No,” Braden murmured, his expression smoldering as he leaned back against my front door, crossing his arms over his chest, one ankle over the other. His pose said casual, possibly even bored. His eyes, however, were burning my not-even-naked-yet skin. “Slowly. Every button.”

I shivered at his command but I glared at him so he didn’t think he could get away with demanding things all the time. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Slowly, very slowly, I unbuttoned my shirt, shrugging my shoulders so the fabric slipped down my arms and fluttered to the ground.

The zipper on my jeans was next. I slid it down in increments, enjoying the way the muscle in Braden’s jaw flexed at the sound. My eyes lowered.

He was hard already.

Need tugged insistent and low in my belly.

Pushing the jeans down over my ankles, I kicked them off and stepped away from them. I lifted my eyes to watch Braden again as I reached behind for my bra’s clasp. I unhooked it but slowly peeled the straps down, teasing the fabric away from my body.

Goosebumps erupted over my breasts and areolas, my nipples peaked in invitation. Braden’s hard-on pressed against his jeans and I hid a pleased smiled.

Apparently he liked all he was seeing.

I licked my lips, watching his eyes flare as I gently pushed down my underwear, now soaked with arousal. I was dying for Braden to touch me, to feel how wet I was with only his eyes on my body.

“Now what, bossman?” I asked quietly, my voice thick.

His eyes burned a path that touched every inch of me. “Let down your hair.”

I smirked at him as I reached up and unpinned my hair, letting the waves fall heavily down my back. I threw the pins on the sideboard and massaged my head, my breasts rising provocatively with the movement. “And now?”

He stood up from the door, his relaxed pose gone as he replied in his low, rumbling tones, “Now walk into the bedroom, lie on your back on the bed, stretch your arms above your head, and spread your legs.”

My legs weakened with desire at the demand, surprised by how freaking turned on I was by Braden’s command. Still, I couldn’t let him know that or he might become overbearing. “Are you kidding me?”

His eyes narrowed. “What did I say earlier?”

My hands flew to my hips. “I’m not into being dominated, Braden.”

Liar, my burning hot body whispered.

“It’s not domination.” He took a step toward me, his hot eyes raking over my naked body. “It’s taking sexual direction for your pleasure and mine. And babe,” he pressed up against me, his fingertips trailing over my upper thigh, “we both know,” his fingers dipped between my legs, brushing lightly, excruciatingly lightly, against my clit, “how wet you are.” He groaned and caught my breath between his lips. “Stop holding back, you proud, stubborn, sexy-as-fuck woman, and just let this happen.”

I found myself leaning into him, so turned on I could barely breathe. But I needed to know we understood each other. “Just in bed,” I whispered against his mouth. “I don’t take direction out of it.”

Braden’s answering grin was smug. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Liar,” I bit out on a moan as he pressed his fingers against my clit again. I grabbed onto his arms. “Braden.”

“Fuck it.” One minute I was on the ground, the next I was in Braden’s arms, my legs around his waist, my hands in his hair as we kissed and bit and nipped and licked at each other’s mouths, learning the taste and feel of one another.

“Bedroom?” he asked, panting against my lips.

I pointed behind me and then tugged his mouth to mine, giving little huffs of girlish laughter when he tripped over something or bumped us into a wall as he carried me toward my bedroom.

And then I was in the air, landing on the mattress with a little bounce. I didn’t even have a chance to catch my breath because he was on the bed with me, kissing me with this possessive, punishing need that stole the air from my lungs.

I broke the kiss, my skin on fire, and gasped for breath, taking the opportunity to curl my fingers under his sweater and give it a jerk. Braden pulled back, straddling me, and pulled his top up and over his head. It disappeared onto my floor.

Staring up at the man straddling me, I forgot how to breathe all over again. The waist of Braden’s pants hung low showing off his flat stomach and the sexy V-cut of his muscles. I bit my lip. I wanted to touch him. My eyes followed his six-pack up to a strong chest and broad shoulders. And it was all nicely wrapped up in unblemished golden skin.

“Fuck, Jocelyn.” I looked up and found his gaze blazing even brighter than before. “If you keep looking at me like that, this is going to be over far sooner than I’d like.”

I reached out, sex-dazed, to run my hands over his hard abs. “If I forget to say this later, thank you on behalf of all womankind. Thank you for hitting the gym on a regular basis.” I looked up into his melting blue gaze. “We greatly appreciate it.”

Braden threw his head back in laughter and I found myself grinning up at him. Affection flooded me, triumph that I was desirable to him but that I could also make him laugh in this moment.

The intimacy of it hit me like a freight train, and I felt the beginnings of panic claw at me.

But then Braden cupped my breasts in his large, hot hands and squeezed them gently and just like that, the ominous feeling fled as his touch sent sparks of arousal down my belly to between my legs.

“Jocelyn,” he groaned, leaning over to press soft kisses down my chest and over my breasts. When he wrapped his mouth around my right nipple, I gripped his head in my hands and held on as desire rippled through me. My hips undulated against him, impatient to get to the main act.

As if he’d read my thoughts, Braden muttered a curse and rolled off me and stood next to the bed. I watched as he removed his shoes, socks, jeans, and underwear. My lips parted in greedy anticipation as I took in his impressive dick. But I barely had time to ogle when he covered me, my breasts pressed against his chest, my thighs spread open to accommodate him between my legs … and I was staring up into his eyes, breathless with anticipation.

“You on the pill?” he said, his voice guttural with sex.

I nodded.

“I’m clean. Do you trust me?”

Was he asking if we should do this without a condom? Desire rippled in my belly, an answering slickness between my legs. I nodded, unable to say the words. “I’m clean too.”

“I trust you,” he said pointedly.

And then he was kissing me again, his fingers sliding through mine and pressing my hands to the bed. I moaned into his mouth, feeling dominated, loving the teasing whisper of my nipples brushing his chest, his throbbing dick nudging between my legs.

I groaned into his mouth and he thrust against me a little harder. My legs automatically climbed his hips, tilting my own in invitation.

“Fuck,” he pulled back, pressing wet kisses down my throat, “I can feel how wet you are.” He leaned his forehead against my chest and shuddered with shallow breaths.

I was wound tight, I was burning hot, I was caught up in the race toward sexual bliss, but even in that lust-fogged moment, I understood this wasn’t what he’d intended. I remembered his words earlier. I’m going to take you to your room and I’m going to kiss and suck and lick you. After which we’ll fuck. Hard. Deep. Slow.

He let go of my hands, his large, slightly calloused ones sending delicious goosebumps all over me as he slid them down my raised arms, down my sides, and back up to cup my breasts.

I reached down, my fingers sliding into his thick hair and they tightened, tugging his head up to look at me. There was nothing but a blaze in his eyes, a blaze of need, and my thighs tightened against his hips. “Fuck me,” I whispered, my voice even huskier than normal. “Come inside me and take what you want.”

Fierce possessiveness hardened his features with determination and his mouth slammed down on mine. It was a furious, biting, licking, no finesse, pure sex, dirty kiss, and I exhilarated in it because I’d never felt more wanted in my life.

Then he reached up to take my right hand in his and lowered it. I gasped into his mouth at the hot hardness of his dick as he wrapped my hand around it. Still holding mine, we both guided him between my legs. At the slightest brush of him against me, I grew even wetter. I let go, my hands moving around to grasp his ass as he slid slowly into me. It had been a while for me and I threw my head back in sensual overload at the pleasure burn of his entrance.

“Jocelyn,” he grunted, “you feel unbelievable.”

In answer, I squeezed his backside, urging him to go faster.

He did.

“Harder,” I moaned. “Harder, Braden. Harder.”

He kissed me and then slammed home. Arousal coiled tight in me as his cock kissed me so deeply. I threw my head back to cry out, my cries getting louder as he pounded into me. The sight of him straining above me, the sounds of our excited pants and groans and the wet, primal noise of sex, all of it surged me toward satisfaction, and fast. I blew apart, screaming his name as I came. I came hard. My sex throbbed around Braden.

He stared down at me, his teeth gritting together as his body tensed at the hard tugs on his dick. “Jocelyn,” he gasped, his hips slamming hard against mine and then pumping in short jerks as he came hot and wet inside me.

As I panted for air, my limbs loose and languid, my body purring with satisfaction and yet burning for more, Braden collapsed over me, tucking his face in my neck. His hands gripped my hips and he kneaded them as he thrust his semi-hard cock in and out of my slickness. “Fuck, babe,” he muttered, pressing kisses along my neck and down my shoulder. “You can make a man come hard.”

“Yeah, you did okay yourself,” I teased, still a little breathless.

Braden pulled back and grinned, a wicked, beautiful grin that turned me to mush. “Okay? I’ll take that as a challenge.”

And before I could stop him, he was kissing his way down my body. “Braden, no,” I tried to argue, knowing where his destination lay. “I should shower first.”

“I could give fuck about that.” He stared up at me from his position between my legs. “I made a promise to lick and suck you and I intend to keep that promise until you come on my tongue and on my cock too many times to count.”

“You’re a little dirty,” I whispered back. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

His answer was to dip his head and press his mouth to me.

My head flew back as sensation ripped through my oversensitized body. He suckled my clit, pulling on it hard, and he played me with expertise. When my breaths grew more shallow, grew shorter, harsher, quicker, when my hips started to undulate faster against his mouth, he would know I was reaching climax and he’d pull back.

“Bastard,” I huffed in pained, unfulfilled desire.

His fingers dug into my hips, bruising. “Tell me what you want, Jocelyn.”

“You know what I want.”

“Say it. I want to hear you beg me.”

I think I might have growled in frustration. “You really are a bastard.”

“Babe.”

“Fine!” I huffed and then whimpered, pushing my hips into him. “Please. I want you.”

“To …?”

I shivered with need, no longer caring what I said or how I sounded. “Fuck me. Fuck with me with your mouth, your tongue, your fingers, whatever. Just fuck me.”

I instantly had his tongue back, this time licking inside me. My fingers curled into the sheets beneath me as I writhed against his touch. And then two fingers slid inside me as he licked. “Braden!” I gasped.

And then he stopped.

“I’m going to kill you!”

His laughter puffed against my sex.

I was about to consider murder when I got his mouth back and this time, as tears of frustration pricked my eyes in fear that he’d stop, he didn’t. The orgasm that rocked through me almost blew my head off, my body shuddering in what felt like never-ending hard pulses.

My eyes flew open as my inner muscles throbbed in release and my already staggered breath stopped at the sight of Braden kneeling over me, staring at me like I was the most awe-inspiring thing he’d ever seen.

And that’s when I felt the trickle of panic again.

This time as Braden eased inside me with torturously delicious slow thrusts, the panic didn’t recede. Because as he braced himself above me, his hands at either side of my head, our eyes held as he moved inside me.

In that moment, I felt like he could see deep, deep inside me, to where all the broken parts of me lay.

And I felt like I could see inside of him where all his shattered dreams had once lay, dreams he was beginning to believe in again.

A dream he was beginning to believe in again.

Fear cascaded over me and I tried to convince myself I was wrong, that his feelings for me couldn’t have grown so much so soon.

But as my breath caught on each sensuous thrust toward orgasm, his eyes never left me, and his longing punched through me, trying to reach for my heart.

And I realized I would let him take it. I would let him take it all.

And then I would inevitably lose him.

No.

NO.

“Jocelyn,” he brushed a kiss across my lips, “where the fuck have you been all this time?” He groaned and pressed his forehead against mine, squeezing his eyes closed as if he were in pain.

And then he came.

Afterward he kissed me, long, wet, deep kisses but I was starting to feel like I couldn’t breathe.

“Braden.” I pulled my head away and pushed at his chest. “Braden, get off,” I panted, trying to breathe.

He frowned down at me. “Babe?”

“Get off.”

He stared down at me confused while black spots started to cover my eyes.

“Get off!” I found enough air to scream.

I didn’t even take in his expression. All I knew was that the pressing weight of him was gone. I jumped off the bed, hurried out of the room, crashed into the bathroom door, and slammed it shut behind me.

I had the presence of mind to lock it before I launched myself across the room at the window, throwing it open. Cold air rushed in around me and I struggled to suck it in.

My skin felt cold and clammy, and my head prickled all over.

Eventually my breathing eased, and the rushing of blood in my ears died to a gentle whoosh.

“Jocelyn,” Braden called loudly outside. “Jocelyn!” He hit the door and I could tell by the impatient concern in his voice that he had been there a while. “If you don’t open this fucking door, I will break it down!”

Shaking badly from the aftermath of my panic attack, I slowly made my way over to the door and turned the lock.

When I opened it, Braden towered over me. He had on his pants, putting at me a distinct disadvantage, so I reached up a trembling arm and pulled the robe off the hook on the back of my bathroom door. I slipped it on to cover my nakedness from him.

He frowned at me. “What the hell happened?”

I realized I care about you and that you care about me and I am absolutely fucking terrified of it. I have a habit of losing people I love, you see. I thought I was ready to get over it.

I’m not ready.

I played this game with my issues, with my fears, hoping to win.

But I wasn’t the winner this time.

I didn’t know if I’d ever be the winner.

“Panic attack.” I shrugged.

His frown of concern turned to a glower of annoyance. And if I wasn’t mistaken, hurt. “Why?”

I brushed past him, walking toward the bedroom where the rest of his clothes were.

“I want an answer, Jocelyn.” There was a definite warning in his voice.

Sighing, I sat down on the edge of my sex-rumpled bed and tried not to think too hard about how goddamn amazing sex with Braden Carmichael was. Instead I stared up at him, and decided that was a bad idea too.

No man should be that sexy.

I lowered my gaze to my bare feet. The red nail polish on my toes was chipped. I sighed again. Braden was better off without me anyway. I wasn’t exactly a well-maintained cover girl.

And then I hated myself for thinking that because it made Braden seem shallow. He wasn’t shallow. He was real.

He was so fucking real, it terrified me.

“This isn’t going to work.” I forced myself to look up at him. “I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

I tried to think of a way to explain without really explaining. “I’m not getting into it with you … All you need to know is that I’m fucked up. Okay? And I can’t do serious. I’m … I’m not made for it. I wanted to be. I thought I was ready to be … but I’m not.”

I thought about never getting to touch him again and I felt cold at the thought. A desperate idea grabbed me. “If I knew it wasn’t serious, that you weren’t serious, then we could do this. We could keep it casual.” I gave him a halfhearted smile, already knowing by the incredulous look in his eyes that he wasn’t into the idea. Still I pushed. “Why not? Great sex with no strings. You’ve done it before.”

“Not with you. And seven years ago, yes, definitely, I would have said yes.” Braden crossed his arms over his chest as he burned me with his indignant stare. “But I would have said yes so I could spend time wearing you down, helping you get through whatever it is that’s haunting you … until you said you’d be mine.” His voice was thick, hoarse, and there was sad realization in his gaze. “Because I want you, Jocelyn. I want you to be mine. I haven’t wanted a woman to be mine as much as I want you to be. But … Abby. My kid is a pawn to her mum. There is enough instability in her life without having a dad who is fucked in the head over another woman.

“You have to understand, Jocelyn. My own mother didn’t want me. I was a pawn in her marriage; that marriage failed, and then I was a mere nuisance. I promised myself that I would never be with a woman who would do that to my kid, and I’ve failed. I won’t fail again. I could risk myself taking a bet on a woman who doesn’t speak about her family, who has no photos of family or friends in her entire flat,” he gestured around my space, “a woman who is, in her own words, ‘fucked up,’” he said. His words were gentle, not meant to harm, though it hurt me anyway. “I would risk myself on you in a heartbeat if it was only me to think about. But I have my kid to think about now. Her needs are always going to come before my own. And I can’t bring someone into my life, casual or not, whose issues could hurt us both more than we already have been.”

Fuck.

That only made me like him more.

Like.

That was a pitiful word. It wasn’t the right word. Not for what I felt for Braden.

I nodded, emotion choking me. Eventually I managed to get words out. “I’m sorry.”

Braden’s features grew taut. “Jesus, babe, you’ve no idea how sorry I am.”

I watched in silence as he yanked on his sweater and pulled on his socks and shoes.

And without looking at me once, without a backward glance, he strode out of my apartment as if he couldn’t bear to be around me a moment longer.

THE SISTER FRIEND

In an effort to avoid places I’d hung out with Braden, I decided to get my coffee fix in Old Town at Black Medicine. I had my e-reader out and was enjoying an Americano when an unfamiliar voice said, “Is this seat taken?”

I glanced up from my e-reader to find a tall, attractive blond woman around my age smiling down at me. Looking around I could see all the tables were taken, a few by single patrons like myself. “Uh … sure.”

She gave me a bright, beaming smile that was so charming, I found myself smiling back at her. I didn’t know how to continue as she slid into the seat opposite me and sipped at her green tea. Should I be polite and start a conversation, or would she be cool if I continued to read my book?

“What are you reading?” she said, making the decision for me.

I noticed her eyes and I felt a jolt of familiarity shoot down my spine. Her eyes were pale. Pale ice blue.

Like Braden’s.

I scrutinized her, trying to look for other similarities, but that was all I could find. Feeling silly, I shook off my wayward thoughts of Braden. It had been a month since he’d walked out of my apartment and I hadn’t heard from him. Not that I’d expected to.

But I missed him, and I craved his company. Every time I walked out of my apartment, I was hyperaware of my surroundings, actively searching for him. If I saw a man’s head bobbing inches above the crowd, my heart would falter in my chest. Then he’d turn and it would inevitably be some stranger. Disappointment and relief would slam over me with such force, I’d feel fatigued after it.

He was literally causing me adrenaline spikes and crashes with his mere absence.

I was looking for him everywhere, even in strange women’s faces apparently.

“Uh …” I shook the damn man out of my head. “I’m reading Lauren Bacall’s autobiography.”

“I’ve never been much for autobiography reading.” She sipped at her tea. “I’m more of a tearjerker romance kind of girl.”

“You like to be emotionally manipulated by a writer?” I teased.

She laughed. “Exactly!”

I caught sight of the giant rock on her ring finger nestled next to a wedding band rimmed with tiny diamonds. Wowzer. The engagement ring could take an eye out.

The woman noted my study and waved her hand. “My husband. He wanted other men to notice the ring.”

“Possessive sort?”

“He does like me a great deal.”

I laughed. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Quite abruptly, her smile dropped. “I was going to leave. I just popped in to get a green tea to go and then I saw you. I recognized you from a picture on my brother’s phone.”

Her words stopped my breath.

I knew who she was.

“I’m Ellie Sutherland, formerly Carmichael.” She held out her hand and dazedly, I shook it.

“How can I help you, Ellie?”

“Jocelyn, right?”

“Joss.”

“Joss.” She grimaced. “I know this is so strange of me to plonk myself down beside you and start chatting to you like a stalker … I … felt I should.”

“Oh?”

“I know it doesn’t make sense but I promise I’m not a stalker.”

“Good to know.”

We stared at each other. And then Ellie said, “He misses you.”

I felt like she’d wrapped her arms around my ribs and squeezed so hard they’d cracked under the pressure. Instead of answering, I looked into my coffee cup.

“Braden’s never really spoken to me about relationship problems before. Not until you. He cared a great deal for you, Joss.”

“Are you here to make me feel worse than I already do?”

Her mouth parted in surprise and she flushed a little. “Braden said you were blunt.”

“Among other things, apparently.”

“Yes. That’s how I knew you were different from the others. You made him different. You made him how he used to be. It was nice to see … while it lasted.”

“Look, Ellie, I—”

“My husband Adam has somehow managed to talk me into leaving our son with him alone for boys’ night. Let’s grab some Indian food and a couple of beers and talk.”

I didn’t know what to say to Braden’s sister. Frankly, if she were anyone else, I’d think her a lunatic. However, there was something genuinely open-hearted about Ellie that made her request seem less insane.

“We don’t know one another.”

“That’s the whole point of girls’ night,” she teased.

“I think … it would be a little weird if you and I tried to be friends.”

“Not at all. I love moody, sarcastic, intimidating people. They don’t make me at all uncomfortable.”

I laughed because I couldn’t help myself. “And I’m supposed to agree to girls’ night after being called moody and sarcastic?”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“Fair enough,” I ceded, and then I sighed. “Why do you really want to have girls’ night, Ellie?”

Her eyes, eyes so like Braden’s, filled with sympathy. From anyone else, that look would’ve unleashed anger within me. Instead all I felt was sad and alone. Especially when she answered, “Because from what Braden tells me, you could use a friend.”

“Did he put you up to this?”

“No.”

“Then really why are you here?”

“I already told you why. It was pure coincidence but now that we’re here … I’m intrigued to know more. You only gave Braden half the story and my chronic nosiness can’t cope with only knowing half the story.”

“If I didn’t tell Braden the whole story, why do you think I’ll tell you?”

Our eyes met and held, and I felt a strange connection between us that I couldn’t understand. “Because everyone needs someone to talk to.”

Despite not believing she’d given me her true motive for being here, I found myself drawn to Ellie Sutherland. I told myself it was because I was feeling lonely.

Yet the truth lay deep down inside of me.

I missed Braden and I wanted to be connected to him again. If I couldn’t be around him, then maybe Ellie was the next best thing.

I sighed, giving in to the idea, and flicked my eyes over her. “You know your sweater is inside out, right?”

***

“So your kid is called William?” I said as I dug into my korma.

We were sitting on the couch in my living room, surrounded by beers and Indian food.

Ellie nodded. “Braden told you.”

“Yeah. I forgot how old he is, though.”

“He’s only fifteen months.” She pulled out her phone and showed me a picture of her husband holding their adorable baby boy.

“He’s a cutie.”

“I know.” She sighed happily. “William is cute too.”

I rolled my eyes at her joke. “So from what Braden told me, Adam is his best friend. That must have been interesting.”

“More than you can imagine. But we didn’t come here to talk about me, did we? Let’s talk about you. Get it all out.”

I narrowed my eyes. “If I wanted to talk to someone, I would’ve gone to a shrink by now.”

In answer, Ellie looked around my living room. It was cozy and warm but the picture frames in the room contained only art. Her speculative look made me squirm in my chair. Braden had noted the lack of family photos too.

“Where is your family, Joss?”

“Wow. Right into it, huh?”

She shrugged. “Life is too short to pussyfoot around.”

That we could agree on. “What has Braden told you?”

“That you were dating, it was getting serious, and then you said you couldn’t be serious and that you wanted to be casual. He said you said you were effed up and he has enough of that in his life.”

“So basically he tells you everything?” I secretly envied their relationship.

“No. Not usually. But with you, he was excited. Like a kid at Christmas. And then the night after you broke up, he got drunk and told Adam and I everything.”

“And now you’re here to see if you can somehow salvage this mess?”

Ellie looked far too innocent. “I wanted to see if there wasn’t some miscommunication.”

“There wasn’t. I am fucked up. And he doesn’t need that in his life right now. Abby doesn’t need that in her dad’s life.”

“Yes,” Ellie pinched her lips together, “not with a mum like Kiersten.”

I found myself curious to know. “How are they?”

“The same. Braden’s keeping a record of all the times Kiersten acts out. He’d like to flip the custody arrangement so that he has Abby more than Kiersten does.”

“He has to do what’s best for his kid.”

“Like breaking up with you.”

“Jesus, you’re a dog with a bone.”

“Why, Joss? Why are you effed up?”

Part of me admired her tenacity. Beneath her willowy, pretty blond looks and soft voice was a will of steel. “I don’t talk about it.”

“What happened to your family? Braden thinks your mum might have died. Is that true?”

And like always when I had to talk about them, my heart started racing and a queasiness overcame me. I put my plate down on the coffee table. “My whole family died.”

Her stunned silence filled the room until I had no choice but to look over at her.

Ellie had paled, her eyes round with shock. “Oh my God, Joss.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

There was a moment as we sat tense on the couch that I thought she might get up and leave, realizing I wasn’t lying when I said I was fucked up.

But …

“Why did you start something with Braden, knowing that he didn’t want a casual relationship with you, if you knew you couldn’t be in a serious relationship with him?”

At her accusatory tone, I found myself wanting to defend myself. “I thought I could get past my issues and try. But I failed.” The anger seeped out of me. “I’m sorry I hurt him.”

“What are your issues?”

I stared at her incredulously. Hadn’t I told her my whole family had died?

Ellie put her plate down on the table too and to my surprise, she kicked off her flats and curled up onto the couch as if she had no intention of going anywhere for a while.

This was turning into the strangest day.

“Okay.” She nodded her head, a determination in her eyes that reminded me of Braden. “If you won’t talk, then I’ll talk.”

“About …”

“About what I’ve been through. I won’t say it’s anywhere near as bad as losing your whole family, but I’ve seen my share of battles. The first was Adam,” she said, and despite myself I found that I was curious about Ellie Sutherland. I listened as she told me how Adam hadn’t wanted to date his best friend’s little sister because Braden was like a brother to him. “The relationship was too important to him. And he hurt me. Not only by acting like a boyfriend-without-the-benefits but because he’d made a choice and it wasn’t me.

“And then …” she heaved a massive sigh, “I was diagnosed with a brain tumor.”

My heart plummeted.

Braden hadn’t told me that.

“When? What?”

“About eight years ago. Don’t worry. It wasn’t cancerous, but there was a moment there when we feared the worst. It was in that moment that Adam decided I was worth the risk. Terrified of losing me, he finally admitted to Braden how he felt. Of course, Braden already knew.” She chuckled. “Bloody know-it-all. It was an intense time. Adam and I became a couple and I underwent brain surgery, which was terrifying, and then the recovery. They shaved my head.” She touched her head, giving me a sheepish smile. “So silly, but at the time, I cried.”

“It’s not silly,” I whispered, thinking how brave she was.

Brain surgery. She was right. She had been through a battle.

“And then a few years later, my little sister Hannah almost died.”

I exhaled in shock. “What?”

Braden hadn’t told me that, either.

A dark fear had crept into her gaze as she went back to an obviously difficult time in her life. “Hannah was seventeen and something happened to her I won’t go into because it’s not my story to tell. All I will say is that she was rushed to hospital and her heart stopped on the operating table. They brought her back. And she came back a changed girl.” Wet glistened in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said sadly.

“Joss,” her brows drew together, “don’t you see? We all have personal wars we’ve been through. Why is it so hard for you to share yours?”

Grief and indignation flooded me.

I kept trying to win against my past, and I kept losing.

Braden was out there somewhere without me because I couldn’t even open my mouth to say the words.

I was so tired of losing.

“I was fourteen,” the words came out hard, brittle, ready to shatter. “My parents had taken the week off work and that particular day, they took my baby sister Beth for a picnic. They were in a car accident. The cops and a woman from social services turned up at my school to tell me that all three of them had died. From there I went into foster care.”

I hadn’t looked at Ellie the entire time I talked; when I did, I was surprised to find her crying. “Don’t cry for me, Ellie.”

She swiped at her tears. “It’s too much, Joss. It’s too much to lose.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“You don’t talk about them. You don’t have pictures of them.”

“No. I don’t like to think about them. If I don’t think about them …” I gasped for breath, realizing what I was about to admit to this stranger.

“If you don’t think about them …?”

Since I’d come this far … “Then maybe they’re not really dead.”

“Oh, Joss.” More tears spilled down her pretty cheeks.

But I didn’t cry. Instead I felt strangely relieved, like I’d unburdened myself of a huge weight. I stared incredulously at Ellie Sutherland, wondering what the hell kind of miracle she’d performed.

She reached for my hand and I let her squeeze it. “You need to start grieving for them, Joss, because right now, you’re paralyzed.”

It was the truth. Perceptive, succinct, and terrifying.

“I’m scared,” I admitted.

“You know,” Ellie rubbed at that same spot on her head she’d touched before, “for months before I was diagnosed with the tumor, I knew something was wrong. I was paralyzed by the fear and so I kept pretending it was nothing because pretending was so much safer than the truth. But I had a seizure and there was no more pretending. And there was this moment in between knowing and not knowing that I thought I might shred into pieces. I didn’t. I somehow got up and got on with my life. You will too, Joss. You’ll let in all the pain and you’ll feel like you want to die … but then one day, you’ll be able to breathe again.”

I stared at her, feeling the wet on my cheeks. I let the tears spill over and stared at Ellie, realizing something quite important. Since I was fourteen years old, I’d thought of myself as one tough cookie. I’d been proud of this, thinking myself strong.

But the tough cookie was an exterior.

A mask.

I was looking at someone with real strength.

And in that moment of perfect clarity, I promised I would try to be a stronger version of myself from that day forward.

THE PARTY

The problem with Ellie Sutherland was that she had a way of getting under your skin and making you trust her.

For the next few months, she was in my life. I had dinner with her and Adam and met her beautiful baby William. We went shopping, had coffee and lunches, and she kept me up to date with what was going on with Braden and Abby.

There were numerous occasions upon which Ellie asked me to Sunday dinner at her mom and stepdad’s house. But since I knew Braden attended those Sunday dinners with Abby, I thought it was a bad idea. He hadn’t wanted me to meet his kid while we were dating, so it seemed wrong for me to barge into their lives after being the one to cut myself out.

I could tell Ellie was frustrated by my refusal, but I felt I was doing the right thing. She conceded that I was probably correct, even though she didn’t like it. During our time together, I talked more about my family than I’d done in the last sixteen years. Ellie had somehow become a friend and a therapist. She lulled me into feeling safe with her because she was the first person I’d made myself truly vulnerable to, in a different way than I’d made myself vulnerable to Braden. I could only assume that there was something in Ellie’s and her brother’s chemistry that called to me.

In not fearing becoming vulnerable to Els, I found myself grateful to her. I hadn’t fully found a sense of peace yet, but for the first time, I felt like it might be possible.

So in being grateful and trusting her, I let Ellie Sutherland blindside me.

Ellie was an art history lecturer and tutor at the University of Edinburgh. She told me she was being forced to attend a formal award ceremony on a Saturday evening and since they couldn’t get a babysitter in time, Adam couldn’t attend with her. She begged me to come keep her company.

And I agreed.

Wearing a peacock-blue Diane von Furstenberg dress I’d bought for the occasion, I’d hoped I was appropriately attired as the taxi pulled up to the hotel where the ceremony was being held. The dress had three-quarter sleeves and hit me above the knee, a wrap dress with a slightly daring V in the cleavage. Paired with matching peacock-blue platform peep-toe shoes, I was sexy-classy and now worried that perhaps for an academic award ceremony, I should have gone with conservative-classy.

Turns out that was really the least of my worries.

I texted Els to let her know I was pulling up. As I walked through the hotel foyer, she hurried toward me, gorgeous in a champagne-colored satin slip dress and strappy sandals.

“Wow, you look amazing,” I said, meaning it and feeling better about the sexiness of my own outfit. “You’re literally a hot momma.”

She smiled, but there was something nervous about it that immediately put me on edge. “You look gorgeous, too. So gorgeous.” Now there was something pleased and calculating in her expression.

“What’s going on?”

“You’re late, that’s what is going on.” She looped her arm through mine and gently tugged me through the reception.

“This is the time you told me to be here.”

“Is it? I thought I said seven.” She was lying. She knew exactly what time she’d told me. Altogether her manner was strange.

Something was definitely up.

“Ellie, what is—” I was cut off as she led me in through a set of doors and I found myself not at an award ceremony at all.

Instead there was a live indie rock band playing on the stage at the far end of a massive room. Tons of people danced in the middle while even more sat at circular tables lining the edges of the dance floor.

There weren’t any balloons or streamers, but the tables were decorated and I noted that a lot of the guests were teenagers.

I quirked an eyebrow at Ellie.

She grimaced. “Don’t kill me.”

“What did you do?” I at once felt a little ill and automatically my gaze searched the crowd.

I found him easily.

Braden stood by a table talking to Adam and a group of people I didn’t recognize.

My eyes swung back to Braden.

I now understood that old cliché about water and the desert. Braden was that tall, cold drink of water I’d been thirsting after since deserting myself in a dry, hot wasteland when I broke things off.

“Ellie.”

“This is Declan’s eighteenth birthday party.”

Shock and horror ripped through me; at the same time, every cell in my body came alive upon finding myself in the same room with Braden. “Why?” I whispered, feeling betrayed.

She gripped my hand tightly. “Please, please don’t hate me. I … I thought you guys should spend some time together now that you’re trying to move through …”

I groaned. “Ellie, I’m not miraculously changed overnight. And Braden’s situation hasn’t, either. In fact, right now, I am the last thing he needs.”

It was true. Ellie had told me only a few days ago that Kiersten had agreed to give Abby to Braden for the weekend to celebrate Declan’s birthday. (Ellie had told me they were having a family party on Sunday … little sneak.) During the week, Kiersten had changed her mind, refusing to allow it unless Braden paid off credit card debt she had accrued buying too many pairs of Jimmy Choos.

He had her repeat her demands while he secretly recorded the conversation.

Braden had refused to pay the debt, losing out on Abby for the weekend, but he’d gotten evidence that his ex was blackmailing him and using their child to do it.

I didn’t think it would be long before they saw the court.

Hence why I was pissed Ellie had put me in his path this of all weekends.

“Does he know you invited me?”

“Yes. I told him.”

“Was he angry?” I didn’t really want to know.

“Um … well … I only told him an hour ago.”

“Ellie Sutherland!”

“I told you it would go well.”

We spun around to find Adam smirking at his wife.

“It’s fine,” Ellie said airily. “Isn’t it, Joss?”

She begged me with her eyes, as if to say, “Don’t let my husband be right, I’ll never live it down.” But I hadn’t forgiven her yet.

“If me wanting to bury you in your own backyard is called being fine, then yes, we’re fine.” My grin was shark-like.

Adam snorted. “Braden said something similar.”

I flinched. “I should leave.”

“No.” Adam lifted his hands in apology as Ellie shot daggers at him. “No, don’t go. Braden’s fine. He was just a little surprised when Els told him you’d be here.”

“He doesn’t think I agreed to this, did he?”

“No. Els told him what she’d done. I think his exact words were, ‘Well, I don’t have to kill you then, because Jocelyn will flay you alive for the both of us.’”

“Wow.” I wanted to look over at Braden, but I determinedly didn’t. “He thinks I’m pretty scary, huh.”

“You are scary.” Ellie slid her arm around my shoulders and hugged me to her. “But in a cute way.”

I frowned. “I’m not cute, Ellie.”

She laughed and tried to lead me into the room.

“I didn’t bring a birthday gift,” I said, stalling.

“Pfft! My brother has gotten more presents than five teenagers need.”

And that was how I found myself being led unwillingly across a dance floor to meet Ellie’s parents and converse with Braden for the first time in three months.

We’d been apart longer than we’d been dating.

So why couldn’t I breathe the moment he turned to watch us approach?

To make matters worse, his expression was carefully blank.

“Braden, you remember Joss,” Ellie said breezily.

I cut her a dirty look but she beamed at me like I’d called her a princess.

“Jocelyn.” Braden nodded at me. “Let me be the first to apologize for Ellie.”

“I would have,” Adam piped up, giving me an apologetic look, “but I want to get laid tonight.”

“Words every mother wants to hear.” A tall, older blond rolled her eyes at Adam as she appeared at Braden’s side. Her eyes cut to me. “I’m Elodie Nichols, Ellie’s mum. It’s nice to meet you, Jocelyn.”

I shook her hand, relieved by her warm welcome. “It’s just Joss.”

“Clark,” she called over her shoulder, “come and meet Joss.”

Thirty seconds later, I was shaking hands with Ellie’s friendly stepfather, followed by introductions to Hannah, Ellie’s half-sister, and her date, Marco D’Alessandro. Hannah was statuesque, curvy, and drop-dead gorgeous. Marco was this too-beautiful-to-be-real, half-Italian, half-black American who towered over even Braden and had biceps that made me figuratively drool. If Hannah weren’t so smart and snarky and Marco didn’t look at her like she was an angel fallen from heaven, it might have been hard to like them.

But I did like them.

I liked them all. Or I imagined I would like them all. I hadn’t met Declan yet as he was on the dance floor rocking out with his friends.

The truth? I focused on liking these people because it meant I didn’t have to focus on Braden whose blank expression had quickly given way to intense study of my every move.

I wanted to rip the well-fitting black shirt right off his body.

Shit fuckity shit fuck.

“So,” I tried to place Marco’s accent as I stared up into his stunning green-blue eyes, “Chicago?”

He nodded. “For the most part. I’ve been living in Scotland a while. You?”

“Virginia. But I’ve been in Edinburgh for the past twelve years.”

Hannah cocked her head to the side as she leaned into her date. “You don’t have an accent.”

“Sorry?”

“Well, you’ve been here a long time. You would’ve thought you’d pick up an accent.”

“Not necessarily,” Marco replied. “Uncle Gio has been here years and refuses to give up his accent.”

That’s right. I refused to give up my accent. It had nothing to do with the fact that I’d spent the last eight years without any real companionship here in Edinburgh.

“Jocelyn,” Braden cut in, looking impatient, “may we talk? Alone?”

There was an awkward silence while his family exchanged concerned looks. As for me, my heart was ready to burst out of my chest like that awful scene in Alien.

But in true Ripley style, I tried to be brave.

Braden led me outside of the room. My palms were sweaty. “I wanted to check if you’re okay,” he said. “What, with Ellie misleading you.”

I was not okay.

But it wasn’t because of Ellie, although, Jesus Christ, she’d blindsided me.

No, I wasn’t okay because Braden was standing much too close. The smell of his cologne not only invoked memories of our passionate night together but reminded me of all the times over the last few months when I’d passed a man on the street or stood next to a guy in a coffee shop who was wearing Braden’s same cologne. It reminded me of how desolate I felt.

It reminded me how much I felt like a failure.

I’d let my fears win when it mattered the most for me to beat them.

And I’d lost out big.

My loss was standing in front of me, looking way too sexy and unavailable.

“I can leave,” I said.

Braden scowled. “No. Don’t.”

“I’m sorry about Ellie. I went back and forth about whether I should pursue a friendship with her, in case it was weird for you. She’s …”

“She’s Ellie.” He smiled, a mixture of affection and irritation. “It’s hard not to love her.”

“Right.” I looked over my shoulder, down the corridor, down at my feet, and shuffled a little. I looked anywhere but at him. Finally, the awkward silence became too much and I glanced up at him.

He stared directly into my eyes and I had to fight my body’s sudden response to fall into him.

“How have you been?”

“Fine,” I replied. “You?”

My reply caused another scowl but he nodded. “Fine, too.”

“How’s Abby?”

“She’s fine.”

I shuffled again, wishing I didn’t want to tear off his clothes and run away at the same time. “Ellie told me that Kiersten has been causing problems.”

“Yes.” His gaze sharpened. “But I’ll sort it out. I always do.”

“Right.”

After our pitiful attempt at conversation, there were no more words. Words were useless in this situation. Instead we found ourselves unable to look anywhere but at each other, and within seconds, our staring contest unlocked all the words hidden between us.

I miss you, his eyes said.

I miss you, too, said mine.

Silence.

And then … I’m trying to change, move through my issues. Does it count?

I wish things were different, his said. I wish we were both in the same place. You have no idea how much.

Feeling my heart break at his silent reply, I struggled to find real, actual words that would get me away from him. However, thankfully, I didn’t need to because suddenly Ellie was there, my unexpected rescuer.

“Joss, there you are!” She burst through the door, looking between me and her brother speculatively. “I’ve been looking for you. Come,” she grabbed my wrist, “I want you to meet someone.”

I let her haul me back inside without a backward glance at Braden. What was I expecting? That Braden would abruptly decide to give me another shot because I’d told one person (not even him!) about my family? That he would forget the fact that I’d screamed at him to get off me after he’d made love to me because I was wearing hot shoes?

Fuck.

“Joss, this is John. He was Declan’s tutor. Guitar. He’s also a musician. In a band. That books actual gigs.” Ellie grinned at me, full of mischief.

I couldn’t believe it.

She was trying to match me up with another man less than thirty minutes after trying to reunite me with Braden.

Realizing her craziness was not John’s fault, I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

John grinned at me. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Oh, Mum is looking for me. I’ll be right back.” Ellie disappeared, leaving me standing by the dance floor with a guy who was at least five years younger than me.

“Why isn’t your band playing tonight?”

His boyish smile was endearing, I had to admit, and he was a blond. Shaggy hair, scruffy stubble, leather bracelets on his thick wrists, corded arms, and clothes that said, “I couldn’t give a fuck what I’m wearing.”

“We don’t play birthdays.”

“Too cool?” I teased.

“Nah, we …” He shrugged. “Oh, all right. Aye. But it’s not me,” he hurried to assure me. “Our lead singer is kind of a pretentious arsehole.”

“I see a long future for you together.”

He laughed. “Aye, maybe not. So what do you do, Joss?”

“I’m a writer.”

“A writer.” John stepped into my space, flirtatiousness glittering in his dark eyes. “A writer and a musician. I see a long future together in that.”

I guffawed at his cheesiness and he grinned, pleased with himself. “Seriously?” I wiped tears from my eyes.

“I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

I suppose he had.

And like that, I was distracted.

I needed to be distracted.

***

The truth was I talked with John because it meant I didn’t have to stand with Braden and his family. It also provided the bonus of putting my back to their table so I didn’t have to look at him, either.

On any other occasion John and I would not have made it past the two-minute mark. He was cute and nice enough, but he was young and very into himself and his music.

That was fair enough but there were only so many times I could hear him use the words, “Art is everything, you know.” He expanded upon this by listing the arts and their contributions to the world, like I was some pod person who didn’t know people found beauty in music, sculpture, and writing.

Maybe I was too mature. Or too cynical. Or maybe I didn’t need to be beat around the head by someone’s passion. Talking with John was like talking to a teenager. There’s nothing quite like a teenager with an all-encompassing passion for something.

Huh.

Maybe I shouldn’t mock John for his immature passion.

Maybe I should feel sad for the majority of us who lose that wonderfully obsessive, utterly dedicated energy to that special thing that makes us happy.

On that note, I decided to say yes when John asked me to dance.

The indie band was playing a slow song and I noted a few couples on the dance floor. Ellie waved at me from her husband’s arms and in noticing her, I made the mistake of noticing Braden who was behind her.

Dancing with a woman I didn’t recognize.

A tall, perfectly coifed redhead.

It was like being punched in the gut.

One hand was on her waist, the other holding her free hand, while her other was on his shoulder. They weren’t pressed together, just swaying gently to the music as they chatted. Yet seeing him touching another woman made me feel like I’d walked in on my husband screwing someone else.

I was ridiculous and melodramatic and blowing things way out of proportion.

And I realized John wasn’t the only one with an all-encompassing passion that usually dies out in adulthood.

I had one too.

His name was Braden Carmichael.

Sucking in my breath, I forced myself to look up at John. His fingers dug into my waist and he gently pulled me closer. In a daze, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and began to sway.

As it turned out, John was also kind of a groper. It was about a minute into the band’s number when his hand slid down my lower back and over my ass.

I tensed and raised my eyebrow at him. “Really?”

He grinned that boyish grin. “You have a nice arse.”

“You need working fingers to play the guitar, right?”

In less than zero point three seconds his hand was off my ass.

“Excuse me,” I gave him a chiding glance and pulled out of his hold, “I need to use the restroom.”

Being threatened by a woman obviously wasn’t something that turned John on because he shrugged and sauntered off the dance floor, his phone already out of his pocket. I shook my head to myself as I watched him text someone as if he hadn’t just felt up a stranger.

What happened to romancing a girl before squeezing her ass?

I thought of Braden as I wandered down the corridor. True, he had been forward with his dirty talk but he’d always been a gentleman. He didn’t feel me up until our third date, and considering the heat between us, I deemed that great restraint on his part.

I mean, if it had been up to me I’d have let Braden feel me up that first night after the opera.

That was the point though, right?

John wasn’t Braden.

No one was Braden.

He was one of a kind.

And I …

I was in love with him.

Tears burned my eyes as I pushed open the door to the first ladies’ restroom I’d been able to find. To my surprise, it was empty and I wondered if perhaps there was a restroom closer to the hall. I didn’t have time to wonder long, however, because the door had barely closed behind me when it swung open again and Braden appeared.

Staring up at him in shock, I watched as he turned the lock on the door.

“Braden …”

My breath caught as he strode menacingly toward me, and I backed up against the sink counter. Why did he look so pissed? Turned on, but also pissed. “First, you turn up here wearing that dress so all I can think about is pulling on that fucking nothing bit of tie holding it closed, and then you flirt and dance with some wannabe rocker fifteen years my junior.” He placed his hands on the counter at either side of my hips, trapping me. “What the fuck kind of game are you playing?”

I pushed against his chest to no avail, my own anger rising. “You can stop right there. First off, Ellie set me up, remember? Second off, Ellie set me up again with wannabe rocker guy, and third, I wasn’t flirting with him. And fourth, what the hell do you care? You were dancing with someone, too.”

If it was even possible, his face got a whole lot cloudier. I stepped back involuntarily. “You were flirting with him,” he practically growled. “And I wanted to rip his fucking hands off.”

I shoved harder at his chest, but he only pressed into my hands like a damn concrete block. “Braden, move. This isn’t what you want. Remember.”

I watched some of the fury melt from his expression, his hands coming up to grip my hips tight to his. My breath stuttered at the feel of his erection rubbing against me, but I wasn’t surprised. There was something electric between us, and it was really confusing being this angry at each other and this turned on all at the same time. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I wish I could. Sometimes I wish I’d never met you.”

I huffed, hurt. “Then back the fuck off.”

At my scathing tone, Braden’s mouth hardened. I found myself pushed up onto the counter as Braden grasped the back of my thighs and lifted my legs, pressing in between them as he tugged on the tie holding my dress shut. I clutched at him for balance, the counter cold against my backside, as my dress opened, revealing my underwear. Braden’s eyes blazed as they drank me in and I found I couldn’t say no. Maybe if I let this happen between us, he’d see I couldn’t let him go and maybe we could take one more shot at it.

He crushed my lips beneath his at the exact same time he tore my underwear off, his kiss as possessive and hungry as I remembered. As I drowned in his kiss, I heard the sound of a zipper.

Then I gasped as he thrust his dick inside of me. My back naturally arched into his strokes as he gripped me high by the back of the thighs and pounded into me over and over, my cries of pleasure echoing off the restroom tiles. His own grunts were muffled as he buried his face in my neck. I writhed on the counter, my body completely in Braden’s control. The torture was exquisite, and the orgasm tore through me in record time.

Braden wasn’t done. As I came down off my orgasm, I watched him as he pulled back to watch me as he ground into me, chasing his own climax. I could feel another orgasm building. When Braden came, he threw his head back, his teeth gritted, the muscles in his neck straining as his hips jerked against me. The feel of him coming inside of me, the image of his face in release, was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, and I cried out, my sex pulsing around his cock as I came again.

Our labored breaths were the only sounds in the restroom.

As the thrill of climax began to fade enough to allow cognizance of our situation, a chill fell over me and goosebumps prickled my skin. The air in the room changed.

Because I knew …

I knew as soon as I lifted my gaze to this that he was going to hurt me.

“Jocelyn,” he said gruffly as he pulled out of me. He zipped himself up and reached to cover me but I pushed his hands away and slid off the counter.

My underwear were bunched up on the floor and I bent quickly to pull them on and hastily tied my dress shut.

“Jocelyn.”

Finally I looked up at him.

He stared at me regretfully.

“Don’t,” I said.

“I shouldn’t have.” He ignored me. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have, but I’m like a man possessed when it comes to you.”

“But you shouldn’t have,” I repeated.

“Babe, nothing has really changed. Except that now it looks as though Abby will be with me full-time, which means the woman I bring into her life has to be someone she can count on.”

“I’m not some unstable mental case,” I snapped.

He glared at me. “That’s not what I fucking meant and you know it.”

“What if I said I was ready to be serious with you?”

“Whatever is going on with you, Jocelyn, it makes you unreliable. We’ve got too much shit going on already …”

“So you’re going to wait around for some together, mature, steady woman who can eventually be the kind of stepmom Abby deserves.”

Braden narrowed his eyes at my sneering tone. “Don’t make this ugly.”

“I’m not making it ugly.” I strode by him and unlocked the door.

Then I realized that walking out of there without telling him how I felt was being cowardly all over again. So I looked back at him.

He stood staring at the ground, his hand clasped on the back of his neck.

“And if you find this steady, mature, together woman,” I said, and he turned to look at me, his expression blazing with frustration, “you know she’ll pander to you, right? You’re intimidating, Braden. You’re an alpha dog and you want things your way. But no one should have everything their own way. It’s boring. And it’ll make you an asshole. Whoever you pick … she’ll never challenge you. She’ll never drive you crazy. She’ll never bring you down to earth when you need it. And she’ll never know when you really need support, because she’s so busy agreeing with everything you say and do that she’ll miss what everything you say and do says about you. Sure, she’ll get that you’re a good dad. Anybody can see that. But she won’t get that you’re willing to sacrifice your happiness for your kid, and that makes you the best dad. She’ll get that you’re confident, but she won’t get that you can also be arrogant—and that is sexy as much as it is frustrating.

“She’ll even know how good in bed you are, but I wonder if she’ll know what it’s like to look into your eyes while you’re inside her and feel the ecstasy and terror that comes with realizing you just met the man you want inside you forever.”

He stared at me in heated wonder.

“And she’ll get that you’re successful, but she won’t get that you’re successful because you’re searching for something that seems always out of reach. And the reason I know that’s how you feel is because I feel the same way. And maybe Braden … maybe right now in this moment, we’re both looking into the eyes of what we’ve been searching for our whole lives.

“Or maybe,” I smiled sadly, “maybe I’m just in that one alone.”

I waited for him to say something.

Anything.

But all I saw was the way his hands clenched into fists, the way the muscle ticked in his jaw, and how his eyes darkened with a thousand different emotions.

I didn’t see relief or determination or certainty.

I didn’t see a lover succumbing to seduction.

I saw a father struggling to make the right decision.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have.” He apologized gesturing to the sink. “I really shouldn’t have. I seem to lose control where you’re concerned. Because as fucking wonderful all you said to me was, it’s words, Jocelyn. I need actions. If we did get back together, I wouldn’t want you spending any time with Abby until I’m sure about us.”

That hurt. That really goddamn hurt. I tried to understand his reasoning. “For how long?”

“For as long as it takes me to be sure.”

My hurt spilled out of me before I could stop myself. “I get that you’re protecting her, Braden, but do you know how fucking scary it was for me to stand there and say all that to you?”

“Yes.” He stepped toward me, reaching for me, and then pulling his hand back into a fist. “Yes, and all I want to do is bury myself inside you right now. I want to bury myself inside you forever, Jocelyn, and it scares the shit out of me because I don’t think you’re capable of forever.”

At his words I instantly could see our future if we did try to make this work. I could see me pussyfooting around him, trying to stay on my best behavior in fear that I’d do something wrong and lose him.

No matter how much I wanted him, I couldn’t live like that.

That wasn’t what a relationship was supposed to be like.

Right?

“I need you to believe in me,” I said. “I need you to believe that I’m in love with you. I need to know that you trust me with you and Abby. And I need to know that on the days that I’m finding all of it hard, on the days when my chest gets tight, and I can’t breathe for fear of losing you, that you’ll be there. That it won’t send you running. Because if you run, I’ll run. I’m not perfect, Braden, and I have a lot of wounds. That means I need a man who’ll fight with me, especially on the days I’m scared to fight.”

I waited as what I said penetrated.

Undiluted pain and frustration darkened his expression.

Maybe it should’ve made me feel better to know this was so difficult for him.

But it didn’t. Especially when the next words out of his mouth were, “Fuck, Jocelyn … I wish we’d met years ago.”

I felt like I was standing there with my chest ripped open, waiting for my insides to fall out.

So, this was love unrequited, huh?

In truth it’s difficult to describe a broken heart. That unimaginable pain centers in your chest and radiates out, this throbbing, sharp ache that causes almost incapacitation. But there’s more than the ache. Denial lodges itself in your throat, and that lump is its own kind of pain. Then there’s the knot in your stomach. The knot contracts and expands, contracts and expands, until you’re pretty sure you’re not going to be able to hold down the vomit.

I somehow managed to hold on to at least that much of my dignity.

And I left the hotel without another word.

That night as I lay in bed realizing that my actions had caused me to lose Braden, I made a decision I should’ve made a long time ago.

I was going back home to Virginia to say goodbye to my family.

It was time, finally, to put the past to rest in the hopes that I could find peace in my future, and maybe find a man who would fight to love me like I was determined I’d fight to love from now on.

THE GOODBYE

“You’re going to Virginia?” Ellie’s voice was almost shrill down the phone line.

I sat in the airline lounge at the airport and smiled at the concern in her voice. “This is a good thing, Els. And I’ve got you to thank for it.”

“Me?” she squeaked.

“You got me talking about my family again. It made me realize that it’s time to say goodbye to them finally. I can’t do that here. They’re buried back in Virginia. Plus, I have all of their stuff in storage. It’s time to deal with that, too.”

“Joss …” Ellie sighed heavily, causing blowback on the phone. “I think this is such a good thing but you are intending to come back, right?”

I wasn’t sure. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know. I’m going out there and we’ll just see what happens.”

“You can’t move back to America, Joss. What about us?”

I grinned. “We can still be friends, Els.”

“Not us! Us. This family.”

Realizing exactly what she meant, I was silent a moment. The day after the party, I’d booked the first flight out to Richmond. It was for Monday morning. All day Sunday I’d ignored Ellie’s calls, not wanting to discuss it with her until it was too late.

The pain that ripped open inside of me at the party had stayed with me since.

“Braden made it clear that nothing is going to happen between us.”

“Did you tell him you want to be serious with him?”

“I told him I loved him.”

For once Ellie was quiet. And then she sounded tearful. “You told him you love him?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t say it back?”

“Nope.”

“I’m going to kill him!”

I smiled sadly. “Please don’t.”

“Joss, what else did he say? I can’t believe for one minute Braden wouldn’t be over the moon that you’re in love with him.”

Exhausted by the conversation already, I needed to find a way to finish it. “He doesn’t trust me. He’s messed up about what’s going on with Abby and Kiersten and he’s putting Abby first. I get it. I really do. But right now, I’m messed up too, and I need someone who is going to believe in me and help me through this. Braden’s never going to give me that. I fell in love with the wrong man and that’s it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“But did you tell him about what you’ve been through? Did you tell him about your family?”

“I assumed you had.”

“I didn’t! My God, Joss, you have to tell him!”

I pulled my phone way from my ear. “Jesus, Els.”

“Sorry. But you have to tell him everything.”

Getting irritated now, I snapped, “No. I don’t. It’s over, Ellie. Let it go or I’m hanging up.”

She made a huff of annoyance and I thought perhaps she might hang up. Then she said, “You’ll tell me when you arrive safe in Richmond?”

Relieved, I slumped in my chair. “Yes. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Good. And Joss?”

“Yeah?”

“When you’re over there making your decision about staying or not … remember that you have someone back here who really cares about you. I care about you. You’ve become my best friend these last few months.”

My nose burned as tears welled in my eyes and I turned away from the rest of the room so no one would see me swipe at them. “I care about you too, Ellie,” I said shakily.

“Of course you do.” She laughed, sounding just as tearful. “I’m very loveable, you know.”

She was.

She really was.

And if I did decide to start over in Virginia, I’d miss her like hell.

***

Richmond, Virginia

Two days later

I stood frozen outside of the cemetery. It had taken me this long to force myself out of the hotel room and into the car the hotel had provided for me.

The driver was parked down the road behind me, probably sitting there, watching me and thinking I was a complete lunatic.

I’d been standing at the entrance for fifteen minutes.

My fear came from all sorts of places. It wasn’t only the fear of finally coming to terms with the fact that I’d lost my family. It was the fear of what they must think of me. I didn’t know if there was something after death, if their energy was still around here, or if they were up in heaven watching over me. But if it was true, if there was still some part of them that could see me, what must they think?

I’d pretended they didn’t exist for years.

I’d buried my head in the sand and shut out everyone who might have loved me.

There was nothing for them to be proud of.

Then make them proud of you for a change, and walk your ass into this cemetery.

The sound of a car slowly approaching made me tense. I flicked a look over my shoulder and noted a similar black car to the one I’d arrived in pull up in front of mine. Not wanting to be seen staring, I looked back at the entrance and tried to lift my foot forward. Instead the sound of a car door slamming made me flinch.

I glanced over at the new arrival … and I felt the world blur around the edges of my vision.

It couldn’t be …

What the hell was he doing here?

“Braden?”

He strode toward me, grim determination on his face, wearing a black suit that as always fitted him to perfection. As he grew closer, I noted a slight darkness under his eyes and a weary strain on his face.

“What the hell?” I said.

His answer was to walk right up to me, cup my face in his hands, and kiss the hell out of me. I grabbed on to his arms because if I didn’t, I was going to topple over in shock.

When he finally let me up for air, he pressed his forehead to mine and refused to let me go. “Jocelyn,” he whispered hoarsely.

As wonderful as it was to be touching him, to have him touching me, I was still confused. “What are you doing here?”

He pulled back, dropping his hands, only to clasp one of my hands in his. “Ellie told me about your family.” And that’s when I noticed the anger in his eyes. “Fuck, Jocelyn, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you I had issues,” I argued, and then huffed when I remembered where we were. “I don’t want to fight here of all places.”

His hand tightened in mine. “Do you really think I got on the first fucking plane to Richmond to fight with you?”

“Why are you here?”

“Because,” he bent his head toward mine so I had nowhere else to look but into his eyes, “I fucked up. I let what’s happened to me in the past make me forget who I am.”

“And who are you?”

Braden tugged me into him and I rested my trembling hands on his chest. I felt the pounding beat of his heart beneath my palm. “I’m the kind of man who fights for what he wants. And I want you, babe. I love you. You’re mine. I know that deep in my very bones. Fuck, Jocelyn, if I let you go, I’d regret it my whole life, and what kind of lesson is that for my kid, eh?” He gripped my waist so tight it was almost bruising. “I will do anything to make this up to you. Anything. Because the idea that I hurt you, that I left you to go through this shit alone rips me upside. Jesus, babe, I never knew it could feel like this.”

His words made me breathless and all I could see, hear, and feel was his passion. It took me a moment to see his fear, too.

He thought I’d turn him away.

“Braden …” I laughed softly. “You got on a goddamn plane to Virginia. As far as grand gestures go, that works for me.”

He laughed and then he was kissing me in a way that was entirely inappropriate considering our surroundings.

I broke away reluctantly and rested my forehead on his chest. “I couldn’t make myself go in to see them.”

At the gentle touch of his fingers on my chin, I lifted my head.

Fierce love and support shone out of him. “That’s why I’m here. We’ll go in together, and if you’re up for it, you can tell me everything.”

That’s how I found myself standing at my family’s graveside on a cool Wednesday afternoon, crying softly as I told Braden about how they died. Once I was done, I knelt and I sobbed my apologies to my parents.

It hurt so badly, I wanted to die.

But then Braden was there, holding me through it, and I could breathe again. The pain was as agonizing as it had been the day I buried them, but I let it wash over me, knowing that I’d get through it.

***

That night Braden made love to me.

And I let him.

As he looked into my eyes while he moved inside of me, I knew he could see right into my soul. Although it still made me a little breathless, I didn’t panic. He could see who I was and he still wanted to be with me.

Afterward, I lay in his arms and talked about my family. I told him about the passionate relationship between my mom and dad, about my adoration for my little sister Beth.

And I told him about my best friend Dru who drowned when we were sixteen after a fight we’d had over a boy.

I wanted him to have it all.

I wanted him to know why it was so hard for me to let someone close.

“I’m terrified of losing you,” I’d whispered.

“Well, rest easy, babe, because I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure that’s something you never have to worry about.”

As the night drifted onward, Braden gave me more of him, too. He told me a lot about his father, his mother, a tragic incident with an old girlfriend, all the things that made him tick and made him who he was. We ended on Abby. He told me all about what was going on in her young life, about her favorite color, her love of books, how she’d written a short story … how much he knew she’d love me. He apologized for holding her up as a barrier between us, but I told him that was the one part of our separation that I understood. It hadn’t been easy for me but I understood.

I promised I would never hurt them.

He promised me he would trust me.

The sun was peeking through the hotel curtains when we finally drifted off to sleep.

When I awoke that afternoon, we were still in each other’s arms.

It was the first time I’d ever slept with someone.

The thought made me breathless. I felt the ominous prickle on my skin but I gripped on tighter to Braden and fought down the panic attack.

I breathed in and out, slowly, surely.

And when I was through it, I felt the sweet touch of his lips on my shoulder.

THE REVIEW

I stood, feeling weirdly nervous, as I watched Braden read the final page of my manuscript.

He reached the end and placed it on my desk, staring at it.

Not saying anything.

Finally, I lost my patience. “Well?”

“Fuck.” He startled, turning to look at me. “When did you come back?”

“Five minutes ago.” I strode toward him. “Well? What did you think?”

He frowned up at me. “It was well-written like everything you write.”

Irritated, I sighed. “That’s not what I was asking.”

Braden stood up from the chair and walked past me toward the door. “Well, that’s what I thought.”

Not liking his evasiveness one bit, that little knot tightened in my stomach, the one I used to get when I stupidly read one-star reviews of my books. “You didn’t like it.”

My husband turned back to me. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“Oh well, then, yeah, that means you loved it.”

He narrowed his eyes at my sarcasm. “Jocelyn.”

“Just tell me. Christ, Braden, you had no problem telling me my mac and cheese sucks.”

And that’s when I noticed the spark of something in his eyes, the spark he was trying to hide.

He was pissed.

“Are you upset?” I said, incredulous.

That was all he needed to let me have it. “How the fuck else am I supposed to feel?”

I flinched at his yell. “What the hell?”

But instead of answering, he slammed out of my office.

No. No way!

I slammed out after him, chasing him as he lunged much faster than I could with my shorter legs upstairs. “The least you can do is explain why you’re so mad?”

“I think that would be obvious.”

“Are you and Dad fighting?” Beth popped her head out of her room.

“Go downstairs and sit with your brother.”

For once, my kid didn’t argue with me. Braden and I rarely fought but when we did, it could get explosive. As Beth hurried downstairs, not looking at all worried that her parents were mad at each other, I hurried up to the third floor.

I barged into my bedroom and found Braden waiting for me, arms crossed over his chest, face dark.

“I’m confused!” I threw my hands up. Of all the reactions to this novella I was expecting, a tantrum wasn’t one of them.

“Confused?” he practically growled. “What’s so confusing about the fact that you rewrote our love story and I find that apparently you don’t fucking know me at all?”

“Okay, less of the F-bombs,” I said in my mom voice.

“The kids can’t hear us. That’s why I came up here so that when I murder you, they can’t testify in court.”

I smirked because that was funny. “Braden, seriously, it’s a story. Your reaction is irrational.”

“Maybe it is,” he agreed, “but Jesus, Jocelyn, in what reality would I ever not choose you?”

“But it’s just a story! And you did choose me. You flew to Virginia in it for me.” I hurried toward him, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Baby, the point of the story was that no matter what I really believe, we were meant to be together. And you know better than anyone that circumstances change a person. We aren’t the same people we were when we met. If we met now, things wouldn’t play out the same way they did then.”

“I would never stand there while you told me you loved me and not say it back.”

“Why are you so upset about this?”

“Because.” He cupped my face, bringing his lips close to mine. “I thought you knew that I love you beyond reason.”

I melted into him. “You big romantic idiot. I do know that. But I also know that you love your kids beyond sanity.”

He nodded. “True, but—”

“Pretend for a second that Beth isn’t mine, just yours.”

“That’s hard to do considering she’s your clone.”

I laughed. “Yes, but try. Beth is yours and … Holly’s.”

“Who the hell is Holly?”

Amusement flooded me and my body shook against his. “Your ex-girlfriend.”

“Really?”

“You were dating her when we met. You dumped her to get into my pants.”

“I did?”

“Yes. You did. Anyway, we’ve never met, Beth is your kid, Holly is a mess, and you meet me. Think about how you feel about Beth. Wouldn’t you do anything to protect her?”

I knew when he stopped being pissed because he relaxed into me. “I get it. A little.” He kissed me softly. “But that doesn’t mean I like your story.”

“You’re being awfully immature about this.”

His eyes darkened. “I like our story the way it is.”

“We ended up together in my story, too.”

“Eight years later. Eight fucking years, babe. Doesn’t that make you feel cold just thinking about losing eight years of our life together?”

“Yes.” I cuddled him, resting my head against his strong chest. “And it wasn’t easy to write. But I didn’t see it like how you’re seeing it. I wrote it because I knew deep in my soul that no matter what, I would always have ended up right where I am in this exact moment. That doesn’t make me cold, Braden.” I pulled back to look up at a face I loved so much. “I think it’s a beautiful thought.”

My words seemed to finally sink in.

And I knew when he got me.

He kissed me. Deep, hungry, and wet. Before I knew it, I was on my back in bed. My husband had slid his hand under my shirt when there was a knock at the door.

“Are you done arguing because Ellie’s hungry!” Beth shouted from the hall.

Braden groaned, dropping his head in my neck.

I rubbed his back soothingly. “Yeah, baby, we’ll be right out.”

She stomped down the stairs, making enough noise for a herd of kids. We grinned at each other.

As we got out of the bed and straightened our clothes, Braden said, “Babe.”

I turned to look at him and he was giving me a sheepish, boyish smile I wasn’t used to seeing on his face. I decided I liked it. A lot. “Yeah?”

“At least you know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re one hell of a writer. I wouldn’t have gotten pissed off otherwise.”

I grinned at him. “You do realize I’m never letting you live your reaction down. Ever.”

And just like that, his sheepishness was gone, obliterated by the arrogance I’d come to know and learned to love. He prowled over to me and slid his hand down my waist and around to squeeze my ass, pulling me into him. “Every time you bring it up, I’m going to fuck you. No matter where we are.”

“You wouldn’t,” I dared.

“I think we both know I would.”

Yes, we both knew he would.

Dammit.

Seeing the answer in my eyes, he let me go and marched over to our door. Instead of opening it, he turned back to me instead, unsatisfied lust burning in his gaze. “You owe me a blow job for upsetting me today.”

I grinned. “Oh really.”

“Yes, really.”

“It’s not Tuesday.”

He grinned back at my joke. “I love you.”

“See, that might get you a blow job,” I teased, opening the door.

Braden took my hand as we walked down the stairs. I was musing over how many husbands still held their wives’ hands after fourteen years of marriage when he asked, “What’s for dinner tonight?”

When I remembered what I was planning on cooking, I burst out laughing.

Braden smiled curiously at me. “What?”

“You’ll never believe it.”

“What?”

Tears of laughter pricked my eyes. “Sausage,” I gasped.

Remembering a conversation from long ago, one that Braden would later tell me was the beginning of him falling under my spell, my husband started to laugh, too.

I guess there were some things that never changed.

And in this case, that was a good thing.

It had been tough to write the novella, but I’d enjoyed it. It had renewed my faith in the kind of love I shared with my husband.

However … Braden was right. I wouldn’t give up our real story for anything.

It had made us who we were.

I loved who we were and I was proud of what we’d created together. If my family really were looking down on us, I knew they’d be content in the knowledge that I got my shit together. I’d lost everything at such a young age … but then Braden came into my life and I found myself with the kind of love that a rare few got to experience.

Life was funny that way.

“I thought you were arguing,” Beth charged into the hall, staring at us like we were aliens.

“We were.” My laughter died away as Braden kissed my cheek and strode into the living room to see to Ellie and Luke.

“And now you’re laughing? You two are weird.”

“Hey.” I tugged her into my side as we walked into the living room. “I will die a happy woman if you find someone to be just as weird with.”

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

With every release of a book in the On Dublin Street series readers have watched as Joss and Braden grew older and started a family. As I wrote about their lives changing and growing richer with each passing year, I began to wonder what their lives might have been like if Joss hadn’t met Braden when she was so young and maybe not as equipped emotionally to deal with her past as she might have been if she were a little older. From there the idea for Stars Over Castle Hill came to life and I jumped on it, happy to delve back into a world where Joss and Braden were the main attraction.

As always I’d like to thank my agent Lauren Abramo for supporting the idea and giving me the confidence to go ahead with the story. And a massive thank you to Kerry Donovan for your editorial eye and content read-throughs.

Moreover, I’m grateful to Jennifer Sommersby Young, for jumping in as copy-editor on such short notice. You’re a rock star my friend and I appreciate you so much. Also, any mistakes in the acknowledgments are mine alone!

Thank you to Jeff Senter at Indie Formatting Services for putting the ebooks together so beautifully on such a tight deadline.

To Amy Bartol, Georgia Cates, Rachel Higginson and Shelly Crane, thank you for putting up with my multiple attempts at cover design and patiently giving me advice and support.

And finally, as always, to my readers: a thank you so big it would fill an entire continent. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect to see Joss and Braden’s story reach so many countries, and I owe it all to you.

Table of Contents

The World We Made

The Fear

The Elevator

The Pursuit

The Dates

The Winner

The Sister Friend

The Party

The Goodbye

The Review

Acknowledgments

Table of Contents

The World We Made

The Fear

The Elevator

The Pursuit

The Dates

The Winner

The Sister Friend

The Party

The Goodbye

The Review

Acknowledgments