Adored: A Love Letters Novel

by Kristen Blakely

  Vera swallowed hard through the lump in her throat. The sting in her eyes surprised her. She had known Rowan for one week. The decision shouldn’t be that tough.

  In that one week, though, Rowan had lavished her with tenderness and attention she had not received in fourteen years. Of course, the decision was tough.

  But he was an escort. He was simply doing what came naturally to him—treating women as if they were special when they were no more than a paying client.

  You’re not special to him, girl. No more so than anyone else is special to him. Get that straight.

  Vera ground her teeth as she marched into her bathroom and reached for her toothbrush. God, she hated the voices in her head, the self-doubt that swung her from one path to another. She had to end things with Rowan. Nothing could come of it.

  And you’re brushing your teeth because you’re hoping he’ll kiss you even after you tell him it’s over, before it’s even begun?

  God damn it!

  She rinsed out the toothpaste, patted her face dry, and then stared at herself in the mirror. A tired-looking woman with shadows under her eyes stared back at her. If Rowan smiles at you like you’re the most beautiful woman in the room, he’s obviously faking it.

  Vera stared at her makeup kit and wish she had thought about refreshing her makeup earlier. Perhaps covered with war paint, she could have carried on the beautiful woman illusion a little further, but she had forgotten to do so in the chaos of preparing a last-minute meal. Too late now. Still, she reached for her lip gloss and swiped the pale red hue on her lips. A woman, any woman, needed to be as prepared as possible when talking to a man like Rowan, whose most lethal weapon was his slow, devastating smile.

  She peeked in on Allison one more time—her daughter had already kicked off her covers—before heading downstairs. The first two things she saw were the wiped-down table and the empty sink. The dishwasher was running a cycle. “Can I keep you?” were the first words out of her mouth.

  “Hmm?” Rowan looked up from his seat on the couch. “Oh, the kitchen. I live alone. No one’s going to pick up after me, so I’ve gotten used to cleaning up after myself. Besides, ‘you cook, I clean’ seemed like a fair deal.”

  When was the last time a man had said, “You cook, I clean,” instead of “You cook, you clean”? Why did her perfect man have to be an escort, damn it? Vera curled her hands into fists, mostly to keep herself from reaching out to him. “Rowan, we need to talk.”

  “You’ve got that frown between your eyes again.” He patted the seat next to him. “Sit. We’ll talk.”

  Vera opted for the far end of the couch. It seemed safer.

  Or so it seemed, until he leaned over, tugged off her sneakers and socks, and then lifted her bare feet onto the couch. He scooted back against the other end of the couch. It allowed her to fully extend her legs so they rested on his lap.

  She swallowed hard. “What are you doing?”

  “I was reading a novel from your bookshelf. I confess I’m struggling to get the point of literary fiction.” He pulled out a small bottle from his pocket and set it on the side table. Gently holding her left foot, he rotated her ankle clockwise and then counterclockwise, before devoting similar attention to each toe. He tugged on her toes with just enough light pressure for her to realize how cramped her feet had been in her shoes.

  “Vera?”

  “Hmm?” She glanced up and realized she was so fixated by the way his hands moved her foot that she had forgotten to respond to him. What was the question?

  He released her foot long enough to squeeze some lotion from the bottle into his hands. He clasped both hands over the lotion for a moment to warm it up before applying it over her foot in long strokes. A soft lavender fragrance drifted up to her as he took her foot in both hands and walked his thumbs back and forth over the sole. His thumbs pushed deep, working the pressure points. “Literary fiction. I see you’re into it.”

  Her head fell back against the armrest of the couch. Literary what? Her brain felt as sharp as cotton, but she struggled to reply. “Yes, I…I like reading.”

  “Well, so do I, but I prefer crime thrillers and mysteries. Who’s your favorite author?”

  Oh, God. What was he doing to her? Her left foot was in heaven as he moved his thumbs in semicircles beneath the ball of her foot, working back and forth horizontally. Who knew she had that many nerve endings in her foot? “Mmm.”

  “Who’s that?” His voice, a beautiful baritone, was as soothing as a lullaby. “It doesn’t ring any bells. I gather he, or she, is not American?” He placed his thumbs on opposite sides of her sole, under her toes, and slid them toward each other and to the opposite side of her foot. He shifted slightly down and reversed the motion, creating a delightful flow of sensation down her foot, all the way to her heel.

  “Ohhh.”

  “Mmm Ohhh?” he asked. “I definitely don’t recognize that name.”

  The blatant amusement in his voice sparked something in her head, but not enough to motivate her into wringing a coherent reply from the mush that was her brain. She had to grip the sides of the couch to stop herself from writhing.

  Rowan’s chuckle was a low, warm sound as he interlaced his fingers and rested them on the top of her foot. His thumbs pressed against her sole as he slid his hands up and down its entire length.

  The stimulation wrecked her willpower. “Oh, God.” She arched against his hands. It was just a simple foot massage; how could it turn her on in such an intense way?

  “You have lovely feet,” he murmured. “And such amazing reactions.” He placed his fingertips in the channels between her toes and gently slid all four fingers up and down between them. “I wish I knew what you were thinking and feeling.”

  I don’t ever want this to stop. I don’t ever want you to go away.

  The crackle of flames in the fireplace was the only sound in the room as he applied slight pressure to the outside of her ankle, where muscle met bone, and glided his thumb along that line, all the way up her shin. Sensation shot up her leg.

  Go higher. No, don’t go higher. If he went any higher, she would be begging him to take off her panties.

  She whimpered, although she wasn’t certain whether it was from relief or disappointment when he released her left foot. He picked up her right foot, and the sensual assault started over. This time he did not bother her with questions he must have known she was in no shape to answer. Instead, her soft sighs filled the space between them.

  As if he knew exactly what she needed, he took her to the edge of heaven, and then eased her gently into relaxation. His touch changed, soothing instead of stimulating. By the time he finished the foot massage, she was a languid puddle. Sprawled on the couch, she enjoyed the warmth of his hands against her feet. Her head fell back against the armrest, and her eyes closed. “It was wonderful,” she breathed.

  “I’m glad.” His quiet voice was as smooth as honey. He rose, picked up the throw from the back of the couch, and draped it over her.

  The external warmth covering her matched the warmth emanating from within.

  “You’re wiped out,” he said. “Why don’t you sleep? I’ll let myself out and lock the door behind me.”

  The kindness of his tone made something deep in her chest ache. Why couldn’t someone else have been as kind? Why did Rowan have to be an escort? Why did he have to be the one man she knew she could not have…should not have? She cracked an eyelid open. “Do you do this for everyone else?”

  Confusion flickered across his face, though why, she wasn’t sure, and then he frowned. His amber eyes darkened. “No,” he said. “Only for the ones who matter. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Vera had to press her lips together to keep from calling him back. She had hurt him, and he had not deserved it. He had not concealed the fact that he was an escort, and surely escorts deserved to have girlfriends, and eventually wives too.

  Just not me. She closed her eyes and wondered why she felt like crying. Damn
it. Just not me.

  The W Hotel rose over AIA and an unparalleled view of the Atlantic Ocean. On the twenty-third floor, a balcony door opened, and Rowan stepped out into the cool ocean breeze he hoped would clear his head.

  He had to tell her. The “escort” joke had seemed like a hoot last week, but it was no longer funny, not when she looked at him as if he was breaking her heart.

  Too fast. It was all moving too fast, although exactly how or why he could not imagine. Only a week had passed since their first meeting—a meeting he had initiated simply with the intention of giving a lonely woman a great night out on the town. Asking her out again had not been part of the plan.

  But plans changed.

  They had altered a week earlier at YOLO when she charmed him with stories of Allison’s antics. They had transformed yet again hours earlier, in her townhouse, when the warmth of her welcome reminded him of the home he did not have. Each change had him wanting more out of the fledging relationship. However, did “more” include a long-term, long-distance relationship with Vera and her adorable one-year-old toddler?

  Nothing about the scenario had “sustainable” written over it.

  He could still walk away. He was not in too deep. Not yet.

  The memory of the happy smack of Allison’s lips against his cheek insisted otherwise. Rowan’s jaw tightened. He had been ready for a family for a long time, but the right woman had never come by. Was it too fast, too soon, to contemplate whether Vera might be the one?

  One more day. If she called him back, he would give himself one more day with Vera and Allison. If his plans changed again the way he hoped they would, he would have to come clean and hope Vera would be okay with his promotion from male escort to supermodel.

  Chapter 6

  Fort Lauderdale was, in Vera’s opinion, at its most beautiful in winter, when the sun warmed instead of burned, and the temperature was a comfortable seventy-five degrees. She parked her car in the large parking lot adjacent to the beach and spent ten minutes migrating Allison and her assorted paraphernalia, including a food and drink cooler and a drawstring bag full of beach toys, from the car into the stroller. By the time Vera was done, she had almost worked up a sweat.

  “Play!” Allison kicked her little feet. She squealed like an ecstatic piglet at the sight of a mud pit.

  “Yes, darling,” Vera said as she pushed the stroller along the sidewalk. She looked around. Where was Rowan?

  She had spent hours the previous night debating the wisdom of seeing him again. In the end, she had caved, not because it was the right thing to do, but because she wanted, in fact, needed, to see him again.

  Was it wrong to admit that he made her feel simultaneously weak and strong? With a dazzling smile, he could turn her into a vulnerable tangle of hormones and nerves, and yet, when he looked at her, she basked in the depth of his admiration and respect.

  Was it so wrong to admit that he made her feel perfect? Surely, there was nothing wrong with her wanting to be perfect for one man?

  In spite of her better judgment, she had called him after breakfast. He sounded surprised, as if he had not been certain she would call. Was he having second thoughts about their relationship, too?

  Well, it was too late to change her mind. One more day. She had promised herself at least one more day with him. Vera charged on and blurted out her plans, and he signed on immediately. He was staying at a hotel by the ocean, and he agreed to meet Vera and Allison at the beach playground after lunch.

  So, here she was with her child, piled with food, drinks, and toys, fully equipped to spend a day at the beach with a gorgeous male escort.

  The moment she left the sidewalk, her feet sank into powder-soft sand. The stroller promptly got stuck. Ah, no matter. They were within sight of the playground. She could abandon the stroller and carry Allison the rest of the way.

  But where was he?

  Vera pulled out her cell phone and glanced at the digital clock. She was on time, and Rowan was nowhere in sight. He had not called either.

  Was he late, or had he changed his mind?

  She would not be surprised if he had. She supposed she should have felt relieved, but she did not. The hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach felt more like loss.

  “Hey, Vera!”

  Her gaze shot toward the four men on the beach volleyball court next to the playground. “Rowan?”

  He waved at her, tossed the volleyball he was holding to his partner, and then ran over to her.

  Vera’s jaw dropped, but she managed to catch herself before she drooled. Rowan wore only sunglasses and swimming trunks. Sweat glistened on the tanned skin of his muscled chest and sharply defined abdomen. Por Dios! He was magnificent—in fact, several levels of magnificent over the other athletic men on the court.

  He grinned as he approached her. “Sorry, I came down early—didn’t want to miss you—then got invited to round up a foursome.” He glanced over his shoulder at the three men waiting patiently for him. “It’ll be another twenty minutes or so, if you don’t mind.”

  Would she mind an opportunity to ogle his incredible, near-naked body for twenty minutes? Vera waved her hand. “No, not at all.” She managed not to squeak.

  Allison was content to sit in the sand and make a mess with her bucket and spade, which left Vera ample time and opportunity to watch Rowan play beach volleyball. He was not the best player among the four, but he was competent enough to hold his own. The real pleasure came from seeing his perfectly built body exert itself with flawless strength and grace.

  A crowd—mostly women—soon gathered to watch the game. It did not require significant powers of observation for Vera to note that the ladies were mostly watching Rowan. When the game ended, he was immediately approached by svelte young women with sun-streaked hair and tiny bikinis. Dazzling smiles turned in his direction. Coy looks flirted his way.

  Rowan’s response was an absent-minded smile as he grabbed his towel and discarded shirt off the sand and made his way toward her. The women who stalked him were subtly brushed off. Smiles turned into pouts. Rowan apparently noticed neither. Vera held back an amused smile. He had crowd management down to an art form.

  It didn’t make sense, though, did it? Why would an escort shun the attention of women? In fact, the more she thought about it, the less the facts about Rowan added up.

  She pushed her doubts aside and smiled up at him. “Good game.”

  “Yes, it was. Sorry, I kept you waiting.”

  “Not a problem.” She unzipped the cooler. “Water or juice?”

  “Just water. Thanks.” He sat down beside her. Their fingers brushed as the bottle changed hands.

  Vera inhaled deeply and tried not to shudder. Medical school grounded her in the knowledge that androstenol, the scent produced by fresh male sweat, was attractive to females. What medical school had not taught her was what to do about it, especially when it emanated off a body that would have made classical Greek and Roman sculptures drool with jealousy. To distract herself, she looked around. She was once again the target of envious female stares.

  “You deal with that often?” she asked.

  “What?” Rowan’s gaze followed hers. It swept over clusters of attractive women without breaking its figurative stride.

  She shook her head. “You really don’t notice it, do you?”

  “Notice what?”

  “Never mind.”

  He shrugged. “I should rinse off before I put my shirt back on. How cold is the water this time of year?”

  “Too cold for native Floridians, but likely just about perfect for New Yorkers.” She pressed her lips together. No, don’t rinse off. Yes, rinse off. You are too damned distracting.

  “Be right back.” He pushed to his feet, dusted sand off his swimming trunks, and jogged to the edge of the surf. He waded into the ocean, dipped his head under the water for several moments, and then broke the surface.

  A demigod rose out of the sea, water droplets caressing his body as
they streamed down the length of his muscles. His skin glistened as sunlight reflected off the moisture on his skin.

  Vera groaned and buried her face in her hands. That hadn’t helped one bit. He was far more distracting now. She managed to plaster a shaky smile back on her face by the time he returned to her side. Next to her, Allison looked up from her sand toys and flashed a toothy grin. “Roan!”

  He ruffled her blond curls. “Hi, Alli-Astronaut.”

  “Alli-naut,” she repeated. She held up her spade. “Play!”

  “I’ve got her if you want to chill out and sunbathe or read,” he said.

  Sunbathing and reading both sounded tempting, but not nearly as much as the pleasure of watching Rowan interact with her daughter. As he built a sandcastle, he discussed the importance of fortifications, ramparts, moats, and towers with Allison, who nodded with approval and said, “More!”

  Vera chuckled. “I’m guessing you don’t deal much with young kids.”

  Rowan shrugged. “My only nephew is ten.”

  “Do you see him often?”

  “Not as often as I like.”

  He did not elaborate, and Vera sensed the topic was off-limits. Had his family disowned him when he decided to be an escort? “I’m an only child,” she said. “My parents died when I was sixteen.”

  “Was that why you married your ex-husband?”

  Vera inhaled sharply. “I…I guess so, though I never really thought of it that way before.”

  “How did you think of it before?”

  “That I was in love. That we were in love.”

  “Were you happy with him at first?”

  She looked up and fixed her gaze on the horizon. It was easier than looking into Rowan’s amber eyes that promised to unravel her every secret. Palm trees swayed in her peripheral vision. “I was, or I thought I was content, so that amounts to the same thing.”

  “Not really.”

  Vera’s mouth twisted into a crooked frown. Rowan was right, and she wished she had been smart enough to realize it earlier, before she added the complexity of an innocent baby into the mix. “Anyway, Darren and I drifted apart when I went to medical school. We had some horrible fights about it. He was doing great in his law firm, but he insisted he could get better returns on his money in the stock market than paying my medical school tuition, so I got loans instead.”