Damn, there was something familiar about her.
Brad took a deep breath and let it out slowly before replying. “We could always ask the Estrogen Horde for suggestions.”
“NO.” There was no way he was eliciting help from the Estrogen Horde. The code name he and Brad used growing up to describe the gaggle of female cousins that made their life miserable. If he asked them for help, they would take over, and before he knew it, he would be engaged to one of their ditsy friends that only cared about fashion and shopping.
If he was going to be saddled with a spouse, then he wanted someone who could hold a decent conversation and who had ambition about something other than shopping.
Another snort sounded.
His head whipped to the side, as he looked at Jailbait, but she was still focused on her laptop. The sound had to be coming from her. She was the only customer close to them. His eyebrows furrowed. If he didn’t know better, he would think that was…nah it couldn’t be. He was sure his mother would have warned him before she popped up on the scene again. Especially knowing how he felt about her. He gave his head a shake. It was just his imagination running wild. All of this talk of commitment and relationships had him jumping at shadows from the past. It was time to put that memory to rest once and for all. He had a future to think of and dwelling in the past, on long gone friendships were not going to help him any.
“We will avoid the Estrogen Horde at all cost,” he spoke to Brad while keeping his gaze fixed on Jailbait, watching her suspiciously despite the mental pep talk he just had with himself. His curiosity wouldn’t let go of her, “besides they would probably just agree to marry me just to get access to my money.”
“Oh my God. You have become so shallow,” the loud announcement came from Jailbait. Hemi watched her take her earbuds out and stand up, gathering up her belongings, shoving them into her bag.
Shock hit him.
He had been wrong. She was not as young as he thought.
There was no way those curves could belong to a young girl. No, his memory was bringing up images of what that body looked like in the past. And he distinctly didn’t remember those curves. The purple tips of her hair peeking out from under the black skull cap she on her head was reminiscent of the past. He was familiar with that. Memories flashed through his mind of those tips being in a rainbow of colors including the current purple.
A long purple sweater matching the tips of her hair hugged enticing curves on a slender body, Hemi felt himself growing hard as she bent over to pick up the pen she dropped, the sweater framed her heart-shaped ass. As she straightened back up, he could see she was still on the smaller side. Most of the women he dated were tall and model thin for a reason, he had a fear of crushing anyone this tiny. But this little morsel was petite and full of curves his hands just wanted to glide over.
“Kamiya,” he spoke as recognition hit him, his voice automatically dropping an octave to the deep timber that had women begging him to kiss them.
She turned and looked at him. “Roman.” He remembered that light, airy tone. How it could sound so sweet as it cut deep. Wielded by a mind sharper than a blade fresh from a whetstone. He stared in shock. Unable to move as years’ worth of history came flooding back. She finished packing up her stuff, shrugging into her coat. She swung her satchel onto her back before she marched down the aisle toward the door of the Espresso Train.
“Hey,” Hemi scooted out of his chair and followed her. There was no way he was going to let her walk out of his life a second time. He caught up with her in a few steps with his long-legged stride. Reaching out and grabbing her arm he spun her around to face him.
He didn’t expect her to keep swinging her satchel until it connected solidly with his stomach. “Oof” loudly escaped him along with all of his breath as he doubled over from the hit.
“Hands off the merchandise, you dumb butt Playboy Bunny,” Kamiya announced loudly to him.
Hemi was stunned for a second.
He thought for sure that his mind was playing tricks on him and that he was accosting a stranger, but the moment he touched her, lust zapped him. Not the mild youthful lust of the past, but a grown-up version that was on the verge of raging out of control from one simple touch.
He only knew one person who referred to him that way. Only one person could elicit such a reaction from him.
Hemi could hear Brad’s booming laugh behind him as Kamiya turned on her heels and continued out the door. He took a few more seconds, trying to breathe before he was able to make another attempt to catch up with her. He exited out the Espresso Train, into the cold air, to see her heading to the bus stop on the other side of the parking lot.
He had to know. It was imperative that he find out why she was back in his life. Getting over her once was almost impossible, he didn’t think he had the strength to do it a second time.
Hemi sped up his pace. His breath puffing in the air. The heat from his encounter with Kamiya was keeping him warm or else he would have regretted leaving his winter coat behind in the coffee shop as he tried to catch up with her.
“Hey,” he called out to her hoping she would stop. For someone so small, she moved with speed. Of course, she didn’t stop. She always was a feisty little thing.
Though she was moving fast, Hemi’s long legs gave him an advantage. He caught up with her right before she reached the bus stop. He stopped just shy of grabbing her; he learned his lesson about touching her. This time he moved in front of her, blocking her way.
She tried to go to the left of him, but Hemi moved right. She moved right, and so he moved left. She let out a long, loud sigh.
“What?” She demanded, putting her hands on her hips, giving him the stink eye.
“Kamiya?” Hemi asked hesitantly holding up his hands up peacefully, trying not to antagonize her anymore.
This was crazy. There was no way this could be his childhood friend? It had been years since she moved away. Their mothers kept in touch, but he hadn’t spoken to her since the day she up and left him. His mind insisted he confirms what his body and heart was telling him, that his Kamiya was back in his life.
“Roman,” Kamiya answered him in that familiar mocking tone, there was a new level of maturity to it now, but the same spark danced in her eyes. She was the only one of his friends that refused to call him Hemi. He wasn’t hallucinating.
“When did you get back into the country? I thought you were in Mongolia or some other foreign country saving the world?”
“Well, it is a good thing you are not paid to think.” She tried to sidestep him.
“Well actually I am,” he moved to block her.
“I wouldn’t know.” She hissed, “All I know is the things plastered all over the internet for the world to read.”
He winced at the reminder of his current predicament. He quickly moved off of that topic. “I’ve missed you.”
“Yes, I can tell from the PLETHORA of letters and emails that I received from you. I just loved how we stayed in touch,” Kamiya smirked insincerely at him. “Yes, how we talked about our future together. Let’s talk about our dream to conquer the world. Takeover humanity and bring suffering to an end. The dynamic duo. Do you remember that dream? Or did you forget it as you did me?” His eyebrows drew together at the sarcasm in her tone. He hunched his shoulders as she threw each word of their childhood plans at him. She threw her hands up in the air, breath draining out of her in a long, loud rush. She shoved past him with a grunt, moving towards the bus stop.
Somebody was holding a grudge. Hemi risked life and limb by grabbing her upper arm before she could get far, frown deepening until his eyebrows almost touched, he asked the question that had the potential to end his life, “Are you mad at me?”
“What do you think, Playboy Bunny?” She stepped back from him tugging on her arm, but he wasn’t letting it go.
Hemi pursed his lips as he tilted his head to the side, examining her closely. Feelings he thought he buried deep came roaring back t
o life. Kamiya had been his dream girl. The one he thought he would marry until she moved away from him with her family. Though it was unreasonable to think so, Hemi always thought her leaving was abandoning him.
“Yes.” she continued tugging on her arm, anger in her tone, “No, I stopped caring about what you thought a long time ago.”
“Then why did you storm out of the coffee shop after listening to the private conversation I was having with my cousin?” her actions did not make sense, not neither did his, chasing her out here, but something rubbed him wrong about the anger he saw burning in her eyes.
“I left because your whining about your first world problems was making me want to throw up.” She looked up at him. Hemi noted her eyes still resembled freshly brewed coffee. If anything, the older she got, the more adorable she became with her almond-shaped eyes tilting up at the corners and a pert little nose. Her plump bottom lip was begging him to bite it.
Lust infused his body. It was an adult lust. Not the desire of youth, but one of a fully-grown man. An experienced man. Biting Kamiya’s succulent lips was only the start of things he wanted to do to her.
Nibble it.
Kiss it.
To suck on it until it was swollen from him loving on it.
It took a whole lot of willpower to stop him from giving in to the urge to taste her. To plunder her mouth and to find out if she still tasted like cinnamon.
“I can’t believe after all of our talks when we were younger about how we were going to change the world you turned out like this.” She waved her free hand at him, her lip fascinated him turned up at the corner as she leaned away from him grimacing. Her nose wrinkled as if she smelled something unpleasant wafting from him. She moved her hand up and down to encompassing all of him.
“Hey, I’ll have you know that Hemingway Industries have contributed to a number of charities since I have taken over that aspect of the company. Maybe you should do some research.” Hemi didn’t understand the overwhelming need to defend himself to her.
Maybe it was the look of disappointment in her eyes. Hemi had already let down one important person in his life today; he couldn’t deal with a second one looking at him in the same way. Even someone he hadn’t seen in years like Kamiya. At least to her, he needed to prove that there was something more to him than just his good looks.
He was not the shallow person that social media portrayed him as.
“Or maybe I shouldn’t waste my time fucking with you.” She gave one final, strong yank on her arm pulling it free from his grip, “so if you don’t mind, I got things to do, places to go and people to conquer.”
Hemi stood there stunned as Kamiya stomped on board the arrival bus without a backward glance at Hemi.
Chapter Three
Kamiya Anderson took one of the empty seats on the far side of the bus away from the side that would have enabled her to see Roman Fitzgerald Hemingway the Third where she left him standing in the snow. She made sure her earbuds were in good, her music loud as she gazed out of the window thinking of the encounter.
She hadn’t seen Roman Fitzgerald Hemingway the Third in almost fifteen years. Her family moved away from Colorado Springs when her father’s orders took them to a new country. She lived in so many countries and cities growing up that the only place that felt like home was here: Colorado Springs.
She and Hemi had been childhood friends, or so she had thought.
They meet in elementary school when they were assigned to a project about their future careers. The friendship lasted for years until she left. Hemi grew up knowing he was going to be in charge of Hemingway Industries one day whereas Kamiya wanted to start a charity for homeless kids. They spent many hours talking about how they were going to go out and help disadvantaged children around the world. They had even created a plan of how he was going to start a charitable foundation with the funds available from Hemingway Industry and how she was going to run the charity as he ran the company. A partnership to make a difference in the world.
As their friendship grew so had their feelings for each other. They planned a future together. Partners in business. Husband and wife in life. It was a dream she held onto for a long time. A small flame inside of her that refused to die despite all of the time that passed between them.
When she moved away, she wrote Hemi of her wonderful new experiences in the new country. She wrote to him diligently, week after week, waiting for a response from him. As time passed with no return letter ever coming, she stopped writing him.
Though she lost touch with Hemi years ago, she kept the hope of their dream alive. It shaped her future. She studied business in her undergraduate school. Then went for her Masters in Public Administration. She’d just completed her final two-year stint in the Peace Corp where she worked in Mongolia teaching financial literacy to the local artisans.
She enjoyed using her business knowledge. She learned just as much from the people she taught as they learned from her.
She cried on the first leg of her trip home. She knew several of the other passengers on the flight from Beijing showed concern until she explained about the little village filled with wonderful people she was leaving behind as she continued her journey of life.
She looked forward to returning to Colorado Springs. Despite all of her fond memories, she hadn’t been back since her father’s change in duty station all those years ago. Even when he finally retired, she was in another country working with the Peace Corps, so she missed the celebration. When her parents retired to Colorado Springs, she didn’t make it back, until now.
The thought of returning generated nostalgic memories dancing in her head. Years had passed, but she still thought about Hemi and his family. She knew her mother stayed in contact with Hemi’s mother. Unlike their children, their friendship endured over the years, their charity work helping them to find common ground. With the advances in social media, both mothers became experts at using Facebook to stay in touch.
Kamiya even found her mother, Snapchatting and Instagram flexing. It was through her mother’s Facebook page she low-key stalked Hemi. She watched him go through every model, social-lite, and party girl that passed through his Hemi-sphere.
It disgusted her to watch.
She admitted to herself; she still carried the crush she developed for him all those years ago. No matter who she dated she always compared them to Hemi and found them lacking. Her mind defaulted to those fond days of her youth, spent with Hemi making their plans to change the world. She admitted that she secretly hoped one day she and Hemi would hook up. He would wake up to the fact that he met his dream girl in elementary school.
The dream died when he started dating tall, beautiful model thin women with long limbs and big boobs.
Kamiya was not tall.
She was not thin.
She was lucky if she hit a B cup, on a good day.
And she was definitely not a model.
No, she could sooner be found slogging through the mud in some little-known country then sashaying her ass down a runway in some fancy dress. Give her some jeans, a pair of boots and a hat and send her to the great outdoors to help build or dig something.
When she made plans to run into him at the coffee shop she never expected him to look more attractive than any picture his mom posted. Her heart raced, as she hid behind her computer screen.
Listening to Hemi talking to his cousin Brad she finally admitted to herself that her dream guy was just that: a dream. The Hemi she thought about over the years no longer existed. In his place was a dumb butt Playboy Bunny with no concept of life in the real world. He grew up surrounded by money and didn’t know the struggles of those who grew up with little to no money. Kamiya’s upbringing had been far from the poor end of the spectrum, but it hadn’t been anywhere near the money-filled life Hemi experienced. She ended up at the same private school as him on a merit scholarship.
Kamiya wore the label of gifted and talented throughout her educational career. It allowed her to s
kip two grades and landed her in the same grade as Hemi.
He probably hadn’t even thought of their charity plan in years. She reached up and wiped the tear silently rolling down her cheek though she did wonder how he knew she was Mongolia.
No, she was not going to cry over a dream. She gathered up her satchel and strode off the bus towards her apartment. There were bigger fish to fry than him; she had her own things to do, that didn’t involve finding someone to marry and complaining about wanting to live their playboy life.
Glancing at her home, she pulled herself from those thoughts. She was here. In Colorado Springs, not pursuing a man, pursuing her goals. She was here because she loved it.
She loved living in downtown Colorado Springs. When she told her parents she was finally moving home and was looking for a place to live they found her one of the newly refurbished lofts located in the heart of the hustle and bustle of downtown. Being close to the bus station, she could easily lessen her carbon footprint by using public transportation.
As she made new friends and business contacts, the convenience of being within walking distance of the heart of Colorado Springs charity center became an advantage.
She let herself into her home. Three steps in, and she was smiling. Who wouldn’t be? She looked out the large picture window across the already dark night to the great view of the mountains. The view from the loft was by far its best-selling point. Her house phone rang. How did it always seem to know right when she got home? She sighed.
She was probably the only person under fifty with a house phone. It was something her parents insisted on. It was just in case of an emergency, and her cell phone didn’t work.
Even now they worried about her safety living alone.
Kamiya tried to explain to them she had traveled all over the world to places far more dangerous then Colorado Springs, but they still insisted, and it didn’t cost her anything to make them happy.
“Hi Mom,” She answered knowing her parents were the only ones who ever call her on the house phone. Everyone else she knew either called her on her cell phone or text her.
Whispers of Winter: A Limited Edition Collection of Winter Romances Page 31
