Connection (Temptation Series Standalones Book 2)

by K. M. Golland

Chapter Twelve

  Will lets go of his jacket and threads his hand through my hair, cupping my nape and cradling my head as his soft, wet lips touch mine. My body sparks to life. Receptive. Awake. Alert. Except for my eyelids, which collapse when his tongue sweeps into my mouth.

  He tastes like chocolate and beer, winter and warmth, and I fall into the kiss, fall into him.

  Reaching up, I glide my fingertips over his beard, surprised at the silky soft feel. I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before, always thought I’d hate it, but I don’t. Quite the opposite, actually. Will and his beard are nothing but sweetness and strength, and I’ve never felt more relaxed in someone’s arms before.

  He trails his lips across my cheek to just under my ear, then down my neck before gently sucking on my skin. My body tightens in anticipation, and I gasp, gripping him hard. Wanting more. Wanting all of him.

  I can’t for the life of me remember the last time I craved sex, let alone participated in it. It’s safe to say it’s been years, on a cruise ship to New Caledonia, I think. I was drunk and very much embracing the leave-your-worries-behind sea life.

  “You want to come in?” I ask, breathless.

  His voice is rough, like gravel. “Yes.”

  Fumbling behind for the doorhandle, I go to open it, when Will covers my fingers and holds the door closed. “But I’m not going to. Not tonight.” He grinds his body into mine and presses his erection against my belly. “If you want this, you’re gonna have to give me that second date.”

  Holy shit!

  He pulls away, his eyes dark, his lips glistening. Unable to help myself, I look down at his jeans, pulled taut over an impressive mound I can’t seem to take my eyes off.

  “How ‘bout it, sweetheart?” He covers my view with his hand as he adjusts himself. “How ‘bout that second date?”

  Blinking, I look up and focus on his sexy grin and amused eyes, which help me find my words again.

  “I’ll…” I swallow. “I’ll think about it.”

  Fumbling once more, I turn the doorhandle and step backward until I’m inside and slowly closing the door, our eyes glued to one another’s.

  “Wait!” Will’s hand shoots out and covers the doorframe. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I cock my head and give him a lazy smile. “You do that.”

  He groans and hangs his head.

  Giggling, I close the door and lean against it in a daze of body tingles and hard-ons, when something furry brushes my leg.

  “Hi, Sash,” I say, as if she knows why I’m smiling.

  She barks.

  “Yes, I had a great time. Thanks for asking.”

  Joy dances around me, and I want to sing to the tune, to believe in Will and give him a chance. I haven’t felt this… this uplifted in a long time, and I like it. But how can I trust a guy who acts and speaks like he does, a guy I don’t know? And do I really want to get to know him, only to be disappointed and have my faith in men shattered all over again?

  Sighing, I make my way toward my bedroom, when I see small bits of white litter the hallway. “What the…?” I move closer, squat, and pick one up, thinking at first that it’s a cottonwool ball.

  Following the trail, I steer into Carly’s bedroom and am hit by what can only be described as a winter wonderland. The stuffing of Carly’s pillows is strewn across the bed and floor.

  “Oh my God!” My hands fly up to cover my mouth. “Sasha, what have you done?”

  She barks, sits, and wags her tail, happy with her artwork.

  “Oh, baby girl. You’re in deeeeep shit when Mummy gets home.”

  A piece of pillow stuffing floats into the air. I blow it away then laugh, because I’m not cleaning this shit up.

  I’m in too good of a mood to do anything but go to bed and dream about misty blue eyes and a devilish grin.

  “What the fuck!”

  I spring up in bed, my heart hammering in my chest.

  “Libby!” Carly yells.

  Tossing off my blanket, I nearly trip over it when I try to grab my robe. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Why has a snowman blown his load all over my bedroom?” she screeches.

  Stopping in my tracks, I leave the robe and climb back into bed. Damn her. I was happily dreaming of a castle in a faraway place.

  Just as I start to doze again, my bedroom door springs open, and Carly appears with pillow stuffing in her hands.

  “I was sleeping,” I grumble.

  “What the hell happened last night?”

  “The sun visited the other side of the earth.”

  The pillow stuffing hits my face. “Very funny.”

  “Your dog happened; that’s what.”

  “But I shut my door.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Crack-smoking Barbie moves farther into my room and picks up my long black dress I draped over the back of my chair. “Did you wear this last night?”

  “I did.”

  “Nice!”

  She also picks up my coat. “Please tell me you didn’t wear this too.”

  “I did.”

  “God help me. I take it you didn’t get laid then.”

  “No.”

  “You can blame that on the granny coat.”

  “Go away, Carly. Go clean your snowman sperm.”

  “It can wait.” My bed moves, and I realise she’s lying top to toe with me when her big toe pokes me in the eye.

  “Jesus!” I swipe it away from my head. “What are you doing? Get out.”

  “I wanna know how your date went.”

  “It was fine.”

  “Did Will touch your boobies?”

  “No! Oh my God, Carly, you’re such a child.”

  “Did you touch Will’s willy?”

  I choke on my laugh. “No! We just went out for dinner. That’s all.”

  “That can’t be all.”

  “It is.”

  My phone buzzes on the bedside table, so I pick it up to see a message from Will.

  Will: Mornin’, beautiful. I’m picking you up at midday

  I smile.

  She nudges me with her toe again. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

  “No.”

  “Liar.”

  “It’s Sal with a new book rec.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I quickly send him a reply.

  Me: No, you’re not. I’m busy.

  He replies straight away.

  Will: Yeah, busy with me.

  Me: No, I’m serious. I have an appointment

  Will: What kind of appointment?

  Me: None of your business.

  He doesn’t answer, so I put my phone down and sit up.

  “Get out.” I throw a pillow at Carly. “I need to shower and head off.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see Dr Tao.”

  “Is it that time again?”

  “Yup.”

  “Want me to come?”

  I shrug. “It’s up to you.”

  Carly sits up too and tosses the pillow back at me. “I’m sorry you have to go through this so often.” She pouts and blinks her black-rimmed, puppy dog eyes.

  I smile appreciatively. “I’m used to it.”

  “Still. It can’t be nice to always have it looming over you like a giant turd cloud.”

  I’ve never thought of it as a “turd cloud” before. A constant shadow that survives without light, yes. But a turd cloud? I guess that works too.

  “It is what it is,” I say. “I can’t change it. I can only play the cards I’ve been dealt.”

  She stands up. “What time’s your appointment?”

  “Midday.”

  “Okay. We’ll take Suzi and make a girly day out of it.”

  “Girly day?”

  “Yeah. We’ll hit the shops, and I can help you buy better clothes.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.”

  Sh
e swishes her hand. “That’s debatable. You’re dating now; therefore, you need dating clothes.”

  “I’m not dating.”

  “You will be.”

  “Says who?”

  My phone beeps again.

  She points to it. “Him.”

  Carly and I drive to Dr Tao’s specialist rooms at Bundoora Private Hospital. I see her monthly for check-ups and referrals to manage my condition. She’s an exquisite Asian beauty in her forties, and I admire her dedication to her career—not everyone happily works on a Sunday—but I also feel sorry for her tireless work ethic.

  “Elizabeth Hanson,” she calls out from her office doorway.

  Smiling, I place the well-read copy of Vogue back in the magazine holder and stand up.

  “Want me to come in?” Carly asks.

  I shake my head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “Good, ‘cause this article on vaginal squirting is really interesting.” She flips the page of her Cleo magazine and gives me the thumbs-up.

  My cheeks flame, and I move toward Dr Tao while shooting another woman in the waiting room an apologetic look.

  “How have you been?” Dr Tao extends her arm and gestures I enter her office.

  “Fine, thank you. And you?”

  “Nice and busy. Just the way I like it.”

  “That must be a catch twenty-two.”

  She winks. “It is. Busy means many people like you with an illness, which isn’t nice at all. But busy also means I’m helping people like you manage your illness. So, yes, it’s definitely a catch twenty-two.” She nods toward her desk. “Please, take a seat and tell me how you’ve been since our last appointment.”

  I do as instructed and sit down. “For the most part, I’ve been fine, except for a lump on my lower back.”

  “Let’s take a look.” Dr Tao washes her hands at the basin and puts on a pair of surgical gloves.

  I stand up, turn around, and lift my T-shirt. “Just here,” I say, pointing to the protruding mass.

  She prods and squeezes it. “No pain?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm… my guess is it’s a lipoma, like the last one. But let’s get an ultrasound just to be sure.” She scans the rest of my back then turns me to face her, scanning my abdomen, neck and face, until her eyes meet mine. “Good. Trichilemmomas are minimal. How about any new oral papillomas?”

  I shake my head and smile. “None.”

  “Excellent!” She pats the examination table. “Lay down and I’ll examine your breasts. You know the drill, bra and T-shirt off.”

  Like I’ve done countless times before, I remove my clothing and rest my arms above my head.

  Dr Tao rubs her hands together then places them on my skin, gently kneading my breasts with her fingertips. “Have you been checking weekly?” she asks.

  I scrunch my nose. “Mostly.”

  “No changes?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She pauses and moves her hands back over the same spot. “You’re due for a breast scan, so let’s get that done, as well as your thyroid.” She steps back, removes her gloves, and washes her hands again. “When was the last time we scanned your ovaries?”

  “Three months ago.”

  “Any pain or changes to your menstruation?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  “No ultrasound of the ovaries too?” I ask.

  She smiles and shakes her head. “I don’t think it’s necessary so soon, but if you’d like to do—”

  I raise my hands. “No. Just the three scans will do.”

  She chuckles, taps on her computer, and then prints out my referrals. “Okay. Book these in as soon as possible and make an appointment to see me again next month. If the results show anything we need to address, I’ll give you a call, and we can go from there.”

  I take the sheets of paper from her. “Thank you. See you next month then.”

  “You will. Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

  As I exit the room, Carly stands and smiles, her smile faltering when she sees the referrals in my hand.

  “Everything okay?” she asks.

  I nod. “Yeah. Just the norm.”

  Hesitation clouds her eyes, so I reassure her with a little more information. “Routine thyroid and breast scan and a scan of a lump on my back, which Dr Tao isn’t concerned about.”

  Carly loops her arm in mine and rests her head on my shoulder. “I hate this.”

  I scoff. “Then why do you come?”

  “Because you need me to.”

  I don’t, not really. This is my life and has been for a long time.

  Lying, because sometimes a lie is the kindest gift you can give a person, I rub my hand over hers. “I do. Now, let’s go and have this girly day thing.”

  She lifts her head and proceeds to skip, my arm still linked with hers. “I’m gonna start with your lingerie.”

  I roll my eyes but then lock my feet to the ground and gesture to the magazine rolled up under her other arm. “You have to put that back.”

  “No, I don’t. It’s complimentary.”

  “Carly! It’s not complimentary. Put it back.”

  “But, Liiib, it has detailed squirting techniques and a homemade facial recipe.”

  My eyes widen. “Please tell me they’re two separate articles.”

  “Ha!” She shoves the magazine into my handbag. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  No, no, I wouldn’t.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Numerous times during the week that follows, Will asks me for a second date. But each time he “pencils me in”, I have to decline, as I’m busy with ultrasound appointments.

  Come Friday, I suspect he’s sulking or shitty with me, because after texting him back the night before with a Sorry, no can do for the third time, he hasn’t spoken to me since.

  It’s not like I’m deliberately evading him, because I’m not. I just can’t tell him why I’m not available. Not yet. And, anyway, it’s none of his business.

  “Okay, kids,” I say to the class fifteen minutes before home time. “Let’s finish the week with some quiet reading.”

  A handful of them moan while others happily grab their books and find a place in the room to get comfortable.

  “Ms Hanson, Jet won’t get out of the beanbag, and it’s my turn.”

  I squint towards the whiteboard, finding Dylan’s name on the reading corner list. “Yes, you’re right. Jet, please hop out of the beanbag and find somewhere else to sit and read.”

  The door to the classroom opens, and Will enters, a looming giant over the kids sporadically spread out around the room.

  I smile at him. “Everything okay?”

  He tips his chin. “Yeah, just checking the taps.”

  “Sure. Be my guest.”

  “Jet, stop!” Dylan yells.

  Frustrated, because it’s three o’clock on a Friday afternoon and my teacher-tolerance is super slim, I step around Will to see Jet punching Dylan, Dylan blocking each punch with his balled fists held on either side of his head.

  “Jet! That’s enough.” I quickly place myself between the boys and hold Jet’s flailing arms, coping a whack to my ribs in the process. “We do not use our fists. We use our words instead.” Turning my back to him, I rub my side and give Dylan my attention. “Are you okay?”

  He nods. “Yes. Master Will taught me to block.” Dylan points to my ribs. “He should teach you too.”

  I glance up at Will, who’s now next to Jet. He winks at Dylan.

  “Master Will is a very good teacher,” I say.

  Dylan nods so fast I’m scared his head will fall off.

  “Okay, take a seat in the beanbag and start reading.” I turn back to Jet. “As for you, you can spend the last ten minutes writing Dylan, and me, a sorry note.”

  “But I’m not sorry.”

  “Jet,” I warn.

  He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not.”

  Will squats down so that he’s
eye-level with Jet. “Any dude that deliberately punches someone should be sorry. That’s not cool, buddy. We learn to punch to defend ourselves. Like Dylan did.”

  Jet’s head dips.

  Will continues. “Cool dudes say sorry. It’s the only way.”

  Tears pool in Jet’s eyes, but he blinks them back and murmurs, “Sorry”, then trudges to his seat and gets out a piece of paper and a pencil.

  I draw in a deep breath then let it out slowly. “Thanks for that.”

  “No sweat.” He lays his palm on my side. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Oliver enters the room, his eyes narrowing as he looks between Will and me. “Everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine.” I step back, and Will pushes up from the ground. “Will’s just checking the taps one last time.”

  Oliver lays his clipboard on his desk then perches his reading glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Does that mean you’re all done?”

  “With this building?” Will clarifies. “Yes.” He picks up his toolbox and makes his way toward the sink.

  Oliver murmurs, “’Bout time.”

  I glare at him, and he mouths, “what?” so I turn my back and begin to wipe down the whiteboard, ready for Monday’s lesson plan.

  Warmth climbs my spine when I sense Will’s eyes on me, so I glance over my shoulder, spying him doing the same, an endearing grin on his face. I can’t help it and blush. I even giggle, which is just outright stupid.

  Oliver clears his throat, steps up beside me, and picks up a whiteboard wiper. “So what’s your plans for the weekend?”

  I pause, shocked that he’s helping me. Oliver never helps me, let alone wipes down the board.

  “Uh… not much—”

  Will drops his toolbox at my feet, and I startle. “She’s getting a boxing lesson from me.”

  Oliver grimaces then laughs. “Lib’s getting a boxing lesson… from you?”

  Offended, I straighten my shoulders. “Yes, I am.”

  “Why would you need a boxing lesson?”

  I go to answer, but Will does it for me.

  “Because there are a lot of creeps in the world,” he says, insinuation in his tone. “And I’m gonna teach her how to defend herself against them.”

  Placing down the wiper, Oliver says, “How nice of you,” his grin far from friendly as he walks away to assist the children with packing their bags.