Love in the Dark

by 12 Book Boxed Set (epub)

  She leaned forward, her hair tickling his neck and nipped his earlobe. “Somebody has to show you how the world works at the ground level.”

  “And you’re the woman for the job, huh?” He tightened his grip, hooking his thumbs into the inside of her waistband.

  “Exactly,” she said as she rocked against him.

  Unable to take it anymore, he opened his eyes. Her face was right above his. Her eyes were hazy and her lips parted. Oh hell. Forget negotiating, teasing, tormenting, or whatever they were doing right now. He’d had enough.

  Adjusting his hold on her hips, he picked her up and swung her over his shoulder as he got up and headed back inside. “Too bad I have another job for you right now.”

  And he couldn’t wait to outline exactly what he wanted from her. After all, turnabout was fair play.

  …

  Sitting in the back of the cab by herself, Clover finished typing up a follow-up email about the boots she’d ordered not being delivered. It was weird. She’d order a few dresses, maybe some lingerie, and the boots. Everything always arrived but the boots. Right about now she could really use those boots as a physical reminder that the date to leave for Australia was getting ever closer, because the more time she spent with Sawyer, the harder it was getting to remember that fact—and she desperately needed to.

  Trying her best to ignore the way her gut twisted at the thought, she shoved her phone into her purse, slipped the cab driver a twenty, and bounded out of the cab, eager for a killer Vito’s pineapple shake. Okay, and for the company of a certain someone who had been the reason why she hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in two and a half weeks. Not that she was complaining—because she definitely was not, but there was no denying her caffeine intake had dramatically increased.

  She pushed open the door and walked into the diner, but instead of the tinkling from the bell attached to the door, the sound of a dozen barking dogs froze her to the spot.

  “Don’t just stand there, close the door and flip the open sign to closed,” Donna said from her usual spot behind the counter, her ever-present gray updo transformed into a high ponytail.

  Clover did as asked, despite the fact that she was trying to process the scene in front of her. Sawyer sat in their usual booth looking happy-hour hot with his suit jacket gone, his collar unbuttoned, and his navy-striped tie hanging loose around his neck. However, where Clover usually sat across from him was the biggest poodle she’d ever seen. White, massive, and with the yes-I’m-judging-you look that only standard poodles could really carry off. The dog had a blinged out collar that read: Vito. If one dog in the diner had given the health department a fit, the fact that there were twelve—most of which were wearing party hats and seated at the booths along with their owners—would have made the inspector keel over.

  She hustled past the panting dogs and their owners, who were seemingly oblivious to the serious weirdness of the moment as they talked amongst themselves, and slid into the booth beside Sawyer. “What’s going on?”

  “Vito’s having a birthday party.”

  “We were invited to a dog party?”

  “No, I didn’t know it was happening, but when I showed up as Donna was closing up she said we could stay,” he said, before taking a bite of an extra salty fry. “The thing is, we have to share a booth with Vito.”

  She stole one of his fries and had it halfway to her mouth when Vito let out a low growl. The dog had its own plate of fries in front of it. Wait. She looked closer. Nope. They were fry-shaped dog biscuits. Vito didn’t seem interested though as he watched her purloined fry as if she’d snagged it from his dish.

  “I’ve never been to a dog’s birthday party before,” she said.

  “What?” Sawyer asked in mock surprise. “The woman who milked snakes has never been to something as pedestrian as a canine celebration?”

  “Smart-ass.” Ignoring the dirty look and lazy growl from Vito, she popped the fry into her mouth. “I don’t think he likes me.”

  “Maybe because he is a she.” Sawyer slung his arm over the back of the booth and twisted a strand of her hair around his fingers.

  Without thinking about it she relaxed back into his embrace, feeling like she belonged there in a way she didn’t want to delve too deeply into. In a few weeks she’d be on her way to Australia to help the endangered Rock Wallabies and he’d be off changing Singapore’s skyline. Their paths couldn’t be any more different. This was a fun diversion, a mini-adventure, nothing more—so analyzing it instead of just enjoying the moment while it lasted wouldn’t do a damn bit of good.

  Vito picked that moment to emit another half-hearted growl.

  “A girl, huh? That would explain it,” Clover said.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Even Vito is a candidate to be the next Mrs. Carlyle.” She stole another fry. “God help you if your mom finds out.”

  “If I buy you an extra-large pineapple shake and an order of your own fries, will you keep your mouth shut about it?” he asked before feeding her a fry.

  “Bahaya,” she mumbled.

  Vito cocked her head to one side.

  Sawyer chuckled. “What does that mean?”

  It meant danger because that’s the exact zone she was flying into without a parachute, but she wasn’t about to admit that.

  So she lied. “Consider me bribed.”

  The fry in her mouth turned to sawdust.

  …

  “You’d better not be eating all the popcorn,” Sawyer demanded two days later as he walked into the living room with two cold beers after successfully hiding another pair of hiking boots. If he didn’t learn to control that urge, he was going to end up paying for a dozen pairs that were stuffed into one secret place or another in his penthouse.

  Clover froze, a handful of popcorn halfway to her mouth. “The bowl was extra full, it would have spilled everywhere and ruined your couch.”

  “Likely story,” he said, sitting down next to her. He put the beers on the coffee table and grabbed the remote before she picked something horrible for movie night.

  She snuggled up next to him, moving into the same position they ended up in whenever they were in one of her HGTV marathons. “So you’re really not willing to play rock, paper, scissors for the right to pick the movie?”

  “Hell no.” Clover was hot. She rocked his world. But he could not take another mini-marathon of Flea Market Flip. “You’ve suckered me into fixing up that stupid bar cart.”

  She snorted. “Talk all you want, I know you had fun.”

  “It was total misery, which is why I get to pick the movie.”

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Stuffikins.”

  Like a smart man, he kept his mouth shut and flipped through the list of streaming movies. Truth was, he’d had fun renovating the cart. She’d made it fun, teasing him about how someone whose company built skyscrapers had never used a paint spray gun before. The finished cart was in the living room, a bright red splash of color in his otherwise black and metallic room, drawing his attention the same way as the woman in his arms had started to do.

  Per usual, the listed movies picked because of his watching history fell into two distinct categories: shit blows up and RomComs. He was about to swap over to the explosion side of things when one of his favorites popped on the screen.

  “We could watch this. There’s fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, and miracles.”

  She twisted around and looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Did you just quote The Princess Bride?”

  Well, there was no use denying it now, but the expected embarrassment didn’t hit. Like almost everything else when it came to Clover, that reaction was unexpected. He hit play on the movie. “I have a thing.”

  “Oh no way, I want all the dirty details.” She picked up both beers, kept one and handed him the other.

  As the opening credits played on the movie, he took a long drink. “Do I get to take you home tonight even after
I spill my secrets and you know I love watching old RomComs?”

  Her answer was a quick brush of her lips against his. “If you don’t, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  That soft kiss turned into another and another and another until the man in black was climbing the Cliffs of Insanity before Clover pulled away and grabbed the popcorn and then settled back down snuggled against him.

  “We’re gonna miss the movie,” she said.

  “Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something,” he paraphrased another of his favorite lines.

  But the thing was, since Clover had walked into his office and become his personal buffer, his life had lost that black tinge of pain that he hadn’t even realized had been there. The question was, would it come back when their contract was up, and did he even want to find out?

  14

  Normally, a brunch trip to Grounded Coffee with Daphne meant Clover rushed to claim the seat at their regular table that would give her the perfect view of the coffee house’s amazingly hot in-house pastry chef as he made the chocolate-filled croissants and other goodies destined to go straight to her ass. This time, though, she didn’t even realize she was sitting with her back to the large window dividing the kitchen from the seating area until Daphne slid into prime viewing seat number one and dug into her food.

  “Oh my God.” Daphne gasped, her forkful of bacon and spinach quiche stopping halfway between her plate and her mouth. “It really must be love.”

  Trying not the burn with guilt, Clover finished the bite of taste-free and chalky croissant. Okay, it probably tasted wonderful but not to her at the moment. The evil eye her conscience was giving her pretty much killed any good the delectable could do for her taste buds.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, sounding as convincingly innocent as she had when she’d been eight and had gotten caught with the last crumbs of an entire plate’s worth of Christmas cookies.

  “Hot chef,” Daphne responded. “You didn’t even look before you plopped down.”

  Buying time by stuffing another bite of flaky, buttery chalk dust into her mouth, she forced herself to make eye contact with her best friend. Daphne had her elbows on their table and her chin propped up on one hand, her brown eyes wide with interest.

  “I’m just keeping the mystery alive for our friendship.” Oh yeah, Clover. That doesn’t sound like bullshit at all. “What fun would it be if you knew everything about me?”

  “Like that game is even necessary,” Daphne argued and popped another bite of quiche into her mouth. “I’ve barely heard from you lately and this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on you in weeks.”

  “It’s been a little busy.” In a hot, sweaty sex against the wall, in the shower, and occasionally on the bed kind of way.

  Daphne arched an eyebrow. “All that wedding planning, huh?”

  What once had probably been a perfectly good croissant transformed into a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. God, she hated lying. This was why she’d been dodging her bestie and her mom. It was easier to forget what a total asshole she was being to the people she loved if she wasn’t eye to eye with them. The truth danced on the tip of her tongue before pounding against her clamped shut lips. But instead of letting the words out, she forced herself to walk the Sawyer Carlyle personal buffer company line.

  “Exactly.” She nodded and slammed back the remains of her espresso cup, kind of for real hoping it would make her spontaneously combust on the spot.

  It didn’t. Instead, she just gave her insides third degree burns.

  “That is bullshit,” Daphne said.

  Clover jerked to attention, torn away from her own pity party.

  Daphne rolled her eyes and continued. “I know you’re not getting married.”

  “According to the paper I am.” Mostly true. Heart rate? Autobahn fast.

  “Where’s the ring?” Daphne asked.

  “I don’t have one.” Her palms started to sweat.

  “Does he dress left or right?” her best friend asked in a rush and a wicked little grin.

  “Left.” Totally true. Also, her lying-induced anxiety was making her stomach cramp up.

  “Middle name?”

  She gulped. “Charles.” It could be Charles. It also just happened to be the name of the guy who’d taken their brunch order.

  “Favorite breakfast food?”

  “Waffles.” At least that’s what Sawyer loved to pop in the toaster for post-coital refreshment—a mental image she didn’t need when her pulse was already jackhammering in her ears.

  Daphne took a sip of coffee and looking bored all of a sudden asked, “When are you leaving for Australia?”

  “Two and a half weeks.” Finally, one she didn’t have to mislead about.

  “Called it!” Daphne raised her arm and pumped her fist. “The whole engagement is bullshit. So what’s the real story?”

  Oh crap. If she was getting married, there would be no Australia.

  Figuratively cornered by Daphne’s eyes and the power of long-term friendship, her cheeks blazed, her heart slammed against her ribs, and the words rushed out—along with some very unfortunately timed stress tears.

  “Just because I’m still going to Australia doesn’t mean the engagement is fake or that I’m dodging my mom’s calls because I hate lying to her or that I’ve been making myself stay away from you guys because I knew you’d figure out the truth.” Breaths coming in short gasps, she looked down at the napkin she’d shredded without realizing it and grabbed a fresh one from the dispenser on the table to dry her cheeks and wipe her runny nose. Damn. She did not mean for all of that to come out. Maybe it hadn’t. If she prayed hard enough maybe it had only happened in her head. She glanced up at Daphne, and she was staring at her with mouth agape. Nope. She’d definitely said it out loud. “Tae.”

  “I don’t know what that last word was,” Daphne said, “and I’m still processing the rest.”

  “It means shit in Tagalog.” Which was the best possible word for what she’d just said because there would be no stopping the interrogation that was going to happen next.

  “Okay, let me get this straight.” Her friend took a quick sip of coffee. “You’re not engaged?”

  Clover shook her head. “No.”

  “Thank God,” she said and sank back against her seat. “I thought you’d lost your fucking mind or had joined a cult.”

  “None of the above.” She reached for her espresso with hands that didn’t shake for the first time since she’d arrived at Grounded Coffee. “I’m Sawyer’s personal buffer.”

  “You’re a fluffer?” Daphne asked in a stage whisper. “Like in porn?”

  “No!” Clover said, perhaps a bit too forcefully considering the looks they got from some of the people sitting near their table. “Mierda.”

  Great. Let’s just add making a public fool of yourself to everything else.

  She offered the strangers a smile—a perfectly polite response if she’d been in small town Sparksville, but one that only elicited confused and wary reactions from the good people of Harbor City who learned from birth not to acknowledge each other. The only benefit of that being that they all very quickly turned back to their own tables.

  Daphne leaned in close and lowered her voice, “You’re having sex with him, though.”

  “What makes you say that?” And there went what little remained of her napkin.

  “Because if you weren’t you would have just straight denied it,” she said, bold as brass. “Face it, Clover, you can’t keep shit from me—obviously, since it took about ten minutes to break you. Don’t ever turn to a life of crime. You’d suck at it.”

  And didn’t she know it. “Noted.”

  “So what’s the real deal?”

  Glancing over at the other tables to make sure no one was listening, Clover scooted her chair closer, relief at finally being able to talk to someone loosening the tension tying her guts in a knot. “You can’t tell anyone. Ever.”
r />   “Goodie. That means this is gonna be good.” Daphne held out her hand to the middle of the table and held out her pinkie. “I solemnly swear I’ll keep my big mouth shut. Spill.”

  Clover couldn’t help but grin. It was a sign of unity they’d developed one night years ago in their freshman dorm after half a dozen too many cheap beers. Still, the silly action represented them and their unrelenting loyalty. So she held her hand aloft, finger pointing, and touched her pinkie to Daphne’s. Then, she told her everything—minus all the glorious naked details. By the time she got to the end, Daphne had been rendered silent.

  “So in a few weeks, we break off the engagement, he finalizes some big deal and gets his mom to cool her matchmaking efforts, and I jet off to Australia fifteen grand richer,” Clover said. “We both walk away happy.”

  She relaxed back against her seat, able to enjoy hanging out with Daphne without any weird I’m-lying-my-face-off guilt eating away at her. A lightness filled her, happy and content. All was right with the world. However, judging by the expression on Daphne’s face, she wasn’t feeling the same.

  Finally, Daphne spoke up, “But you’re sleeping with him.”

  Okay, this was an obvious misunderstanding, but Clover had this one down. “It’s not like I’m an employee, and he’s not paying me for that. It’s just for fun.”

  One of her eyebrows popped up practically to her blond hairline. “Uh-huh.”

  Clover stiffened, indignation zapping up her spine. “What’s that mean?”

  “Well…” Daphne paused, pushing the broken pieces of crust from her quiche around her plate. “You’re not exactly a casual sex kinda girl even with your obsession with new experiences.”

  “I’m not a prude.” And why was she having to defend herself? It was her life.

  “You can take the girl out of Sparksville,” Daphne said. “But you can’t take Sparksville out of the girl.”

  Her chest tightened and Clover pressed her lips together before she said something she’d regret later. Daphne was her friend. Her best friend. They’d disagreed before. They’d disagree again. But that didn’t change the fact that they were always there for each other. It’s just this time, Daphne didn’t understand. Taking a deep breath, she counted to five before letting it all out in a slow exhale.