Single in Sitka (An Odds-Are-Good Standalone Romance Book 1)

by Katy Regnery

  “Aw, shut up. You would’ve done the same for me.”

  “I will do the same for you…if you ever need me like that. God forbid.” She sniffles softly, and I know her eyes are welling up. Between worries over Kai and new-mama hormones, my strong, stalwart friend has been emotional and mushy lately. “This probably goes without saying, but Jude and I…well, we want you to be Kai’s godmother.”

  It’s not that I didn’t expect to be asked—I suspected I’d be their choice—but it still touches my heart to hear the words, and my eyes prick with tears too.

  “Oh, Leigh. Thank you! It would be my honor.”

  “He knows Aunt Manda as well as his Mama and Daddy at this point. It’s only right.”

  “I accept. I’ll be the best auntie he’s ever had.”

  “You already are.”

  Then we both giggle through tears, because after so many terrifying moments, this is a good one, and it feels like such a relief to see a little sunshine after so many cloudy days.

  From what the doctors have shared with us, Kai has a perfectly decent chance of developing without any major neurological problems. He hasn’t had a seizure since before the surgery, and he’s meeting all the normal newborn milestones. We who love him know that there could be challenges up ahead, but we also know that he will have the best support team ever assembled.

  “How’s work been?” asks Leigh.

  I went back to the Sentinel on Monday. “The office is weird without you.”

  “Well, don’t let anyone take my desk away. I’ll be back in a few weeks. You can count on it.”

  “Norm approved the bear story. And plans for the carnival are coming along.”

  “Thank God Steve hired that event-planning company to take over.”

  “You laid the groundwork,” I remind her. “You got the space and permits. You came up with the concept.”

  “Yeah. But it’s in two and a half weeks, and I’ve already been out of commission for a while. Thank the Lord there’s someone else handling the details.”

  “It’s shaping up to be a really good event, Leigh. Tons of tickets have been sold already, but when the story is published later this week, Steve expects sales to skyrocket.”

  “You wrote a great piece, Manda.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No, I mean it. Your writing was as sharp as always, but there was something about this story that made it…I don’t know…come alive.”

  Alive.

  Like my should-be-dead feelings for a certain single dad.

  Over the past two and a half weeks, I’ve had these weird pockets of time to think about Luke—while I was rocking Kai to sleep or during my drives to and from Seattle Children’s—these short bursts of longing that couldn’t take over because inevitably, Kai would wake up or I’d pull into the parking garage and switch focus back to my friends. I didn’t really have to deal with my feelings—about meeting him and being with him, about how much it hurt to leave him and how much I wish he had asked me to stay (not that I could have) or come back (not that I would have) or to tell him how I felt about him despite our agreement (not that I should have)—until now.

  And frankly? I haven’t enjoyed processing my feelings. Because as sweet as our time together was, and as much as I miss him, I don’t see a future for us. He loves his life in Sitka. I have a life in Seattle. I don’t see a compromise for us, not to mention, he hasn’t even tried to get in touch with me since I left, which has to mean something, right?

  “Manda? Manda…are you there?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking.”

  “About a certain hunky Alaskan?”

  Leigh and I have barely talked about Luke at all since I got back, so her question takes me by surprise.

  “N-No. I mean, maybe. I don’t know.”

  “You heard from him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You’re not that hard to find.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say quickly, thinking about the way we parted. “It’s for the best, I think. You know, he was only supposed to be my rebound, and he was. He was a great rebound. And now…well, now I can find my next someone, and—”

  “Manda, I’m so sorry, but Jude just walked in, and the doctor’s giving us a final eval. I have to—”

  “You go!” I say. “Happy Going-Home-Day tomorrow! I’ll stop by after work to check on all of you, okay?”

  “Yep! Love you!”

  “Love you back,” I say.

  After I hang up, I place a quick call to my local Chinese place for an order of Pad Thai and spring rolls and then open up my laptop to start formulating an idea for the July column, due on Monday. Usually, it would be Leigh’s turn to write and mine to edit, but she’s got her hands full. I don’t mind writing back-to-back columns this time.

  When the doorbell rings, I assume it’s Hunan Wok delivering my weekly dose of MSG, so my jaw drops when I open the door to find

  Luke Kingston

  standing in the hallway of my apartment building.

  I gasp with surprise, filling my lungs but holding my breath, like if I exhale, he’ll suddenly disappear.

  My eyes, however, feast on him.

  He’s wearing jeans and a Hawks T-shirt with a backpack on his shoulder and my suitcase by his side, but it’s him: it’s the man of my best and most heartbreaking daydreams standing before me in glorious flesh and blood, and—fuck me!—I can’t seem to do anything but stare at him in a state of semishock with my mouth open, my eyes blinking like a cartoon character and my generally sharp mind a complete and utter blank.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Er-gh-ah,” I mumble, still staring.

  His eyes widen, and he cocks his head to the side. “Um, Amanda?”

  I exhale in a rush. “Luke.”

  “Yep.”

  He grins at me, and something happens inside of my body. Something that’s been dormant for the past two and a half weeks wakes up, stands at attention, and slavers like a lion who’s just spied a lame gazelle. Hunger. Want. Need.

  “Hi,” I manage to squeak.

  I take another deep breath and reach out for the doorframe. To steady myself.

  “Is this a bad time?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing. “I thought I’d come down for a couple of days and bring you your—”

  That thing in me that suddenly woke up? It has a mind of its own, and it’s calling the shots now.

  My hands dart out and fist in his gray T-shirt. I’m up on barefooted tiptoes a second later, and a second after that, his mouth is on mine. I step back, pulling him with me, barely aware of the sounds of the door being kicked shut, the suitcase falling to the floor with a thud and his backpack whooshing down his shoulder.

  He cups my ass and lifts. My legs lock around his waist as he moves into my apartment, somehow figuring out where my bedroom is, and the next thing I know, I’m on my back, and the glorious weight of his body is on top of me. My mouth is his to do with what he wants, and he owns it effortlessly, pillaging and taking, his tongue lapping and sliding against mine as he rebrands my territory as his. Panting against my neck with his erection digging into my clit through several layers of clothes, he sucks on the soft skin of my throat—his searing, burning, branding possession of me all I want in the entire world. I can feel the gathering of my blood as he sucks hickeys onto my skin, marking me, warning any man who sees me that someone else has dominion over this woman.

  And I welcome it.

  I want the tawdry red blotches that will prove I’m his.

  In that moment, all I can do is surrender to the fierce well of longing within me.

  I have missed him savagely during our difficult days apart, and this is my reward.

  He reaches down and tugs at my flannel pajama pants, grunting with feral satisfaction to find me bare underneath. Without warning of his visit or time to groom myself, a soft new pillow of curls greets his palm, and it seems to make him gentler. He strokes me with tenderness before sliding his fingers betw
een the folds to caress my slick clit.

  I arch against his chest, moaning loudly as he claims my lips again. His finger moves faster, well lubricated by my warm juices, and he chuckles into my mouth with male approval.

  “You missed me,” he murmurs.

  I sigh as he continues to rub the slippery nub of pebbled flesh, pushing my head back into my pillow as my breath grows increasingly shallow. “I—I did. So much.”

  His free hand moves between our bodies, clumsily unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down the zipper. He yanks at the denim of his pants and the cotton of his underwear until I feel his cock spring free. Maneuvering slightly, he slips it into the channel previously held by his finger and slides against my clit, bathing himself in my nectar.

  “I missed you too. I need you, baby,” he says. “Bad.”

  “Me too,” I murmur, spreading my legs to push my pants to my knees, then wrestling them off with my feet. He takes the same moment to shuck off his jeans, then lines up his cock at the entrance of my pussy, looking into my eyes as the plump head of his stiff member eases into me. I am tight after several weeks apart and gasp as he stretches the entry of my sex, growling softly as he pulls back his pelvis then thrusts forward, through me, into me, possessing me, owning me.

  I cry out, and he reaches up to cradle my face, shushing me softly, pushing inside slowly the rest of the way. He is deliberate, and the ridges of his cock massage the quivering walls of my pussy with every decadent inch forward.

  In a blinding flash of carnal clarity, I feel the instinctive, intrinsic rightness of our coupling. My lizard brain sighs with deep pleasure. The Neanderthal woman within me whimpers with soul-deep satisfaction. Mate with me, she cries, arching her back and flexing her hips. I am a woman, and he is a man, and together, we were meant for this.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers, feathering my face with kisses.

  “Mm-hm,” I hum, relaxing my body so that it doesn’t fight his invasion, so that it gloves him, holding on tightly to the thick, hard shaft embedded within me. I am his.

  (I am so his.)

  Our shirts keep our bodies from touching completely, which frustrates me, and I push at the fabric, relieved when he reaches behind his neck and pulls off his shirt, baring his tanned, muscular chest to me. Reaching my arms over my head to help him, I smile and sigh as he pulls my tank top off. All the while he stays still inside of me, the pressure of his pulsing cock building my anticipation with every heartbeat.

  When we are finally naked in each other’s arms, he moves his hips, circling them first, then withdrawing. I reach for his ass, clenching the hard buttocks and pushing him forward greedily. Fill me. I need all of you.

  He sets a gentle rhythm at first, a shallow dip and pull that massages my clit and loosens the tight ring of my pussy lips. Soon, my hips arch to meet his, my pelvis kissing his with every thrust, my cries matching his grunts, a chorus of preorgasmic excitement. We’ve taken this ride before. We know the payoff will blow our minds and leave us dazzled and drowsy.

  “I’m going to come,” he pants between kisses. “I want you to come with me.”

  “I’m ready,” I say, reaching between our bodies to finger my throbbing clit as he pounds into me two more times, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth to suck on mine.

  I throw back my head as the tremors start, as the deepest muscles in my body clamp down on his pulsing member, as my wildly flexing muscles milk the cum from his cock, as our bodies merge together into one shared, shuddering being. We are requited. We are replete. Our hearts slam against each other and our limbs are entangled, and never—never ever in my whole life—has anything felt as right as Luke’s hands on my skin, Luke’s breath by my ear, Luke’s seed flooding my body…Luke…Luke…Luke…

  I don’t know how much time passes before I feel him withdraw and roll to his side, but his arm anchors me to him like steel, and my eyes won’t open. I’m too comfortable, too safe, and after two weeks of missing him so desperately, I’m too relieved to be with him again. I don’t want to think. I just want to be.

  “Hey,” he whispers. “Are you asleep?”

  “No,” I say, nestling against him and covering his hand with mine.

  “Do you want to sleep?”

  I sigh. “Sort of.”

  “Would it be okay if I talked?” he asks.

  If I was still drunk of our lovemaking, this question sobers me up a little. “Um. Yeah. Okay.”

  “Is it okay that I came to Seattle?”

  I chuckle softly. “How can there be any doubt in your mind?”

  His laugh is soft on the sweaty hair sticking to the back of my neck. It’s the sound of joy, of relief. “Phew.”

  “You weren’t sure?” I ask.

  “When we said good-bye at the airport…”

  I open my eyes slowly and take a deep breath. “Yes?”

  “You didn’t say anything about wanting to keep in touch.”

  I flip over to look at him. “Neither did you!”

  “Do you wish I did?” he asks, his blue eyes bright and vulnerable as they look deeply into mine.

  “Hell. Yes,” I say, leaning forward to press my lips to his.

  The corners of his mouth quirk up. “You did?”

  I nod emphatically. “Of course.”

  “I didn’t want to force my feelings on you.”

  I wet my lips, biting the bottom one before asking, “What are your feelings?”

  He rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes like he’s about to tell me a secret. “I wish I could put it into simple, easy words.”

  “Feelings are rarely simple and easy,” I say. “Use whatever words you want.”

  “Okay. I was attracted to you immediately. Then I got to know you, and I sort of fell for you…like personally, not just physically, although the physical stuff is—obviously—amazing.” He clears his throat before continuing. “I missed you when you left. I couldn’t stop thinking about the time we spent together. And the thought of you with another guy…?” He half grunts, half growls. “No. Just…no.”

  I kiss him again—just a tender touch of my lips to his to let him know that there hasn’t been anyone between our time in Sitka and now. Since the moment I’ve met you, there’s only been you.

  “What else?” I ask.

  “I know I’m not saying this very well,” he says. “But I’m not ready to let this go. I’m infatuated with you, yes, but I really like you. I like this. I want to be around you. I want to sleep next to you. I want…I want to see what’s next.”

  “You’re saying it beautifully,” I tell him. “You’re saying everything I feel too.”

  He draws away a touch and opens his eyes to look at me. “Really?”

  I nod. “Really.”

  “That makes me happy,” he says, sealing his lips over mine. He kisses me softly but thoroughly, celebrating our mutual feelings, small and new as they may be, and I kiss him back, letting him know that he’s not in this—whatever it is—alone.

  “How long are you here?” I ask him.

  “Three nights,” he says.

  An instant knot in my stomach confirms how much I don’t like this answer. “You leave on Saturday?”

  “Yeah. Now I wish I’d booked the ticket for Sunday night or Monday morning.”

  “Where are the kids? With Bonnie?”

  “Nope. With their grandparents in San Francisco.”

  As much as I like Luke’s kids, and I genuinely do, this news makes me perk up like a high school senior who just found out her parents are going away for a week and leaving her alone at home. “Until when?”

  “They’ll be gone next week too. They get back a week from Sunday.” He raises his eyebrows. “Have any vacation time coming?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. I just used it all up.”

  “Oh, my God, of course you did! The baby! Shoot! I meant to ask first thing! How is he?”

  “He’s better,” I say. “He had surgery last week, but it wen
t really well, and he gets to go home tomorrow.”

  “That’s amazing,” he says, pulling me closer, evidence of his renewed erection pressing against my belly. “Tell me everything.”

  “I will…but later,” I murmur, ignoring the distant sound of knocking. Hunan Wok will just have to take a loss on tonight’s order, because there’s something much yummier I want to taste. With one hand, I push Luke onto his back.

  “Do I hear your doorbe—”

  “No more talking,” I tell him, placing one finger over his lips.

  As I slide down his body, I shut out thoughts of my friends and their baby, of Hunan Wok and my lost dinner, of Seattle and Sitka, and distance and kids. There’ll be time enough to talk later.

  He gasps with pleasure as I take him in my mouth.

  Tonight is just about us.

  Chapter 11

  Luke

  Amanda omitted a very, very important detail about her friends.

  The father of her godson, baby Kai, is none other than Seahawks safety Jude Stanton, a fact I learn when he opens the door to his palatial home the next evening.

  “Manda!” he exclaims, lowering his forehead to hers and holding it there for a moment in greeting. When he straightens, he notices me over her shoulder. “Who’s this guy?”

  “Jude, this is Luke. Luke, Jude.”

  “You’re Jude Stanton,” I blurt out.

  “Yep,” he says, offering me his hand. “That’s what they tell me.”

  “You’re a hawk for the Safeties.”

  “Huh?” He tilts his head to the side, his bushy, black eyebrows furrowing together.

  “A—” For fuck’s sake, Luke. “A safety for the Hawks.”

  “Oh! Yeah. That’s me,” he says, letting go of my hand. “You the guy from Alaska? From Shitka?”

  He says this with a good-natured grin that makes me wonder if he’s ever been there. Many tourists who visit my city learn that early Russian settlers pronounced “Sitka” as “Shitka” on account of their accents. It’s a running joke, and locals don’t take offense to it.

  “Da,” I answer. Yes in Russian.

  “Haaaaaa,” he roars, patting me on the arms with a good-sized paw. “I might like him, Manda!”