Some Like It Hotter
Copyright © 2016 Andrea Simonne
All rights reserved. Published by Liebe Publishing
First Electronic Edition, August 16 2016
Edited by Hot Tree Editing
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Liebe Publishing
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Table of Contents
Some Like It Hotter
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
Books by Andrea Simonne
Acknowledgements
About the Author
“Will you marry me?”
Lindsay’s brows arch up with surprise. “What?”
“I want you to be my wife.” The guy sitting across the table from her leans in closer, devotion in his eyes as he speaks in a thick German accent. “I love you!”
They’re sitting outside having dinner at a restaurant in Berlin’s trendy Friedrichshain district, a hip part of town with plenty of bars and clubs.
“I don’t know what to say,” she murmurs, trying to decide the best way to let him down easy. “We haven’t known each other very long, Dietmar, um, Dieter.” My God, what’s his name again?
He chuckles. “You are so funny with your American humor, and so beautiful too. This is how I know you are the woman for me.”
She smiles, though her eyes flash toward the sidewalk traffic along Simon Dach Strasse, wishing she could escape into the crowd. She’s been in Berlin for two and a half months now, and this is her third marriage proposal. A record, even for her.
Why are all these damn Germans so eager to get married?
He leans toward her again, an adoring expression on his broad, handsome face. He’s wearing a short-sleeved blue T-shirt with the name of the nightclub he co-owns imprinted on the front. There’s a colorful trail of tats running down his right arm.
In truth, he’s exactly her type—an industrious and talented bad boy who secretly wants to be tamed.
“You must come to my family home and meet my parents, ja? I am excited for them to meet the mother of their future grandchildren!”
Lindsay fingers her glass of beer just as her phone buzzes on the table. She glances at the display though she doesn’t recognize the number. Tempted to answer it, she decides she isn’t heartless enough to take a phone call in the middle of a marriage proposal.
“We can stay in Berlin for now,” he continues explaining his plans. “But I would like us to move to my family’s dairy farm soon after the wedding.”
“Family farm? I thought you were from Berlin.”
“Ach nein, I grew up outside the city. Trust me, you will love it there. Lots of cows and goats und meine Mutter makes the best sauerkraut you have ever tasted!”
She digests this new piece of information about him. “That sounds wonderful, and I’m sure your family is great, but don’t you think this is kind of sudden?” Her phone starts buzzing again, the same number from a few seconds ago. Definitely not a local number and not from Seattle—her hometown—either.
“My family will be so pleased to meet you. I have told them you are an artist, and they say you will have plenty of time for your art after the chores are finished. Maybe even more time on the weekends.”
She mentally chokes on her beer as she imagines herself working on a farm milking cows every day. “I’m flattered by your proposal—truly—but I can’t possibly marry you Dieter . . . er, Dietrich.”
He holds up his large hand. “I thought you might say this, but do not decide now. I am not in a rush, though meine Mutter says she cannot wait to be an Oma and hold a grandchild in her arms.”
He smiles at her with big white teeth.
Lindsay sighs and takes a sip of beer—both bitter and strong. It’s been one of her favorite things about Germany. So far, she’s enjoyed a lot of things during her stay as part of an artist in residence program. The food has been excellent and the people are friendly, although the men are too overeager. She’s used to male attention, and takes pleasure in it, but they all keep falling in love with her.
It’s getting downright annoying.
To make matters worse, she’s been in a sexual funk for months. None of the guys she dates are doing it for her. Lindsay hoped coming here might get her mojo back, but so far no dice. She hasn’t slept with a single guy. Not one. She’s kissed a few toads, but no princes yet.
At least Berlin has a thriving community for Künstler—artists, and it’s helped bring her goals back into focus. She wants to finish her degree and get her teaching certificate. Her life has been crazy up to this point, but she’s thirty-three now, and it was time to start thinking about her future. Hell, she’s not exactly getting any younger.
“What is going through that beautiful head of yours?” Dieter asks, still gazing at her with adoration.
“I was just considering your offer.” I never should have kissed him. It was only a few kisses and she didn’t think much of it, but clearly it made a stronger impression than she intended. “Marriage is a big step,” she explains.
“If we marry you will not have to worry about anything. I will take care of you.”
In truth, she’s already been married—not once, but twice. A mistake she never intends to repeat.
“I didn’t want to have to tell you this.” She fiddles with her glass. “But I’m sort of seeing someone back home,” she lies.
He looks surprised. “What is this?”
“I have a boyfriend.”
He appears to ruminate on her words, and Lindsay hopes it’s enough to squash any further marriage desires.
“If it weren’t for him, believe me, I’d be interested in your offer,” she says quickly, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
“Is it serious with him?”
“I’m afraid it is. We’ve had our ups and downs,” she decides to spin it for realism, “but I do love him.”
“You kissed me.”
“I know, but only because I ha
d a moment of weakness.”
He smiles at her. “Maybe you will have a moment of weakness again.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“But this boyfriend of yours, he lets you run off alone to Berlin? And does he call? Does he write? What kind of man is he?”
She drinks the rest of her beer while Dieter rants on about how her boyfriend doesn’t deserve her. He’s so convincing, Lindsay is starting to think her boyfriend is an asshole, but then remembers he’s fake to begin with.
“You’re right.” She gives a helpless shrug. “He doesn’t deserve me, but I’m still committed. That’s just the way I am.”
“You are too good for him!”
“I’ll tell him you said so.”
Dieter grumbles as he pays the bill, and the two of them head out of the restaurant toward her studio a few blocks away. He insists on walking her home and Lindsay decides to let him, hoping he’ll calm down with all this marriage talk.
Her studio is in a colorful building that dominates the block and contains artists’ work spaces which double as apartments. Because she sculpts, her studio is a larger unit on the first floor. Each artist gets a space to live and work in, though they have to share a bathroom, as there are only two per floor. For Lindsay, it’s been the only real drawback. Two bathrooms between ten people is like some kind of endurance test.
“Lindsay!”
She turns her head to the sound of a male voice calling her name as they arrive at her building.
Hellooo, what have we here?
A big blond mountain of guy is walking down the sidewalk toward her.
Now there’s some peaks I’d like to climb.
She can’t pull her eyes away. With all these desperate boys clamoring for her attention, something tells her she’s finally looking at a man.
Nice.
But as he gets closer, she realizes something else. He looks familiar. Biblical sense kind of familiar.
Shit.
“Giovanni?”
The mountain grins. “Lindsay, I’ve been trying to reach you all evening.”
“What are you doing here?”
Before Giovanni can answer, Dieter suddenly steps in front of her. “Who is this? Another boyfriend?”
Lindsay opens her mouth, not sure what to say. Giovanni isn’t her boyfriend, but he’s not exactly a friend either.
“Arschloch!” Dieter starts cursing at him in a mixture of German and English. “Bastard, you don’t deserve her!”
Giovanni holds his hands up. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but you need to calm down.”
“Do not tell me to calm down!”
“This is not my boyfriend,” Lindsay tells Dieter, who ignores her, continuing with his German tirade. She turns to Giovanni. “I don’t know why you’re here, but just leave, okay? This isn’t going to end well.”
Unfortunately, Giovanni’s ignoring her too. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he says to Dieter. “I’m only here to talk to Lindsay.”
“I know what you want, but you can forget it. I won’t let you have her!”
“That’s ridiculous!” Lindsay raises her voice.
Dieter shakes his head and turns to her, eyes blazing. “You do not have to protect him. I do what I have to. I want to win you as mine!”
“What? That’s stupid. He’s nobody to me!”
Dieter doesn’t reply and before she can stop him, he shoves Giovanni.
Giovanni is pushed backward, but quickly rights himself, his expression thunderous. “Listen, you bastard. Unless you want to eat this goddamn cement, I suggest you back off.”
“Fick dich!” Dieter spits out.
“Walk away, Giovanni,” Lindsay begs. “Please, just do it now!”
He looks at her like she’s crazy. “Who is this asshole?”
But before Lindsay can answer, Dieter takes a swing at him.
Giovanni ducks but Lindsay can see he’s ready to battle. The next thing she knows, Dieter has thrown himself at Giovanni and the two men are grappling, both of them cursing.
She watches with panic, desperately searching around for some kind of help. It’s late and there aren’t many people out. A couple walks past on the sidewalk, but they seem more amused than alarmed by the two men wrestling with each other like schoolboys.
Lindsay wishes she had a garden hose and could spray cold water on them both.
“Break it up, you idiots!” she yells, but neither of them listens to her. “I don’t want either of you! Do you understand?”
Giovanni is bigger than Dieter and seems to be gaining the upper hand, but then Dieter shoves his head into Giovanni’s shoulder, throwing him off balance. Giovanni corrects himself and the men are back to grappling again.
Lindsay continues to watch for a few seconds before pulling her phone out to check the time. It’s almost nine thirty.
She sighs with annoyance.
The men are still wrestling. Giovanni has Dieter in a headlock, though Dieter manages to squirm out of it.
This is ridiculous.
She stifles a yawn.
Finally, she decides to go upstairs and take a nap.
To be honest, this isn’t the first time two guys have fought over her.
And it won’t be the last.
There’s a sharp knock on the front door.
Lindsay opens her eyes and lets out a huff. What now? She was finally drifting off to sleep, trying to get a short nap in before she goes out later. She decides to ignore whoever it is by burying herself deeper under the covers.
The sharp knock turns into a pounding.
“Open this door, Lindsay!” A guy’s voice comes through from the hallway outside her studio.
Dammit.
Annoyed, she flings back her duvet and reaches over to turn on her bedside lamp. She’s only wearing panties and a T-shirt but doesn’t bother covering up with a robe. When she swings open her front door, it’s no surprise who she finds on the other side.
Giovanni.
It figures.
“What do you want?”
He walks right past her. “I need a glass of ice, a clean dish towel, and vodka.” He glances around for a moment then heads straight toward her small kitchen.
She closes the door, but doesn’t make a move to follow. “You should have taken my advice and left. There was no reason for you to fight him.”
He’s over by the kitchen sink. She watches him turn on the tap, test the water, and then put his hand beneath it. “I presume you heard me,” he says.
“Glass of ice, clean dishtowel, and vodka?”
“That’s correct.” He’s still holding his hand beneath the running water but looks over at her.
She’s leaning against the front door. Pushing away from it, she walks toward him. His eyes take her in, drifting over the T-shirt that barely reaches the top of her thighs then down to her bare legs.
Lindsay decides to be nice and grab the items he requested. First the dishtowel from a drawer, then she pulls a bottle of vodka out of the freezer along with an ice cube tray. She fills a short glass with ice.
By now, he’s turned off the tap and has dumped ice into the dishtowel, carefully wrapping it around the knuckles of his hand. His scent drifts toward her—clean male sweat with a hint of adrenaline. It’s delicious and she lingers for a moment to get another whiff.
Giovanni is her brother-in-law. The one she accidentally slept with.
Oops.
Instead of putting the vodka on his hand, he takes everything over to her small kitchen table and sits down, pouring a splash of it into the glass.
Her older sister Natalie married his younger brother Anthony about a year and a half ago. In fact, they just had a baby, a cute little boy named Luca. Unfortunately, before all that happened, Lindsay had a one-night stand with Giovanni—not that she’s seen him since. He’s a pediatric surgeon who works somewhere in Africa. That’s basically all she knows about him. He was supposed to be Anthony’s best man at the wedding, but h
ad some complicated reason why he couldn’t make it.
What kind of asshole misses his only brother’s wedding?
He tosses back the shot of vodka and pours himself another. He doesn’t drink it though, but studies her instead. “I can’t believe you went to bed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you usually go to sleep when there are two men outside fighting over you?”
“Oh, that.” She shrugs, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter. “I’ve learned you guys will fight whether I’m there or not. It makes no difference.”
“After I punched him, he told me he has plans to marry you. Is that true?”
“Yes, Dietmar . . . um . . . Dieter, proposed earlier this evening.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t even know his name?”
“Of course I know his name. It’s Dieter.” She bites her lip. “I’m pretty sure, anyway.”
“When is the wedding?”
“There won’t be a wedding. I’m not really the marriage type.”
“It figures.” He takes the ice off his hand, which appears red and slightly swollen. “You’re like catnip for men. I knew it the first moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Catnip?” Lindsay scoffs, tossing her long brown curls over her shoulder. “Try one hundred proof whiskey, motherfucker.”
Giovanni chuckles a little as he examines his hand, bending his fingers, testing each one. “A siren singing her seductive song. The last thing sailors hear before they crash against the rocks.”
She frowns to herself. The comparison isn’t exactly flattering. She watches him move his hand. “Is anything broken?”
“No, I don’t believe there’s any real damage.”
It occurs to her that he’s a surgeon and his hands are probably important to him. “At least it’s your left hand.”
His blue eyes flash to her. “I’m left-handed.”
“Really? Well, that was seriously stupid. Why didn’t you punch him with your right?”
“I forgot.” He seems annoyed with himself. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to hit anyone.”
She can’t help but smirk. “Don’t forget next time.”
“Next time? Is that what it’s like to be with you? I’ll be forced to regularly punch other guys?”
Some Like It Hotter (Sweet Life in Seattle #3) Page 1
