Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5)

by Jessica Hawkins

  I didn’t breathe either.

  I couldn’t.

  Because until I arrived in the elevator, I could still feel his eyes on me, and my body was screaming louder than I’d ever heard.

  Jared

  I stood outside Billie’s building, watching her walk through the lobby and disappear into the elevator. From this angle, I couldn’t see the door slide shut, but I was sure she was safe. Normally, I would have walked her there to ensure it, but I didn’t trust myself to get any closer.

  Not when it had taken everything in my fucking power to keep myself from kissing her.

  Billie Paige was exactly what I wanted in a woman—intelligent, independent, and gorgeous.

  She just wasn’t a woman I could be with.

  And I didn’t take that lightly.

  My purpose was to help her reach the other side of this, to be the reason she was healed. I wasn’t here to fuck her and make her feel worse.

  Still, I needed to keep reminding myself of that because it was so easy to get lost when I was with her.

  The better job I did, the sooner this would happen.

  And then I’d be gone.

  That was what I told myself after every text I sent her. This was only a temporary arrangement, and that was the best thing for all of us.

  It didn’t mean she left my mind. That when I stared into the lobby, I didn’t see myself carrying her through it, her legs wrapped around my waist, my mouth on hers, bringing her to a room where I could get her naked.

  Goddamn it, I wanted that more than anything.

  I just couldn’t have her.

  I shook my head, running my hand over my beard, and I took a step back and then another, finally turning around to head home.

  Honey

  Winter 1985

  Once Honey and Andrew had the discussion about having children, Honey immediately stopped taking her birth control. And every chance they could, they found themselves trying to get pregnant. It was as though this decision had tuned them into each other’s bodies in a way they hadn’t been before.

  They simply couldn’t get enough of each other.

  Honey would meet Andrew at the hospital during her lunch break to make love. They woke each other in the middle of the night and did it again in the shower the next morning. Even though there was a small window each month where she could get pregnant, she wasn’t focused on it. She was enjoying her husband, the intimacy, the connection they were building.

  But still, every month, when it was time for Honey to get her period, she hoped it wouldn’t come.

  And every month, it did.

  After six months of trying, Honey began to panic.

  She wasn’t even twenty-five years old, she had been off birth control for an acceptable amount of time, and she and her husband were both healthy.

  So, she didn’t understand why she wasn’t pregnant yet.

  Andrew never brought it up.

  Then again, he didn’t have to. Honey would leave the small box of tampons on the back of the toilet as soon as she started. When the box went back under the sink, it was Honey’s way of telling him they could try again.

  But as the months went on, Honey wasn’t stopping at the hospital during lunchtime, and they weren’t making love every morning and again before bed. When they reached the end of the ninth month, Honey knew she needed to have a conversation with Andrew. Since they had started trying, each of them had bought things for their unborn child.

  Now, an entire nursery was filled.

  Except … there was still no baby.

  And every time Honey walked by it, she felt like her body was failing her.

  On an evening she knew he was off, she went to their favorite restaurant and picked up food to go. When she got home, she placed it on two dishes and opened a bottle of wine. They sat across from each other at the kitchen table.

  Honey stabbed the end of her lasagna with her fork. “I feel completely defeated.”

  Andrew put his down and looked at her. “Why?”

  Honey swallowed, feeling the wine burn the back of her throat. “Because I can’t give you a baby.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she was trying so hard to catch them before they fell.

  His eyes softened. “Hey, that’s not true, and there’s no reason for you to get upset about this. Most women don’t get pregnant for a year, and we’re still months away from that.”

  Honey listened to her husband. As a doctor, he would know better than anyone. But still, she couldn’t understand why the women in her life had gotten pregnant so much faster. Honey’s own mother had barely had to try with her. Several of her girlfriends had only taken a few months.

  “You’re right,” she said, convincing herself she wouldn’t dwell on it. “It’s just going to take time, and I’m okay with that.” Her throat calmed, and her tears began to pull back.

  “Come here, baby.”

  She took a breath, clearing the final bit of emotion from her voice, and then she got up and went around to his side of the table, taking a seat on his lap.

  He pressed his lips against the tip of her nose and then her forehead, kissing both so gently. “I don’t want you to worry or stress. It will happen, I promise.”

  Her arms circled his neck, and she whispered, “I love you,” in his ear.

  “You never have to worry. That’s why I’m here.”

  Honey believed him.

  And she squeezed him back so tightly to let him know.

  Billie

  Jared would be arriving at my house in thirty minutes, and I wasn’t even close to being ready. My kitchen was a disaster, I was still wearing yoga pants, and I was really starting to question why I had offered to cook for him.

  When I’d reached out to him a few days ago, I had this strong urge to get in the kitchen and make a few dishes I could photograph. I hadn’t actually considered the logistics of having him in my apartment and putting my brain in a space where we were going to eat together again—food I’d be making, in a place that was extremely personal.

  I’d thought about the menu all day yesterday, racking my brain for a dish that would be a good fit for us. What I decided on was something I’d made many times before, a meal I didn’t even need a recipe for. This morning, I went to the market and purchased the ingredients. Once I returned home, I took my time preparing everything. I didn’t rush through lunch. Even this afternoon, I wasn’t in a hurry. I had known what needed to be done to have it all completed, and I’d thought I’d have plenty of time to get myself ready, so I wouldn’t have to stress before he arrived.

  Except that was all I was doing, and the countdown had begun.

  I left everything in the oven and hurried into my bedroom, putting on a pair of skinny jeans and a casual T-shirt I tied at the waist. In my bathroom, I threw my hair in a messy bun, swiped some gloss over my lips, and sprayed myself with a body mist before I went back to the kitchen.

  I was just finishing the dishes when I heard the doorman call from the tablet. I walked over to the back of the kitchen and pressed the button to connect us.

  “Hello?” I said into the speaker.

  “Mr. Morgan is here for you, Ms. Paige.”

  “Please send him up. Thank you.”

  My stomach immediately tensed, feeling heavy and anxious, my heart racing as I made my way to the door. It was a short hallway. Once he got off the elevator, he wouldn’t have to walk far, so I was there a few seconds after he knocked.

  “Hey,” he said when I opened the door.

  Even though this was the serious side of Jared that stared back at me, I was instantly reminded of why I’d wanted to kiss him so badly the other night.

  “Hi. Come in.” I backed up several feet and turned around, walking deeper into my apartment.

  “It smells great in here,” he said as I made my way into the kitchen. I was standing at the sink when he finally came in. “Nice place.”

  “Is it what you pictured?” I didn’t know why I had asked, but for
some reason, I wanted the answer.

  He took a seat on one of the barstools and said, “Yes.”

  I slid him a glass of wine, deciding I liked the way he looked in my space. “Why? I have to hear this.”

  He took a drink from the glass, his eyes never leaving mine. “I imagined soft and understated yet bright and cheerful at the same time, like your personality.”

  “Thank you … I think.” I laughed and went over to the side counter.

  Lifting the charcuterie board I had made, I placed it not far from where he sat. Since I’d paired it all with the wine and dinner, I’d focused on lighter cheeses and nuts. Dried fruits and herb-flavored crackers. I had thrown in several chocolates just to sweeten up the corners.

  “Are you going to tell me what you made?” He popped several cranberries into his mouth, followed by some brie.

  Now that everything was finally in its place, I stood across the counter from him and shook my head. “I’d like to keep you in suspense.”

  But since I really needed to check the meat, I slid my hand in a mitt, and I lifted the top of the Dutch oven. I checked the color and the amount of juice in the pan, and then I pierced it with a fork to make sure it was the texture I wanted. Pleased with what I saw, I put the lid back on.

  When I returned to the place I had been standing at before, there was a wrapped gift on the counter.

  “Open it,” he said.

  I glanced at the rectangular box, half the size of a book, and then my stare moved to him. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

  He nodded toward the gift, and I reached for it, unwrapping the brown paper and twine bow. That was when I got a whiff of what was inside.

  “You didn’t …” I groaned as I lifted the small flaps of the top, unveiling the most perfect black truffles I had ever seen in my life. “You did.”

  “They’re straight from Italy.”

  “Oh, Jared …” I brought them up to my nose, inhaling so gently, like I was afraid they were going to disappear. “Thank you.” He nodded, and I asked, “Where did you find these?”

  He gave me the smallest smile, and it was so beautiful. “I can get them anytime you want. I just need a few days’ notice.”

  I carefully set them down and went over to the bread basket. Since our French meal, I’d been eating baguettes, so that was what I grabbed, slicing and painting it with a layer of extra virgin olive oil. Then, I took one of the truffles, washed it at the sink, and grated it on the bread. I kept one piece for myself and handed Jared the other.

  I watched him lift the baguette to his lips, taking a large bite of the corner.

  “Excellent.”

  I did the same, the flavor of the fungus completely owning my tongue. There was no question how amazing it was. Truffles would always be a delicacy in my opinion. But something was still off, and it just didn’t have the taste it once had.

  I truly believed it would come back.

  I just wasn’t there yet.

  “Delicious,” I finally answered, and I set the bread down.

  He waited a few seconds before he said, “But …”

  He read me. It was so easy for him. I’d only taken one bite, and he knew there was something wrong.

  It was terrifying to think what else he was able to sense from me.

  “You have to understand something; food has always been my thing. My family cooks and eats; it’s all we know.”

  “And food isn’t giving you the love you need it to.”

  The emotion was in my throat. I wouldn’t let it go any further, but it burned like hell. “You’re right about that.”

  Tears were threatening to form, my lips on the verge of quivering. I couldn’t give in to it either. It didn’t matter how fucked my life was right now; I wasn’t going to let it own me tonight.

  “I understand, Billie. Trust me.”

  As though on cue, the timer went off, startling me.

  I blinked hard, backing away to grab the oven mitts. Once my hands were in them, I took out the Dutch oven, setting the heavy dish on the counter. It needed to cool just a little before I sliced the meat, so I kept it there.

  To make things easier, I’d cooked a majority of the meal in the Dutch oven, so I didn’t have to prepare many extra sides. I would move the bread to the table. The only thing left to do was cut and plate, adding a few more accompaniments that were in the fridge.

  I returned to where Jared sat and held the edge of the counter.

  There was a heat in the pit of my stomach, and I didn’t know how to make it go away. I just knew I wanted to be the one asking the questions, so I said, “If food is my problem, where I’m struggling the most, what’s yours?”

  He glanced at his wine, twisting the stem between his fingers. He kept his eyes there, eventually moving them to me.

  As they locked with mine, my grip on the cold granite tightened.

  When he opened his mouth, “You,” came out.

  Jared

  “What does that mean?” Billie asked after I told her she was my struggle.

  The last time I had stood outside this building, I’d made it clear I couldn’t kiss her. But when she’d opened the door a few moments ago, our chemistry was even thicker. Her face told me I wasn’t the only one who felt it. And then she’d turned her back, heading into her kitchen, her tight jeans and short T-shirt giving me a perfect view of her ass.

  It needed to stop. The chemistry, the teasing—all of it. I had to make my intentions clear and remind her again of why I was here before this went too far, and I couldn’t pull us back. Because if we really went there, all I would do was hurt her, and she couldn’t handle any more pain.

  That just meant things had to halt right now.

  “I want you to get on a plane and return to your old life, Billie. That’s what I struggle with.”

  I could tell her thoughts had been elsewhere. The realization showed in her eyes, two beautiful green windows that couldn’t lie to me.

  “Are you ready for that?” I asked. “Dinner in Martha’s Vineyard?” I got up from the barstool and went over to the counter, refilling my glass of wine.

  As I was pouring some in her glass, I heard, “No.”

  I put the bottle down, pushing my ass against the hard stone as I faced her. “I’m going to keep asking.”

  “I know.” Her voice turned so soft.

  I almost got the impression she was walking over to the ceramic pot just to distract herself. She then took off the lid and grabbed two forks.

  I’d smelled the roast when I came in and again when she’d checked on the beef. I just thought my nose had fooled me. I’d expected a more difficult meal, challenging my knowledge of flavor, not a traditional dinner like she had chosen.

  I should have known better.

  “That’s one of my favorite dishes,” I said as she began pulling apart the meat.

  She looked at me. “Mine too.” When she finished, she speared a small red potato from the same pot and took the few steps to hand it to me.

  The skin popped when I bit into it. “Damn it, you can cook.”

  I handed the fork back, and she did the same with a piece of meat.

  “Now, try this.”

  As I surrounded the beef with my mouth, my eyes locked with hers. “Jesus,” I groaned. The roast was juicy and tender and rich in flavor. “That’s unbelievable.”

  “Come here.” She waved me over. “I’ll make you a bowl. That’s how I like to eat mine.”

  She took one out of a cabinet and added in some meat, potatoes, and vegetables before covering it all with broth.

  I reached forward to take it, her stare meeting mine the same time my hand touched the bowl. The look returned to her eyes—the one from the other night that had almost caused me to kiss her. The same one that had forced a war in my head to make sure I didn’t.

  And now, I was here again.

  “Billie …” There was a need hammering in my body, hardening at how badly I wanted to be inside
her. And then there was the logical side, the part of my brain that kept reminding me why that was such a bad idea. Enough that I had to tell her again, “We can’t do this. It’s not going to help either of us.”

  She briefly glanced down, her tongue swiping across her bottom lip. It was wet and glossy, a combination that was extremely sexy on her. Slowly, that piercing gaze returned to me. “Then, why are you looking at me that way?”

  Honey

  Spring 1986

  “Happy one-year anniversary, baby,” Andrew said in Honey’s ear.

  She leaned into his side, her head resting on his shoulder, watching the sunset from the beach in Aruba. “Happy anniversary.” She brought the champagne glass to her lips and swallowed just as the sun dipped below the horizon, adding more colors to the already-stunning sky.

  Honey couldn’t believe, exactly one year ago, she had married Andrew in front of the beautiful lighthouse. In some ways, it felt like the year had flown by, many things in her life changing during that time. Their condo was now fully decorated, she had received a promotion at the DMV, Valentine had a boyfriend, and the four of them had gone on several double dates. But in many ways, the year had dragged, reminding her of how many times she had gotten her period, how she would have to wait another month to see if their efforts had worked.

  Each month, the moments grew darker.

  No one in her life seemed to understand, so she didn’t talk to anyone about it. Each day that passed, she became harder on herself. She was married to the most wonderful man, they had a gorgeous home, and she loved her job. All of that should be enough. And it had been for a short period, and then the desire to be a mother had come with a vengeance.

  “I got you something,” Andrew said, kissing the top of her head.

  She pulled back from his shoulder and gazed at her husband. They had already exchanged gifts in Portland last week, and this trip had been Andrew’s second present to her. The box he had just taken out of his pocket was the third.