by Emma Roman
“Felicity.” He stepped forward and offered his arm after she handed her keys to the valet. “So nice to finally see you—meet you—in person. How was your drive?”
She slipped her arm into his and flashed him a white smile. “Quiet and long. Somewhere is a little smaller than I imagined, but it’s nice. Quaint, I suppose. Baffles me why Laurel would move to this—” she waved her hand at the street behind her.
“There’s nowhere quite like Somewhere,” he answered, a low chuckle rolling from his chest.
“Ha ha. That’s cute.” Her giggle was sweet, but not Laurel’s laugh. “So Laurel tells me you’re a screen writer and a pretty good one if you won a contest. Tickets to the Oscars. I’m so excited.”
This is what you wanted, Mick. Get a grip. Someone who didn’t know you. Who wouldn’t mock you for your dreams.
“Thank you,” he said, guiding her to the hostess table. The hostess motioned for them to follow and led them to a beautifully set table for two near the front window.
“Will this work for you, sir?”
“This is fine,” Felicity answered before he could even open his mouth. Then unceremoniously seated herself before he could move to pull her chair out.
The hostess met Mick’s gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Your waiter tonight will be Cherie. Here’s a wine list. The chef special tonight is the roasted duck with green peppercorn sauce. Absolutely delicious.”
“Thank you,” Mick said, racing to speak before Felicity decided to dismiss the hostess on her own. He took the list from the young man and offered it to his date.
“Laurel said you were a writer,” he asked, attempting to start dialogue with her again. This was the weird part of dating a stranger. Everything felt like an interrogation.
“Oh, yes. I write romantic fiction. I have several books with a New York publisher right now, but I’m looking to go out on my own possibly this year.”
“That’s great. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” she answered, leaning forward.
He swallowed and tried to keep his eyes from wandering to where her cleavage was precariously attempting to burst free from her dress. Not that Felicity didn’t have nice breasts, but it was difficult to concentrate when all he kept imagining was how Laurel’s nipples had perked up under her wet shirt. He was doomed. Completely and utterly doomed. And poor Felicity and her breasts had come here for nothing.
“So have you been to Hollywood before?” His date took a sip of the water and then smiled pleasantly.
He shook his head and straightened in his chair. “No. You?”
“Yes, I dated an actor for a while. I went to several of his premieres. You’ll love it.”
He chuckled. “Probably not. I enjoy the quiet and space I have right here.”
“Well, Hollywood is definitely not quiet or spacious. Unless you have a gazillion dollars.” She met his gaze confidently, her tone significantly more condescending than he would’ve preferred.
It was obvious she was looking for someone with money. A lot more than he’d probably ever have. Even if he had it, he wouldn’t spend it the way she was talking. He’d be one of those closet rich people that when they died it was a shock to their kids that there was any money to pass on at all. Yep, that was him. Happy with his little place in a quiet non-crowded suburb of Somewhere. No traffic. No fuss. No stress. No surprises in his life…not until Laurel had shown up.
She was a surprise he found he couldn’t quit considering.
“Having a gazillion dollars isn’t really on my wish list.”
“Well that’s a shame. I certainly have connections to more people in Hollywood. If you’re good, the dream could be yours. Together we would be a powerful force.”
Together? Shit. Moving a little fast aren’t we. “I take it you’d much rather live in California than a little town in Texas.”
She slid her hand across the table and covered his. “With the right man, absolutely.”
There was nothing. No spark. No anticipation. Only a sense that this woman wanted a completely different life than he did. Nothing wrong with the life she wanted. It just wasn’t going to happen with him. “I don’t want to leave Somewhere…ever.” The realization came slowly, but it was the truth. He didn’t want to leave his home. Even if he did hit it big, he’d fight to stay in his home town.
“Oh,” she said, her voice shorter and less husky. She sat back in her chair, pulling her hand back from his and into her lap. “You know, I usually get at least a small show of interest within the first few minutes of a date. A glance. A touch. A something. But you’ve just stared at me like you’re trying to force yourself to stay focused.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not quite sure what’s come over me. It’s just that I’m worried about someone I just met and—”
“You’re more into her than me?” The question came out softly, resignation heavy in her voice.
“I didn’t mean to be. I wanted to give you every chance. I wanted this to work—”
“The heart wants what the heart wants right?” Her words were understanding, but her tone had taken on a sharp icy quality that made Mick’s insides cringe. “Fuck you, asshole. If you were so into some other chick, the last thing you should’ve done was let me drive all the way down to this godforsaken dirt hole.”
The entire restaurant had stilled. Even the waiters were frozen in place with plates of food in their hands. Mick shifted uncomfortably. He deserved what she was saying. Maybe not quite as publicly as she was taking it, but she had every right to be upset. Angry. Still, calling Somewhere a godforsaken dirt hole was a little too much for his tolerance.
“You know, if you feel that strongly about my home. I’m glad this came out so quickly. I know absolutely without a shadow of a doubt, I could never be happy with someone who didn’t love this little town as much as I do. It was my mistake to bring you here. For that I apologize.”
She huffed and strutted away, leaving him sitting alone at their table. As embarrassing as the entire debacle had been, his only thought was getting back to Laurel.
11
This is crazy. You are crazy. She couldn’t help it though and two seconds later she was cruising by the large picture windows of the Boiler Room. Just one look. If they weren’t visible from her car, that was it. She was going home and pretending that she hadn’t just stalked her client on his date.
But there they were.
Chatting. Laughing. They didn’t have food yet, so they’d probably just sat down. It was the beginning of a great date. Felicity looked pleased and dressed to the nines as usual. Laurel didn’t think she could remember ever seeing Felicity in a dress that didn’t show off her “assets” as the woman liked to call them. She was certainly showing them off tonight, obvious even from the street. Felicity wanted the finer things in life. She liked money and traveling, but deep down there was a hopeless romantic who really just wanted a man to sweep her off her feet. Laurel wasn’t sure Mick would be that guy for her long-term, but if he was looking for a Hollywood style date, Felicity was the perfect match.
Pain seared through Laurel’s chest, tightening until she had to blink away gathering tears. She couldn’t care about a man this much. Not after only a few days. But she did.
She wanted Mick. Wanted to hear his voice. Touch him. See him look at her again the way he had in her room the day before. He’d offered it right then and there. Everything but cancel the date himself, but she’d backed away. She’d been a coward, scared to let herself get attached to someone so soon after making a clean break from Lance. But Mick wasn’t Lance. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would use her and keep her as a trophy to be paraded around in front of his friends. Being married to a man like Lance had made her hyper vigilant since. She was so careful with the men she interviewed and matched. Assholes and douchebags didn’t make it past her first interview, no matter how much money they tossed her way. There had been an entire file cabinet devoted to the men she’d rejected from her matchmaki
ng business. A cabinet Lance would probably open.
A shudder shook Laurel’s shoulders and she turned her car away from the restaurant and headed back to her house. It wouldn’t do her any good to think about how Lance was going to ruin the business she’d so painstakingly built in Dallas. The clients that trusted her—women and men. Some had already called her and she’d had to turn them away. The non-compete specifically said she couldn’t contract clients from the business in Dallas. Felicity was a loophole, since she technically hadn’t ever signed a contract. Even so, Laurel had made sure to tell Felicity not to mention anything to Lance about her new startup in Somewhere.
Laurel parked her car in front of her porch and walked slowly up the few stairs to her front door. The porch light put off a soft white glow, illuminating most of the large covered porch. She unlocked the front door and slipped into the dark house, feeling her way through the foyer. Moping didn’t require lights or a bra. She found the banister and kicked off her boots before starting the climb. Her bra was next and by the time she’d reached the second floor she was shimmying out of her jeans. The air was cold. Mick had already pointed out that her house apparently didn’t heat well. A problem she’d solve later.
Right now she didn’t care if her feet and hands were numb. Numb was good. She climbed into her big bed and under the sheets she had, pulled a pillow to her chest and sobbed until there were no more tears.
“Laurel,” Mick bellowed, pounding his knuckles against her front door. Her car was in the driveway. The porch light was on, but he hadn’t seen lights on anywhere else in the house. It was only ten. Surely she wasn’t asleep already. “Laurel,” he called out again, his tone rising, desperation raising his pitch. The date with Felicity had been less than pleasant and had he not been already hopelessly hooked on Laurel, perhaps he would’ve enjoyed her company. Beyond the flashy clothes and aggressively-confident attitude, she’d seem like a decent person. Maybe. After the scene she’d made in the restaurant, he wondered.
The waiter had taken forever to bring the check. At least it’d seemed that way. A few minutes tapping his foot on the floor had felt like an hour.
Now he was here. In front of her house. Waiting again.
“Please, Laurel.”
The deadbolt in the door clicked and a moment later the large oak door opened to reveal Laurel, hair loose and flowing around her shoulders, face a little red. Even her eyes looked like she’d been—crying. “Are you okay?” He entered, stepping around her into the foyer. “What’s wrong?” He peered into the shadows of her house, but nothing seemed out of place. No sign of the ex waiting in the living room. Mick turned back to her and noticed for the first time she was wearing little more than a t-shirt and panties. Her lips were parted and she was staring at him like he’d grown an extra head.
He closed the door behind him, locking it and then reached out, laying a hand gently on her shoulder. “I’ve decided being your client isn’t going to work out.”
“No?” She whispered, confusion etched in the line of her usually smooth brow.
“If you don’t want me here. I need to know right now.”
The lines in her face vanished. She placed her hand on his forearm, sliding it up toward his bicep as she stepped closer, bringing her body and her light floral scent flush to his. “I want you here,” she answered, pressing her face into his chest. Her breath was warm and her curves conformed to his body banishing every doubt he’d wrestled with in the car about her returning his attraction—his affection—for her. He’d progressed past attraction, headlong into affection and and overwhelming desire to keep her nearby at all times.
Mick moved his hand from her shoulder and slid his hand up her neck to cradle the back of her head then covered her mouth with his, using the kiss to convey his feelings. He swept his tongue, claiming every part. Her arms encircled his neck and she made the sexiest little moan before pressing her breasts harder to his chest. Her nipples were tight little points and he hardened with the realization that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that skimpy little t-shirt.
He grabbed her ass with his other hand, lifting her body almost completely off the floor.
The intensity of her kiss increased and she hooked a leg over his hip, giving him more leverage over her overall position. He walked her backward until she was pinned between the wall and his body. Nowhere to go. And she didn’t try.
Her mouth was heaven and he dipped his tongue, tasting the sweetness of her along with the salty remnants of her tears. Why had she been crying? God, he was mauling her and she’d been crying. He pulled back, loving the way her swollen lips remained parted and her blue eyes stared up in a haze at him. It was just how he’d dreamed of seeing her. And now he was going to ruin it by asking why she’d been crying. Dammit. But he couldn’t take this further until he was sure she was okay. That there hadn’t been some terrible death in the family. Or something else had gone horribly wrong.
“Why were you crying? I need to know you’re okay, because once I get you upstairs—”
She put two fingers over his mouth. “I’m fine now that you’re here.”
He nibbled on her fingers until she moved them and then spoke again, keeping his tone low, “Not good enough.”
Her eyes widened, surprise glinting in the blue of her irises. “I saw you with Felicity and you looked good together. You have so much in common. I didn’t realize until I saw you…”
He waited, unwilling to rush the revelation he’d guessed was coming.
“I didn’t realize.” She looked up, meeting his gaze. Her bright blue eyes had darkened, burning with a hunger that matched his own. “How much I like you. How much I wanted you. I—It goes against every rule in the matchmaking business. Never get emotionally involved with clients.”
His heart leapt in his chest just a little higher. “And you’re emotionally involved?” he pushed, wanting to hear the words again. He sure as heck was involved. Had been since that first night he’d laid eyes on her. She’d done him in within minutes. Her laugh. Her enthusiasm for her work. Hell, her enthusiasm and confidence that she would be able to find him a date in a town she barely knew had more than impressed him. Then the furniture fiasco. Such a sucker for a damsel in distress.
“Hopelessly,” she whispered.
“So am I.”
He squeezed her tighter and moved for the stairwell, not giving her an inch of freedom. He carried her up. At the top of the stairs, he turned for her bedroom. He shucked off his boots and crawled with her still wrapped around his waist to the center of her big bed. God, he was happy she had a big bed and not some girly wire-framed nothing of a bed.
Laurel’s fingers dug into his arm and his pressed her down into the mattress, claiming her mouth again. Tasting her sweetness. Her desire. She wanted this to happen as much as he did, she’d just been too afraid to tell him.
He was done being afraid. Done with not going after what he really wanted. Done thinking he didn’t deserve to find a woman who loved him—all of him. Done waiting for Laurel to realized she needed the same from him. He kissed her like she belonged to him. She did. She was his. He’d never let her go again.
“Mick,” she gasped out between kisses.
He trailed his mouth along her chin and down her neck, growling against her skin.
“Clothes. Off. Now,” she said, her words breathy and husky and wanting. Wanting him.
God, she tastes like heaven. Her soft delicate skin warmed beneath his lips and tongue. Her heart was racing and her breathing had changed to panting. He could kiss her like this until the end of the world and still never have enough of her.
Her hands worked the buttons on his shirt, freeing him from the starched cotton dress shirt choking his neck. Then his pants were undone. His clothes were falling off, but the only thing he could focus on was the sweetness of her lips. He licked along the seam and they opened for him again. Their tongues met and Mick groaned. The little moans and sounds coming from her throat sent fire raci
ng through his veins.
One of her hands drifted up to trace his jaw. So soft. So tender. It drove him even further over the edge of crazy. Crazy about her. Crazy that such a small touch—caress—could set him off so completely. But it did. His heart hammered and his dick throbbed. He growled into her mouth and helped her shed the last remnants of her clothing and his, barely breaking his mouth from hers in the process.
He’d never been so desperate to feel. To have her skin on his skin. To bury himself inside her and claim her as his.
She kissed him like she was starving for affection. Like she’d never been truly loved before. He wanted to fix that. Wanted her to know how much he cared for her. How much he never wanted to let her go.
Their frenzy increased. Mick moved his mouth to one of her pert upturned breasts, capturing one of her hard nipples between his lips and sucked gently, letting it slide from his pop with a delicious smack. Such beautiful, delicate, breasts. The perfect handful. He cupped the other, rolling the peak of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her moan nearly undid him. “Laurel, God. You are so beautiful.”
“Mick.” Her voice caressed his name the same way her hands were caressing his sides.
He took the other nipple into his mouth, sweet and ripe and full of need. She writhed up from the mattress, sliding her hands into his hair with a whimper that begged him not to stop. He wouldn’t, but he needed a— “condom,” he growled, coming down to earth again. They were in her bedroom, not his. He didn’t even have one in his wallet…wherever it had landed on the floor with his pants.
She reached between their bodies and grasped his hard length, sending all the air out of his lungs. His tip brushed her wet folds and he grit his teeth to keep from thrusting right then and there. “God, woman.”
