Six Month Rule (Kingston Ale House)

by A. J. Pine

  “Anyway,” Marisa continued, “I’m really looking forward to working with both of you. And, Brynn, it was great meeting you and Jamie. Any future meetings will have to be here. I love this place. Excellent choice, Holly.”

  And somehow, Marisa’s departure made Brynn remember something really important she had to do behind the bar. This time she was not so subtle.

  Will held up his glass.

  “Here’s to a successful show.”

  And then he grinned.

  “Cheers to that,” Holly said, and they each brought their glasses to their lips.

  As Holly swallowed the rich, smooth liquid, she willed it to douse the feeling in her gut, like she’d just tipped over the edge of a roller coaster’s steepest drop.

  It’ll pass, she told herself. It always does.

  Chapter Eight

  Holly gave him a sidelong glance.

  “I can walk home by myself,” she said. “I do it all the time.”

  Will looked up and down the street. It was only eleven, early for a Friday evening in any big city, but letting her walk home alone didn’t sit right with him. There was also the small part of him that, despite having to cancel his flight back to London for the weekend, had enjoyed himself this evening, and he didn’t want that feeling to end. Walking Holly to her apartment meant he could hang on to that shred of happiness, but it also meant admitting to himself that spending time with her was the reason for it.

  He shoved his hands in his front pockets as she kept pace beside him.

  “I know you can,” he said. “But maybe I don’t want you to.”

  Music and laughter, at different volumes and combinations, poured from each pub’s door they passed, a disharmonious sort of revelry that brought Will back to what his life had been before—weeks away from home, long days working and even longer nights not working—and he felt an uneasy longing. Not to live like that again but to be free enough from responsibility to do so if he wanted.

  Hell, who was he kidding? He’d never been free of responsibility, not when it came to his career. And not when it came to Sophie. It had just taken him six years to get his priorities straight. That’s where the longing came from. What Will really longed for was to be selfish again, just for a little while, but then he hated himself for even thinking it.

  Holly smiled at him and fidgeted with the charm that hung at her neck, the Gemini constellation, and he had the oddest urge to grab that hand and lace his fingers through hers. She was beautiful. There was no argument there. But she was also brilliant and funny and adorably petulant when he frustrated her. She was too much for him not to notice every little thing about her. But the last thing he should be thinking about was touching her, even if it was simply her hand.

  What the bloody hell was getting into him?

  “Thank you,” she said. “I mean, this is a pretty safe area, but I guess I appreciate the concern. That’s usually my sister’s job.”

  He nodded. “Does your sister let you walk home alone?”

  Despite the darkness of the evening, the streetlights and taxi headlights gave the illusion of being inside a lit room, and he could see her cheeks turn pink at his question.

  “Actually, I used to walk home with Brynn. But she lives with Jamie now, so…”

  Will heard the ache in Holly’s voice. He could tell at the brewery that she and her sister were close, and the sound of her voice confirmed what he knew too well. She was lonely, missing someone she loved even though she’d just been with her. Wasn’t that his perpetual state of being these days—missing the person he loved most in the world?

  Holly’s pace began to slow. He hadn’t noticed they’d made their way into a more residential area of Lincoln Park, but it was suddenly quieter, the only sound coming from across the street, a small dog barking as its owner took it for a late-evening walk.

  The street, canopied with trees that were likely decades upon decades old, was lined with parked cars. He and Holly came to a stop.

  “This is me,” she said.

  He glanced up at the old building through a break in the trees that also let him see the stars peppering the clear night sky.

  “You know,” he said, face still turned toward the heavens, “you don’t need a stage, Holly, whether you’re on it or behind the scenes.” Could she really not know how bright she shone, no matter where she was?

  He was treading dangerous ground here, but this woman had stirred something in him the moment he saw her in that lift. She was beautiful, of course, but it was when she’d opened her mouth and called him an ass—yes, he’d heard—that he knew Holly Chandler was not to be trifled with. It had been ages since a woman had gotten under his skin enough on first meeting that he behaved like such a wanker. And try as he wanted since that initial meeting, he couldn’t let himself enjoy her company for too long, because it only made him want more.

  Christ, they worked together. But Holly had some sort of gravitational pull, like she was a star and he a helpless planet sucked into her orbit. And so he proceeded, as if he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Gravity, proximity, and that stupid L word—longing—it had all won out over his free will.

  He let his gaze fall on hers, and she stood there, head tilted as she considered him, but she waited for him to say more.

  “You were a star with Marisa—in a pub with a tablet and a pitcher of stout. She saw it. I saw it. And you blew her away with your vision for Tallulah’s show. You blew me away.”

  Not just tonight, though. That morning in the lift, when she stalked into the conference room ready to put him in his place, every time she refused to let him be formal with her, when she’d given him her mobile number even after he was an arse to her more than once that first day. And then she’d told him to sleep well. Each instance was nothing more than a small gesture, but added together they all brought him to where he was right now, walking a woman home who should remain nothing more than a coworker to him.

  Yet he took a step closer, wondering what it would be like for a planet to collide with a star. He lifted a hand, intending to put it on her cheek, but reached for the pendant from where it rested below her neck, second-guessing himself for the hundredth time.

  “It…it’s Gemini. My sign.”

  She was nervous, too, so that at least cleared up whether or not what he’d been denying was one-sided.

  “I know,” he said. “Your stars. Your bloody stars.”

  She swallowed, and he watched the movement in her throat as she did so.

  “Holly…” He didn’t know what came next. All he knew was he wanted to kiss her, to have this one small moment for himself.

  “Dammit,” she said, and his brows rose. “It’s just,” she continued, “when you say my name like that, all soft and in that smooth, deep, dripping-with-a-gorgeous-accent voice of yours so it sounds like Holy instead of Holly, it makes me want to do things I shouldn’t.”

  One corner of his mouth twitched into half a grin.

  “What about other times I say your name?”

  She let out a laugh, but he could hear the tremble in it, the excited, nervous tremble that mirrored what was going on inside his gut—a gut that should be telling him to back the fuck away before they both crossed a line, but Will wasn’t moving. And neither was Holly.

  “Do you think about me saying your name often?”

  He was teasing her now, and it made her smile. And Holly’s smile was magnetic, not that it mattered. He’d already been sucked into her orbit. Unless she asked him to, he wasn’t leaving it, not tonight.

  “I think about you being really good at your job,” she said. “And being ridiculously well dressed, even tonight. Don’t get me wrong, Evans. I love your suits, but this?” She looked him up and down, raking him over with her eyes, and he felt like her stare could strip away every last one of his defenses. “This takes the cake, because tonight, for the first time in almost two weeks, I think I’ve caught a glimpse of the real Will.”

  She put he
r hand over his, the one still fingering her pendant, and he felt the first jolt of that planetary collision. And when he didn’t move or pull away from her touch, Holly did what he was too hesitant to do. She rested her palm on his jaw, and he couldn’t stop himself from instinctively tilting his face into it.

  “And what do you think of him, the real Will? He’s a right prick, is he not?”

  She shook her head. “He’s charming and funny, wildly talented at what he does, and also decent at snooker.”

  She said the last word with an exaggerated British accent, and Will couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I also think he doesn’t do that enough,” she added. “Smile. I think he’s sad, and I’d like to see him smile more.”

  Will let out a long breath. Jesus, she saw a lot. He wasn’t sure he could handle more. But at this point he used Macbeth’s logic: Returning were as tedious as go o’er. Fine, Macbeth might have been talking about murdering more people while Will was just contemplating a kiss, but otherwise the situation was the same. A line had already been crossed. She was touching him, and her necklace still rested in his palm. If they stepped away now, it wouldn’t matter. This moment would always hang between them. But if they saw it through, well, then what? He had to find out.

  “You, Holly. You make me smile.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath.

  He knew Chicago summers were charged with heat, and despite the sun having set hours ago, the temperature probably still registered a good eighty degrees. But the air between him and Holly right now—it was damn near combustible.

  “Whoa,” she whispered, and Will dipped his head toward hers.

  “May I kiss you?” he asked, and she responded by clasping her hands around his neck and pulling his lips to hers.

  Holly was shorter without the four-inch heels she usually wore, and he smiled against her as her tongue swiped across his bottom lip.

  “What?” she asked. “Is something funny?” And he pulled back for just a second to reassure her.

  “The real Holly is much shorter than the one I see at the office. I think I like her best, too.”

  And with that his lips found hers again, sweet and soft as she explored him with her mouth and hands. Her fingers trailed down his back while he kept her face cradled in his palms. God, she felt good pressed up against him. With his eyes closed and her lips parting to invite him in, he could forget for a few minutes where he was meant to be, what leaving Chicago in January—for good—would mean.

  His hands found their way to her hips as hers traveled up to his face, like they were part of some choreographed dance. Her T-shirt rose as she reached for him, and the tips of his fingers brushed soft skin.

  Holly ground her hips into him as their tongues became part of the choreography as well, and Will thought he would lose his mind.

  “Bloody, fucking hell, Holly.”

  She giggled, her fingers tracing his hairline from his forehead to just below his ears.

  “Can I ask you a question?” She kissed his neck and then the line of his jaw.

  “Yes, you’re driving me fucking mad. Does that answer it?”

  She laughed again, and it was a sound Will liked very much.

  “No…” She teased his neck with more soft brushes of her lips before making her way to the other side of his face. “But I do enjoy doing that.” She nipped at his earlobe, and Will decided that whatever she asked of him, he’d give it, no objections. “I want to know why you only shave once a week—and if it has anything to do with where you disappeared to last weekend…or where you were supposed to be tonight.”

  Holly’s lips were on his again, but he froze against her. He was sure she felt his whole being go rigid. And then she stepped away.

  “Shite.” He growled under his breath, and Holly’s eyes grew wide.

  “Look,” she said, regaining her composure. “It’s not like I’m looking for anything big here, Will. But I’m not a home wrecker. If there’s someone else back in London, I want no part of this.” She motioned between them. “Do you understand? It doesn’t matter that I can barely stand right now or that you taste better than ice cream—and that is saying a lot coming from me. I mean, you have no idea. But I don’t condone cheating, okay? I won’t be the girl—”

  “I have a daughter,” he interrupted. And there it was, out there. Despite their professional relationship and the bleeding Atlantic Ocean separating her world from his, there was also the small matter of Sophie, the six-year-old other woman in his life, the reason why someone like Holly would never be right for him and why he could never be right for her.

  “That’s it,” he continued, knowing the short, lovely something that was between them was over. “That’s my big secret. Her mum left me before she was born. Can’t much blame her, but yeah. I have a daughter. Her name is Sophie, and she’s six, and I should have been back in London squeezing in a few precious hours with her, but instead here I am.”

  “Will, I—I don’t know what to say.”

  He shook his head. He needed to get out of here, and fast. Because he could still taste Holly on his lips, feel her on his skin, and if she asked—if she still wanted him now—he’d follow her right up to her apartment, but that wouldn’t be good for either of them.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m sorry. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have… You’re home safe, yeah?”

  She nodded and pulled her keys out of her pocket. She wasn’t even carrying a purse. This is the real Holly, he thought. Stripped down to the bare essentials, and all he could think about was that he was already too bare in front of her.

  “I’ll stay to make sure you get in safe.”

  She took a step forward, and he used the last ounce of his willpower not to reach for her.

  “Will, you don’t have to go.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back.

  “Yes, Holly. I do. I—this could only be temporary. At best,” he said. “I’m only here because it’s my last step in the fulfillment of a contract I never should have signed. I was an arse to even consider jeopardizing our professional relationship. I’m sorry.”

  She closed her eyes—a long, slow blink. And when she opened them, she nodded and walked to her door without another word. Will watched her enter her building, and then he turned and walked away.

  Chapter Nine

  Shit.

  Holly let her head thud against the door after she kicked it closed behind her.

  Shit.

  He’s—a dad. Will Evans—king of rude dismissals, enigmatic behavior, and kisses that had molten heat still pooling in her belly—was a father. That’s where he took off to that first weekend and where he was supposed to be now. Home. With his daughter.

  His daughter.

  Part of Holly wanted to run after him, pull him close, and tell him she knew what it was like to miss someone. Not that Brynn moving out was even remotely close to what he must be feeling, but still. She got it, loving one person more than everything else and having to say good-bye. With their parents both retired and constantly traveling, Brynn was it for Holly, the one person who would always be there for her. Except now she wasn’t.

  Holly closed her eyes and started reliving the kiss, not able to shake the feeling of standing on her tiptoes and pressing her pelvis to his. She’d felt him hard against her. She knew he wanted exactly what she did. Okay, well, she couldn’t confirm that he was going through a dry spell, too, but he wanted her. That much she knew.

  Shit.

  She stalked to the bathroom and turned on the faucet so that water rushed out in a loud, whirring splash. Then she stripped herself bare and adjusted the temperature before changing the water source from bath nozzle to showerhead. Holly stepped over the lip of the tub and pulled the curtain shut, letting out a resigned sigh.

  The water hit her face, her neck, her breasts—nipples still sensitive and hard just from brushing up against him. She imagined Will’s velvety voice asking, May I
kiss you? May I touch you? May I…

  Holly lifted the showerhead out of its cradle and adjusted the setting to her favorite combination of pulse and vibration. She gave it a pointed look.

  “Do you have any secret children you’d like to tell me about before things go any further?”

  The showerhead said nothing, but she knew what it was thinking. I’m it for you, sweetheart. I’ll always be here, and you’ll always come back to me. We’re meant to be.

  Well, they were meant to be for this evening, anyway.

  She let her head fall against the cool, tiled wall and dropped the hand holding the showerhead between her legs. Eyes closed and shoulders finally relaxing, Holly let her hips pulse to the rhythm of the water, and she let the water do what she needed it to do.

  Only, her H2O lover wasn’t doing his job. She shifted her stance, but it still wasn’t right. Maybe it was placement? But no, adjusting placement did nothing to uncoil the tight heat from her core. Then, understanding the risks, she did the unthinkable. Desperate times called for desperate measures. With her thumb resting on the small lever at the base of the head, Holly swiveled it forward just a notch—and changed the setting.

  “Shit!” she yelled, throwing the nozzle against the wall. It bounced and sprayed hot needles at her torso, her face, and then the shower curtain. She grabbed it before it nailed her in the face again, not wanting another aggressive facial.

  Note to self—

  Next time you want to change the showerhead setting, remove said showerhead from between your legs first!

  Holly’s much-needed release was going nowhere fast, so she nudged the dial back to where it was—or where she thought it was—and attempted to get back to business. But it was no use. The pulse was too weak, the water streams too thin. She tried again, and then again, prodding the dial just enough to enact the smallest change, but she couldn’t get it back to her original setting.

  Her greatest fear had been realized. Her showerhead setting had lost its sweet spot, which meant her sweet spot was to remain unsatisfied.