by S. R. Jones
“Ooooh, ouch.” The beauty winces as Reece starts to gently pull the glass out of my foot, her blue eyes wide.
It hurts, quite a bit, but not as much as I’d feared. Once it’s out, Reece bends his head to inspect it.
“It’s not that deep and it’s not too long or wide either. Looks fairly clean.”
“Okay, here’s what you’re going to do. Clean it some more with a lot of water, then irrigate it well with the antiseptic spray. Then you need to dry it, carefully, with some sterile gauze, and dress it with a bandage. You’ll have to check it for a day or two.” Ethan is straight to the point.
“There’s some antibiotic cream in here, should I use that?” Reece asks.
“Nope. Not yet. If in a day or so it looks nasty in any way, then you want to get some on and at that point I am afraid it is a trip to the doctor’s. But if it’s healing okay, you don’t need it.”
“I hope it gets better,” the gorgeous blonde girl says. She smiles at me and gives a little wave and a laugh. “I’m Isla by the way.”
“Hi Isla. I’m Kate.”
“I know who you are, and I…I erm love your books.” She blushes sweetly, and then glances at Reece. “Look after her, you big lunk.”
“Of course.” Reece rolls his eyes. “Now bugger off, the pair of you.”
He snaps the lid closed and laughs.
“How did such a miserable man end up with a gorgeous young woman like her?” I ask.
“He’s a good guy when it comes down to it.” Reece is busy tending to my foot, and the conversation is a good distraction from the pain.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude about your friend. He seems a bit…dour.”
Reece laughs. “God, wait until you meet Liam. He makes Ethan look like the life and soul of the party.”
“His partner, Ethan’s I mean, seems so much younger.”
Reece had mentioned his team, and their partners but I couldn’t remember it all.
“His wife. And yeah, she is. They’ve all ended up with women a lot younger than them. Isla is the youngest though.”
So, these battle-hardened men like their women soft, and young, and all big blue eyes? It makes sense in a way, but it depresses me because it shows me I don’t have a chance with Reece.
“What are the other girlfriends, or wives, like?”
He pauses for a moment, mid-wipe of my foot, with some gauze. He’s drying it now after cleaning and irrigating it.
“Well, Cara is a bit…opinionated. She’s nice enough, but she has all these views, and she’s not afraid to share them. She’s with Luka, and honestly, I don’t understand how they work, but they do. Liam’s Missus, Abi, is…damaged.” He looks up at me and shakes his head. “It sounds an awful thing to say, but she’s been so badly treated, and I don’t think anyone gets over such a thing easily or quickly, if ever. I think you can see it in her eyes. She looks terrified to me, not on the surface, but deep down, you know? But then, it might be me imagining it.”
“Are they all as pretty as Isla?” I don’t know why I’m asking this.
“They’re all pretty, yeah, in their own way. Not my types, but I can see why my friends fell for them.”
“What’s your type?” I ask.
He falters for a moment, looks at me, and sighs. “I suppose my friends would tell you it’s glamorous, busty blondes. Although, I like brunettes too, but I suppose I’ve always gone for overtly feminine, glamorous women. I don’t know these days though. I keep wondering if I ought to look for something different in a woman because it hasn’t worked out too well for me in the past. I think I’ve been shallow to a degree. I’ve dated a lot of models, air hostesses, promotions girls, dancers…” He trails off. “I’m not judging them or anything, but for the last few years, I’ve wanted to settle down, and I suppose the women I date aren’t there yet. They’re often in their early twenties, and they don’t want that. A lot of them were chasing fame and fortune, too, so didn’t want a life stuck in Yorkshire.”
His answer hurts my heart a little, my pride a lot more. I knew I wasn’t even in his league, to hear it so clearly stings.
I force a smile. “Well, your friend has found happiness with someone a lot younger than him, maybe if you change the type of woman you go for, then the same can happen for you, too.”
He’s wrapping a bandage around my foot and he finishes it by using some medical tape to fasten it down.
“There, done.” He smiles at me.
I’m feeling deflated and I want some time to myself, so I make an excuse and head to my room to do some reading, and maybe if the muse smiles on me, some writing. I need to get Reece out of my head.
Chapter Five
Reece
I awake as Kate pads softly through the room, heading to the toilet probably. I glance at the clock on the nightstand, the glowing red digits telling me it is four in the morning.
After a good ten minutes, I realize she hasn’t nipped to the toilet and I wonder if she’s okay. I strain to listen and can hear her downstairs. The house is safe, I checked it all, so maybe she couldn’t sleep and is reading or something. I leave it another ten minutes or so, then decide to go check just in case.
Throwing the covers back, I rummage on the floor for my sweatpants and pull them on. At night I keep my boxers on, and as they are silk boxers and long-ish on my body they aren’t revealing at all. I don’t wear them for any other reason than I like the silk and the comfort, but I’ve had a few women comment on them as if I wear them to be some a Lothario. I don’t think a person’s choice of underpants make them a Lothario…or not.
Being quiet, I head down the stairs. The sound of something clanging in the kitchen has me veering in that direction. I turn the corner and stop in my tracks.
Kate is wearing only pajama shorts and a strappy top, and she’s got headphones in and her phone peeking out of a pocket in the side of her short-shorts. She must have some music playing as she’s swaying to a rhythm only she can hear. I take a moment to appreciate her arse, it’s gorgeous. She’s soft in all the right places, with long toned legs, a curvy arse and hips, and a nice, nipped in waist. She holds her injured foot raised slightly off the floor, which gives an oddly titillating tilt to her hips.
I get the irrational urge to walk up behind her and put my arms around her, pulling her into me and swaying in time with her. I’m shocked to find myself getting hard, and force myself to think about horrible things for a moment. No way can I go there here and now.
Why not? A dangerous little voice whispers to me. Liam did. Fucking hell, Liam took one look at Abi on camera and something insane happened. The hardnosed warrior, the only one of my brothers I truly feared, fell in love at first sight. I’m not in love.
Am I even in lust? I’ve had the odd thought about how Kate is attractive, different. She’s got a lively mind, a pretty face, and a nice figure. She’s not a bombshell, but she’s…earthy. Sexy in an understated way.
Her hips sway side to side, and I watch, mesmerized. I don’t know why, but if someone had told me Kate danced like sin itself, I’d have not believed it. She’s bookish, organized, capable, and smart, but as she moves sinuously to the beat, I realize she’s also deeply sensual.
A smell hits me, and it’s all the good things. Sugar, cinnamon, eggs. The comforting smells of baking. Mum used to bake every Sunday and I used to get to lick the bowl out. A flash of me doing it now, using my fingers to scrape out whatever is in that bowl and then wiping it on Kate’s shoulder before licking it from her tan skin, hits me.
Holy fuck. I growl to myself. I need to get my head back in the game. Kate must have her music on quiet, because she whips around.
She puts her hand on her chest and takes a sharp breath in. “Shit, Reece. You scared me.” She pulls the earbuds from her ears.
Her eyes narrow. “How long have you been standing there?” Then she flushes adorably, something I’ve not seen her do before.
“A second. I heard a noise.” I indica
te the baking equipment on the counter. I want to take her mind off me seeing her dancing as I don’t want to embarrass her.
She turns and nods but doesn’t smile. “I couldn’t sleep. I bake sometimes…if I’m stressed.”
“Why are you stressed?” I want to gobble the words back up as soon as I say them. Stupid fucking question.
She gives a harsh laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m on the run from my stalker…again. He wrecked my life. His timing was perfect the first time. He found me when I felt ready to get back out there.” She waves a plastic utensil around toward the blind covered window. “Date again after having my heart smashed to bits, but then fuckface found me.”
Her words are angry, but with a soft, slurred edge. She turns to the counter and takes a sip of something, and I realize she’s drinking.
“All my friends are married, or loved up. Some have kids, the ones that don’t have a life-partner, or a dog, or even a fucking cat. I daren’t even get a cat in case that sick bastard hurts it. How pathetic is that? I don’t even own a cat.”
Another sip. The liquid is clear, and unless she’s taken to drinking neat gin, she’s on the vodka. Not good. I’m glad I came down now, she’s likely to put whatever she’s making in the oven and forget all about it.
“So now, I’m alone.” She looks away from me and mutters under her breath. “Washed up and all alone.”
“Washed up?”
“Yeah. Washed up. Men don’t want to settle down with a woman my age. My friend, she’s divorced, she’s been dating for a few months. Says the only guys that show any interest are either in their twenties and wanting hook ups with a hot MILF, or in their late fifties. She’s forty-one, Reece, and other guys in their forties act as if she’s ancient. They’re all chasing women in their twenties.”
“Well, they’re idiots then.” I mean it, too. Age doesn’t matter to me. If someone’s attractive, they’re attractive.
“Oh, idiots.” She turns her heated gaze fully on me. She seems almost angry at me, which makes no sense. I’ve done nothing to her.
“Like your friends?” She asks.
I frown. “What?”
“Your friends. All men in their late thirties or even forties, I’d guess from looking at them, and they are all with much younger women, you said so yourself. Look at Ethan and Isla.” She gives a derisive snort. “Men want some naïve, young woman to gawp at them in wonder and make them feel like the big hero.”
I laugh at that, because her words make me think of Cara. Brittle, intelligent, no nonsense Cara. I can’t imagine she stares at Luka like he’s some big bad, hero.
“Laugh all you want, it’s true.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Kate. But it isn’t true. You don’t know fuck all about my friends. Maybe with Ethan, he fell for Isla in the way you’re saying, but the other guys, their relationships are nothing like you say. And don’t shit talk my friends.”
“Oh, sod off.”
She goes to push past me, and her shove is so rough I stumble back, taken by surprise and my butt hits up against the wood of the butcher’s block.
She grabs the vodka bottle as she swings by me, and I grab her wrist, halting her.
“Let me go,” she spits the words out, and I swear to God I’m hanging onto my patience by a thread.
“Leave the vodka,” I tell her, voice low.
“You are here as my employee, to guard me. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“Actually, my job is to keep you safe. A drink is fine, getting so fucked up you can’t react if we need to move, isn’t. You take the vodka, I leave. I can’t protect you if you’re shitfaced.”
“Oh, fine. Walk away. It’s what all men do anyway.”
I lose my patience. I’m a laid-back guy, but as my sister always says, I’ve got a slow burn temper, but once I lose it, I lose it.
“You’re a mess,” I tell her harshly, grabbing the bottle out of her hand as it swings in the air, still holding her other wrist. “I respected you. I thought you were one of the smartest, bravest women…hell, people, I’ve met, but this self-pitying shit is not a good look on you.”
“Oh, excuse me for being upset at the horror show that is my life. Now.” She pokes me hard in the chest. “Let go of my arm.”
Yanking herself away from me, she puts her full weight on her injured foot, lets out a cry and stumbles to the side, hitting her hip on the corner of the block. Only my hold on her wrist stops her from going down to the floor.
Fed up of this, I pull her to me. Her warm body colliding with mine is a shock, one I ignore as I hoist her into my arms.
“What are you doing?” she demands.
I grin at her haughty tone.
“Putting you to bed.”
“But…my cupcakes.”
“You’ll have to make cupcakes tomorrow, cupcake. When you’re not inebriated enough to burn the house down.”
“As if,” she snorts. Then drops her head to my shoulder. “You smell nice.”
Her breath tickles my neck and I try to hold onto my libido as I march up the stairs and through the room I’m sleeping in. I put her on the bed and she looks up at me, smiling, soft and lopsided.
“I see we’ve gone through the angry stage, right by the self-pity stage, and now we’re at the…what is this stage?” I ask her, amused at the floppy way she rolls onto the bed.
“I don’t know.” She turns and looks up at me from under her lashes. “Maybe this is the horny stage.”
Her words take the air out of my lungs. She rolls to her side, and her breasts follow the movement, creating an impressive cleavage in her strappy top as she lays on her right side watching me.
She reaches a hand out and trails a finger up my thigh. “Why don’t you join me?”
I think she’s trying to be coquettish but failing miserably and heading straight to, I’m going to throw up in five minutes, with the way her words slur.
“Cupcake. You’re in no fit state for any shenanigans.”
“Oh, really? I think I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Go to sleep, Kate.” I gently remove her hand from my thigh.
“Ah, of course.”
Her face hardens. Oh, great. The anger phase is back.
“I’m far too old and worldly wise to tempt you, aren’t I? Sorry about that, but hey.” She sits up, keeling to one side alarmingly, so I put a hand out to steady her. “I’m practically a virgin though. Honestly, not had sex in so long, I bet it’s healed over by now.”
Then she starts singing Like a Virgin. I can only stare at her. Who is this crazy person and what has she done with Kate.
“Oh,” she says suddenly, mouth turned down. “I feel sick.”
Fucking marvelous.
“Come on.” I help her up and take her to the bathroom. “Do you have anything to tie your hair back?” I ask.
“In the cabinet.” She nods toward it as she steadies herself by grabbing the towel rail. “Oh, Lord, I feel so sick.”
“Yeah, you’re about to pay for swigging half a bottle of vodka in like, thirty minutes flat.”
I find the band and pull her silky hair into a ponytail. She stands still and meekly lets me. Something about this position, this action, me behind her, pulling her hair up and back, arouses me.
Maybe it’s some ancient, primeval instinct, but it’s a dominant position, and for someone so in control as Kate usually is, the way she lets me do it gets me hard.
She’s about to barf though, and my libido won’t like that.
Sure enough, she groans, bends over the toilet and throws up. I try to soothe her by rubbing her back. She throws up twice more and sinks to the floor, head hanging over the bowl.
“I’m going to make you a coffee. Then I’ll get you in the shower,” I tell her.
I don’t need this. If her stalker decided to do something dramatic right the fuck now, we’re both sitting ducks. I need to get her sober, and then I’ll read her the riot act. A glass of wine, max
, from now on for her.
I head down the stairs and make her a coffee, strong and big in a large cup. I also grab a Snickers bar. I doubt she’ll want it but the sugar will help.
Heading back up the stairs, I walk into the bathroom to find her brushing her teeth, and she’s crying. Oh, fuck. Crying women are like my kryptonite. I can’t stand it.
“Hey.” I keep my voice gentle. “I brought you some coffee.”
“I feel such a fucking idiot.” She’s still a bit slurred but throwing her guts up seems to have helped a little.
She drank so fast it hasn’t probably been metabolized yet or some shit. I’m not a doctor, but I’m sure she’s sobered some because she’s thrown most of what she drank up.
“Here.” I thrust the coffee at her once she’s done and rinsed and spit.
“Ugh. After brushing my teeth?”
“It will help. Trust me. Coffee, sugar.” I wave the Snickers bar. “Then a shower.”
“Can’t I go to bed and pretend this never happened?”
“We’ll do the pretending thing in the morning, cupcake. I need you sober. More sober, at least.”
“Okay.”
She takes the coffee and sips it with a grimace.
“You okay to take a cool shower?” I ask.
“Yes.”
She’s meek now. Like a child who had a tantrum and is starting to regret it.
I leave her alone to her shower and go to the room I’ve been sleeping in. I take my jogging bottoms off and lie on top of the cover for a moment, letting myself cool down.
I hope to God she doesn’t remember most of this to be honest. We’d been getting along well, I liked her, and felt comfortable in her company. This could make things awkward, and I’m more than happy to forget it and move on. She’s clearly got issues. That stuff about men not liking older women, and being alone for so long. The stuff she said about not having sex in ages, too. I wonder how long it’s been for her.
