Fixing Fate: A Pleasant Valley Novel

by Anna Brooks

  Smith makes me want to take a lot of steps.

  I’m like a fish out of water with him, but there’s something, no everything, about him that makes me want to dive in headfirst and not come up for air. I want to drown in him. I’m not expecting a relationship or anything, but since I will be here for a while, I thought… Hell, I don’t know what I thought. That we’d live out some romantic trope, and he’d teach me how to be myself again. He’d show me all the things I need to know about sex, and then we’d magically fall in love.

  Jeez, Mellie... you’re an idiot.

  It’s never going to happen. Nothing more will ever happen.

  Sitting on the couch, I’m watching a game show when I hear the garage door open. I get up and head to the fridge to pull out the dinner I made for Smith and put it in the microwave. He walks in right when his food finishes warming, and I set it on the counter.

  “Hi. I made you dinner; you must be starved.”

  He doesn’t look up at me as he’s taking off his boots.

  “How was your day?”

  Instead of an answer, he huffs... almost like a small laugh. When he stands up straight, he steps toward me then stops. His jaw is clenched shut, and I watch him as he looks at me, then the plate of food. He notices my sweater hanging off the chair, his clean laundry in the basket, and the clean pans drying next to the sink. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Oh well, I can just save it for—”

  “I’m going to bed.” He turns on his heels and practically stomps toward the stairs.

  Mortification brings tears to my eyes, and I have to clear my throat before I speak. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go back to a hotel.”

  When he stops, he’s so still I can see the rising and falling of his shoulders from his breathing so hard. His fists clench, and he turns around slowly. “You’ll stay here.”

  “But... you seem upset about me being here.” I swallow and lean against the fridge. The scrutiny he’s shooting my way is almost too much to take. He’s a gorgeous man, and still dirty from working with his hands all day and wearing a determined look on his face, he’s that much more attractive.

  “I’m not upset with you being here. I want you here.” He licks his lips. “But what I don’t want is you acting like you need to take care of me. I don’t need you to feed me. I don’t need you to do my laundry. I’ve been alone for a long time and survived just fine.”

  I blink back the wetness from my eyes and his soften. “I was just trying to be nice.”

  “Dammit,” he mumbles and drops his head for a second. He moves so he’s in front of me, but the kitchen island still separates us. “I know you are. But I can’t… Fuck, Mellie.”

  “Is this because of what happened the other morning?”

  “You mean yesterday?” he snaps. “When I told you things I’ve never fuckin’ thought about with anyone? When you sucked my thumb in your mouth, and all I could picture was how good your lips would look wrapped around my cock? The same cock that’s always fuckin’ hard when I’m around you? When you pressed your tits against me and I was a half a second from slamming you against the wall and takin’ you so hard the plaster breaks? That? Is that the other morning you’re talking about?”

  My mouth dries up, and I can’t speak. I can’t form a complete thought, other than I want to do all the things he just said. I want to do them with him. A slight nod is all I can manage.

  “Ya know why I didn’t yesterday, though?” He answers before I can reply. “’Cause your fuckin’ brother called. The same brother who I talked to today, who told me…” He stops, and I immediately know that he knows. He’s giving me the same look as everyone in town did when it happened. Pity.

  “He told you?” I whisper.

  Smith squeezes the bridge of his nose and nods.

  “Damn him. Goddamn him!” I shout. The tears previously just a blur now flow freely down my face. Jay promised. He promised me he wouldn’t tell. I made him promise not to tell anyone. I wanted to try to fucking live for once. I wanted to see if I could face someone and not have them know the most intimate and embarrassing details of my life.

  His throat clears. “I saw a message pop up from him when I moved your laptop last night.”

  “You read my work?”

  He finally raises his head, and the turmoil in his eyes makes my throat dry. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to, but I had to move it, and it was on the screen. It wasn’t intentional.”

  Shit. My own brother doesn’t even know the details of what I do. I don’t want people to judge the authors who write such incredible stories, or me. I never thought I’d be editing erotic romances, but somehow, it landed in my lap.

  My head falls this time. I can’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what he wants me to say... what he expects from me. My profession doesn’t embarrass me, but I am ashamed of what happened, and in all honesty, for what I did and said yesterday morning. I acted like a fool, like a horny teenager, and I feel like an idiot for it. But now he knows, and that makes me feel even smaller.

  “Look, I fucked up, okay?” I don’t hear him move, but I feel his hand on my chin as he tilts my head up. “You’re so pretty, Mellie. And I just… I’ve never…” He drops his hand and tucks it into his pocket. “I’m a man, and you’re smart, beautiful, funny… I acted inappropriately. I’m not used to someone so… sweet. I’m so sor—”

  I don’t let him finish because I can’t listen to it anymore. I can’t hear an apology come out of his mouth for something I wanted so damn bad. For something I’ve never had... for feeling desire I didn’t know I yearned. Maybe this is stupid too, but it’ll be worth the embarrassment. My mouth crashes against his, and even with my inexperience, I slide my tongue against his.

  He makes a noise, a half whimper and half growl, low in his throat, and wraps his arms around me. Whatever control I had in my moment of boldness is long gone, and I happily let him take control. His hand slides up my back and then down again. The tips of his fingers glide along the waistband of my yoga pants and dance across my thong. He gives it a little tug, and I whimper at the sensation.

  I finally wrap my arms around him and thread my fingers through his hair. He lifts me up and sets me on the island, knocking the plate of food over. The sound of the glass breaking makes me pause, but Smith doesn’t even acknowledge it.

  His hands come up and frame my face, while the intensity of the kiss slows. He finally tries to pull back, but I don’t let him. I like his mouth on mine. I like his hands all over me. I like him consuming me, and I want more of it. “Don’t stop,” I whisper, right before I kiss him again.

  His answer is to kiss me back a little rougher, more desperate. I wrap my legs around his waist to pull him close. The moment the hardness under his jeans touches between my legs, he presses into me. My ankles are a vise around him, and I throw my head back. “Oh, my God.”

  “Ah, hell,” he grunts, and copies the movement.

  An unintelligible noise passes through my lips, one I’ve never heard with my own ears, and light flashes behind my eyelids.

  “You want me to make you come, Mellie?” He pants, stilling his movements.

  “Yes.”

  “Look at me, baby.”

  The brightness burns a tad, but my eyes find his in under a second. “Yes… please.”

  His hands flex, and he rotates his hips and grinds against me so hard I’m surprised I haven’t slid across the granite. The warmth and tingling travel down from my belly to my core, and the sensation makes my legs shake. I hold my breath, not knowing it to go away.

  “Breathe, Mellie. Let it happen. Just relax.” His soothing voice calms me, and I let out a whoosh of air. “There ya go.”

  “Smith…”

  “God, I love how you say my name.”

  I can feel it. It’s right there. My entire body is on fire and sweat beads the back of my neck. “I don’t… I can’t.” A wave of pleasure teases me, mocking me with the promise of wha
t could be.

  He leans down, releasing my hips, and rests his forehead on mine. The desire radiating off this big, strong man is almost too much. His lips graze over mine, his tongue sneaking out and barely touching my lips.

  “Just let go, Mellie. I want you to come for me. Can you come for me?”

  He kisses down to my neck and along my collarbone and then pulls down the collar of my shirt. Through the cotton of my white bra, he sucks a nipple into his mouth, and my back instinctually arches, pleasure taking over my nerves.

  Then I do what he said and let go. And just like that, it happens. The ache between my legs releases and spreads through my entire body like a wildfire, setting the sensitive nerves on fire. “Oh, my Go—” I collapse on my back, and my legs—suddenly unable to function on their own—fall. The heat cools off beneath my skin, and I shiver, having never experienced anything close to that before. Never knowing that the things I edit and read about could be reality.

  Reality. Smith. He knows. I just had an orgasm from that… something he probably hasn’t done since before he could drive. Something I did in high school before my world changed. The difference between a man and a boy are so far apart they’re not even on the same level.

  Every single thought that I could be brazen with him vanishes. I’m so damn embarrassed right now. Shit, shit. I hop off the counter, forgetting there’s broken glass, but he grabs me before I can cut my foot.

  “What are you doing?” He sets my butt back on the place I just tried to vacate, and the severity of what I just did hits me. “Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m sorry,” I cry.

  “What?” His voice is pained, and his eyebrows pull in confusion. “Why the hell are you sorry?”

  “I didn’t, I don’t know… Because that’s not what you…” The hiccups in my throat prevent me from finishing a sentence.

  “That’s not what I what?”

  I take a breath. “What you’re used to.”

  “Christ, Mellie. Ya know what I’m used to?” He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “I’m used to coming and still feeling unsatisfied. I’m used to women who want to play more games than girls did with me in fucking high school. I’m used to women who spread their legs so easily I’ve questioned my morals. I’m used to not feeling anything.” He moves his hand from my chin and grabs my hand then pushes it against his chest over his heart. “I’m not used to this being involved with my dick.”

  “But you didn’t… you know?” I find it difficult to say the actual words. “I don’t want you to think I’m using you.”

  He laughs. “You don’t even know how to use somebody, Mellie.”

  My jaw unhinges, and I try to push away from him, mortification hitting me in the gut.

  “No. Shit. That’s not what I meant. I meant that you’re too nice. You’re so fucking innocent, and you don’t have a vindictive bone in your sweet body to manipulate someone.” He smiles. “And honestly, I can’t remember the last time I felt something like that. If you think that’s taking advantage of me, you can use me anytime you want.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. I’d never lie to you.” With the conviction in his voice, I believe him.

  “I liked it,” I mumble.

  “I fuckin’ loved it. Feelin’ how hot you got, watching your eyes glaze over. Shit, baby, I’ll go to bed dreaming of your beautiful face.” He leans toward me and presses a kiss to my forehead. “But the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

  Stop crying, Mellicent. I know I’m hurting you, but you need to shut up about it.

  I swallow through the lump in my throat and fight it back. Dammit. I’ll never be able to be normal. Smith doesn’t have time for an insecure, inexperienced, damaged girl. As much as I want him, he deserves someone who can give everything, and that person is not me. This was a mistake. It was all a big, huge mistake.

  Chapter 6

  Smith

  She swallows the same time a shadow of fear passes through her face. I absorb the sudden change in her eyes and step back. I hate seeing her brightness fade away... especially when I know I’m the cause.

  “Maybe I should just go to bed.”

  I nod and try not to feel as disappointed as I do. Damn, I don’t like this feeling. “If that’s what you want.” When I lift her off the counter and set her away from the broken plate, it takes more self-control than I thought to let her go. “I’ll clean this up.”

  “Okay.” She dips her head and quietly turns around.

  I hate that the vibrant woman who fell apart against my jeans-clad dick is closing in on herself and on me, too. I hate that I know this is wrong, but I can’t fuckin’ help myself. Mostly, I hate that I will have to live off that memory, because that can never happen again. As much as I’d like it to, it can’t. Her brother will kill me, for one. She’s too young. She’s moving back to Chicago. The list goes on.

  When I first saw her, I had an all-consuming desire to have her in my arms any way I could. Something I haven’t felt with anyone, and frankly, it scared the shit out of me. I’d had a shit day, and the last thing I wanted to do was go look at the house for Jay. When I walked in and she didn’t see me watching her throw a little temper tantrum, I thought she was the hottest thing I’d seen in forever—her blonde hair flying around and her perky ass shaking. But when she screamed out of fear, I saw the true alarm in her eyes, and the need to protect her collided with my desire to see her beneath me. And now that I’ve seen how fuckin’ beautiful she is when she comes, the craving to make her all mine is almost debilitating. Everything is molding me into this man whose desire for this woman is so fierce it scares me. And only one other thing in the world scares me more.

  I should be ashamed, especially after the horrible shit Jay told me today. But fuck, I don’t want to stay away, even though I know I should. In the few days I’ve known her, she’s pulled things out of me I thought I’d buried with them when they went into the ground.

  But dammit, I knew; I could tell just by looking at her that she feared something. Now that I know what it is, it makes me want to protect her even more. I want to give her what she lost. I want to hold her when she’s scared. I want to give her the fuckin’ world. And I want to be the one to give her pleasure. Dammit all to hell that I can’t.

  * * *

  Not knowing what will happen if we run into each other in the morning, I purposely leave early—again—and stay late. Just because I didn’t see her all day doesn’t mean I didn’t think about her every time I blinked. Sleeping across the hall from her is a special form of torture, but I deserve it for having such mixed and messed-up thoughts about her. And for what I did on that damn counter. She made the move, but I should have stopped it.

  I’m running on fumes after avoiding her, so when I walk downstairs three days later at nine in the morning and she’s sitting on the island with her hair in a messy bun, typing away, I take a moment to watch her. I’ve never had a woman in my home. I’ve remodeled every inch of this house, and it’s the only place I can go where I’ve erased their memories. Even memories of my best friend. He practically lived with us and any memory with him was also with them.

  Not one photo, one childhood memento, or one family heirloom to remember them by is out in the open in my home. It’s hard enough to drive through town and see families having ice cream at the place we used to go for every birthday. Or look in the mirror and see my twin sister’s eyes staring back at me. I can never get away from seeing the Porter & Son Construction sign my dad made and proudly hung outside our building before I confessed I wanted to be a cop. I should take it down. But the reminder of how quickly and unexpectedly you can lose everything is something I need. It reinforces my decision not to form bonds or attachments or develop deep emotions with anyone.

  “Morning,” I say, as I grab a bottle of water out of the fridge.

  She flinches and says, “Morning,” back without lifting her head. I don’t like her not looking at me, avoiding m
e. Hypocritical, I know. The tips of her nails click against the keys as she continues to type. A giggle breaks the silence, and she stares at the computer screen as if she’s in love with it.

  “What?” My curiosity gets the better of me.

  Without speaking, she turns the laptop to show me a picture of her fluffy white cat. I squint my eyes to look closer… Yup, it’s wearing a tiara. “Jay put it on her and sent it to me.”

  I nod and internally roll my eyes, not sure how someone can think that nasty thing is so cute. Mellie seems to be okay, but instead of pressing her, I put my boots on and grab my keys. It hasn’t been long at all and I’m not even remotely close to dismissing my intense feelings for her, so I can’t imagine she’s recovered.

  The need to get away from her slaps me in the face. “I’ll be late again.” The door closes behind me before I can hear a response... if she even gave one.

  As I’m driving to the site, my phone rings, so I answer it via Bluetooth.

  “Hello?”

  “What’s up, fuck face?”

  The familiar voice makes me laugh. “You in town?”

  “Nope. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

  He says it as a joke, but the harsh reality is he does call me randomly, and I fear it really is just to hear my voice. To know he has support. As much as I want to push him about his lifestyle and about how dangerous it is, I’m afraid he’d never contact me again if I did. “Fucker. Door’s always open, man. You know that. Always was, always will be.”

  He must sense the lingering sadness in my voice because he clears his throat. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll shoot you a text later.”

  In typical Erik fashion, he hangs up before I can say goodbye. Damn, that was quicker than normal.

  I park down the street and around the corner from the house and rest my head on the steering wheel. Hearing the guilt in Erik’s voice brings back everything, and I need a minute to pull myself together.

  Erik was more than my best friend. The son they always wanted, my parents used to joke. When his elderly grandmother died, leaving him homeless at fifteen, my parents took him in without a second thought. Ever since their death, he’s been a different person. He took it almost harder than me, and instead of shutting himself off from the world as I did, he turned to a bottle to help cope. That and women. I don’t judge him, don’t blame him for his choices, but it hurts that when they died, I lost him, too.