And yet wanting to, so much.
Holding her breath, she walked over and creaked the door open.
“Hey, sweetie. Can I come in?”
It wasn’t Connor.
She opened the door wide and let Brian pick her up and squeeze her in his usual big, burly bear hug. Had it really been a month since she’d seen him last?
“Hey stranger,” she choked back her disappointment over which brother’s arms were holding her, comforting her. “Why didn’t you and Skylar come over this past week when ASU started back up? Were the three weeks without me that effective a detox program to get me completely out of your systems?” she queried, her attempt at humor falling flat.
“No. Just the opposite, actually,” he said quietly. “But we stayed away to...give you your space.”
She blinked and felt her already wobbly smile completely crumble away. “Connor told you, didn’t he? He sent you over here?”
“Yes.”
She quickly disentangled himself from his hug, which was now cloaked with sympathy. “What did he say?”
“A lot,” he evaded, and slid a thumb over the new tear sliding down her cheek. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. It’ll be okay.”
So saying, he pulled out a small, gift-wrapped box from the cargo pocket of his jeans and handed it to her.
She melted. Brian was always so good to her, such a good friend. She didn’t know what her life would be without him.
“Open it.”
Slowly, carefully, she slid her fingers under the seams of the wrapping paper—seeing as how this was the first time he’d actually wrapped a present for her, she wanted to savor it. Maybe even keep the ribbon.
When she peered into the box and saw the beautiful antique picture frame inside, the perfect size for her nightstand, she shook her head in unsurprised amazement.
Brian always gave her the best gifts. The photo he’d put inside the frame was her current favorite, too. It was taken the day she’d gone with him and Skylar up to the lakes earlier this summer. “As always, you’re a mind reader. I love this photo. I actually just lost the copy I keep in my wallet.”
“I believe that is the copy you keep in your wallet.”
“What?”
Instead of explaining further, he just handed her a slip of paper.
Okay. Connor was right, Brian did have a flair for the dramatic.
She flipped open the note...and felt her heart spin.
Abby,
Get out your magic decoder ring. You’ll need it for the gift, too.
--Connor
She whipped her head back up. “The gift is from Connor?”
Brian nodded.
A dizzying surge of hope flooded through her veins, rushed straight over to her heart as she called back the memory of what he’d told her once, but replayed it now with its heart achingly wonderful new meaning: If I leave a note, then it’s like leaving the hope that this isn’t really goodbye for good…if I send a gift, hell, that’s the same as saying I’ll be back someday so don’t ever forget me.
No, she wouldn’t need a magic decoder ring to figure out the note or the gift—what he thought he was giving her by this ridiculously romantic, misguidedly selfless act.
She blew out an exasperated breath, unsure whether to swoon, or cry, or drive right over to his house and kick him in the shins.
“What’s wrong?”
Startled, she looked up, forgetting Brian was there for a second. “Your brother. He’s what’s wrong. Or rather, he is wrong.”
“About what?”
Holding the note in one hand and the photo in the other, she gestured in frustration. “About this. All of it. He’s doing all this to try to be ‘the good man’ over something that isn’t even what he’s made it out to be. This right here.” She stared at the photo. “He obviously thinks you and I are something that we’re not, something he insists on believing is better for me than what he and I have.” No wonder he’d been asking her so many questions about Brian lately. Gazing at the note again, she sighed, “He’s clearly built up this whole idea about you and me in his head, and he’s not going to come back until I convince him he’s wrong.”
Brian reached out and slid a warm hand over her cheek. “What if he’s not wrong, Abby? What if it isn’t all in his head?”
* * * * *
Abby’s journey continues in
Book Two:
FALLING FOR THE GOOD GUY
Available Now!
POSSESSIVE
Willow Winters
Some men are born with a black heart and a tainted soul.
It’s in my blood and in my bones. In every impure thought and desire.
I tried to walk away from my past.
But then she came back into my life.
Stumbling toward me and looking up at me as if I was the one she’d been looking for all this time.
As if I could be her savior and take her pain away.
If only she knew.
She brings out what I hate most about myself.
Selfish, ruthless, possessive.
I tried to be a good man. To be cold and distant and warn her away.
She should have taken the hint and run.
She didn’t …
And now she’s mine.
Preface
Addison
It’s easy to smile around Tyler.
It’s how he got me. We were in calculus, and he made some stupid joke about angles. I don’t even remember what it was. Something about never discussing infinity with a mathematician because you’ll never hear the end of it. He’s a cute dork with his jokes. He knows some dirty ones too.
A year later and he still makes me laugh. Even when we’re fighting. He says he just wants to see me smile. How can I leave when he says things like that? I believe him with everything in me.
My friend’s grandmother told me once to fall in love with someone who loves you back just a little more.
Even as my shoulders shake with a small laugh and he leans forward to nip my neck, I know that I’ll never really love Tyler the way he loves me.
And it makes me ashamed. Truly.
I’m still laughing when his bedroom door creaks open. Tyler plants a small kiss on my shoulder. It’s not an open-mouth kiss, but still it leaves a trace on my skin and sends a warmth through my body. It’s fleeting though.
The cool air passes between the two of us as Tyler leans back and smiles broadly at his brother.
I may be seated on my boyfriend’s lap, but the way Daniel looks at me makes me feel like I’m alone. His eyes pierce through me with a sharpness that makes me afraid to move. Afraid to even breathe.
I don’t know why he does this to me.
He makes me hot and cold at the same time. It’s like I’ve disappointed him simply by being here. As if he doesn’t like me. Yet there’s something else.
Something that’s forbidden.
It creeps up on me whenever I hear Daniel’s rough voice; whenever I catch him watching Tyler and me. It’s like I’ve been caught cheating, which makes no sense at all. I don’t belong to Daniel, no matter how much that idea haunts my dreams.
He’s twenty-one now and I’m only seventeen. But more importantly, he’s Tyler’s brother.
It’s all in my head. I tell myself over and over again that the electricity between us is something I’ve made up. That my body doesn’t burn for Daniel. That my soul doesn’t ache for him to rip me away and punish me for daring to let his brother touch me.
It’s only when Tyler speaks to him that Daniel looks away from me, tossing something down beside us.
Tyler’s oblivious to everything happening. And suddenly I can breathe again.
My eyelids flutter open, my body hot under the stifling blankets. I don’t react to the memory in my dreams anymore. Not at first, anyway. It sinks in slowly. The recognition of what that day would lead to growing heavier in my heart with each second that passes. Like a wave crashing on the shore, but taking its time
. Threatening to engulf me as it approaches.
It was years ago, but the memory remains.
The feeling of betrayal, for fantasizing about Tyler’s older brother.
The heartache from knowing what happened only three weeks after that night.
The desire and desperation to go back to that point and beg Tyler to never come looking for me.
All of those emotions swirl into a deadly concoction in the pit of my stomach. It’s been years since I’ve been tormented by the remembrance of Tyler and what we had. And by the memories of Daniel and what never was.
Years have passed.
But it all comes back to me after seeing Daniel last night.
Chapter 1
Addison
The night before
I love this bar. Iron Heart Brewery. It’s nestled in the center of the city and located at the corner of this street. The town itself has history. Hints of the old cobblestone streets peek through the torn asphalt and all the signs here are worn and faded, decorated with weathered paint. I can’t help but to be drawn here.
And with the varied memorabilia lining the walls, from signed knickknacks to old glass bottles of liquor, this place is flooded with a welcoming warmth. It’s a quiet bar with all local and draft beers a few blocks away from the chaos of campus. So it’s just right for me.
“Make up your mind?”
My body jolts at the sudden question. It only gets me a rough laugh from the tall man on my left, the bartender who spooked me. A grey shirt with the brewery logo on it fits the man well, forming to his muscular shoulders. With a bit of stubble and a charming smirk, he’s not bad looking. And at that thought, my cheeks heat with a blush.
I could see us making out behind the bar; I can even hear the bottles clinking as we crash against the wall in a moment of passion. But that’s where it would end for me. No hot and dirty sex on the hard floor. No taking him back to my barely furnished apartment.
I roll my eyes at the thought and blow a strand of hair away from my face as I meet his gaze.
I’m sure he flirts with everyone. But it doesn’t make it any less fun for the moment.
“Whatever your favorite is,” I tell him sheepishly. “I’m not picky.” I have to press my lips together and hold back my smile when he widens his and nods.
“You new to town?” he asks me.
I shrug and have to slide the strap to my tank top back up onto my shoulder. Before I can answer, the door to the brewery and bar swings open, bringing in the sounds of the nightlife with it. It closes after two more customers leave. Looking over my shoulder through the large glass door at the front, I can see them heading out. The woman is leaning heavily against a strong man who’s obviously her significant other.
Giving the bartender my attention again, I’m very much aware that there are only six of us here now. Two older men at the high top bar, talking in hushed voices and occasionally laughing so loud that I have to take a peek at them.
And one other couple who are seated at a table in the corner of the bar. The couple who just left had been sitting with them. All four are older than I am. I’d guess married with children and having a night out on the town.
And then there’s the bartender and me.
“I’m not really from here, no.”
“Just passing through?” he asks me as he walks toward the bar. I’m a table away, but he keeps his eyes on me as he reaches for a glass and hits the tap to fill it with something dark and decadent.
“I’m thinking about going to the university actually. To study business. I came to check it out.” I don’t tell him that I’m putting down some temporary roots regardless of whether or not I like the school here. Every year or so I move somewhere new … searching for what could feel like home.
His eyebrow raises and he looks me up and down, making me feel naked. “Your ID isn’t fake, right?” he asks and then tilts the tall glass in his hand to let the foam slide down the side.
“It isn’t fake, I swear,” I say with a smile and hold up my hands in defense. “I chose to travel instead of going to college. I’ve got a little business, but I thought finally learning more about the technicalities of it all would be a step in the right direction.” I pause, thinking about how a degree feels more like a distraction than anything else. It’s a reason to settle down and stop moving from place to place. It could be the change I need. Something needs to change.
His expression turns curious and I can practically hear all the questions on his lips. Where did you go? What did you do? Why did you leave your home so young and naïve? I’ve heard them all before and I have a prepared list of answers in my head for such questions.
But they’re all lies. Pretty little lies.
He cleans off the glass before walking back over and pulling out the seat across from me.
Just as the legs of the chair scrape across the floor, the door behind me opens again, interrupting our conversation and the soft strums of the acoustic guitar playing in the background.
The motion brings a cold breeze with it that sends goosebumps down my shoulder and spine. A chill I can’t ignore.
The bartender’s ass doesn’t even touch the chair. Whoever it is has his full attention.
As I lean down to reach for the cardigan laying on top of my purse, he puts up a finger and mouths, “One second.”
The smile on my face is for him, but it falters when I hear the voice behind me.
Everything goes quiet as the door shuts and I listen to them talking. My body tenses and my breath leaves me. Frozen in place, I can’t even slip on the cardigan as my blood runs cold.
My heart skips one beat and then another as a rough laugh rises above the background noise of the small bar.
“Yeah, I’ll take an ale, something local,” I hear Daniel say before he slips into view. I know it’s him. That voice haunted me for years. His strides are confident and strong, just like I remember them. And as he passes me to take a seat by the bar, I can’t take my eyes off of him.
He’s taller and he looks older, but the slight resemblance to Tyler is still there. As my heart learns its rhythm again, I notice his sharp cheekbones and my gaze drifts to his hard jaw, covered with a five o’clock shadow. I’d always thought of him as tall and handsome, albeit in a dark and brooding way. And that’s still true.
He could fool you with his charm, but there’s a darkness that never leaves his eyes.
His fingers spear through his hair as he checks out the beer options written in chalk on the board behind the bar. His hair’s longer on top than it is on the sides, and I can’t help but to imagine what it would feel like to grab on to it. It’s a fantasy I’ve always had.
The timbre in his voice makes my body shudder.
And then heat.
I watch his throat as he talks, I notice the little movements as he pulls out a chair in the corner of the bar across from me. If only he would look my way, he’d see me.
Breathe. Just breathe.
My tongue darts out to lick my lips and I try to avert my eyes, but I can’t.
I can’t do a damn thing but wait for him to notice me.
I almost whisper the command, look at me. I think it so loud I’m sure it can be heard by every soul in this bar.
And finally, as if hearing the silent plea, he looks my way. His knuckles rap the table as he waits for his beer, but they stop mid-motion when his gaze reaches mine.
There’s a heat, a spark of recognition. So intense and so raw that my body lights, every nerve ending alive with awareness.
And then it vanishes. Replaced with a bitter chill as he turns away. Casually. As if there was nothing there. As if he doesn’t even recognize me.
I used to think it was all in my mind back then. Five years ago when we’d share a glance and that same feeling would ignite within me.
But this just happened. I know it did.
And I know he knows who I am.
With anger beginning to rise, my lips part to say his name, b
ut it’s caught in my throat. It smothers the sadness that’s rising just as quickly. Slowly my fingers curl, forming a fist until my nails dig into my skin.
I don’t stop staring at him, willing him to look at me and at least give me the courtesy of acknowledging me.
I know he can feel my eyes on him. He’s stopped rapping his knuckles on the table and the smile on his face has faded.
Maybe the crushing feeling in my chest is shared by both of us.
Maybe I’m only a reminder to him. A reminder he ran away from too.
I don’t know what I expected. I’ve dreamed of running into Daniel so many nights. Brushing shoulders on the way into a coffee shop. Meeting each other again through new friends. Every time I wound up back home, if you can even call it that, I always checked out every person passing me by, secretly wishing one would be him. Just so I’d have a reason to say his name.
Winding up at the same bar on a lonely Tuesday night hours away from the town we grew up in … that was one of those daydreams too. But it didn’t go like this in my head.
“Daniel.” I say his name before I can stop myself. It comes out like a croak and he reluctantly turns his head as the bartender sets down the beer on the wooden table.
I swear it’s so quiet, I can hear the foam fizzing as it settles in the glass.
His lips part just slightly, as if he’s about to speak. And then he visibly inhales. It’s a sharp breath and matches the gaze he gives me. First it’s one of confusion, then anger … and then nothing.
I have to remind my lungs to do their job as I clear my throat to correct myself, but both efforts are in vain.
He looks past me as if it wasn’t me who was trying to get his attention.
“Jake,” he speaks up, licking his lips and stretching his back. “I actually can’t stay,” he bellows from his spot to where the bartender, apparently named Jake, is chucking ice into a large glass. The music seems to get louder as the crushing weight of being so obviously dismissed and rejected settles in me.
Summer Heat: A Steamy Romance Boxed Set Page 102
