Conflict (The Wellingtons Book 3)

by Tessa Teevan

  “Shane,” I whisper. “Kiss me. Please.”

  His fingers caress my skin, leaving a trail of heat. “I want to. God, I want to,” he replies, his eyes closing for a brief moment then reopening to catch the plea in mine. “But I’m not going to.”

  I rise onto my tiptoes, planning to do the work for him. But he stops me with a finger to my lips.

  “Friday night. After our date, and not a moment sooner.”

  I can’t help the pout that spreads across my lips. “But that’s too far away. I can’t wait that long.”

  Shane gives me a sexy wink. Then his lips find my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin. “You can, and you will. Think of all the anticipation that’ll build up between now and then. I’ll be on your mind every second of every day until we’re together again.”

  He pulls back, and I raise an eyebrow at the confidence in his expression.

  “You think so, huh?” I ask, even though he’s absolutely right.

  “Sunshine, I know so.”

  “And how’s that?”

  Shane’s arms slide around mine as he pulls me into a warm embrace. “Because, Alyssa, I’ll be doing the same.”

  And there go the butterflies again.

  FOUR DAYS have passed since Shane and I drove back to Atlanta together. There’s nothing like starting a new relationship with a four-hour road trip, especially when all you want to do is devour the man sitting in the driver’s seat. Not that Shane did so much as kiss me since after the wedding. Even when I tried one last time to get a little handsy at the airport, he simply chuckled, swiped his lips across my cheek, and gave me a breathtaking smile that’s kept me going since we said our goodbyes.

  Turns out he was right. I’ve done practically nothing but think of him all week long, and the anticipation of tomorrow night is the only thing keeping me going.

  That and the distraction of my friends. Except, sometimes, that doesn’t even help.

  Cheyenne’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. “All right, you’ve had a dreamy expression on your face since you came back from Tennessee, and Bryan won’t tell me what’s going on.”

  Because Sawyer’s in New York—coincidentally or perhaps not so much—Cheyenne’s somehow finagled her way into the weekday rituals Bryan and I have developed in the past few months. After what started off as a proverbial tennis match of “what do you want to eat?” and “I don’t care, what do you want to eat?” we set up a cooking schedule we’ve become comfortable with.

  Bryan cooks Mondays and Wednesdays; I get Tuesdays and Thursdays.

  It’s boiled down to this:

  Man-Meat Mondays (Bryan’s term, of course). I initially suggested Meatless Monday, but he wasn’t having it. This usually consists of…meat. He grills or smokes meat every single Monday, rain, shine, and even snow. I’ve had more steak, pork, bacon, and even bison since I’ve lived with Bryan than I’ve had in my whole life. Not that I’m complaining. He at least usually pairs it with a salad or some type of vegetable. And hey, not cooking after a long day at work on a Monday is pretty darn fantastic.

  To counter-balance all the meat from Mondays, I decided against the predictable Taco Tuesday, much to Bryan’s chagrin. Seafood Tuesday doesn’t sound as nice when it rolls off the tongue, but once Bryan had a taste of my miso peanut butter salmon, he hasn’t complained once about seafood on Tuesdays.

  Bryan chose to stick with alliteration with Wicked Wednesdays. When he first told me this, I wasn’t sure what to expect. What it turned out to be, however, was basically comfort food Wednesdays. Wicked because his homemade biscuits and gravy are more calories than I need in an entire day, but they’re so freaking good that I can’t say no. I’m not sure if Bryan got his cooking skills from living with two women or before it. If he did, I cannot thank them enough.

  And I round out the week with ethnic food on Thursdays. This all started when Bryan mentioned he’d never had pho—only the best meal on the planet—and ever since I’d made it my mission to teach the man there was more to eating than meat and Southern comfort food. So far, so good.

  So tonight, it’s tapas night—Asian style. I know it’s traditionally Hispanic, but tapas sound so much better than finger food. So tapas it is. Since she’s been here every night this week, I made Cheyenne in charge of the wine. She didn’t disappoint when she showed up with sake. We’ve already had our fill of chicken satay, crab spring rolls, bacon-wrapped water chestnuts (a total hit with Bryan because, well, bacon), lettuce wraps, and gyoza. And probably a little too much sake.

  “Hello, Earth to Alyssa.” Cheyenne’s grinning at me.

  Bryan’s rolling his eyes beside her. “You might as well spill, Lyssa,” he tells me. “She’ll never give up.”

  Cheyenne goes to smack him on the side of the head, but he ducks. “Since you and Cori haven’t gotten your heads out of your asses yet, I have to live vicariously through someone else’s romance.”

  “My head’s been outta my ass for a long damn time, Cheyenne.”

  I lift my glass in mock salute. “The man’s right. He cooks, he cleans, and he’s head-over-heels in love with the woman. She’s the one whose head is buried beneath the sand.”

  “Right, not talking about she who shall not be named anymore.” She turns to me. “Now, you… Now, I love sake as much as the next person, but it doesn’t make me look like a lovesick fool. What’s with the face?”

  Bryan, of course, knows about Shane because of the wedding. He doesn’t know what happened after the reception, and he hasn’t even asked. But when I told him I was riding home with Shane, I’m pretty sure he got the message. Now, however, he looks as eager as Cheyenne.

  “I met someone.”

  She leans forward like a dog waiting for a bone. I’d like to keep it simple, but judging by the look on her face, that’s not going to work.

  My phone chimes before I can answer. It’s on the coffee table between us, and she doesn’t want to invade my privacy, her eyes keep darting to the screen.

  “Go ahead,” I tell her, waving towards my phone, knowing that it has to be a text from Shane.

  She pounces like a cat in heat. Her eyes wander across the screen. Then she looks up at me. Then back at the phone. Then back at me.

  “It’s about freaking time!” she squeals, jumping up and practically tackling me in a hug. She pulls back and places her hands on my shoulders. “Seriously. This is so amazing. Oh my gosh, we have to double date!”

  “Wait, what do you mean ‘it’s about freaking time’?” I ask, completely confused.

  Cheyenne lets me go and plops back onto the couch, folding her legs, excitement pouring off her. “Shane came to the office looking for you.” She looks at Bryan. “Remember that day? Alyssa was gone, but you were in there putting a note on her desk. Something about dinner plans, I think. Whatever it was, Shane got jealous. It was so obvious.”

  Bryan’s brow crinkles in thought. Then he snaps his fingers. “I knew he looked familiar at the wedding.” He turns to look at me. “Wait a minute. You’re dating the CFO of Wellington Enterprises?”

  I bite my lower lip, ignoring the blush rising on my cheeks. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Not a big deal? You do realize they’re our stiffest competition on the Filiatrault account?”

  As if I hadn’t thought of that.

  Cheyenne swoops in to save the day. “Quiet, Bryan. Sawyer knows. Sawyer doesn’t care. Neither should you.”

  Bryan’s surprised expression matches mine.

  “Sawyer…knows?” I ask, suddenly needing more sake.

  She waves a hand in the air: a gesture of no big deal. “He and Shane have known each other since college. While they aren’t best friends or anything, they get together for golf every so often. A few months ago—August, I think—I found Shane in Sawyer’s office, asking for information about you.”

  My belly does a flip-flop at the notion. “Months ago?”

  A broad smile crosses her lips. “That’s why I said it’
s about time. Sawyer, at first, told Shane no.”

  And just like that, my heart falters and my stomach twists into knots. My face must convey my emotion, because Cheyenne’s quick to continue.

  “No, not because of who he is or where he works. It wasn’t like that. He was just trying to be protective. Like the big brother you don’t have.”

  Bryan snorts. “She’s got me.”

  Another eye roll comes from Cheyenne. “Anyways, he did the whole ‘if you hurt her, I’ll kill you’ song and dance before giving Shane his blessing. Not that you need it, of course.”

  I’m oddly touched that Sawyer, whom I’ve known for several years but never have been close with, would think to look out for me. “So he’s fine with it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Because, you know, I’d never do anything to jeopardize the business or my standing with it,” I explain.

  Cheyenne smiles softly, patting my knee. “Of course you wouldn’t. Plus, it’s not as cutthroat as you think. Filiatrault already knows which company he’s merging with. He’s just toying with them, seeing who can schmooze him the most. It’s an annoying yet necessary part of the biz.”

  “So no conflict of interest?” I ask, needing the confirmation once again.

  “No, Alyssa. None whatsoever. So you can stop running from Shane with the excuse that it’s for the sake of your job. He’s a good guy. You’re a great woman. I think you’ll be perfect together. In fact, I wish I’d thought of it first.”

  “Right, because your matchmaking skills are so on point,” Bryan says, his face turned into a scowl.

  And this is how Bryan and Cheyenne find themselves in a drunken, long-winded, heartfelt discussion on the woes of love.

  Fortunately, my phone chimes again and I sneak off to my room.

  I place the phone to my ear and fall onto my bed. “I miss you,” I whisper in the dark.

  “Are you drunk?” he asks in a low drawl.

  This is how the first week of our relationship has gone. I work all day, and he schmoozes whatever client or executive he’s with. I come home and eat dinner with Bryan; Shane continues to schmooze whomever he’s with. I shower, pour a glass of wine, and go to my room, usually catching up on the latest episode of Below Deck or rewatching old reruns of The Office, because dammit if Jim, Pam, and Dwight aren’t exactly what I need after a long day. Shane heads back to his hotel and calls every night at eleven p.m. on the dot. And he random texts throughout the day to let me know he’s thinking about me. It’s been four days, and if I wasn’t before, I’m completely smitten with the man now.

  “I wouldn’t say drunk. I’m delightfully tipsy.”

  “I wish I were delightfully tipsy right there next to you,” he murmurs, and his voice, laced with sexual promise, sends shivers down my spine.

  I slide my hand into the waistband of my pajamas and hold the phone to my ear. “Keep talking,” I whisper, touching myself at the sound of his voice.

  “Sunshine, are you touching yourself?”

  “Mmmhmm,” is all the response he gets.

  I hear sheets rustling and then Shane’s voice is back.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

  I pause, unsure of what to say. Sure, phone sex sounds excellent in theory, but because I’ve had sex all of two times in my life, I’m not sure how to do this. But then my liquid courage has me responding. “Your hands.”

  Silence fills the other end of the line, and as the moments tick by, I start to wonder if it’s too soon for phone stuff.

  “My hands?” Shane’s voice is low, husky, and hell, I wish he were here with me.

  “Oh yeah,” I breathe out. “They’re so much bigger than mine. So much more fulfilling…”

  He groans. “You’re killin’ me, baby. What I wouldn’t give to be there with you right now, fulfilling your every desire.”

  “Tell me. Tell me what you’d do if you were here right now.”

  And he does just that. With only his words, he brings me to orgasm twice before we say our goodbyes, eager to be together again in less than twenty-four hours.

  The next night, I’m waiting outside when Shane pulls up. Sure, I could’ve stayed warm in my condo, but I’m that eager to see him. After nearly a year of avoidance, I can’t even stand a week apart. It’s ridiculous, I know. I just can’t help it.

  Shane runs around his car, a huge grin spread across his handsome face. He pulls me into his arms, his embrace instantly warming me up. I shiver, and I don’t know if it’s from the cold or from his closeness. His rests his chin on the top of my head, and I swear I could stay locked in this moment for the rest of my life.

  “You should’ve waited inside,” he tells me.

  “I couldn’t wait,” I admit.

  When Shane pulls back and lowers his gaze to my lips, my belly tightens. He was right, of course. I’ve thought about little else this week than him kissing me. And again, I can’t wait.

  I rise onto my toes and brush his lips with mine. I don’t deepen it; I don’t devour him—as much as I’d like to. It’s a simple greeting. We have time for ravishing later.

  “Hi,” he whispers.

  I nearly fall in love with that one simple word.

  “As much as I love your voice,” I tell him, “I’ve seriously missed your face.”

  His chest rumbles with laughter. He takes my hand, places his on the small of my back, and leads me to the car. I open it up and slide in.

  He rests his forearm on the top of the car and leans in close, placing a kiss on my cheek. “I’ve missed your face, too.”

  With that, he closes the door and rounds the car, and we’re off on our first date.

  Except, is it?

  When he slides in beside me, he must see the look on my face. “What is it?” he asks.

  I tilt my head towards him. “Is this our first or second date?”

  He takes a moment to think about it and then grins. “Second. I told you last year you were the first girl I’d ever taken on a date, which would make this our second. It only took us a year to get here.”

  My cheeks warm. “I like the way you think. And since our first date was absolutely perfect, I’d say you have your work cut out for you.”

  Shane tosses a grin my way. “I’m afraid the only thing I can offer better than dolphin sightings are my killer personality and off-the-charts good looks. Other than that, tonight’s about wining and dining you. I hope that’s sufficient.”

  “Hey, I’d rather look at you than a dolphin any day,” I tease. “And as for your killer personality? I’d be just as happy eating at Waffle House if it means I’m with you.”

  He takes my hand, entwines our fingers, and rests our joined hands on his thigh. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m going to do you one a least a little better.”

  And he does. My eyes widen when we pull up to the Hilton Atlanta. Usually I wouldn’t be one for hotel restaurants, but as the elevator takes us to Nikolai’s Roof, excitement overwhelms me. The restaurant is on the thirtieth floor, and with floor-to-ceiling windows, it showcases incredible views of the city. Shane checks in with the hostess, who promptly leads us to an intimate, cozy table by a window that allows us to view the setting sun.

  “This is gorgeous, Shane.”

  “The view does look damn good from where I’m sitting,” he says, and when I look at him, he’s watching me, not the view.

  A blush creeps over my cheeks.

  He grins and leans forward. “I really hope that blush is all over.”

  I place my napkin in my lap. “Well, if it wasn’t before, it certainly is now. And if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get to see for yourself later.”

  Shane nearly chokes on his water. I love that, after almost a year apart, I still have an effect on him.

  After the most delicious five-course meal, I can’t help but laugh when Shane takes me to the Georgia Aquarium.

  “Hey, considering this is only the second date I’ve ever planned and how
well it went the first time around with dolphins, I figured I couldn’t lose. Plus, they’re having a special event that I was able to score tickets to.”

  He holds one out to me and I read it. “Sips under the sea?” I ask, cocking my head in question.

  “The best time to visit the aquarium,” he informs me. “No kids, and all the booze you can ask for.”

  “Well, then by all means, lead the way.”

  It’s as if we haven’t been apart, and the time passes way too quickly as we walk through the various galleries at the aquarium. The entire night, Shane’s close. If he’s not holding my hand, he has his arm around my shoulders, his hand on the small of my back, or his fingers splayed across my thigh when we sit to watch the special dolphin exhibition. The man may have never planned a date before, but he’s two for two with me.

  Unlike last time, however, I’m not sure what’s supposed to happen afterward. I’m a bundle of nerves by the time Shane pulls into the parking lot adjacent to my condo building.

  “You don’t have to walk me up, Shane. I’ll be fine,” I tell him, an internal war waging inside me on whether or not I should invite him to stay.

  “Sunshine, what kinda man wouldn’t walk his woman safely to her door after a date?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “His woman?”

  His lips quirk up into a cocky grin. “Oh, yeah. You’re all mine now.”

  As Shane’s lips descend, my heartbeat quickens. They barely have time to graze mine before the door opens and I fall backwards into my condo. His head jerks up, his eyes darkening at something behind me.

  “Oh, fuck. Uh. My bad,” Bryan says, running a hand through his hair.

  He’s in a pair of running shorts, shirtless, and sweaty likely from taking out his aggression with his punching bag—something he seems to do quite often these days. Shane’s eyes narrow at the sight. Bryan stares for another moment then promptly closes the door with me still outside of it.

  This isn’t awkward at all.

  “Not sure how I feel about this roommate situation,” Shane mumbles.

  I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face at the memory of Shane’s reaction to my telling him that Bryan wasn’t just boss and friend, but also roommate. We’d been in the car on the way back from the wedding and I’d already been kicking myself for not telling him, so I spilled as soon as I found the chance. Not gonna lie, it was incredibly sexy watching his fingers grip the steering wheel, his jaw tighten, and his eyes set straight on the road ahead of him. The moment was so brief that if I hadn’t been looking at him, I’d have missed it. He immediately relaxed, shot me a killer smile, and told me he may not like it, but he’d come to terms with it. That was sufficient enough for me.