Seven Hot Nights in Greece (The Taylor Brothers Book 1)

by Rose Lange

  “I tell you, he’s an animal, like a damned tiger, in bed. Good Lord, he kept me up half the night with his antics.”

  The lanky petite brunette regaled her friends of her weekend sexual escapades.

  Emma ignored them. At least someone was getting lucky around there because it sure as hell wasn’t her anymore. Geez, had her life come to this? Being jealous of someone for getting laid, someone she only worked with and barely knew?

  Really, how sad is that, Emma?

  She held no ill will against the woman, or anyone for that matter, but right now, her jealousy consumed the room.

  “Patrick is the best lover I’ve ever had.” The words came out much lower, in a near whisper, but by the time Emma realized whom they were talking about, her creamer had spilled onto the counter and pooled around the bottom of her cup.

  She closed her eyes as her stomach roiled, and she tried to fight the tears. The knife wound her co-worker’s words had inflicted throbbed, and the one that had only just begun to heal split wide open. It burned like all hell, as if someone drowned it with an entire bottle of alcohol on the gaping flesh.

  Her hopes of telling Patrick how she felt were dashed. She already knew how he felt. He’d moved on. The realization that he’d discarded her so quickly nearly made her lose the contents of her stomach.

  With shaky fingers, she sopped up the mess and grabbed her coffee.

  The brunette continued to describe, in graphic detail, her sexual escapades as she made her retreat and the sound of smothered giggles faded. Emma tried to stifle her sobs, as anger for the vile excuse of a man made its way from a low simmer to rolling boil.

  Patrick had only been in it for the sex, right from the start.

  Keeping her cool façade, she made it to her office and shut the door partway.

  She set her cup down and took a seat, feeling like the world’s stupidest woman. She tried to digest everything she’d overheard, and the rational side of her told her it didn’t matter. Her heart told her a different story, thinking the worst of the man she’d fallen in love with. Of the man she’d been in love with for a long time now, longer than she cared to remember.

  Piece by painful piece, she’d put herself back together then, and she’d do the same thing now. She needed to focus on the day ahead of her and pretend she didn’t hear that little piece of sickening information.

  It would be so much easier said than done.

  ~ ~ ~

  Baffling, that was what her behavior had been all day.

  Emma had had him scratching his head since he’d strolled into the office. From scowls, to her dirty looks, to clipped, short responses, and now the cold shoulder.

  Admit it. You were an ass, Patrick. That’s what wrong here.

  Granted their fall-out happened a week ago, but today, her anger hit at an all-time new level, one he’d never seen before with sharper edges he knew could kill a man. An entirely different beast he had no clue how to tame.

  He sat at his desk, fidgeting with an opened desk drawer as his eyes danced around the few people who remained in the nearly deserted office.

  Finally, he worked up the nerve to confront her and made his way to her office. Tentatively, he knocked on her door.

  “Come in,” came the curt reply.

  The smile that played on her lips fell the minute she saw him. Her features hardened, and there it was, that wall of anger. A damned bulldozer couldn’t penetrate that sucker.

  She scoffed and turned back to her computer, completely disregarding him.

  “Hey, Emma. You got a minute?”

  “For you? Not really.”

  He sat on the edge of her desk, tired of walking on eggshells around her, tired of keeping his questions work-related, but right now they were alone. He would get to the bottom of it if it killed him. Hell, from the look on her face, it probably fucking would.

  “I want to know what in hell is your problem.”

  She snapped her laptop shut, leaned back in her chair, crossed those gorgeous legs, and used her fingers as a steeple, assessing him.

  “Oh, that’s a good one. You come into my office, and demand to know what my problem is.”

  “Yes, I’d like to know. You’ve been in a fucking mood all day,” he challenged.

  Her chin raised a notch.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He gritted his teeth. “You know damned well what I’m talking about.”

  She got up, palming her hands on the desk, and faced him. The direct, unwavering eye contact unsettled him, and he wasn’t sure why.

  Maybe it was the sheer amount of anger, the hurt, love, and desire behind the blue depths. The strong stance she took made his blood throb and boil in his veins. Normally a quiet, reserved woman, how he loved when her passionate nature dominated, especially the times she directed it at him in the bedroom.

  The fire she radiated made a man look forward to getting burned, and such thoughts only made other parts of him react. He had to think of something, anything else to calm himself.

  “What’s it to you?” she quipped.

  Stubborn, mule-headed woman. He was getting no place very quickly. “Emma, please—”

  She put her hand up to silence him. “No, really. I want to know, because I thought you and I were only casual. So again, I ask, what’s it to you?”

  Patrick was in no mood for this. He stood and walked around her desk, gently grasping her by the arms, and turned her until they were face to face. And right there, that bravado, that spunk, slowly melted before she stood ramrod straight, her arms at her sides.

  His chest innocently brushed against hers, re-igniting, and fanning the flames.

  Years of memories gathered and danced around in his mind.

  That balmy summer night, and the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

  Honeysuckle, and fresh-cut grass had lingered in the air, and he’d been taking care of a chore for his mom. He heard soft cries, and following the sound, discovered Emma. Hunched over and body shaking. He remembered those vivid blue eyes, lashes fringed with tears, as she’d spoken about her dad’s passing.

  Then when he’d accidentally stumble upon her, chewing on a pencil, and in deep thought in the library. The first time she’d come out of her mom’s house, all bundled, and ready to help him shovel knee-deep snow. Her eyes dancing with mirth, practically lighting up whenever he’d been around.

  Only, he hadn’t recognized it as anything beyond a crush back then.

  Their passionate weeklong fling abroad, to the years that’d separated them, and his regrets for letting her go. The passing years didn’t matter. The familiarity of her body, the lush, gentle, feminine curves beneath his palm stole all rational thought. Her laughter, her sense of humor, her head-strong loving personality, all those things and more made up the woman he’d fallen in love with, but he could not bring himself to say those three words.

  “Because, it matters to me. That’s why,” he murmured against her lips.

  He needed to leave. Before he did something foolish, like kiss her. Or worse, set her atop this desk and make love to her like he’d been desperate to do for over a week now. Ready to get down on his knees and beg her forgiveness, to ask her to marry him and make her his wife. To spend the rest of his life making her happy, as happy as she’d made him.

  Darkness once more clouded her features. “I highly doubt that, considering I truly was another notch on your bedpost,” she bit off.

  “What are you talking about?”

  She laughed, but it held no humor as she pushed against his chest and stepped back. “Why don’t you ask Caryn? I’m sure she’d be delighted to sleep with you again.”

  He swallowed the lump of dread in his throat. Even though he was innocent and had never shared more th
an a few kisses with the woman, the fact that Emma found out, or even thought he’d slept with her made his stomach turn. The look of utter heartbreak on Emma’s face tore at the still-raw, gaping wounds in his heart.

  “I never slept with Caryn.”

  Waving him away, Emma sat down at her desk and tuned him out. “Spare me, okay? Just get the hell out of my office.”

  She didn’t look up when she spoke again. “Good night, Patrick.”

  Spirits deflated and no longer in the mood to fight, he walked out of her office, shutting the door behind him. He lingered long enough to hear soft cries just behind the door before she gently blew her nose. His gut instinct told him to go back in and offer comfort, but he realized she would not welcome his arms around her.

  As difficult as it was, he walked away.

  Chapter 15

  Another agonizing and downright awkward day passed at work, until finally, Thursday evening arrived, that much closer to Friday.

  She and Sarah spent the evening parked on the couch, a bowl of popcorn between the two of them and re-runs of Grey’s Anatomy on TV.

  Patrick Dempsey, as delicious as ever in his scrubs, distracted for a while. Inevitably, her thoughts turned to her Patrick, and what had happened that afternoon a couple days ago.

  The reverent way he’d held her . . . Damn him. She was pissed off for his behavior, but still, with one glance, one touch, he could completely knock her anger off its high horse.

  “So, you want to hear the tall tale I’ve got for you about Caryn?” Sarah asked on the next commercial break, grabbing another handful of popcorn.

  Emma shrugged, getting her bottle of water. “Sure, what’s she done now?” She put the bottle to her lips and drank.

  “Apparently, she spread some rumor between her friends that she slept with Patrick.”

  Water spluttered out of her mouth and dribbled down her chin and neck. “What?”

  “Yeah, she’s been telling that story for the last several days. And finally, one of her friends, snuffed out the truth. She made the whole thing up, but Lord knows why.”

  Sarah grabbed another handful of popcorn, chewed, and swallowed before asking, “Ems, you okay?”

  Sagging against the couch, she took a sigh of relief. Holy shit.

  Patrick had told the truth, and she had unnecessarily lashed out at him. What a fool she’d been.

  “Yes, never better.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Friday morning came and went in relative peace, but after finding out the news of Caryn’s lies, Emma felt much better.

  She knew what had to be done.

  She and Patrick worked in the conference room most of the day, and she stopped for lunch with Sarah. She’d been bottling up her feelings all day, preferring to wait for the day’s end, when the office was deserted.

  The longer she waited, the more she wanted to chicken out, but her mom’s voice in the back of her head told her no, she needed to do this.

  No matter what happened today, she would be all right.

  The last remnants of sunlight filtered through the blinds, scattering across her desk later that evening, and her nerves were getting the best of her. She rubbed the back of her neck. The stiff, tired muscles couldn’t wait to soak in a long, hot bath.

  Her eyes caught sight of him strolling across the lobby. That pin strip, navy-blue suit, and canary-yellow tie complemented his frame so beautifully. Quickly, she averted her stare and ignored the incessant clamor of her heart. Straightening her posture, she pretended to be working on an email when he strolled in.

  He lightly rapped on the door. “Just wanted to say good night.”

  “Patrick, hi.”

  “Can we talk?” he asked.

  “Yes, come in. I need to talk to you, too.”

  He entered, shutting the door behind him.

  Standing, she tugged her shirt down as her insides danced with nervous energy. Doubts seeped in that he could turn her away, that she was wrong about he felt about her. She shooed the pesky feeling away. Remembering how he held her, so tenderly in his arms, the fierce way he kissed, and made love to her, the hot rush of emotions that swirled and wouldn’t settle.

  She cleared her throat.

  Linking her fingers together, she paced, and turned her back on him. She hoped this would quell her nerves, even as part of her wanted to scrap the whole thing and keep her feelings to herself.

  Geez, but this was tougher than she thought.

  “Emma, you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. I want to get something off my chest.”

  Facing the window, she watched dusk take over downtown. The last blush of daylight painted the azure sky with patches of orange, pink, and purple.

  Despite her fear, she braced herself, and finally blurted, “I love you, Patrick, and while I know you don’t love me in return, I just wanted you know that I’ve never felt about anyone, the way I feel about you.” She paused, even as the knot in her chest threatened to take over. “Because you bring out something in me I never knew existed, and those nights in Greece meant so much to me. Only I tried to tell you I wanted more, but I figured it was too late. Damn it, I’ve loved you for longer than I can remember.”

  She’d never felt more naked with him than she did now.

  Dampness gathered between her breasts, and her face heated. The heavy words were out there and clung to the silence of the room. Still staring out the window, she wasn’t brave enough to turn around and face him.

  A smile crept over her face, recalling the first time she’d laid eyes on Patrick, tanned and boyishly handsome. Wearing a Guns and Roses T-shirt, ripped jeans, and that smile.

  Then, as the days, weeks, and months passed, the harmless crush turned into something she could not stop, taking her to the beach that fateful night, years later. Despite everything that had transpired, she loved him. She’d always loved him.

  Tears burned behind her eyelids, tracking down her cheeks, but she didn’t care.

  Gently, he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her close. She didn’t bother wiping away the moisture from her face as he turned her toward him. She met his eyes, seeing something she’d not seen since college: the same look he’d given her upon their departure from the island.

  “Emma, I love you, too.”

  “I get it, you don’t want me. You.” She stopped, his words now fully registering. “You what?”

  She didn’t get a chance to catch her breath as he cradled her face within his hands and swallowed the rest of her doubts with a kiss.

  Her lids drifted shut against the welcome pressure of his mouth. She wrapped her arms around him and reveled in the feel of his strong back. First-hand, intimate knowledge of what existed beneath inflamed her need.

  Cradling the back of her head, he moved his other hand to her lower back, and brought her closer, until his chest pressed against hers. The hungry kiss drew on, as more tears gathered and tracked down her cheeks, mixing with the salty, yummy sweetness of his kisses.

  Then, he paused, and leaned his forehead against hers. “I have a confession to make, but I don’t know where to start. I’ve loved you for so long, Emma. My feelings grew after that week in Greece, and I couldn’t cope. I didn’t know how to cope.”

  As his confessions poured out, she held her breath, but kept silent, sensing more to come.

  “That night you spent at my apartment, I had a horrible nightmare”—he paused—“that I’d lost you the same way I’d lost Laura, and I couldn’t take it. I love you, and I’m so sorry I hurt you, baby, so sorry.”

  He nuzzled his forehead against hers, the motion giving her tummy the flutters, sent her insides shivering, and my God, how she loved the way he’d tenderly spoken those words. Whatever thoughts she’d had in mind to say, gone.
r />   “Please, say something, Emma.” He laughed. “You’re killing me over here.”

  Overwhelming did not cover the sheer amount of emotions, swirling inside, as he held her. As his tender words swam through her brain. “I love you, too,” she repeated.

  Just when she thought he’d finished, he broke the silence. “I was a damned fool, both then and now. I should have never pushed you away. It’s just that . . .” He paused and finally locked eyes with her. “When we made love, you brought out something deep in me and the thought of losing you the same way I lost Laura, killed me inside. It was never only about the sex. I want you to know that. You made me whole again. You brought my soul back to life again, Emma.”

  Despite his heart-felt, and genuine confessions, this felt surreal, and her mind was unable to formulate any rational thought.

  “Patrick?”

  “Yeah.”

  Threading her fingers through his hair, she whispered in his ear, “I only have one favor to ask. Take me home and love me.”

  ~ ~ ~

  He could not get her back to his apartment fast enough.

  Forcefully shutting the door behind them, everything— keys, briefcases, bags, and jackets—landed in a discarded heap on the floor.

  The setting sun sent golden shafts of light over the living room floor as he bent and picked her up, lifting her in his arms. Lush curves nestled into him as he pressed a kiss to her lips and she wrapped her arms around him.

  He paused only to make his way to his bedroom, where he left the room in almost total darkness, save for some light filtering through the French doors leading to the balcony. He wanted to take his time, to savor and enjoy Emma in his arms. This time, it would be for good. He wanted to share his bed and his life with this glorious woman in his arms.

  He set Emma on the edge of the bed, and knelt before her, pulling the little black box out of his front pocket. “Before we resume, there’s a question I need to ask you.”