by Alisha Rai
Dedication
For Tai, Ash and Pinky.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Announcement to Hurts to Love You
About the Author
By Alisha Rai
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
Some women were seduced by a voice or a touch or a look. For Sadia Ahmed, it was hands.
Or, at least . . . His hands.
They were big, the perfect size to grasp her ass and grip her tight. Or to wrap around her neck while his thumbs settled into the hollow at the base of her throat. Or to cup her breast and lift it to his mouth.
Sadia picked up a glass and started drying it, her actions precise and unhurried. She was certain her face didn’t give away the fact she was fantasizing about sex with a patron sitting in the dive bar. Her libido might be hot, but her facade was stone-cold. She was a mother, a widow. To a lot of people, she’d discovered, those two titles took precedence over being a woman.
She didn’t mind letting people keep their illusions. It made her life easier and she wasn’t a disruptive person by nature. Someone else could shock the world, so long as she could dream about what she pleased.
Out of the corner of her eye, she contemplated what she could see of the anonymous man’s hands. He wore a baseball cap pulled low, and the bar was dark, so his body was all she had to moon over. His body was enough.
His fingers were long and elegant. They were big enough to fill her up with one, but she’d demand two. Hidden under the soft cotton of her shirt, her stomach clenched. He could play her like a violin, which was appropriate. He had the hands of an artist. Attached to a body that belonged to a fighter.
Her gaze drifted over what she could see of the rest of him. Wide chest, broad shoulders, thighs like tree trunks, biceps like whoa.
Unf.
Sadia carefully replaced the dry glass and picked up another one. Over the past week, she’d gotten really good at surreptitiously peeking at her mystery man during each of her shifts. On Monday she’d noticed him for the first time, sitting in a darkened booth in a far corner. On Wednesday he’d chosen a seat which was better lit, enough for her to grow obsessed with thoughts of his fingers on her and in her.
Though it had been busy earlier tonight, she’d consciously kept an eye out for him. Once the Thursday crowd had thinned out, her gaze had been drawn to him like a magnet to metal. Another dark booth, another dark cap pulled low to hide his face. Alone, nursing the ginger ale he’d ordered. His quiet stillness set him apart from the rowdy people who usually filled this bar.
“Hey, Sadia.”
Sadia started. She regrouped quickly and gave her boss a cheerful grin which hopefully masked the filthy thoughts in her head. “Hey, what’s up?” Michael had owned O’Killian’s for at least as long as she’d been working here, off and on since her twenty-first birthday.
“I wanted to thank you again for picking up so many shifts this week.”
She tossed her towel over her shoulder. “No problem. You know I’ll take the hours.” The tips were good. With a young son, she could always use extra money. She wanted to keep her bartending skills sharp.
Those were all the reasons she gave people when they asked her why she was still tending bar when she had her hands full with the café she’d inherited from her husband. They weren’t false.
They weren’t completely true either, but the whole truth would cause more than a few raised eyebrows.
My husband had debts he didn’t tell me about. The tips give me grocery money.
I’m terrified the café will go bankrupt on my watch. I need a fallback career.
And there was one other good reason, but she really couldn’t share that one with anyone. That reason was her secret.
“I know, you’re so great about being flexible.” Michael ran his hand over his bald head. He was an older, short, squat man, kind and soft-spoken. It was nice to take a break from being the boss at the café and work for someone else, especially when that someone was a decent person. “Listen, I have something to ask you.”
She nodded, hoping he wasn’t planning on changing next week’s schedule. Between child care and staffing the café, she needed her shifts set in stone as early as humanly possible. Last minute changes were a nightmare for her to manage.
His eyes darted around, and he inched closer. “Well, my wife’s been bugging me to ask you, and I know it’s a little unprofessional but . . . is it true Nicholas Chandler hired a skywriter and a marching band to try to win Livvy Kane back?”
Sadia puffed out her cheeks, relief and amusement and annoyance mingling.
All week. This had been going on all freaking week. The Kane/Chandler drama-llama was a staple of this town, so of course everyone was curious.
She and Livvy were going to have some words when the woman got back from wherever she’d run off to with her old flame. The problem with being the best friend and former sister-in-law to half of the town’s most infamous couple was that everyone assumed she knew what the hell had happened to take Livvy and Nicholas from sworn blood enemies back to the lovebirds they’d been in their youth. Sadia kept having to disappoint them. “I’m pretty sure there wasn’t any skywriting or a marching band involved.”
Michael looked disappointed. “He did whisk her off to France, though? My wife heard that from her hair stylist.”
Sadia shrugged. For all she knew, her best friend was in France. She’d received a text from Livvy which said she and Nicholas were going somewhere private to work through their issues. Sadia had been worried, until she’d spoken to Livvy’s aunt Maile. Livvy had called Maile, citing terrible reception, but saying she’d be in contact as much as possible.
So long as Livvy was letting someone know she was alive, Sadia supposed she could wait for a full explanation. Sadia had texted back that she was happy if Livvy was happy and she was available to talk if her friend needed her.
And she was trying really hard to keep that attitude up. It was just difficult to not feel a little slighted she’d found out about their romance with the rest of the town, when Nicholas had publicly declared his love for the woman.
Livvy was her best friend, damn it, even if they hadn’t been in close proximity to each other for the past decade. Sadia should have known what was going on in her life.
There are things you never confided to Livvy about your marriage.
Because she’d been married to the woman’s older brother, with whom Livvy’d had an already rocky relationship. Sadia hadn’t been about to add to it. “I really don’t know where she or Nicholas are. Or whether they’re even together,” she tacked on.
“Oh, I get it. Don’t want to gossip. Admirable.”
Sadia nodded, ready to accept this excuse, since it was the, what, fifteenth time she’d had this conversation?
Livvy, you owe me a couple nights of child care for leaving me behind without even a public statement to spread.
Michael patted a handkerchief over his forehead. “Anyway, again, hate to even ask you, the missu
s was curious.”
Yeah. The missus.
“You can take off, if you like.”
“Are you sure?” She was already whipping the towel off her shoulder.
“Yup. Closing time soon and it’s quiet. Go get some rest. Your son will probably be up early.” Her boss smiled, and it was only through sheer force of will Sadia didn’t physically cringe at the trace of pity she saw there.
Her late husband had told her more than once not to lecture him about how much pride he had. He’d tap her spine. This right here, made with pure steel.
Fine, she was proud, and accepting pity wasn’t something she was good at. Unfortunately, since Paul had died over a year ago, she’d had to get used to the sad looks and understanding pats and special treatment. They came from such a well-meaning place, so she appreciated them as much as she could when they made her so wildly uncomfortable. “Yes, Kareem’s an early riser. Will do.”
Michael moseyed away to talk to the other bartender, Jason. Probably to see if Sadia had shared any juicy gossip with him.
As she was finishing signing out on the computer, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
Someone was watching her.
Casually, hoping against hope it was who she thought it was, she glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Perfect Hands. Who whipped his head away to stare at the wall.
Her palms grew damp. It could mean nothing, of course, but this was the first sign of interest she’d gotten from him.
Sadia glanced at her watch. It wasn’t quite two. She could steal some time for herself.
Her body flushed hot, getting ready for the chase. Her chases were short by necessity, but she liked the excitement of the pursuit almost as much as sex itself.
She glanced around. The few patrons left in the place were all busy with their own conquests or thoughts, the staff occupied with getting ready for closing.
She moved quickly, pouring whiskey, fresh lemon juice, and maple syrup in a shaker with ice and then straining it into a glass. She garnished the cocktail with a lemon peel.
With each step toward Mr. Perfect Hands and away from the bar, her brain calmed, her walk becoming more confident.
This. This was the secret reason she kept this job, the one her family, her in-laws, the employees at the café, and the PTA moms at her son’s school could never know.
I can find adults I don’t know who can take care of my physical needs with little to no emotional demands.
Sure, lots of locals came here, but she’d lived in Rockville all her life, and she knew how to avoid them. There were more than enough strangers for her to flirt with. Have sex with.
She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been for human touch until a few months ago. She and Paul hadn’t slept together for almost a year before his death, and she’d been starving. The visiting nurse who had broken her dry spell had seemed startled by Sadia’s enthusiasm, but she’d quickly gotten on board.
After her, Sadia had found more men and women, the ones she felt safe and comfortable with—she was a good judge of character and no assholes were allowed to apply for bed privileges. She never took them back to her home, no. It was usually their place, which tended to be hotel rooms.
The encounters were quick and hurried, long enough for them both to get off, and then Sadia booked it. This was a necessary physical itch she needed to scratch, and she scratched it as quietly as she could, at a time when she wouldn’t feel guilty about not being with her son. Kareem was asleep when she was working at the bar, tucked safely into his bed with one of her sisters sleeping over in the same house.
No one could know about this. This was for her, and her alone, the one thing she took for herself.
As she drew closer to the man in the booth, he shifted, his arms bunching and releasing. On another guy, she might suspect that he’d bought his red Henley a size too small. On him, she wondered if he could even find a size that fit him. Getting dressed was probably a daily battle of him versus fabric.
That was a battle she would pay to see.
He kept his head down even when she came to stand next to the booth. She cleared her throat slightly, and placed the drink on the table in front of him, next to the now-watered-down glass of ginger ale. “Hi there,” she said, and made sure her voice was as low and husky as she could make it. Though that dumb baseball cap was pulled so low it obscured most of his face, what she could see of his profile was perfect: full lips, sharp jaw, blade-like nose.
She wanted him to look up so she could check out the rest of him, but he didn’t. He didn’t acknowledge her at all.
“I made this for you. I hope you like it,” she tried again, and nudged the glass closer to his pinky. Up close, she could spot tiny scars on his flesh, little white marks marring the toasty light brown of his skin, like he’d been nicked a number of times. They didn’t detract at all from the beauty of that goddamn hand.
She shifted, disappointment coursing through her when he didn’t so much as move. She was about to walk away when he spoke. “I didn’t order anything.”
A shiver ran down her spine. Oh damn, that voice. It was a voice made of fine sandpaper wrapped in velvet, raspy and low, like he didn’t use it much.
She could have an orgasm with that voice whispering filthy things in her ear alone, not even touching her. In fact, she might make him do that, if he was game. Flustered, she fiddled with the ends of her ponytail. “On the house.”
Banter. Flirt. Dance. She took another step closer. Getting married to her high school sweetheart meant she’d never really had much of a chance to hone her flirting skills, but at the ripe age of almost thirty, she was getting pretty good at this whole dance. “It’s called a revolving door,” she said, making sure her voice was as intimate as his. She could have given him the exact year of origin of the drink—1929—but she was never sure who would appreciate her drink-based nerdery.
If she wanted to sleep with the guy, she didn’t need him to adore all of her. She just needed him to physically want her as much as she wanted him.
“I don’t drink.”
That stymied her. Who came to a bar and nursed soft drinks? “You hang out in strange places then.”
No answer. No eye contact. Ah, balls. Well, she’d shot her shot, and if he wasn’t receptive, there was nothing she could do about that.
Her lips twisted and she picked up the glass. “Well, have a good night.”
She froze when his hand wrapped around hers. Her stomach dropped at the callouses on his palm. Ah god. They would feel so good on her body.
She licked her lips. “Is there a problem, sir?” She made that sir as seductive as she could, trying to promise untold delights and sexual pleasure.
Well, as much delight and pleasure as could be packed into forty-five minutes or so, of course. It was late, and she did have an early morning tomorrow.
His hand tightened on hers. “Sadia.”
She jolted, staring down at his cap. She should be uneasy he knew her name, except she was more concerned with how he said it.
Like he’d said it a million times, in a million different ways. Like he knew her.
A suspicion niggled awake at the back of her brain, and she rejected it with a single shake of her head. No, it couldn’t be. This man was so much bigger than the boy she’d known and loved. He’d been tall then, yes, but lanky, long hair hiding features that were a little unfinished.
That boy had left town following a string of tragedy and never looked back. Not even for her. Not even when she’d begged him to.
Livvy said he’d been in town, that he’d be back.
But Livvy wasn’t here now, right?
She catalogued his beautiful, perfect hand. The nicks were new, and so were the callouses. But those fingers, now that she was really looking at them . . .
His wrist twisted. There was a scar there. She’d been there when he’d gotten it, the first time they’d met on the playground in third grade. He’d taken down a bully for her, and the kid h
ad shoved him against a fence. A nail had sliced into skin.
His head raised, and suddenly she was peering into a pair of dark eyes she knew better than her own.
They were remarkably similar to Paul’s eyes. Which made sense, because this man, the man she’d been lusting after, whom she’d mentally undressed and fucked over the past week, was her late husband’s brother.
“Jackson?” she whispered.
Chapter 2
Jackson Kane hadn’t planned this.
If these last few weeks were chapters in his life story, that was probably what they could be titled: I Didn’t Plan This.
He hadn’t planned on staying so long in this town. He definitely hadn’t planned on remaining here when his sister, the reason he’d come home, wasn’t even here. And he certainly hadn’t planned on engaging in some light stalking of his sister-in-law.
Ex-sister-in-law? Former sister-in-law? What did you call your brother’s widow?
Off-limits.
“Jackson?” she repeated.
Since his cover was blown anyway, he took advantage of Sadia’s shock to drink her in. The glances and peeks he’d limited himself to hadn’t been nearly satisfying enough.
She looked softer, like someone had taken the picture he’d had in his head of nineteen-year-old Sadia Ahmed and blurred the edges. Her hair had once been so long she could sit on the straight dark strands, but it was shorter now. The straight brown mass was pulled into a high ponytail, the end curling over her shoulder. Everyone who worked at the bar wore black pants or jeans and a tight-fitting black shirt. Her pants were some stretchy material that molded to every curve. Her top slipped down over her shoulders, baring golden-brown skin a couple of shades darker than his.
Other employees showed more flesh but it was hard to register other women when Sadia was in his vicinity. It always had been. That hadn’t changed.
Every moment he’d spent spying on her, he’d told himself he was only curious, that this was no different from looking up people from your past on social media, but that was a lie. Because a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, he’d loved Sadia with all his soul.
