Next To Me

by Amabel Daniels

  “Hopefully not. May as well try to give you some privacy for whichever big-city one-night stand you pick up out there.”

  One night. She wasn’t wrong there. My preference was for single flings. With single women. I’d done the other kinds before. Longer-term relationships that never ended satisfactorily, and with women who’d lied about being unmarried—cheaters. It’d been a while since I’d been with a woman though.

  I wasn’t about to correct her and explain I intended to be fully preoccupied with her while out of town. She didn’t have to shoot down my casual mention of dining together that harshly. I had to eat. She had to eat. Why not do it together? Besides, wherever that ring went, I was following.

  She fiddled with the games on the screen in front of her and I relaxed into my seat. My earbuds were up in my duffel bag, but I didn’t want to go through the hassle of getting them out. It wasn’t that long of a flight. If I put them in for a podcast or music, I’d be shutting off chances of chatting with Carly.

  Relaxing didn’t seem like a possibility for her, though. On her ninth sigh in two minutes, I rolled my head to face her profile. “Don’t you have a book or something?” We had a couple of hours before landing.

  “No.”

  She’d replied too quickly.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Are you sure?” She often had one on her desk at the office. And I could have sworn I’d picked up a tattered paperback when her purse volcanoed everything all over.

  “No ebooks on your phone?”

  She shrugged. “I like physical books.”

  Not a surprise. I’d never met another person under the age of thirty-five who viewed their cell phone as an evil nemesis that spoke in an indecipherable language. Her standing war with Alexa for one… I smiled.

  “You mean to tell me you don’t have one in here?” I reached for her purse and she smacked her hand on top of the zipper.

  “Ohhhh.” I eased around her and tugged the bag free. Only I’d gotten the same result as she did. Too much momentum when the slinky bag gave free. I whacked my hand holding the purse on the window.

  “Hey!”

  At least it was zippered and nothing flung out. I opened it, hiding it from her grasp, and pulled out the book she “didn’t” have.

  “The Count Who Kept Me.” I read the title aloud and chuckled at the cover. A blonde with enough long curls on her head to suffocate her gazed adoringly at a shirtless pirate-kind of guy in an old English suit. Her breasts nearly fell out of the gown she wore, and he had so much chest hair painted on him he might have been a stunt double for Koko.

  “It’s not mine.”

  “No?” I fanned my thumb over the pages. “Looks well-read.”

  “Lexi’s. She got it during her horny phase of the pregnancy.” A shrug. “Said it was good.”

  “Uh-huh. Is it?”

  She scoffed and shifted away, tilting her head up. Just like a prim and proper English lady would do, turning her nose up at something offensive. “I wouldn’t know.”

  Liar.

  “Hmmm.” I turned to the first page. “Well, let’s see.” I cracked it open and settled in to read. I got one sentence read—aloud—when she gasped and slapped her hands over the book. Crowding over my lap like that, I was smacked with a face full of her hair. Clean soap and lemon. She always smelled absolutely refreshing.

  “You can’t read that here!” She shot her wide-open blue gaze around us.

  “Why not?”

  She huffed. “It’s about…it’s a kinky old erotica book. Handcuffs and lords and ladies and…”

  “Ah…porn.”

  “Ro-mance.” She tugged at the book.

  I didn’t let go. “Thought you hadn’t read it.”

  “I skimmed the back cover.”

  “Uh-huh.” I pulled the book out from her concealing hands and brought it closer to read again. Two more sentences, I managed then. She wrestled her arm over mine to retrieve the book.

  I don’t think so. “I’m trying to read, Carly.”

  “Hell. No.” She retreated to unbuckle her belt and I lifted the armrest. When she came at me again to grab her book, I looped my arm around her shoulders and tucked her in close. Still, she resisted my hold. But at the same time, she scrambled for the book.

  By the end of the first chapter, she slumped against my side, her arms crossed. I turned the page for the next chapter and she turned her head closer, as though she was ready to hear more.

  The smutty tale of old English folks wasn’t the kind of literature I’d read for entertainment. I wasn’t really a reader to begin with. Sports stats and maybe some humor editorials here and there. Not books. Not these kinds of books.

  But…hell, how was the roguish Count Grayson going to convince the ton—what the shit is that, really?—that the spirited wallflower Lady Rebecca simply cannot marry that weak idiot Duke Rupert of something or other.

  Sheesh.

  Even if I wasn’t engrossed in the story, I was motivated to read on with Carly pressed to my side. All the way until, during, and after the landing instructions. I read aloud as the tires bumped down to earth and only stopped when passengers were standing to exit.

  “Oh, Lort,” an elderly woman crooned behind us. Carly jolted upright in her seat at the moan.

  “What’s that, Susana Mae?” another older woman asked.

  “I tell you what, Josephine. Imma need some quality time with Vonnie a’ soon as we check in to the hotel.”

  Josephine sighed and then tittered. “What, it’s only been thirty years since ya touched that vibrator?”

  Five

  Carly

  He rejuvenated a senior citizen’s sex drive.

  If it wasn’t as terrifically hilarious as it was horribly nasty, I’d have a hard time believing it. But I had my proof. Maverick Green had the sexiest voice on earth: verified across generations.

  Amused at the blush that tinted his checks even under his tanned skin, I did my best not to gawk at him or simper for more of storytime under his arm. We disembarked and I was damned proud to admit I didn’t stumble after him like a lust-struck fool.

  I should have taken the book back. Mav was built like a damn mountain and I would have had to climb him to get that paperback out of his reach. Here I’d been worried about him narrating naughty romance with an infant nearby, never mind the older gals behind us.

  Still, that was the fastest and most enjoyable flight I’d ever gone on.

  “So…” Mav cleared his throat as he hefted his single small duffel bag over his shoulder. “Lesson of the story—”

  “Lesson? That was no Aesop’s fable with insightful morals.”

  He grinned as we exited the terminal.

  Nope. No lessons. Just raw, angsty hot romance…

  “But imagine if the old fables did cross into”—he tapped the book he still held. My book. Okay. Fine. It was Lexi’s, but she’d lent it to me—“this.”

  “What, be randy but don’t be an ass?”

  His laugh roared louder and deeper. I focused more on his laidback profile than the JFK’s pedestrian walkway. I slipped onto the moving sidewalk. Before I face-planted the conveyor, he tucked the book into the nook of his armpit and then caught me at the waist.

  Still laughing, he eased up and released me, leaning back on the railing that ran parallel to the sidewalk.

  Embarrassment at not paying attention to where I was walking didn’t even filter in. I was too…distracted by him. By this easy…fun. I’m having…fun…with him.

  All day long he’d been stabbing at my idea of who he was. The realization hit hard and chased away my mood. I sighed and straightened from slouching and lazily smiling back at him.

  Fun? With the enemy?

  Hold up, Carls. Not so fast. One narrated romance novel does not make a man worth your energy.

  Yet I opened my mouth and said, “So…the lesson…”

  “Is to listen to you. These kinds of books really shouldn’t be read in public.
Or at least on commercial flights.”

  I waved at him. “Eh. You did those old girls a service.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Me? Because they can’t get their own copies of this?” Again, he brandished the book at me.

  Is he holding his finger in the place where he’d left off?

  “They could,” I admitted. “But they’d miss out on your come-to-papa voice reading it.”

  Though his stumbles on the eighteenth-century British jargon had provided much needed comic relief to the steady, low, rough inflection he naturally spoke in. Otherwise, I would have been disintegrating into a new semi-solid matter of plasma-lust-goo.

  “I wonder if Count Grayson will marry her.”

  We stepped off the moving sidewalk—I paid attention that time, no tripping—and I smirked at him glancing at the book’s cover. I scoffed at the intrigue in his eyes. “Even after she’s disowned by her father?”

  He elbowed me as we made our way to the exit. “Especially after he disowns her. Rebels are sexy.”

  Is that right? I pursed my lips. “Uh…huh. Well, we need to pay attention to another ‘betrothal’ of the elite and get Felicia this damn ring. Remember?”

  He slid his bag over his shoulder and pushed the book into a side pocket. “How could I forget? Maybe we could drop off our carry-ons and then head over?”

  I nodded and we did just that. After I checked in and put in a request for them to locate a convenient room vacancy for Mav, we left our minimal luggage in my room and then rode over to Felicia’s aunt’s apartment.

  Only to get bad, bad news.

  “You just missed her.”

  My shoulders dropped at the older woman’s words as we faced her at her front door. I no longer had the willpower to resist gravity with the weight of her statement. She leaned on the doorjamb and crossed her arms over her periwinkle cardigan sweater. An apologetic smile lined her face.

  “I’m so sorry. But she told us she wasn’t in the mood to visit long and took her daddy’s plane. I think she said she’s meeting some friends in Colorado.”

  Colorado! I refused to let my face fall. Not in front of her, at least. “Do you know where in Colorado?”

  The older woman shrugged. “Same place those kids always go to. Dumplin.”

  A man hollered from within the apartment. “Dunton!”

  She made an ah sound like a light bulb cranked on overhead. “Yes. Dunton. It’s a campsite.”

  Camp. Site? Now, I let my lips curl and my entire body sage. Camping? I had to go chasing after her to a campsite? As in, the outdoors kind of campsite?

  “Thanks,” Mav said and I realized I’d sunken into a mini panic attack while they’d finished the conversation.

  “Campsite?”

  Mav rubbed at the stubble on his cheek, his lips pushed out in a meh, whatever way. “Looks like it.”

  We’ll see about that. There has to be a fricking motel near her. Regardless, it’d have to wait until tomorrow morning. Flaky Felicia was probably heading to JFK when we’d been leaving it. Our game of tag would have to take a break for the night.

  “Are you sure she didn’t know he was proposing? It kinda feels like she’s running away.”

  I shot him a pfft as we returned to the street to arrange for another ride. “She’s incredibly scatterbrained. Have you forgotten their trip to London?”

  He dropped his head back and groaned at the sky. I’d had to remotely change, cancel, and forward numerous lodging reservations and driving accommodations when Richard treated Felicia to a vacation over the summer. I thought I’d had it bad re-routing their itinerary with how quickly that entitled little tart changed her mind with no warning. Mav had to deal with shuffling the security and bodyguard detail. Relocating staff at the drop of a hat sounded like a challenge.

  “No. I’ll never forget that month of hell.”

  We got in the car to bring us closer to the hotel. I hadn’t given much thought to where I’d stay—first of all because I’d been under the impression I was hunting down Felicia by myself. I’d chosen a decent place near the airport, knowing I wouldn’t be lingering in New York once I handed over the blingy ring.

  I nodded and murmured okays to Mav’s questions about getting takeout for dinner. Instead of fully listening to him, I browsed this Dunton place. It actually didn’t look too shabby. Opposite, really. Miss Felicia preferred glamping, it seemed, not backpacking it into the wilderness and trying to sleep on the ground with bugs crawling all over her.

  There were open-air cabins. Running water. Hot tubs. Saunas. Options for a live-in chef. Oh yeah. I could handle that kind of outdoors.

  Traffic was piled up en route to our hotel so we opted to pay the driver and get out. Walking would be faster.

  As we strolled down the sidewalk, I pulled my lightweight jacket tighter across my shoulders. Thank God I even had a jacket of any kind. Orlando was still muggy and hot this close to fall. September in New York was getting chilly.

  “Cold?”

  “We’re almost there.” He draped his arm around my shoulders. A cavemanish maneuver, but hell. I was getting cold. I wouldn’t refuse comfort at the sake of maintaining a grudge against him.

  “How about we finish the riveting fiction of the count and his lady later?”

  At his slight squeeze on my shoulder, I jabbed my elbow into his ribs. “Uh, we’re not sharing a room.”

  “They weren’t sure if they had a vacancy.”

  “We’re still not sharing a room.”

  Susana Mae and her old bosom buddy weren’t the only gals who needed relief from Mav’s storytelling. And I didn’t have any accessory to assist. The man himself was absolutely not going to be involved.

  “Why not?” he pressed. “We practically shared my seat on the plane.”

  “Only because I didn’t want to get violent and make a scene over getting my book back. I surrendered. Sorry, no rebel here.” I waved at myself with a tight fuck off smirk.

  “Hmmm.” His rumble of a sound vibrated against my side. “Surrender? You? I’d say you fight with me plenty.”

  That was a fact. But what was he playing at here? I wasn’t sharing my bed—room! I wasn’t sharing my room with him.

  “Admit it. You want to finish the book with me.”

  And risk starting something better left in my fantasies? From the first day I’d met Mav, the day Violet and I moved into the building and he’d offered to help with boxes at the elevator, I knew what I was dealing with.

  A decent guy.

  A hot man.

  A sexy, sweet, and probably totally-worth-it kind of dude who’d likely be perfect for me.

  At that time, I’d been recuperating from the aftermath of the last man who’d supposedly been perfect for me.

  No matter how seemingly just-right-for-me Mav was, he was still a guy. The half of the human population I would never, ever trust again.

  He directed me toward a storefront, away from the pedestrian-crowded area of the sidewalk. I slumped to the smooth sandstone and rolled my head back until I was as eye level with him as I could get.

  “You want to.”

  I licked my suddenly dry lips and he leaned. Leaned. Maverick Green leaned toward me, towering his massive, strong body over mine. Dipping his head just low enough to hint that the burning intensity in his dark-brown gaze meant he needed a kiss. That he had to have a taste.

  I want to what? I slanted my brows, trying to focus past the forcefield of his testosterone addling my supposedly shriveled-up, jaded-divorcee ovaries. A book? A kiss. A good old urgent fu—

  Ever so slowly, he ducked lower to me, his cocky grin flattening into a small smile as he damn near panted. For me. Maverick Green had to catch his breath because of me.

  I dropped my arms from their crossed positions over my chest. Still, I wanted to resist. It’d take more than one day of a sexy, frustrating man to get me agreeable to the naughtiness his tone and stare suggested. “Tell you what. You pull an all-nighter
reading it and you can give me a book report at breakfast.”

  He slid so close to me, his stubble scraped against my cheek. A shudder stole through me and I closed my eyes as he lowered his voice deeper. Lower, still. His hot breath tickled my ear as he rasped, “How about if it’s breakfast in bed? Together.”

  Mav in a bed. Mav in my bed. Clothes? No. Perhaps Mav and me in a bed…

  I sucked in a sharp breath at the images that exploded in my mind, fueling a tightening heat in my core.

  “Scared?” He nuzzled his nose at the skin below my ear.

  I gulped in air, his spicy, woodsy scent flooding my senses and weakening me further. “Of…you?”

  Jesus. I do not sound like that. Breathy wasn’t my style. Mav wasn’t my style. Letting a man into my peace and quiet of life wasn’t either. Yet here I am. Liquifying lunatic in the flesh. Because if I was letting Mav work his magic on me and making me consider what he was suggesting, I had to be crazy.

  “Of us.”

  “Us,” I repeated.

  He nodded at my echo. Hot lips pressed to my neck and I gasped. He leaned back enough to see my eyes. His hand scoured down the stone behind me, bringing his palm in a path down from above my head all the way to my waist.

  My heart raced faster, crazier, needier as he slid his arm around my back and hugged me flush to his front.

  “Don’t deny it. If you really loathed me, you’d have cut me out of your life months ago.”

  “We’re neighbors. Coworkers. You’re freaking everywhere. Cutting you out would mean chopping up my whole life.”

  He shook his head, his nose bumping into mine, our rushes of air mingling together. “You could have dismissed me. Just like you did your ex. You don’t let things you don’t need clutter up your life.”

  My ex? I’d needed distance from that prick for my own sanity. Totally different. That was a matter of mental survival. Denying my attraction to Mav was… Well, right now it seemed pretty damned stupid.

  He stepped closer, pushing me to the wall in a dominant move that should have irked me but rallied a hells yeah! call to my girl parts. “And we’ve managed to tolerate each other this long, you pretending that you can’t stand me…”