True North

by Liora Blake

  We eat some cake, McKenna opens her presents, and after a few hours, people start to filter out. I spend most of the time trying to hang back, hoping I can go as unnoticed as possible. The time away makes me feel like I’m starting over again, trying to find my place in his world.

  The only thing that draws me out is Trevor’s hands on my body. As the minutes tick by, the way he touches me gets more pronounced and his hands start to feel insistent. What starts with resting his hand formally at the small of my back leads to his hand slipping lower to the top curve of my ass, then eventually firmly against it. Later, when he goes to stand behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, his hands brush the side of my breasts and linger for a moment longer than they should. By the time he whispers to me that we should go home, I’m feeling so keyed up that I’m unsteady on my feet.

  This dizziness does not serve me well when he wanders off to say good-bye to a few people and leaves me standing in the hallway alone. The hair on my arms pricks up when I see Devon skulking down the hall toward me. With her perfectly toned body and that glossy shampoo commercial–esque hair, she sidles up to me and gets right in my face.

  “Let’s get one thing straight, Kate. You clearly have Trevor’s balls in your grasp, but I swear on my dead brother’s grave, if you hurt him again, I will go completely Cleveland projects on your ass. They won’t find your body for decades. Are we clear?”

  I’m not sure how, but the fact that’s she’s agonizingly hot makes her scarier. She’s like some kind of angelic-looking gangster hooligan. Now I can see it, though. She looks just like Trevor, all sexy and gorgeous, but with impressive breasts and a tiny waist.

  My mouth goes completely dry as she stares me down and from behind her, there is a low chuckle and suddenly Simon appears. I have no idea who would invite Simon to a kid’s birthday party, because he probably doesn’t belong anywhere near impressionable minds. He steps behind Devon and gently snakes his arms around hers, holding her back from socking me or strangling me, whichever she was going to choose.

  “Down, girl. I think you made your point.”

  Devon’s shoulders relax incrementally and she shuts her eyes for a beat. When she opens them, I get another stare-down, but this time her eyes are gentler. “He’s the only brother I have left. So just . . . take care of him.”

  I nod and look up to catch Simon gazing, dare I say longingly, at the back of Devon’s head. His gray eyes are soft, nearly sleepy looking, and there is a tender grin teasing across his lips.

  Oh. Wow. It’s distinctly possible that the SS Loveship Simon wants to drop anchor in Devon’s port. And if my suspicions are correct, then that would be all sorts of inconvenient—for everyone involved.

  Good luck with that, Simon. I’m guessing it takes a serious emotional pickax to break through Devon Jenkins’s hard shell. But the way she just pleaded with me to take care of her only brother, nothing but loyalty and devotion in her request, probably means that any man tenacious enough to persevere will discover that she’s totally worth it.

  Leaving the house, Trevor modestly holds my hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb. But before he opens my door to the car, he grabs me around the waist and shoves our intertwined bodies against the vehicle. His mouth is on me, gasping into my lips, and his body is grinding along mine. I drop my hands to his back, sliding one up his shirt while letting the other move inside his loose pants, and merely the feel of his skin under my fingers is nearly too much. We’ve been apart too long, so every touch spins and vibrates inside my exhausted body until I end up stiffening to stave off the intensity of it. When his hands move upward, his fingers trace my breasts, teasing my nipples into tender little buds that ache for more.

  “When we get home, I don’t want to fuck right away.” He has his forehead against mine, speaking in a lowered voice.

  What? Is he joking? I heard the words, but they sounded nonsensical. Like crazy gibberish talk from a monk.

  “Why? Don’t you want me anymore?”

  Trevor shoves against me again, hard this time, and grabs my hips roughly.

  “Don’t be an idiot. Does it feel like I don’t want you? I want you so bad right now, I might come just from feeling you up like this. I just want to talk things through first.”

  I let my hand slide to the front of his pants and start to trace him through the material. He groans into my mouth, his tongue teasing mine, and he starts to push his cock into my hand, pressing against my fingers. Grasping around the length of him as best I can, my hand starts to move in a stroking motion.

  “Talk is cheap, Jenkins. Are you really sure you can wait? What if I want to go down on you in the car first? Does that count?”

  I’m all talk, of course. Although I’m the one probably lacking enough self-control to wait one single stupid second longer before feeling him inside me. The tension is unbearable and if he doesn’t touch my bare skin soon, I’ll probably implode. I want to have crazy hot sex with the man I’ve decided to love one hundred percent, and holding out is not a feasible option at this point. My body and my heart won’t allow it.

  Backing away, he grabs my shoulders and holds me arm’s length away. The wild look in his eye is goading me to do more, force him to give in and just take me.

  “Yes. Just give me a few minutes with your heart and mind, OK? Then I plan to screw you so goddam hard you’ll be begging me to let up. Which I won’t.”

  Holy hell. I’ll wait. I’ll definitely wait.

  29

  Walking through the door to his house, it feels like I never left. There are dishes sitting on the counter, instead of in the dishwasher, of course. Dax is giving me wet, slobbering, smelly kisses in my ears. Trevor’s surfboard is propped against the side of the back deck. The appliances are giving me dirty looks.

  “Can I get a shower before we start this important conversation you want to have? I’ve got that gross airport feeling on my skin.”

  He’s watching me closely, leaning against the back of the sofa, and inspecting my every move. I move to pull off my shirt and drop it on the floor in the middle of the living room.

  “Go ahead. But don’t think a striptease in the living room will get me sidetracked. I’m much stronger than you give me credit for.” He grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “After all, I waited six long, lonely, sex-deprived weeks for you to come to your senses. Even the busty coeds and naughty librarians who kept me company were impressed with my self-control.”

  “We’ll see.” I bend over to slip off my kitten heels and start to slide the zipper down on the white cropped skinny jeans I’m wearing. Sauntering off in a miniscule G-string and a white lace bra, I start the water in the shower and half expect him to come running. Craning my ear toward the door, I see if I can hear him. Nothing. Damn, I’ve lost a little of my mojo. I’ll have to get that back, stat.

  The water runs over my body and the way it soothes my mind and my limbs, I finally have a moment to realize what happened. In my zeal to get to him, to profess my undying adoration and convince him to take me back, I didn’t even enjoy the moment of getting every single thing I wanted. A smile creeps across my face and the pain of the last few weeks runs down off my skin.

  Once I dry off and slather some moisturizer over my skin, I wander into the walk-in closet, hoping he didn’t burn all the clothes we bought at Barneys the day before I left. Flipping on the light, I take in a quick gasp. That man out there, the tough, raised-in-the-projects rock star, has taken all the clothes and hung them up in the closet in neat little rows, dividing everything up just so. Skirts here, jeans there, dresses along the far wall, shoes lined up on the racks like little expensive leather soldiers. The only thing he didn’t manage to handle was all the lingerie.

  Piles of bras and tiny panties lie on top of a large island that sits in the center of the closet. Right in the middle, like a neon sign for a cathouse, is exactly what I need to get that mojo back.

  Good luck with all that talking, Jenkins.


  When I step out of the closet a few minutes later, I stand in the doorway between it and the bedroom. Trevor is lying on the bed, his legs hanging off the end, staring at the ceiling. I lean against the doorjamb and clear my throat quietly. He lifts his head and takes a long look at me before groaning and dropping his head back to the mattress.

  “Really? I said I wanted to talk first.”

  “So talk. I’m all ears.”

  “You know I can’t focus with you looking like that. Fuck.” His arm waves helplessly in my direction and then drops to cover his eyes.

  I’m clad in the red lace corset Kellan insisted Trevor would love, a red garter belt, and a pair of wicked black fishnet stockings. And a pair of skyscraper heels, of course.

  “Go ahead and talk, Trevor. I’ll just stand here and listen.”

  “I can’t. I’ve been staring at that shit you’re wearing since the day you left, getting worked up every time I went in the stupid closet to get my clothes. I’ve gotten off a million times thinking about you dressed like that.”

  “Take your time. I’ll be right here, waiting for you to decide what you want to do.”

  Smugly, I watch him squirm a little on the bed before he presses his hands to his eyelids and then sits up.

  “Don’t lick your lips or move your hips around or anything like that, you hear me?”

  I nod and smile.

  “What made you come back, Kate?”

  It’s hard to toy with him now. His eyes are full of needy questioning instead of the lust that was just there. His head drops as he waits for my answer.

  “It’s simple. I remembered where I belong. I got off course for a second, but I found my way again and that brought me home. To you.” Trevor looks up and I can see the relief in his eyes, the burden of doubt and hurt and waiting for me, fading incrementally from his expression. “And I went on a road trip with Lacey, who was surprisingly helpful. Then your mom called me.”

  “What? My mom called you?”

  “Yeah. She gave me a little grief and then said some things I needed to hear. About how I was taking the easy way out. That if I came back to you, we would be invincible.”

  Trevor drops his forearms to rest on his legs and stares at the floor.

  “You only brought a carry-on suitcase with you.”

  “I didn’t know what was going to happen. I didn’t want to rent a moving truck just to have to turn around and go back to Crowell. But all my stuff is packed in boxes there, ready to go.”

  “So you’re staying? For good?”

  “Yes. If you’ll take me.”

  He raises his face to see me. “Because I want forever, not just a little while or until you freak out again. For-fucking-ever. I want to marry you. At some point, I may even want to knock you up.”

  My jaw drops open and I let out a gasp that sounds a little painful, like I have something blocking my airway—not exactly the smoothest way to respond when a man says he wants to make you his forever.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not proposing right this second. When I do, you’ll know it, and it will blow your mind, Mosely.”

  Smiling, I whisper. “I would expect nothing less from you.” With his declaration, my need, and our time apart, every part of my being wants to crash into him with my body and kiss him until we stop breathing.

  “How do I know you won’t run again?” The pain I brought on him is there in his eyes again. I sigh and my throat clenches.

  “Because I won’t. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that to you. Anything.”

  He looks up at me through his eyelashes and a grin plays at one corner of his mouth. He raises one eyebrow.

  “Anything?”

  “Anything.”

  My heart starts to flutter. God, he’s so sexy and I don’t know how I got so lucky. Jackpot. We’re talking multistate lottery kind of jackpot. The life-changing kind of winning ticket.

  “Come over here, baby.”

  He licks his lips and sits up straight. When I reach him, he lays his hands on my legs and starts to draw his fingers over the stockings. “Will you make me those awesome cookies whenever I ask? The ones with the pistachio nuts and the dark chocolate?”

  I push my hips forward a tiny bit. “Yes.”

  “Will you go to the bike shop with me whenever I want?”

  Lord. This one will be hard. That damn bicycle shop and all its shiny parts and crap. We should just move in there. It would save on driving time and gas.

  “Fine.” The sarcasm in my voice disappears when he lays a soft, glancing kiss between my legs. Just before he draws his mouth away, his tongue darts out. Immediately, I change my answer. “Oh God. Yes, yes, yes. I’ll go to the obnoxious bike shop with you every single day if you want.”

  Moving his hands to my bare ass, he caresses and cups until I can barely stand upright. His fingers slide to either strap of my garter belt and he knots his index fingers through each. Tugging on the silky material and grasping the flesh on the backs of my thighs, he shoves my body toward him and looks up at me.

  “Will you let me fuck you in this bed for a good long while? Like, I don’t know, probably a couple of days straight?”

  “Yes. Please. Let’s start right now.” I’m mumbling like a drunken woman, my voice drenched in obvious desperation and need.

  “The thing is, Katie, I’ve got a lot of issues to work out on this hot little body of yours. I may need to bind you to the headboard for a bit in order to really work through them.” He raises one eyebrow and bites his lip.

  My breath catches in my throat. If he doesn’t make good on all these erotic promises he’s yammering about, I’m going to take action. The kind of action that involves throwing him back on the bed and just taking what I need.

  “Issues?”

  “I’m still a little pissed at you for leaving me. I’m hurt, too. Not to mention how lonely and frustrated I’ve been since you left. Major issues.”

  Standing up, he grabs me by the waist, tosses me onto the bed, and crawls over me. When we start to kiss, it’s frenzied and wild, our lips crashing into each other and tongues colliding. Suddenly he pulls away, breathing in labored gasps while pulling my hands over my head and telling me to grab one of the spindles on the headboard. Leaning back to rest on his heels, he unbuckles his belt and pulls it off. When he laces it over my wrists, he leaves it just loose enough.

  “You can slip out of this and get away whenever you want.”

  I arch my back up to him. “Why would I want to do that? I don’t want to get away. Ever.”

  While my arms are stretched above me and my legs spread wide, he stops and cradles my head in his hands.

  “One more thing.”

  “Anything. Just stop teasing me.”

  “This is important. Are you listening?”

  My patience is waning. “Jesus, Trevor. Yes, I’m still listening to you talk and talk and talk. What?”

  His eyes are on mine so intently I forget what day it is, what year it is, who the president is. I forget everything. The room gets completely still and I can hear a hint of that high-pitched buzzing in my head. Just like when we first met. I try to focus but it’s almost too much.

  “Will you let me love you forever, Kate?”

  This one is easy. The simplest question I’ve heard in a long time. I don’t have to think; I don’t have to question or give it one second of deliberation. I smile and pull my head up off the pillow toward him.

  “Yes. A million trillion times over. Yes.”

  When he smiles, I want to fall to pieces, knowing this is it.

  Done.

  Game over.

  KM + TJ forever.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my agent, Victoria Lowes, for taking a chance on me and finding the right home for this project. Thank you to Lauren McKenna for acquiring this series and to Elana Cohen for providing such thoughtful editorial guidance.

  To Warren: thank you. For everything. I love you more than . . . well, you
know.

  About the Author

  Liora Blake is a contemporary romance writer. True North is her first novel in the True series.

  FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: authors.simonandschuster.com/Liora-Blake

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Liora Blake

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  First Pocket Star Books ebook edition April 2015

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