Fracture

by Amanda K. Byrne

  The intensity of his gaze causes my heart to stumble and trip. “I’m not walking away from you anymore, Nora. But if I’m promising something, I want one from you as well. Be patient with me. And for Chrissake, if I’m fucking up, call me on it.”

  “Don’t I already do that?” I stretch up and tease his mouth with mine. I wonder if he knows how much he’s already told me, with his touch and his kisses and his words. This man may never tell me he loves me. And I won’t need it. Not as long as he shows me like he has today. I sink into the kiss, joy surging through my veins. “Okay,” I whisper against his mouth.

  I am not okay. Not yet. But I will be.

  Epilogue

  “I really have to go, Declan. I’ll call you when I get home.” I cradle the phone between my ear and my shoulder and shuffle some of the books around. Is it really so hard to put something back where you found it? I pluck a stray copy of The Long Kiss Goodnight from the shelf and tuck it under my arm.

  “A text will be fine, lass.” When Declan found out I’d been staying well past closing to complete inventory counts, he insisted I call or text him once I got home. The streets of Galway might look safe, he said, but I shouldn’t take chances.

  Never mind he’s not even in the country anyway.

  He got the jump on me tonight, though, calling shortly before closing. “Better yet, just go on home now. Inventory counts aren’t part of your duties, are they? Take a night off,” he says.

  I roll my eyes and pluck another book from the wrong shelf, dropping the one under my arm on the floor. I should have moved the cart. “No, staying to help with inventory isn’t part of my duties. I’ve got nothing better to do, though, so I might as well.”

  Our house feels so empty. When he first told me he’d taken a two month assignment in Jordan, I’d been furious. Him pointing out his assignments regularly lasted that long didn’t help. Two months apart and him in a country losing ground to militant extremists every day? It was worse than Sarajevo.

  I won’t say I became okay with it when he showed me the house he was trying to buy, but I understood. The amount of money he’d make from the sale of those photos and the possibility of a solo show at the London Photographic Society meant the charming house near the cliffs could be ours.

  It was bigger, as he’d said. Much bigger. Enough space for a dog and a couple of kids. It was the first time he’d said anything about wanting children. I wanted them eventually. When I was ready for them, I’d planned to talk to Declan. The man beat me to it.

  He growls. “Don’t stay too late. And text me when you get home.” I promise to do so and hang up, then hunt up a cart.

  “Nora?” Molly, my boss, pokes her head into the aisle. “Finish up with the shelves and go on home. The computer’s blinking at me again, and Andrew can’t get in to fix it until the morning.”

  Looks like Declan’s getting his wish after all.

  I finish up, wondering how hard could it be to remember that H came after G, not M. Books ended up in the strangest places. Molly shoos me out the door and locks it behind me, the soft glow of the display lights casting shadows onto the sidewalk. The gentle August warmth faded as the sun went down, and I shiver in my thin sweater, hurrying to the car park.

  The streets are crowded with tourists and locals alike, enjoying the clear summer night, so it takes longer than usual to reach our house on the outskirts of the city. Lights shine through the living room windows as I pull into our street, and I let the car idle a moment as I try to remember if I’d left them on. Maybe Sean had been by? He had a key, though Declan wasn’t due home for another week; there was no reason for him to come around.

  I fish my phone out of my purse and prepare to call the Garda, creeping up to the front door. It’s shut, and before I can hit the Call button on my phone, the door swings open and Declan’s standing in front of me.

  I blink. It’s not real. He’s supposed to be in Jordan until next week, possibly longer. I poke him with a finger, surprised when he grunts and catches my hand, dragging me against him and into the house.

  Then his mouth is on mine, and yes, he is very, very real. Hot and demanding and possessive, everything I’ve come to expect his kisses to be over the past five months. I sigh into his mouth and loop my arms around his neck, wrapping my legs around his waist as he braces me against the door.

  “You’re home,” I murmur when he lets me breathe.

  “Missed you,” he growls. He slicks his tongue over my lower lip, slipping it inside to glide along mine when I whimper. He stumbles away from the door and over to the couch, thumping onto it with a groan. “Christ, Nora. You feel too good.” His exhalation is shaky, and he tips his forehead against mine.

  He’s home. The days and weeks he’d spend thousands of miles away are worth it now, feeling his arms around me, his hands warm on my skin. I kiss the tip of his nose. “You better not be going anywhere soon. I picked up a new book for us.” We’d kept up the habit of reading aloud to each other. Old–fashioned, yes, but there was little I loved more than hearing Declan speak.

  “What’d you get?”

  I grin, lips spreading farther as he groans. “Ah, ah, no complaining, it was my pick this time. The Maltese Falcon,” I say. “What, did you want to read more smut?” He’d chosen an immensely popular erotic romance just before he’d left, for some reason thinking I wanted to read it. I’d thrown the book at his head.

  “No,” he says firmly and moves his head back so he can look at me. “I have something for you.”

  I clasp my hands behind his neck, rubbing a thumb along his skin. “You mean coming home early wasn’t enough of a present?”

  He grins, that brilliant, charming grin that never fails to get me wet. “Oh, you’ll be calling in sick tomorrow. I’ve a mind not to let you out of bed for a long while.”

  I lift a brow. “And if I told you to fuck off?”

  “Only foolin’, lass. I know how much you like your job.” He kisses my forehead and reaches over to the table next to the couch, his breath stuttering as he palms a small box. Suddenly wary, I watch as he thumbs it open, the box shaking as his hand trembles. “I thought we should make this a little more official.”

  Inside is a silver ring, covered in delicate scrollwork. He works it free of its velvet cushion and sets the box aside, grasping my left wrist and guiding my hand down. “It’s a traditional Irish wedding band,” he says gruffly. The metal’s cool as it slides onto my finger, the band a little loose. I suck in a breath and stare at it. Such a slight weight, a small change, and it breaks everything wide open and I know with dead certainty Declan will continue to take a chance on me for the rest of our lives.

  He’s amazing. Amazing, stubborn, and mine, tactlessness and all. Forever. I cup his jaw. “Thank you,” I whisper. Tomorrow, I’m going through every jewelry shop in town until I find the perfect ring for him. Titanium. Something almost impossible to break. I kiss him softly. “Take me to bed.”

  He cups my ass and surges to his feet, striding out of the living room and into the bedroom. Hands and mouths crazed with need, we’re naked in less than a minute, reacquainting ourselves with all our favorite parts.

  “Move.” I scrape my nails down his back when he pauses, the head of his cock pressed against me. Tormenting me.

  “Spent the last two months dreaming of this. I’m damn well taking my time.” The chords of his neck stand out from the strain of going slow, and I rear up and bite one, surprising him into pushing forward with a long, broken groan.

  I don’t want slow. Slow is for later. He gives in and gives me fast, sweat and fire and a pleasure so fierce it threatens to pull me under. Afterward, curled up against him, my head on his chest, I ask the question I’d been fighting with ever since he showed me the house. “Do you want kids?”

  His hand rests at my lower back. “Wouldn’t mind a couple. Think they’d be fun.” He shifts his hand to hip and moves me to straddle him. “Not ready to share you yet, though.”

 
; I nip into his chin, relieved at the answer. “So lots of practicing, huh?” A shudder slips down my spine as his mouth finds the sensitive spot under my ear.

  “Absolutely.” He flips me onto my back and sits back on his knees. “Why don’t I show you what I’ve got in mind?”

  It’s easy to return his sly smile. I stretch my arms above my head, lips widening to a grin as his gaze heats. “I believe you said something about not letting me out of this bed for a few days? Perhaps we should start there?”

  His mouth twists in a smirk. “Perhaps.” And he bends down to kiss me.

  Author’s Note

  While the Siege of Sarajevo was real, the events in this book are a work of fiction. Any errors, geographical or otherwise, are mine.

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Nora and Declan’s story.

  Want more sexy, snarky goodness? Sign up for my mailing list here. It’s infrequent (no spam, I promise) but always spectacular, with new release info, exclusive excerpts, giveaways, and more neat stuff.

  Not a newsletter person? Like me on Facebook, check out my website, or scroll through my woefully neglected Tumblr. Got book recommendations? Friend me on Goodreads — I’m always looking for my next great read.

  Reviews help other readers find books. I appreciate all reviews, whether positive or negative, so please consider leaving a review!

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at Hidden Scars, out September 2015, and for the music that inspired Fracture.

  Fracture playlist

  Got a Spotify account? You can listen to the playlist here.

  “Hell” Squirrel Nut Zippers “Castle of Glass” Linkin Park

  “Ping Pong” Bassnectar “Gorecki” Lamb

  “I Stay Away” Alice in Chains “Metal Heart” Garbage

  “Switchblade Smiles” Kasabian “O Nata Lux” Morten Lauridsen

  “The Funeral” Band of Horses “Bullet the Blue Sky” U2

  “Gimme Shelter” Merry Clayton “Long Way Back Home” Barenaked Ladies

  “Central Reservation” Beth Orton “Turn Me On” David Guetta feat. Nicki Minaj

  “Zombie (Acoustic)” The Cranberries “Why We Fight” The Decemberists

  “Sleep Now in the Fire” Rage Against the Machine

  Hidden Scars (Hidden Scars, book one), available September 2015.

  Sometimes the past won't stay where it belongs.

  Sara’s number one rule of dating: closed off, secretive men need not apply. Years of therapy helped her move past the damage done by her emotionally abusive boyfriend, and she’s ready to date again. Someone funny, laid back, and easy to talk to. All things her coworker Taylor isn’t.

  Taylor’s quiet. Too quiet. He operates in permanent stealth mode, and he hides his secrets as well as Sara does. She doesn’t want to be attracted to him, but after a night spent in a hotel room together, trapped by a blizzard, she can’t deny there’s a fire-hot connection between them, waiting to ignite. Their working relationship inches closer and closer to friendship, until one day she gathers her courage and kisses him.

  It’s the match Taylor was waiting for.

  What starts as a sweet, fumbling friendship quickly becomes a passionate and intense affair. Just when Sara’s starting to feel safe in Taylor’s arms, his secrets come out, and she wonders if she’ll ever be able to stop looking over her shoulder.

  Chapter One

  Snow flew with such force, Sara couldn’t see the plane. Hell, she couldn’t see the gangplank. This could not be good. There was no way they would be able to take off.

  Only her boss would make her fly to Chicago on a sales presentation knowing a massive storm was on track to barrel through the Great Lakes and hit the city before they could return to Portland. Turning from the window, she wheeled her roll aboard to the ticket desk.

  Canceled.

  She blinked. The sign could not be right. She blinked again. Yup. Flight 246, Chicago to Portland, was canceled. Fantastic. One thing was certain. She was not spending the night in the airport. Her narrow skirt was too uncomfortable.

  Taylor had to be around somewhere. Scanning the gate area, she skipped right past her partner in crime for this trip before she spotted him leaning against a support pillar. She marched over. “I’m going to see about booking a flight out tomorrow, and then I’m heading to the nearest hotel with a free room. You staying or coming with?”

  He straightened. “Coming with. I’m not keen on sleeping on the floor.” He followed her over to the ticket desk line, and then promptly ignored her.

  Standing next to him, she did her best to ignore him as well, running through the report they’d have to give when they arrived home, ticking off errands she’d need to run, stifling a groan when she remembered she hadn’t gotten a birthday present for her mother.

  Her gaze slid sideways. Taylor was an attractive man. Tall, slimly built, his dark brown hair edged toward red and his hazel eyes cornered the intensity market. He was just so damn quiet, so good at blending into the woodwork, she honestly didn’t remember he worked down the hall from her until Larry had announced they’d be working up the presentation together.

  He’d proven to be the perfect partner, efficient, calm, and willing to wait out long outbursts by the potential client. The late nights she’d come to expect with her usual work partner never happened, and he didn’t crowd into her space. Though she found herself wishing he would sometimes. He didn’t wear cologne, so it was only when he’d bend in close to her desk that she’d catch the hint of juniper from his aftershave.

  No, Taylor was all about the job, and that was all that mattered. Nailing the presentation was the big, glossy cherry on top.

  The line inched forward, and her feet started to cramp. She shifted from foot to foot, trying not to grimace.

  “What are you doing?”

  She didn’t jump, though it was a near thing. Damn ninja skills. She smiled up at him. “Feet hurt.” Don't say it. Don't say I shouldn't have worn heels. The four inch, round toe pumps were actually some of the most comfortable heels she owned. They were, however, still high heels, and the balls of her feet were beginning to protest.

  He made a noise that sounded like a snort. Typical male response. Her shoulders set into a hard line.

  They finally made it to the desk and were assured if the storm blew through tonight like the forecast predicted, the runways would be operational and tomorrow’s midday flight to PDX would leave as scheduled. Maybe not on time, but it would leave.

  Grateful to have one part of the evening over, Sara headed for the baggage claim. She’d flown through Midway often enough to know which end of the baggage claim to go to for the airport hotels. Taylor resumed his strong, silent type impression and followed her.

  Digging out her Blackberry, she pulled up an app and started checking for hotels. The search returned a couple options, and she blew out a breath, some of the tension leaving her back. “Hey, can you see if there’s a Red Lion shuttle? Supposedly they’ve still got rooms available.”

  “You could call them.”

  “About to. But if the shuttle’s already here, we might as well get on it. It’s way too cold out to keep standing around.”

  She jerked at the hand on her elbow, the warmth from his touch zinging through her. She glanced up at Taylor’s impassive face. “Shuttle’s over there. Just pulled in.”

  Good. Great. She nodded rather than speak, certain her voice would crack.

  The air froze in her lungs as they stepped out of the terminal. Snow swirled under the overhang, piling on the roadway. Would the shuttle even be able to leave? They didn’t get storms like this in Portland. The driver stood next to the shuttle door, waving people on, so she tightened her grip on her roll aboard.

  They climbed aboard, and after she found a seat, she dialed the hotel. The call dropped. She tried again. No signal. Technology sucked balls. It never worked when you needed it most. She crossed her fingers the website wasn’t lying and they’d have rooms available.
With the number of travelers stuck in the airport this evening, she’d take all the luck she could get.

  The damn heels were choking her feet. She couldn’t wait to get the shoes off and stick her feet in some cool water. She imagined a nice, long, relaxing shower, followed by a horrendously expensive glass of wine. It would be worth it.

  Twenty snow covered minutes later, the shuttle crawled to a stop at the entrance to the hotel. Biting back a moan, she did her best not to limp to the front desk and pasted on a cheery smile. “Hi. I’m really hoping you’ve got a couple of rooms available.”

  The front desk clerk was already engrossed in her screen. “You’re in luck. I’ve got a single available. Queen sized, non-smoking.”

  Her nerves went on high alert, telling her feet to turn right around and walk out the door, find another hotel. Silly. She shook it off. No reason to panic. If there was one room left, they’d get one of those cot things. “I’ll take it. Do you have a rollaway?”

  The clerk’s smile was apologetic and did nothing to quell the anxiety rising once more in Sara’s stomach. “No, I’m sorry. That is, literally, the last bed we have.”

  Her stomach twisted at the thought of spending the night with a man for the first time in seven years. One of them would sleep on the floor. Easy. Her hands were steady as she pulled out her corporate Amex, and she gave herself a mental pat on the back. Her therapist would be proud. Once she’d received the room key, she discovered Taylor had been behind her the entire time. She held up the key. “Room 505. I promise I don’t snore.” Her grin felt brittle. She kept it in place, letting it fall only after Taylor nodded and walked off toward the elevators.