Twice Tempted (Holland Springs)

by Marquita Valentine

  “Sweetheart?”

  “Asshat!”

  Christian lifted a brow and stopped in his tracks. “Now’s who trying to reminisce?”

  “Just go.” Zoe whirled away, but was stopped from leaving the room by his hand on her arm. Looking up at him when he moved to stand in front of her, she steeled her resolve. Steeled herself against the pure unadulterated pleasure of his touch. She remembered those elegant fingers as they touched, explored and satisfied every need.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he warned. “Or I’ll take you against the nearest wall.”

  Fury flashed through her body as some of his last words to her echoed in her mind. “I’d rather forget we ever happened.”

  He let go of her long enough to rake his hand through his perfectly tousled hair. For some reason it made her even angrier. How dare he show up here? So damn smug and as if he hadn’t been cruel. As if he hadn’t cut her deep with his words and actions.

  She ran the length of his body with her eyes. No, Christian shows up looking like he’s about to be photographed for some men’s fashion magazine. All sexy and dressed to kill her.

  “Obviously, I lied about wanting to —”

  “Obviously.” She tried to put some distance between them, rounding the couch to make her way to the back of her house. An ocean between them was preferable but the island in her kitchen would have to serve.

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Christian stopped short of joining her side of the barrier she put between them.

  “How do I know anything?” She pounded her fist against the cold granite countertop. “We barely know each other.”

  “I wouldn’t classify what we do know as bare. More like carnal. Intimate knowledge between a man and woman,” he drawled, infuriating her even more, but then he did the unexpected. His posture changed and his eyes seemed to glint with… something? “I’m sorry. I made a mistake and I’m here to right it, to be that man I told you about. The one you deserve. Let’s try to work things out.”

  She almost forgave him. Right at that moment she wanted to run to him, wrap her arms around him, stroke his hair and whisper she loved him. That she understood, that she’d been just as much as at fault. It would be entirely easy to give in to him.

  But she couldn’t. “There’s nothing you can say to make things better.”

  Christian exhaled. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. That he couldn’t waltz into her house, announce that he was home and she’d come running to him. Seeing Zoe with her ex had put him in full blow this-is-my-woman mode. Jealousy, true jealousy at the intimacy she and Gabriel had shared had made him want to plant his fist in the guy’s face. All over them talking. Talking.

  “Let me stay the night and show you how sorry I can be.”

  “Just one night?” She raised her chin. “Then what—you’ll leave in the morning?”

  “If you wish.” There was no way in hell he was going anywhere, but if Zoe calling the shots—or at least thought she was—led to the desired outcome, he’d gladly follow.

  Her green eyes looked black in the softly lit room before she narrowed them. “I want you to get back on the plane you flew in on and never return.”

  “Not an option.”

  “So much for what I wish.” Her lips flattened into a thin line and she marched away, slamming the sliding glass door that led to her back porch behind her.

  Ten minutes. He’d give his wife ten minutes before he went after her.

  He rolled his head to one side, cracking his neck and relieving the pent-up tension. Well, at least some of it.

  Looking around the room, he took note of the coziness. The warmth, the hominess that seemed to seep from the cheery yellow kitchen to the muted green walls of the living room. This was a house that had been lived in, loved and restored by Zoe. Pictures of her family were everywhere. Walls, tables, and bookshelves held their images. He walked over to the mantle of the fireplace. A collection of crystal fairies danced along the length while a framed print of Hale’s The Crimson Rambler held a place of honor above it. Maybe he should buy her the original.

  Nodding to himself, he pulled out his phone and texted Sasha, then wandered around. The chair he’d sat in had been large and comfortable. Made for a man or rather a woman who liked to curl up with her e-reader by the fire. He could practically guarantee the sofa was wide enough and long enough for him to stretch out on. With her.

  And while his taste ran to ultra modern designs with sleek lines and bold color, he found that he loved Zoe’s feminine style. The whimsy she placed in the oddest of places. An old pair of paint splattered rain boots held emerging daffodils on the front porch while a open-mouthed frog umbrella stand greeted visitors in the small foyer.

  He peeked into what he thought was her bedroom. The bed was all wrong. The style, the size, and the color of the wood used for the headboard. It took up the entire room, overpowering the antique dresser and vanity.

  Moving into the room, he felt like an intruder, but he had to see her closet. What he found made him laugh. Actually, it made her all the more charming. Most of her wardrobe made noise or was one of the colors of rainbow sherbet ice cream. Sasha would have a stroke if he ever saw it.

  A quick glance at his watch told him his self-imposed time limit was almost out. He jogged up the stairs and then back down to find her office. It could use more shelving and a new desk while the entire second floor with the exception of one guest room needed to be finished. That could be a project for him to do while he was trying to woo back his wife.

  Glancing at his watch, he put on his mental armor.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It had taken Christian a good ten minutes to find her. She sat hunched over a wooden picnic table, seemingly staring at the small waves that lapped at the shore.

  The sun dipped low in the sky behind them, casting gloomy shadows on the sandy expanse. To his right, what looked to be an old mansion with a double balcony sat surrounded by live oaks and Magnolia trees. A woman paced back and forth, blond hair trailing out behind her. Fireflies seemed to follow her as she walked. Soon, a dark haired man appeared and wrapped his arms around her.

  Was that Gabriel?

  He blinked, then blinked again. The balcony was empty of people and fireflies. “Did you see the woman walking with all the fireflies?”

  Zoe shook her head.

  “This is an absolutely fantastic beach. No worry of shark attacks, jelly fish and most importantly no fear of seeing a three hundred pound bloke wearing a speedo with black socks and white trainers.”

  A small smile flitted across her lips. “You haven’t met Uncle Jethro.”

  “When is the next get together? I’ll be sure to say hello.”

  “It’s next month,” she said softly, turning to face him. His heart bumped against his chest when he saw she’d been crying. God, all he did was make her cry. “You’ll be gone before then.”

  He ignored her statement. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you when you showed up that day.”

  “I bet,” she said, her lips twisting. “You looked like you couldn’t have cared less, and you sounded like an ass. Are you normally that gracious to your fans?”

  “You looked very beautiful that night and you tasted like heaven,” he said, “I thought you were my twenty-first birthday present.”

  “I wish I’d missed the first, the second and last time we kissed,” she said, rising from the table and moving towards the path that led to her house.

  This was not going well at all. He trailed behind her. “Zoe, wait up. We have to talk.”

  “We don’t have to do anything,” she shouted. “You need to leave. I need to write… about villains. Evil villains that break hearts.”

  “I’m here to mend yours with pieces of mine.”

  She whirled on him. “Stop giving me lines.”

  “It’s the truth.” He touched her cheek. His heart plummeted to his stomach when she flinched.

&
nbsp; “I can’t do this. Not right now.” She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  “When?” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Her soft cheek. “Let me in, Zoe.” He trailed his lips down to the corner of her mouth.

  She trembled and he wrapped his arms around her.

  He rejoiced when she melted into him. Brushing his mouth against hers, he tasted the salt tears on them. “Let me stay.”

  She sighed.

  He slanted his mouth over hers, nibbling and teasing her tightly closed lips until they parted in sweet surrender. Just as he swept his tongue inside of her mouth, she tore away.

  “No.” She ran from him.

  He followed her, keeping his distance.

  She slammed her door shut and the lock clicked in place. Lights flicked on as she made her way through the house. He met her on the front porch just as she locked the screen door. The light beside the entrance gave off a soft glow.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow evening.”

  Zoe’s arms crossed over her chest. “I won’t be home.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “I’m going out with Melanie.”

  Most likely, she was telling the truth, but he wouldn’t let it deter him. “What about Friday evening?”

  “No place you’d be seen in. Might get your clothes dirty.”

  “Sweetheart, I’ve been to places you’ve only written about. Now, where will you be?” he asked, his voice even and calm. Not bad for a man who wanted to tear down the barrier between them with his bare hands.

  “Poor Boy’s,” she said, then titled up her nose. “You can figure out where that is or have Sasha do a background check on it.” She moved to shut the door. “Have a good night.”

  He stood there, facing the door locked to him. He walked over to one of the rocking chairs on her front porch and sat down.

  A dog howled in the distance.

  Christian grimaced at the lonely sound. “Know just how you feel, mate.”

  The porch light went dark. “Go home, Christian.”

  She called him Christian. Not Ian. He grinned. “Already here, love,” he shouted back. “I’m already here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Poor Boy’s was a rundown honky-tonk that boasted sticky wood floors, cheap beer and live bands. The men in here wore dark jeans, t-shirts and the occasional preppy golf shirt. While the women were dressed in everything from sweaters and jeans to two strips of fabric covering their naughty bits. A sight familiar the world over.

  Then there was his wife, the gypsy, standing with two of her brothers. She wore an embroidered top in a soft yellow color and a light green skirt that had pleats in it like an accordion. His fingers itched to drag up the material above her thighs while he kissed the soft hollow at her neck.

  Presently, his brothers-in-law were giving him crossed arms over the chest glares. He lifted his beer in salute as Zoe’s brother, Luke, eyes narrowed in on him. There was no way any of them were going to scare him off. He’d faced worse and lived to tell the tale. Produced it even.

  Christian ticked his chin up slightly, nodding to a corn-fed farmboy with hands as big as his head when the bloke man-checked him. And yes, Christian knew he didn’t belong here. Didn’t look the part and wasn’t willing to conform. He thought of all the places he could be at this moment. Paris, London, Beijing or even St. Petersburg. Holy hell, he could be in Majorca right now, sunning himself with Zoe at his side.

  But where was he? In a third rate bar, hanging out in the shadows like a first rate stalker.

  She happened to glance in his direction and frown. He motioned her over, but she titled her nose in the air and whirled away.

  Stubborn ass woman. It was one of the things he loved about her.

  He took a long pull of his beer and set the bottle down, pulling at the edge of the label until it curled over. In a few months he’d be five years older than when he met her. And he was determined to celebrate with Zoe.

  His phone vibrated as a text from Sasha appeared. Christian had to read it a couple of times before he shoved the thing back into his pocket. He cursed silently and stood, leaving a tip for the flirtatious server and left.

  “What do you mean the pictures have gone viral?” Christian growled into the phone.

  “You’re being punished for leaving. Sorry, I had no choice in the matter, but there’s speculation as to whether it’s you or your brother,” came Sasha’s reply before they lost signal.

  Holland Springs was like a black hole when it came to cell coverage. He’d had better coverage in the jungles of Burma.

  With a great sigh, he climbed into his rental and headed back to the bed and breakfast he’d stayed last night. For the past two days he’d bided his time, kept his distance and for the most part confined himself to his room.

  The road forked up ahead. To the left lay Zoe and silent recrimination. To the right lay sleep and disturbing dreams.

  And loneliness.

  He clenched his jaw, jerked the wheel and headed home.

  ***

  “Why are you here?” Zoe slid her keys across the side table and they fell onto the floor. She smacked her hand against her skirt.

  “I assumed that living with one’s wife was a custom practiced here,” Christian said, rising from the sofa. And he missed her. “Besides the mattress is rather lumpy at the b&b. Thought I’d give yours a go.”

  He’d been waiting in her house for over an hour. A quick search under the doormat had revealed the hidden key. A habit that needed to change. Immediately. Picking up her keys, he handed them back to her. Their fingers brushed. Desire hit him hard and his gut clenched.

  “I’m not sleeping with you,” she informed him, her voice shaky.

  He tried very hard to be patient. He tried very hard to keep it together and not touch her. But she tilted that cute little nose of hers and bit her lush bottom lip.

  To hell with patience. He lifted her easily in his arms and strode to her bedroom.

  “Put me down,” she said, but he noticed she didn’t try to wriggle out of his arms.

  “Don’t worry, love. I don’t plan on sleeping with you either.” He held her closer and breathed in her familiar scent. What an idiot he’d been. She’d smelled just as she always had, like honeysuckle.

  After shutting the door behind him, he let her slide to the floor, making sure she felt every hard inch of him.

  Her breath hitched and he couldn’t wait another second. He tangled his fingers in her hair and brought his mouth to hers. She slid her arms around his neck and he groaned. He followed the lush contours of her body, rubbing the small of her back with his fingers.

  “I need you, Zoe. I missed you.”

  She leaned back in his arms, tears in her eyes. “I saw pictures of you and that fruit woman. I was inundated with reporters calling and emailing me. I had to change my number. I couldn’t come home for three weeks, because I was afraid they’d be here.”

  Actually, she’d had nothing to worry about. As soon as he’d learned the press had been hounding her, he’d paid them all off. All but one. Then he’d sent security to Palm Island to keep an eye on her.

  “Peaches’ name is Kate.”

  “I don’t care what Pineapple’s name is. She slept with my husband.” Her hand clamped over her mouth and she back away from him.

  “That’s right, love. I’m still your husband.” He stalked her across the room, taking off his shirt and tossing it to the floor. “I’ve been entirely faithful to you. Kate’s in love with my brother. Always has been and he’s too preoccupied being up my father’s ass to notice.”

  She sat down on the bed. “Maybe she can’t tell the two of you apart.”

  Sitting beside her, he placed his hand over hers. She crossed her arms and scooted away.

  He scanned the room, at a loss as to what to do next. The massive California king had been replaced. A large four poster bed filled the room instead. Settled against the headboard were four of the lar
gest and softest looking pillows he’d ever seen. Warm colored quilts covered the top and made him want to sink down in it.

  “This bed looks much better than the other one,” he said. “More you.”

  “I gave the old one to Heath. He put this one back in here for me,” she said, turning away from him.

  He gently stroked her hair. Spying a brush on the nightstand, he reached out and grabbed it. As he brushed the long, silky strands, her shoulders dropped their rigid stance and her head leaned with his strokes.

  Her shoes hit to the floor with a thud. To his astonishment, she stood, letting her shirt fall to the floor and then her ankle length skirt. He swallowed. Hard. Dropping the brush, he scooted back on the bed until the cold headboard hit his back.

  Of course, his wife was wearing the pinkest and laciest pair of panties that he’d ever seen. They even had the tiniest of ribbons holding them together at the sides. And she had on above the knee striped knit stockings. Like the kind you’d see in a winter pictorial of a sexy ski bunny.

  “Turn around,” he said thickly. Miracle of all miracles, she obeyed him.

  Dark hair waved over her shoulders and curled around the pink lace cups of her bra. She crawled across the quilt and straddling his thighs. “See something you like?”

  Was she insane? Of course he did. He’d dreamed of her wearing every piece of lace imaginable, then slowly removing it from her body with his teeth.

  “Did you wear this because you thought I might be seeing it?”

  “Maybe.”

  He leaned forward, his eyes trained on her pretty dark ones and tugged a lace covered nipple into his mouth. She shifted forward, silk brushing over his cock and making his eyes roll back at the sensation. He sucked harder on the ever tightening bud, until she clutched at his head and gasped.

  Nuzzling the valley between her breasts, he worked at the clasp of her bra until he was able to pull it down and feast on the sight before him. Pink nipples and creamy breasts the same color and size as before, not that he expected anything different. She was perfect. He lifted his eyes to hers. “So damn beautiful. I wish I were a bloody poet.”