The Stubborn Love Series: Books 1-5 Contemporary Romance Series

by Wendy Owens

  He lunges forward, and I hold my breath, close my eyes, and prepare for his touch. But there is nothing. I lift my lids and realize he is leaning over to pick up one of the garments I’ve been working on, and not to touch me.

  “Are you all good?” he asks me with a confused stare.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I insist. “I just have a lot of work to do, so if you don’t mind …” I look to the door, trying to make the request clearer with my eyes.

  “This is really gorgeous, Paige. These tones, they’re almost like what you find in cedar planks,” he comments, examining the garment closer.

  My head tilts. “I was going for a wood tone in my selection of the fabric.” Suddenly I’m not thinking about the fact that Christian, my ex who is still in love with me, is standing in front of me. I am instead excited that my design resonates in the way I intended.

  “Here,” I continue. “I was going to pair this leather vest with it.” I turn and reach over around behind the sewing machine to retrieve the piece I’d been working on the previous evening. “I think the black will contrast it well. And I like the idea of black leather and old woods. I want to design a metal chevron necklace to go with it, but the jewelry will have to wait until I actually finish the garments.”

  “That’s going to look incredible. Jesus, I knew you were talented, but my God,” he comments, reaching out with a free hand to run his fingers across the stitching on the vest.

  “Oh please, this is nothing. I can’t exactly make furniture out of a hunk of wood.” Did I just say that? I want to cut out my tongue. What in the hell am I doing? He needs to get out of here—the sooner the better.

  He drapes the tunic dress across the chair next to us, never taking his eyes off me. The silence feels uncomfortable, and my eyes dart around the room, trying to avoid his stare. I can see he does not feel compelled to look away. His stare is intense, and though I fight as hard as I can to avoid it, eventually I’m caught. He steps closer, licking his lips and narrowing the gap between us to only a little more than a foot.

  The intensity in his eyes is more than I can bear; I force myself to stare at his dimple, avoiding the penetrating glare. But that only makes me want to press my lips against the small cavern.

  “We never got to finish our talk,” he says in a soft, but deep and raspy voice.

  My back is up against the table. There is nowhere for me to go, and nowhere for me to look accept at him.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, trying to find an escape.

  “I think there is. If you don’t want to talk, then just listen,” he continues.

  “Christian,” I whisper, wishing with everything in me he’ll stop and walk away, because I know I don’t have the strength to make him stop.

  “When I saw you with him, it was the most intense pain I’ve ever felt. I managed to fool myself into believing I could get over you, but I can’t. And I don’t think you’re over me.”

  “I’m getting married,” I say firmly.

  “That’s not what I said. I said, I think you still love me, too.”

  His words hang between us. I back up, standing on my tiptoes, and place my bottom on the table to increase the distance between us, if only by inches. He uses the opportunity to move in closer, maneuvering in between my legs, and pressing his body against mine.

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” he says, his hot breath now on my cheek.

  I freeze. I can’t think, say, or do anything. Reaching up with one hand, he tucks a stray hair, which hangs in my face, behind my ear. I tell myself to push him away, but my arms aren’t listening to me. Instead, I find myself licking my lips, wishing for a taste, just once more.

  I part my lips, and I close my eyes and let go, giving all control to him. I can taste the bitterness from my morning coffee in my saliva. My chest begins to ache, and my stomach groans in anticipation of what might be coming next.

  I notice my hands clenched into balls of sweaty fists. Opening them, I rub my palms against my jeans. I feel Christian grab my hands. I still don’t open my eyes. He forcefully places them on his hips, pressing hard against me now. In an instant I’m turned on, and the desire starts to overwhelm me.

  What am I doing? The question pushes its way into my thoughts, but is quickly shoved out when I feel his lips graze my cheek.

  He whispers, “You want this. I can tell.”

  Damn it! Is he right? My body seems to think so.

  “I won’t kiss you unless you want me to,” he moans.

  I turn my head into his lips without hesitation. I don’t want him to talk; I want so much more. At last the warmth of his mouth is against mine. The initial sensation is different than it had been while we were together. Christian hadn’t had facial hair during our entire relationship, and now he maintains consistently thick stubble. At first I find it unsettling, but when his lips part and the wetness of his tongue rushes into my mouth, all I want is for the kiss to never end.

  He wraps his arms around me, pulling me in, pressing his chest against me, gripping me with his strong arms. I can feel his muscles flexing as we kiss. He’s enjoying it as much as me. I wrap my legs around his hips and run my hands up his back, digging my fingers through his shirt, into his flesh. When I do, I feel him moan with delight into my mouth.

  The sensation nearly sends we into wild spasms. I throw my head back and, using every muscle in my body, push him away, hopping to the ground, quickly making my way around to the other side of the table.

  “Stop!” I gasp.

  “If that’s what you want,” he says, delivering a devilish grin before adding, “but your body was telling me something else.”

  My voice quivers as I say, “I’m engaged.”

  “I thought we already established this.”

  “It doesn’t seem to be registering for you.”

  “I guess we both know what this means.” He smirks.

  “We do?”

  “You’ll just have to tell him about us,” he says in a sincere tone.

  Now I’m angry. Us? Who said there was an us, and what makes him think he can just come in here, turn on his sex mojo, and tell me what to do?

  “No!” I shout.

  “What? But—”

  “You kissed me, and it was a mistake. Damn it! There is no us!”

  “You can keep telling yourself that, but it won’t make it any truer.”

  “I love Henry,” I insist.

  “Then why did you kiss me?” he asks me pointedly.

  I hesitate. I don’t know the answer. I did kiss him, and I loved it. I also want more. I want to rip his clothes off right here and have my way with his incredible body. But I can’t. I can’t because the idea of hurting Henry in that way makes me sick to my stomach. That has to mean something about what I feel for him.

  “I don’t know—maybe I do still have some feelings for you. But it doesn’t change the fact that I love Henry,” I finally concede.

  He stares at me with a hungry look, and I worry he might swoop in for another kiss. “I think it changes everything. Is it fair to marry Henry when you’ll be thinking about me for the rest of your lives together?”

  “Wow.” It’s suddenly becoming much easier to push Christian away. “Aren’t you full of yourself?”

  “No, I’m serious,” he argues. “Just hear me out. Maybe it is just a lingering attraction, and nothing could ever truly rekindle between us. But don’t you owe it to yourself and to Henry to figure that out?”

  I laugh. “So you’re trying to tell me I owe it to Henry to sleep with you?”

  “Whoa there, tiger,” Christian says, waving his arms. “I don’t think anything was said about sleeping with anyone. I mean, hey, I’m game if you are, but I was thinking of taking it a bit slower—maybe spend some time together under a different pretense, see if there’s anything to this.”

  “We spent most of last month together,” I remind him.

  “I know, and that was fun, but it was as friends. It was also bef
ore I realized you still had feelings for me—”

  “An attraction, not feelings,” I argue.

  “If you say so,” he chimes, presumptuously.

  “So what are you saying?”

  “Go out on three dates with me,” Christian proposes. “If at the end of those three dates you aren’t madly in love with me again, then I will give you and Henry my blessing.”

  “I’m not doing that.”

  “Why? Scared of what you might discover?”

  “No!” I shout, my face growing hot.

  “Then why not?”

  I hesitate; his suggestion has my head spinning. “I can’t … I …” I huff, now completely flustered. “That’s cheating, and I won’t do that to Henry.”

  Christian stares at me. “I know how I feel about you, and I’m pretty confident that if you open yourself up to us, you’ll find out you feel the same, but I don’t want you to do anything you could possibly hate yourself for later.”

  “Then it’s settled. You’ll leave me alone for the rest of the time I’m here.”

  “Not so fast. What about we agree to three dates, but with ground rules. No sex, no kissing, just a G-rated date,” he suggests as a solution.

  I shake my head. This feels wrong, and my mind is telling me to tell Christian to get the hell out of my sight, so I can get on a plane and head straight home. “I don’t know. What makes them a date?”

  He takes a step back, widening the gap even more between us. “I promise, nothing physical. All I’m asking is you give me a real chance to win you back. If you go and marry him, without really knowing if we are truly over, it’s like you’ll never be able to completely give yourself to him. Do you really want to do that to Henry?”

  I know what he’s doing. He has always been a master at spinning things in the way he wants people to see them. And even though I know what he’s doing, I can’t believe what I find myself saying. “All right.”

  “Seriously?” he asks, surprised.

  “Yes, but if you step out of line in any way, this little experiment is over. Got it?”

  “Of course.”

  “And, after the three dates, when I’m still in love with Henry, you’ll let this drop once and for all?”

  “I give you my word. But by then, you’ll be mine again,” he says confidently, darting around the counter and out the door, yelling over his shoulder, “First date is this Friday at seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up here.”

  As the door falls closed I’m suddenly light headed. I lean my body weight against the table to steady myself. What just happened?

  Chapter Seventeen

  OLIVIA STUMBLES ACROSS the floor and begins pulling fabric samples out of one of the boxes lining the wall. I look over at Emmie, perched on a stool next to the table. This does not seem to bother her. I consider going over to stop the mini tornado, but decide she’s having far too much fun to interrupt her.

  “So you know this can only end in disaster?” Emmie says, before popping another grape into her mouth.

  “Yes, you’ve told me every day for the past three days, so I’m starting to understand your opinion quite well,” I say sarcastically, leaning over the table and snatching a grape from her hands.

  “And since when do you have so much cleavage?” she asks me, staring at my chest.

  I quickly stand, self consciously looking down at my body. “Hey, I have nice tits.”

  “That’s not what I said,” she corrects me. “You have amazingly perky, beautiful little tits, but that’s not what’s hanging out of that shirt. That is come major cleavage, girl.”

  I look down again, smile and reply, “I guess it’s the bra.”

  “I thought this was supposed to be a pretend date.”

  “It is,” I confirm, furrowing my brow.

  “So you just want to blue-ball him.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, maybe.” We both laugh before I add, “If he crosses the line, then this stupid little experiment is over. That’s the deal. And if my cleavage is too much for him to resist, then I guess our first date will be our last.”

  “Yup, disaster,” Emmie says again, looking at Olivia who has now made her way over to the next box of samples. It is probably the quietest and most content I’ve ever seen the child.

  “It’s really not a big deal, Em. I’ll go, prove I don’t love him anymore, and that will be the end of it.”

  “So you told Henry about it then?”

  “No!” I exclaim. “He wouldn’t understand.”

  “What on Earth would he not understand about his fiancée going on a date with another man?” she teases.

  “Oh, you know—”

  “Good evening, ladies,” Christian says as he walks in through the door. “Don’t you all look beautiful.”

  “Oh please, sucking up doesn’t work with me anymore,” Em huffs, waving a hand in her brother-in-law’s direction.

  “Me? I’d never,” he insists smugly.

  “I’m wearing yoga pants that are a size too small for me, and I have half of Olivia’s dinner on my shirt. Shut it down, Romeo.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “Come on Olivia,” Emmie continues, walking over and scooping her daughter into her arms. “Let’s let these two insanely dysfunctional people get on with their disastrous evening.”

  “Gee, thanks sis,” Christian says as she walks past him.

  “Anytime,” Em replies. God, I love that girl. She might be the only other snarky bitch who can hold her own with the Bennett brothers.

  Christian waits for the door to close before turning and looking in my direction. I make my way around the counter and stand for a moment, waiting to see if he realizes I’m wearing the piece he’d noticed from the collection.

  “Wow,” he gasps, drinking me in.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I say, impressed by the gray blazer and button-up shirt. Though it is paired with jeans and boots, I can only assume it is fitting for what he has chosen to do for our evening.

  “Shall we?” he asks, extending an arm to take my hand.

  “Of course,” I reply, grabbing my leather satchel and throwing it over my shoulder. Considering ‘wow’ is the only comment I get, I’m not sure he notices I’m wearing—.

  My thought is suddenly cut short. “I’m honored you’d wear a piece from your new collection on our date.” Strike that, he did notice.

  “Yeah, I’ll definitely be avoiding red wine this evening,” I comment before giggling and making my way out the front door. “So, what are we doing?” I inquire eagerly. I hate to admit it, but part of me has been looking forward to this evening all week. Not that I think anything will actually come out of it, but it sure is going to be fun to see Christian try.

  “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” he replies with a smile.

  I look up at him; I can see he’s very pleased with himself. “Oh, that’s how it’s going to be.”

  “What?”

  “You want to keep it a surprise.”

  “Surprises can be fun.” He grins as I come to stand at the door of his truck across the street. I turn around and realize he isn’t near me. Instead, he’s on the sidewalk, watching me, just standing there with that crooked smile, his hands in his pockets.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, puzzled.

  “I’m heading to our date, what are you doing?”

  “Huh?”

  “We can walk,” he explains.

  “Oh, I see. So it’s the steakhouse for dinner then,” I say, thrilled I’d so easily uncovered his secret.

  “Nope, not the steakhouse.”

  “What? That’s the only place open this late on a Friday night on the strip … unless …” I start.

  “Unless what?”

  “You’re taking me to the diner for dinner? That’s a little low rent for a blazer, isn’t it?”

  “Did I say we are going to the diner?”

  Oh my God! There are only two restaurants open on the
strip past seven on a Friday. Unless we’re walking a mile outside of town, which means I did not wear the right shoes, there are no other options.

  “Fine, I give, where are we going?”

  “You’ll see,” he says as he continues to casually stroll down the sidewalk. I can tell he knows it’s pushing me to the brink not to know, and he loves every second. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

  I look up at the night sky. I’ll be heading home to New York in a couple more weeks, preparing to begin my life as Mrs. Wallace and an image like this will no longer be part of my day. “Yes, it is.” I sigh deeply.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m going to miss the stars. You just can’t see them like this in the city, you know?”

  “Yeah, but who knows, maybe you’ll move down here,” Christian suggests with a serious face. I immediately laugh, assuming he has to be kidding. He isn’t.

  “Christian!” I exclaim. “My life’s in New York.”

  “And your life could just as easily be down here. Can you imagine watching Olivia grow up?”

  “Yeah … I mean … it would be nice, but I’m a city girl. I wouldn’t know how to handle living in Texas.”

  “You seem to be doing just fine to me,” he adds, coming to a stop.

  I turn and look up; we were at Baxter’s. “They’re closed,” I remind him.

  “Are they?” he asks mischievously, walking to the door and pulling it open.

  “Oh—aren’t you Mr. Important? You got them to stay open just for us, huh?”

  “Not exactly,” he says, leaving me guessing until the last moment.

  I enter through the open door, looking around for other patrons. There are none. In fact, there are no waiters either—no staff of any kind. I follow Christian like a stray puppy, completely unsure what to expect.

  “Hey man.” I hear a voice from the far side of the room.

  “Tito!” Christian exclaims. “This is Paige.”

  Christian steps to one side as I extend a hand in greeting. The man has black hair that’s just beginning to gray at his temples, but he seems to still be quite young.