Her Aussie Holiday

by Stefanie London

  Trent snorted. “That’s the first time I’ve been called complicated. Ever.”

  “People don’t look much farther than the ends of their own noses,” Cora replied sagely. “That much I have learned in life.”

  “But you do.”

  Cora nodded, biting down on her bottom lip. There was that feeling again—the sense that she wanted to say something more. It was like a tautness in the air. What was swirling around in her head right now?

  “That’s because I’m a reader,” she said eventually, nodding. Whatever was dancing on the tip of her tongue, she wasn’t going to share it any time soon. “We tend to enjoy the study of people.”

  Trent wasn’t sure what was going on in Cora’s head, but he had the urge to reach out to her, and so he did. He looped his fingers around her wrists and tugged her to him. She came without hesitation, letting him pull her close, winding her arms around his neck and tilting her face up to his.

  Trent brought his lips down to her, coaxing her open and sweeping his tongue against hers. It was sweet, burning, heady. He kissed her like he’d never kissed anyone else before, with abandon and longing and a desire to connect beyond the physical.

  Bringing her here had been…stupid? Risky? Pointless?

  Necessary.

  There was some part of him that felt like he needed to prove something to Cora and to himself. But what, exactly? That he could move forward? That he wasn’t just the funny guy with no substance? That he was capable of a life built on more than taking things day by day?

  He shut the swirling thoughts out and focused on the feel of Cora’s lips on his, on the way her hands curled into his T-shirt and the way her hips swirled against his.

  Right now, he wanted nothing more than to drown in the physical. He could deal with his confusing swirl of thoughts about the future later.

  Much, much later.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cora couldn’t get her head on straight for the rest of the evening. She was a jumble of thoughts and feelings, good and bad and everything in between. Why had Trent taken her to the place where he wanted to build his home? It didn’t feel like the kind of activity for two people having fun, meaningless, great-but-going-nowhere sex.

  It felt…personal. Real.

  Real, like the secret she’d found out. The photo. Her revelation about his identity. It felt like a weight around her neck. More than once, she’d opened her mouth to try to broach the topic with him, but she couldn’t force herself to say the words. He’d seemed so…hopeful.

  What kind of person would shatter that moment?

  It was none of her business, yet she felt embroiled in his life when she shouldn’t be. Did he know? Had his parents lied to him? Would it break his heart if he found out?

  You have to stay out of it. No good will come from meddling in his family life. Lord knows you hate it when people poke their noses into your family business.

  And, in addition, seeing him open up had made her want to do the same. It made her want to tell him important things. Like her big, scary dream of being an author. She had fantasies of quitting her job at the agency and finding a quiet, beautiful place to spend her days writing. Like this vacation but…permanent.

  She had dreams of sitting in a bookstore with a line of people waiting to meet her, clutching copies of her book to their chests. She had dreams of touching people with her stories, of knowing that her words had been a source of joy or healing or relief.

  Those things were too terrifying to say aloud. What made her think she was so special that she could achieve something like that?

  To take her mind off it, she’d settled on the couch with one of the books she’d bought from Maddy. She was halfway through and loving it enough that it whisked her away from her worries. Wasn’t that the most magical thing about books? Their power to transport you to a place where you could breathe again?

  “Hey, bookworm,” Trent said, and her head snapped up, startling her out of her reverie. He settled down on the couch next to her. It was late now, and dark outside. “Still getting your nerd on?”

  “If you’re asking whether or not I’m still reading, the answer is yes,” she said in a mock annoyed tone. “Call me a nerd all you want.”

  “You’re a cute nerd, that’s for sure.”

  “Maybe I think you’re a nerd for reading Architectural Digest.” She gestured at the magazine on the coffee table.

  “Nah, I just look at the pretty pictures.” Trent winked.

  “Thanks for showing me your place today,” she said, closing her book and pushing herself up into a sitting position.

  “I’m not sure why I did that, honestly.” He raked a hand through his hair, as if suddenly bashful. “That was probably boring as batshit.”

  “It wasn’t,” she protested. “I guess it’s…”

  Here she was, overthinking things again. Reading into a situation more than she should. Why was it that she sought to be closer to every person in her orbit, as though it might fill some hole in her heart?

  “What?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what our boundaries are.” She looked down into her lap. “I don’t know what this is.”

  “I don’t know, either,” he admitted.

  “You shared something pretty personal today. Least it felt that way.”

  He looked away, his gaze drifting out the back window and into the dark yard. There was a tension in him—a resistance. She felt it, too. The push and pull between logic and feeling, her brain telling her this wasn’t anything important and her heart murmuring its disagreement.

  “I want to write a book,” she blurted out. It was like the words refused to be contained any longer, like her dreams had swelled to the point that she couldn’t keep them inside.

  Trent’s lips lifted into an amused smile. “Wanted to even the score, did you?”

  “Something like that.” She reached down to the little shelf under the coffee table and pulled out her laptop, opening the lid.

  “Flight of the Caterpillar, a story of metamorphosis.” His eyes scanned the screen. “What’s it about?”

  “It’s fiction,” Cora replied. “It’s about a woman who packs up her whole life and moves to a small village in Italy to escape her controlling parents. She falls in love with the place, but the whole time she’s fighting with the man who owns her building. It’s a story about how she becomes the person she was always meant to be and how all people can blossom under the right conditions.”

  “Wow. Good for you.”

  She glowed under his words, warmed like hands turned to an open fire. “Thanks. I mean, it’s no big deal unless I get it published, right? Anyone can make up a story and have it collect dust under their bed.”

  He shook his head. “I disagree. How many people say they want to do something and never take a single step toward their goal?”

  That was true. If she had a dollar for every person she’d met who’d told her they wanted to write a book one day…

  “You don’t need someone else to tell you it’s worthwhile,” he added. “That’s for you to decide.”

  “It needs to be better.” She scrolled through the pages, her eyes scanning the Track Changes and highlighted bits of all the things that needed fixing. “But I’m determined to get there. I’ve wanted this my whole life.”

  “I have zero doubt in my mind that you will, Cora. Your passion for books is like nothing I’ve ever seen.” He smiled at her, and this time it wasn’t sexy. It was more…admiring. Holy hell, it made her feel good.

  “Who knows, maybe one day I’ll have my face on the inside of a cover just like this book.” She held up the romance novel and showed Trent where the author’s picture was in the back. “I’m up to chapter twelve now and it’s getting good.”

  “Providing some good inspiration?”

  “Oh yeah, and t
he hero is a total cinnamon roll. I didn’t even know that that was a term, but it means the hero is totally sweet and kind and good-hearted and delicious…” She grinned. “I’m learning so much.”

  “I never thought I’d meet a person who loved reading more than my dad, but here we are.”

  “Books are my whole life. That entire torturous time I was at the music conservatory, books got me through it. Having Alex call off our engagement…books made it easier to face the day. I want to create a story that gives that same escape to other people when they’re having a hard time.”

  Something flickered across his face, but it was difficult to read. Suddenly everything felt so serious, and Cora wasn’t sure she should be going down this path. She liked Trent. Maybe too much.

  And liking him too much wasn’t part of the plan for a distracting holiday fling.

  “And besides,” she said, steering the tone of the conversation away from anything too real, “I could learn a few moves from these books. Reading is sexy.”

  Trent snorted. “Maybe it’s sexy when you do it…but that’s got nothing to do with the book.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you could see what was written on this page.” She wriggled her eyebrows.

  “Oh yeah?” His tone challenged her to keep going. “Try me.”

  Challenge most definitely accepted.

  “I’m going to prove you wrong,” she said, her voice low and sultry. Around Trent, she felt comfortable enough that some of her awkwardness started to disappear. Or at least, went into hiding. “‘Jenna touched herself again, circling her fingers over her most sensitive part and letting out a soft groan. Not too loud—because she didn’t want anyone else but him to see. But it felt so good with his eyes on her.’”

  Trent faked a yawn, but his eyes were glittering. Taunting. He wanted to play.

  “‘His mouth went slack, and he palmed himself through the towel wrapped around his waist,’” she continued. “‘Jenna wished it were his hands on her. She let herself imagine it—what would have happened if he’d stayed and stripped her out of her tights and her miniskirt instead of turning her away.’”

  Despite his disagreement, Trent’s eyes grew dark. Who was she, being so forward and so bold? Being a seductress?

  He brings out the best in you.

  Under Trent’s hot, steady gaze, she felt powerful and beautiful and like she didn’t need to try so damn hard. She could say what she wanted, claim what she wanted, without rejection lurking around the corner. Today had sparked something inside her—a connection to him. A bond.

  “‘She imagined what it would have been like if he’d taken her to bed and laid her down, peeling the underwear from her body and sliding his hands along her thighs, thumbs tracing circles on her skin. Getting higher, higher, higher…so close.’”

  Trent was now totally focused on Cora, watching the way her lips wrapped around each word and the way her voice grew softer and breathier. His pupils were wide and dark, and when his eyes flicked back up to her, she had to bite back a groan.

  “‘Jenna’s eyes fluttered shut, and she was lost imagining his big body covering hers, knees pushing her legs apart and mouth seeking hers. The fantasy played out in vivid color in her mind, and a tremor rippled through her. Everything was wound tight like a coil as she touched herself.’”

  Dear Lord.

  Cora knew exactly what she was doing to him, and it made her feel like a goddess. More powerful and in control than she ever had before. It was like she was a new person. Reborn. Better. Stronger. More capable.

  It would be way too easy to become addicted to how he made her feel. But she had to remind herself that their time would come to its inevitable close.

  “You don’t play fair,” he said, his voice gravelly.

  Life wasn’t fair. The people who thrived were the ones who didn’t let fear of rejection stand in their way. But that had always been Cora’s driving force—trying desperately to win approval, trying desperately to make her parents proud, trying desperately to be the perfect girlfriend or fiancé.

  And what did she have to show for it? A job that didn’t fulfill her, a lonely apartment filled with memories of failed relationships. A relationship with her mother that was beyond repair.

  It’s not too late. You can take risks. You can change.

  If she could be with Trent now and enjoy herself—no expectations, no deeper emotions, no strings—then that would prove she’d changed. She didn’t have to seek his approval or his love; she could simply indulge in his body and the way he made her feel, take the gift he offered her, temporary as it was.

  If she could put every worry out of her mind—about the photo, about her novel, about what was waiting for her back home—and just be, then maybe Cora could finally grow some wings.

  …

  Cora slid her bookmark between the pages and let the book drop to the floor.

  “So,” she said with a shy smile. “You seemed to enjoy that scene about the guy watching.”

  “Hell yeah, I did.”

  “Is that something…?” Her eyes lowered. Trent could tell Cora was pushing out of her comfort zone, and it made his heart sing.

  Not your heart, your body. Big difference.

  “Maybe we could…” Her eyes flicked up to his. They were beautiful eyes, ice-blue and framed by thick golden-brown lashes, and they told him a story. Unlike so many people, she didn’t hide her feelings away.

  “Only if we head straight to the shower.”

  “Are you dirty?”

  “Always.”

  He pushed up from the couch and held a hand out to her. She took it willingly, her eyes never leaving his.

  “Maybe I should get into the shower first?” She sucked on the inside of her cheek. “We could replicate the scene before you wash the day off.”

  What good karmic deed had he done that had brought him this incredible, sexy, blossoming woman?

  Cora had looked so broken that first day, and yet every day since, she’d shined harder and brighter and more brilliantly. There was a toughness inside her. A resilience. And it was like the sun and sea air and his kisses had helped bring that part of her back to the forefront. For some damn reason that made Trent feel like the king of the world.

  “You’d better be careful,” he said. “I might start making you read to me every night.”

  “I’ll make you a romance reader yet,” she said, walking ahead of him to the bathroom, wriggling her butt so sexily that he almost tripped over his own feet.

  Yeah, this woman was going to unravel him.

  “Finish working on your story,” he said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “That’s a book I want to read.”

  “You would?” The hope in her voice was like the soundtrack in a movie, a note of danger ringing through the air to warn that things could turn bad. Why was he making promises he might not be able to keep? Cora wasn’t going to stick around, and he didn’t necessarily want her to.

  This was nothing but a distraction—a very sexy distraction.

  “Yeah, of course I’ll read it.” The promise stuck in the back of his throat, but as Cora stepped into the bathroom and out of his grip, her hands immediately going to the fly of her jean shorts, he decided that worrying was pointless.

  Here and now was what mattered. Not tomorrow or the day after or the one after that. Just now.

  Cora pushed the jean shorts over her hips and down her thighs, letting them slide to the ground in a soft, blue puddle. She wore simple pink and white striped underwear, which was trimmed with a touch of lace and a small, flat bow right under her belly button. They slid down her legs, too. Then went the floaty pink and yellow top, and her bra—something equally soft and feminine—until Cora was naked in front of him. She was beautiful beyond words, every part of her like a feast for the senses. Wild, wi
ld hair tumbled down her shoulders, golden from the sun and brushing her pink-tipped breasts. Her tattoo stood out starkly against the slightly paler skin on her thighs. She let him look, basking in his attention.

  There was no bashfulness about her now, just glowing confidence and sensuality. Unlike the first time they’d kissed, when she’d been eager and hesitant in equal measure, this time there was nothing holding her back.

  “Stay there,” she said, sliding the shower door open and turning on the taps. Water filled the stall and quickly heated, causing steam to billow into the bathroom.

  Cora stepped into the shower, reaching her hand under the water to test the heat. Then she let the stream run over her body. Seeing her naked and wet, hair growing dark and damp, cheeks flushed with wanting, was enough to bring him to his knees. Trent felt himself grow harder and harder behind the fly of his pants, a sense of aching flooding his veins.

  He wanted Cora more than he’d ever wanted another woman.

  It was almost painful to wait and watch, and he palmed himself in restless anticipation.

  Cora didn’t miss the action, and it quirked her lips up, as though his anxiousness to join in the fun fueled her. She reached for the soap, lathering it between her hands and then sliding the bar over her skin. It circled her breasts, coating them in creamy lather, before dipping down over the plane of her stomach to foam the skin of her inner thighs. Trent groaned out loud.

  “You’re killing me,” he said.

  Her smile was damning. “Stay right where you are.”

  “You’re getting off on my pain, wicked woman.” He took a step forward, but she held a hand up in warning.

  “I get the impression you were never very good at following instructions.” The bar circled over her thighs, higher and higher. Then she took one hand and brought it up between her legs, grazing her sex.

  “I’m not,” he growled. In seconds, his jeans and T-shirt were on the ground. His socks followed soon after. Then his jocks. “And if you think I’m going to miss out on the action, then you’re dead wrong.”