Unexpected Heat: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Sarah J. Brooks

  Unexpected Heat

  Sarah J. Brooks

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Special Invitation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  EPILOGUE

  Preview: My Best Mistake

  About the Author

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Copyright © 2020 by Sarah J. Brooks

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Special Invitation

  Hey Sweetie,

  do you want to get THREE romance novels sent directly to your Facebook Messenger inbox? Simply click here and I will reach out to you personally!

  With love and talk soon,

  Sarah

  Chapter 1

  Mila

  I love my studio, and right now, it’s super tidy with everything on my desk arranged neatly and the easels standing side by side. My gaze falls on my three work-in-progress portraits, and I know they’ll soon go to the trash can. They look terrible.

  A heaviness comes over my body.

  How long will it last, this inability to work? The last time I turned out a good piece was almost a year ago. Thankfully, I’ve been prolific over the last couple of years, taking in portrait jobs that have earned me a nice nest egg. Money is not an issue.

  It is the growing hole in my chest where my heart should be and the feeling of restlessness that can only be relieved by my work. And yet, I can’t paint. What if my ability to paint never comes back? Panic spreads in my chest.

  Painting is the one thing that has always belonged to me, that kept me sane no matter what was going on in the rest of my life. Clay took with him my self-esteem and my ability to love again. But worse than those things, is that since the day he left, I haven’t painted. It’s as if my hands have forgotten how to move the paintbrush across the canvas, and my brain can’t fathom what is expected of it.

  The doorbell rings. The sudden noise jolts me out of my thoughts. A rare intrusion. I tick off all possibilities. There is only one person who would come to my house without calling first. The one person I never want to see again. The cause of my painter’s block.

  I leave my studio on the second story and sprint down the stairs. I peer through the keyhole. Clay’s dark eyes stare back as if he can see me. With a sigh, I fling the door open.

  “What do you want?” I say with no pretense of politeness. We are beyond that now. With the divorce final, there’s nothing to bind us together anymore.

  “Is that any way to greet your husband?” he says and leans on the door frame.

  Anger coils itself around my insides. I inhale deeply. I cannot show him how angry he still makes me. “Ex-husband,” I point out, my tone casual.

  He has bags around his eyes. Once, that would have made my heart squeeze and brought out my protective feelings. Now, I observe him impartially. As one would a stranger.

  I take in his bushy eyebrows, long hair that falls to his shoulders, and I can’t believe that I once found Clay hot. He’s wearing a leather jacket even though the weather is too warm. He peruses me too, his eyes lingering on my chest. He always loved my big boobs. I fight the temptation to cross my hands across my chest to protect myself from his stare. He frowns as he takes in my flared shorts. Clay hated when I wore shorts or spaghetti tops. He insisted I cover up even when I wasn’t going to leave the house.

  I can’t tell you how liberating it has been to stay in my shorts all day without someone breathing down my neck. I flash him a smile of triumph. A genuine one. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

  “I just came by to check on you,” he says, and I stare at him in amazement.

  “We’re divorced, Clay. You don’t get to check on me,” I say, imitating his voice.

  He adopts a hurt look. I don’t care. I just want him gone.

  “Where’s Terry?” I ask him.

  “I’m done with Terry.” A crease forms across his forehead. “I told you that in one of the messages I sent you. You didn’t read them, did you?” He narrows his eyes.

  “You’re right; I didn’t.” My phone has been flashing with messages from him all week. I delete them without even taking a peek.

  “I can’t fucking stand it there,” Clay says. “I want to come back home, Mila. Those children don’t give you a moment of peace with all their screaming and shouting.”

  His words are like a sword to my chest, and for a second, I can’t speak. “That’s why you left, remember? You wanted children.”

  He had thrown it at me as he’d packed his clothes. He wanted a real woman. One who could give him a family. Never mind that we had never discussed children.

  I had known there was something the matter with me. In all the years that Clay and I had been married, I had never used contraceptives. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had hoped for a surprise pregnancy, but when that didn’t happen, I let it go. We were happy and didn’t need children to complete us. That’s what I’d foolishly thought. Then Clay dropped the bomb. He was leaving.

  “How’s your painting going?” he asks with a smile that does not reach his eyes.

  His concern is fake. Clay had never shown any interest in my painting. He called it a hobby, and when the money started rolling in, he shrugged and dismissed it as a nice hobby. He worked as a marketer for a pharmaceutical company. A serious job compared to my little hobby.

  It hits me now how many differences we’d had, and I briefly wondered how we managed to stay married for three years. We were such different people.

  “Why do you care?” I say and suddenly feel drained. “Please just go.”

  I feel no anger or resentment toward him. He is just someone I used to know. Someone I once liked. Now I feel nothing for him.

  “We belong together, Mila,” he says.

  I meet his stare. His dark intense eyes glower back unblinking. Something dances in them. Something wild. Mad. A stab of fear courses through my veins. I shake myself out of it. Clay is selfish, not dangerous. He would never harm me. Still, I take a step back into the house.

  “Please leave,” I say, hating the fear
that creeps into my voice. I need to be alone right now. I try to close the door. Something jams it. Clay’s foot.

  “I made a mistake, Mila,” he says, his voice taking on a desperate tone. “People make mistakes, and they get forgiven, why can’t you forgive me?”

  My hands tremble as I try to push the door.

  “Will you think about it?” he says, leaning against the door.

  I nod. Anything to get him to go away. He does, and I bang the door in his face. I peer through the keyhole and jump back when I come up against his face close to the door. He stands there, looking at the door, and I’m frightened that he’ll try to break in.

  I tell myself I’m being silly.

  I run upstairs to my studio, sit down, and wait for my breath to return to normal. When it does, I pick up my phone, and with shaking fingers, speed dial Jessica’s number.

  “Please tell me you’re doing something that normal adults do at this time of day,” Jessica says by way of greeting.

  In the background, I hear children’s laughter and shouts. It reminds me of Clay’s words about children. A shiver goes through me.

  “Mila?” Jessica says. “Are you all right?”

  “Kind of,” I say and then proceed to tell her about Clay’s visit.

  She knows him well. Her husband and Clay are cousins. That’s how I met him. Double dating with my best friend and her husband. I know Jessica feels bad about that, but no one could have predicted that two people so smitten with one another could end up divorced in less than three years.

  “You need to get a restraining order against him,” Jessica fumes over the phone.

  “It’s the first time he’s come around,” I tell her.

  “It won’t be the last. I can’t believe he thinks there’s a chance you would take him back after what he did.”

  “I’m so tempted to go away,” I say. “Someplace where it’s hot throughout the year and where no one knows me.” The fantasy grows in my head. “I’d forget about painting for a while and just be someone else.”

  “Have a hot affair,” Jessica quips.

  “Yes, a hot Adonis with eyes for no one but me,” I add with a giggle.

  “And fall in love,” Jessica says.

  I snap back to the present. “Why do you have to spoil my fantasy?” I pout. “You know that’s out of the cards for me. I’m not averse to an affair, though.”

  “You don’t have the temperament for it,” Jessica says. “You’re the romantic type of woman. Happy ever after and all that—the best kind of woman.”

  “I used to be. Not anymore. I’m done with marriage and relationships and all that soppy stuff.”

  “Now that is sad,” Jessica says.

  It’s difficult for someone who has never been hurt to imagine the damage a man does when he leaves you for another woman. The dent to a person’s self-esteem. The pain that comes in waves, never completely leaving. The proof that you’re not good enough and will never be.That there will always be another woman who is sexier, better than you. That is the kind of pain I will never allow myself to go through again. I don’t expect Jessica, with a man who worships the ground she walks on, and three sweet boys that think the sun shines from their mother’s rear end, to understand.

  “Don’t let that worthless piece of shit spoil love for you. There are good men out there, Mila. You only need to find him.”

  My lungs constrict, making it hard to breathe. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Like your upcoming trip,” Jessica says, her voice cheerful.

  I love her for that. Her ability to know when to move on to less painful topics. She always knows when to push me and when to back off.

  “I was thinking of LA. Forever sunny,” I say and lean back into my seat as the fantasy takes hold.

  “You should go,” Jessica says. “Seriously. What’s stopping you? It’s a chance to get away from it all.”

  We both know ‘it all’ is referring to my painter’s block, but mostly Clay. The more we talk about it, the more the idea grows. My heartbeat races and drums in my chest. By the time we are finished talking, I can’t wait to get off the phone and check out homes to rent in LA.

  Chapter 2

  Brad

  “Hey, Brad, a couple of us are going out for a drink later, want to join us?” Ken, one of the guys asks me.

  I shake my head regretfully. As much as I used to enjoy spending a few hours with the guys, those are things I’ve pushed to the back burner for now. Life as a single parent leaves you little time for socializing. I don’t miss it, though. My life now revolves around my boy, and I’m happy this way.

  “Thanks, but no can do,” I reply cheerfully as I gather my gear.

  “I can ask Debbie to keep Isaac a while longer; she won’t mind,” Collins says.

  His wife picks up Isaac from kindergarten as she’s picking up their son and takes him home with her. I leave the fire station two hours later and go and pick him up from Debbie and Collins’ house.

  “Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but I’m beat, to be honest,” I tell Collins and slap his shoulder.

  I wave goodbye to the guys, pause briefly at the corner office to speak to the chief, and then I leave. I’m the only one of the firefighters in our station who works nine to five. All the other guys work in shifts. The chief arranged this for me after Brenda ran off with the neighbor, leaving me alone with a young baby.

  It’s been a year and a half now, and I’m only just feeling like I’m healing. I don’t look at Mike’s house and want to tear it down anymore. I know I’m healing because I can think of Brenda without my heart shrinking in my chest. The pain is gone now, but where my heart used to be is a huge block of cement.

  The only love I have belongs to Isaac. I turn the key, and the engine of the SUV roars to life. Minutes later, I’m driving towards Collins’ house, which, luckily, is only a few minutes from the station. I whistle, pleased that it’s Friday, my favorite day. I get to spend two whole days with Isaac.

  Isaac must have been peering through the window because as soon as I pull up into the driveway, he bursts out of the house. Debbie’s dark head emerges, and she follows him to the car. I jump out of the car and laughingly catch Isaac as he throws himself against me. I hold him tight, and for a second, neither of us speaks.

  “Hi, buddy,” I finally say as I lower him to the ground. My voice is gruff as it always is when I see Isaac after a few hours apart.

  “Hi Dad,” he says and opens the door to enter the car.

  “Brad.” Debbie comes to peck me on the cheek. “Isaac was eager for his dad today, and the boys are all looking forward to tomorrow’s training.”

  I grin. “Me too.”

  I coach little league every Saturday, something I enjoy doing, but it also keeps Isaac and I busy on Saturdays doing something constructive.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I tell Debbie and slip back into the car.

  She waves and returns to the house. Isaac and I chat about his day on the way home.

  “Look, Dad,” he says to me as I park in our driveway. “There’s a new neighbor.”

  Our drive is between our house and Mike’s house. Or rather, what was Mike’s house before he and Brenda ran off together. I’ve trained myself not to look at it, but now I turn as I kill the engine. My breath hitches as I stare at the most incredible pair of legs I have ever seen.

  Then, my gaze rises to her generous chest, and all the blood in my body drops to my cock. I’m glad to find that everything is working just fine down there because since Brenda left, I have never even looked at another woman sexually.

  The woman is lying on a lounger on the front lawn. She’s wearing shorts and a white top with the tails tied under her tits accentuating their size. I swallow a ball of saliva and force myself to look away. We get out of the car, and she still doesn’t open her eyes to look our way.

  I steal one last glance at her thighs, and then I propel Isaac toward the house. We’re both str
uck by the new neighbor, but our reasons are vastly different.

  “I’ll get dinner started,” I tell Isaac once we’re in the house.

  “Can I play with my ball outside?” he asks. “I’ll be in the front, and I won’t speak to strangers.”

  I grin. He knows all my fears. “Okay, but keep the front door open and don’t go disturbing the new neighbor.”

  “I won’t, Dad,” he says and bounds up to his room to get the ball.

  In the kitchen, I roll up my sleeves and get to work. I’ve become quite the chef since Brenda left. Trying out new recipes has been one way of keeping myself occupied. Over the last year and a half, I’ve learned survival techniques that have nothing to do with being a firefighter.

  Keeping busy is one of them, and ensuring that by bedtime, I’m so tired that it doesn’t take me more than a few minutes to fall asleep. The images of Brenda and Mike rolling around on Mike’s bed next door while I’m at work no longer haunt me.

  On the day she left, she had been in a vicious mood, telling me all the gory details of their affair. She planted images that haunted me for almost a year. How she spent the night at his house when I was working the night shift and excruciating details of how Mike fucked her. Things that a man should never hear about his wife.

  The only thing that had made me hang on to my sanity was Isaac. I’d been left without a wife, but Isaac had been left without a mother. He was three years old then, and after asking about her for months, he had abruptly stopped. We never speak about her. I don’t know whether that’s good or bad; I hate to bring it up and cause my boy more pain. I do wonder whether he has forgotten her in all his innocence. There’s no way to know without asking Isaac, and that is something I can’t bring myself to do.

  ***

  Dinner is ready, and I realize that I haven’t heard the sound of Isaac’s ball in the front yard. My stomach churns. I drop the kitchen towel and hurry out.

  “Isaac,” I shout as I step out onto the porch.

  There’s no response, and images of a frightened Isaac being driven off in a strange car fill my mind. I run out, and as I cross the front lawn, I hear his sweet voice. My knees almost buckle from the relief. I follow his voice, and when I see him, I smile despite my anxiety.