A Sudden Crush

by Camilla Isley

  “Aw, you really are a caveman.”

  “Shut up, woman.” And he makes sure I do by pressing his lips to mine, definitively silencing any speech capacity I had left.

  After the kiss, he gently takes the keys from my hand and lets us into the house. He shuts the door behind us, still carrying me around as if I weighed five pounds, and sits on my office couch with me on his lap. It’s about time someone used this couch. Right now, I’m so glad we put it in here.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says, twirling an unruly lock of my hair around his finger and finally replacing it behind my ear.

  “You’re not too bad yourself,” I reply shyly, tightening my grip on his nape.

  He places one hand on the small of my back, and someone had better give me a fire extinguisher because I am about to auto combust. My cheeks turn a burning shade of red, and I’m glad we’re in semi-darkness. I feel flustered. If he doesn’t kiss me again very soon, I am going to explode. Our bodies are touching in too many places. Believe me, I’m very aware of each and every one, and he still has those mocha-brown eyes fixated on me. I think I am about to liquefy.

  “Anna.”

  “Mmm?”

  “I’ve missed you,”

  “What did you miss?” I ask him.

  “Oh, I don’t know…your snoring, your hairy legs. Glad to see you shave them in the city.” He trails his left hand over one of my naked calves, sending electric tingles all over my body.

  I swat him playfully, and am rewarded with a kiss.

  “So you literally live in your office?” Connor asks when we break the kiss.

  “The apartment is actually upstairs. Would you like to see it?” I whisper, a bit self-conscious.

  He doesn’t reply, giving me a wolfish stare that makes me equally scared and ecstatic. Connor gets up from the couch, carrying me with him, and makes his way towards the stairs. At the top, he engulfs me in an even tighter embrace and kisses me senseless, leaving me finally free to melt in the arms of the caveman I love.

  46

  Walk of Shame

  When I wake up the next morning, I feel incredibly smug and pleased with myself. It takes me a little while to realize why, but Connor’s arm wrapped around my chest and his snuggling me closer to him in his sleep are wonderful hints to help my brain get up to date on the situation. I immediately feel flustered as memories from last night play before my eyes. I bury my head in my pillow, caught somewhere between utter shame and total bliss.

  My movements must wake Connor up, because I feel him stirring next to me. He buries his head in my neck and nuzzles it affectionately, adding fresh bruises to my already severe case of all-over beard burn, I’m sure.

  “Morning…” I say, turning around and cupping his face with one hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just making sure you’re real…” I whisper.

  “I have a better way of showing you,” Connor says with a wicked smile.

  I giggle like a schoolgirl as he pulls me toward him.

  “Want some breakfast?” I mumble sometime later. I am seriously debating the pros and cons of the meal myself. On the one hand, I’m hungry. On the other, I’m not sure I’m ready to get out of bed, or that I’ll ever be.

  “Yeah, sure. I’d better get dressed—my meeting is in less than two hours.” Apparently Connor isn’t having the same issues.

  I feel suddenly self-conscious and very naked. I slide out of the bed, put on a robe at the speed of light, and wait for Connor in the kitchenette.

  I’m fighting with the coffee maker—I don’t seem to remember how the thing works—when my mental capacities are further debilitated by Connor embracing me from behind. Why does this man have the power to melt my joints and transform my knees into a wobbly mess?

  “Here, let me do it.” He takes the task of making coffee out of my hands, and I busy myself with the preparation of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

  Why am I so nervous? He just said he has a meeting, not that he’s walking out of this house to never come back, right? I should try to relax.

  “I have to check out of my hotel by twelve,” Connor says, sitting down in front of me and practically devouring one of the sandwiches in a single bite. “Would you mind harboring an old friend for the weekend?” He raises his wicked eyebrow when he says old friend.

  With that simple question my anxiety evaporates, and I’m finally able to relax a little bit. “Mi casa es tu casa,” I reply with a smile.

  We’re still finishing breakfast when we hear some voices coming from downstairs.

  “Uh oh. I’m afraid you’ll have to do a walk of shame in front of the ladies.” I say ladies because Mark, the senior commissioning editor and only guy in the company, is always the last one in. “The only way out is right across the office.”

  “And I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes!” Connor mocks sarcastically in a girly voice.

  A smirk escapes my lips. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor…” I joke.

  “There are many things you still don’t know about me. We settled a few last night, though.” He gives me an intense stare and my cheeks go on fire.

  I let Connor finish his breakfast and I head to the bathroom to take a quick—very cold—shower. I, at least, need to look respectable in front of my employees. Although, I have to say that no amount of foundation will disguise the beard burn.

  Connor whistles at me when I emerge from the bathroom wearing a cool pair of palazzo pants, high heels, and a cute blue blouse with huge white polka dots and see-through sleeves.

  “Let’s go downstairs.” I lean in for a quick kiss, but he embraces me and adds some reddish bruises to my already irritated skin.

  “Hello everyone,” I say in a way-too-high voice.

  There’s only Mia and Claire in the office. Mia, who got somewhat accustomed to Connor’s imposing figure yesterday, is able to recover from the shock of his presence in a respectful amount of time. But Claire…she’s a goner. She’s just standing there with her mouth wide open, and such a bewildered look on her face.

  “Hello ladies,” Connor offers in his deep voice.

  Mia manages to throw a “hi” back. Claire closes and opens her mouth a couple of times, but nothing comes out.

  “I’d better get going,” Connor says, passing one hand through his hair. If I didn’t know him better, I would say he’s getting a bit shy.

  “See you later then.” I lean in for a chaste peck on the cheek, but he wraps his arms around my waist and kisses me full on the lips. Aw, well. I guess we’re going unmistakably public.

  As soon as Connor shuts the door behind him, it’s as if a bomb loaded with girly questions exploded in the room. Some of them sensible, some X-rated, and some unrepeatable. I answer some of the sensible ones and sit at my desk, unable to wipe away the dreamy smile that has taken permanent residence on my face.

  When Connor comes back, everyone has already left, even if Claire lingered way past her usual Friday schedule. I made reservations for us at a cool restaurant in the Gold Coast, but we never make it out of the apartment, and the night is blissfully spent in bed. As is the next day. We only get up to scour the apartment for food, or order takeout. It’s as if we have to make up for five months of nights spent together without really being together, which suits me perfectly.

  47

  The End

  On Sunday morning I wake up feeling cold. I have this sense of dread sitting in the pit of my stomach. The past two days have been wonderful; I feel like a love struck teenager. Ridiculously happy, silly, in love… But tomorrow’s Monday and it’s back to real life. Connor will have to go back to his ranch, and I’m here in Chicago. I know Dubuque isn’t on the other side of the world or something, but it’s still a four-hour drive from here. What are we going to do? Are we going to date long distance? When will we be able to see each other? On weekends, maybe? Is it going to be all weekends at first, then twice a month, then once…and finally none?


  I snuggle in closer to Connor’s warm body to try to push the ice out of my bones, but since it comes from within me the move has little effect. I stare at the alarm clock on the bedside table, and another shiver passes through me. It’s already eleven…if he wants to be home at a decent hour he’ll have to leave in the early evening at the latest, which means we only have a few hours left to spend together. I turn around and wake him up with a kiss. Then I make love to him with the desperation of someone who knows it’s the last time.

  “I could eat an elephant right now,” Connor says afterward, as relaxed as a man could be. He lazily stretches on the bed and yawns, satisfied. “Do you want to stay in or go out to grab something?”

  “In,” I reply. I don’t want to share him with anyone, not even a bartender for the five seconds it takes to place an order.

  “Let me make you breakfast.” He stamps a kiss on my forehead and shuffles out of bed.

  My instinct would be to wrap myself around him and force him to stay close to me, but I let him slip out. The cold becomes fiercer. I need to stay calm. He’s calm. Why shouldn’t I be relaxed?

  I cocoon myself in a warm robe and move into the kitchen. Mmm, it smells delicious in here. He’s making pancakes. Connor is wearing my cooking apron over his boxers and he’s making me pancakes. I don’t want to see him on the weekends. I want to have breakfast with him every morning of every day. I so wish we still were shipwrecked. Why did my brother rescue us? Next time I see Matt, I’m going to kick him in the shins.

  “You like pancakes?” Connor flips one in the pan. “We only had eggs left to work with.”

  Do I like pancakes? I love pancakes. I love you. I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified of losing you. Okay, mind, let’s stay on topic. “Sure,” I mumble.

  “Are you? You look as if I was making you snappers…”

  He manages to get a shy smile out of me. “Yeah, I’m sure,” I say, a lot more convinced. “These are delicious,” I add, taking a small bite. “What else can you cook? I mean, besides disgusting snappers and passable lobsters?” I tease.

  “You’ll have to try one of my steaks. Secret family recipe. It’s the best you’ll ever taste.”

  “I would love to.” When exactly am I going to try it? Was that an invitation?

  He stares at his watch and I hate him for it.

  “My dad is probably giving me up for missing again. How’s the traffic getting out of the city on Sundays?”

  Traffic? Is he really worrying about traffic right now?

  “Pretty bad, actually. You should get going if you want to be home for dinner,” I spit acidly.

  “Are you in one of your charming moods?”

  “No, I am not in a mood,” I yell.

  “Clearly not,” he replies sarcastically, leaning back on his stool. “What did I do wrong this time?”

  “Nothing, you did nothing wrong,” I hiss.

  “Anna, talk to me. What is it? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I’m not stupid.”

  “Okay, it’s not nothing. It’s that I don’t know when—if—I’m going to see you next, and all you seem worried about is how long it’ll take you to get home, and if there’s going to be traffic.” I say “traffic” with such spite that I make him slightly recoil in his chair.

  “What do you mean if?” he asks, dumbfounded.

  I guess I’ll have to spell it out for him. “Well, we don’t exactly live next to each other. I have no idea what you plan to do. What are we going to do? Are we going to see each other during the weekends? Do you want to date me, or are you going back to Dubuque and I’m never going to see you again? Was this just a one night stand, well more of a two-day stand…whatever.” I’m rambling. “What’s it going to be, Connor? You don’t seem worried in the least about us.”

  “Ah, women.” He shakes his head.

  “If you’re about to start with one of your sexist speeches, you can save it for someone else.”

  “Now you listen to me,” he says heatedly, and I have to say I’m glad he’s finally getting worked up, because his calm was unnerving me. “I’m not worried because I’m not leaving you here. I want you to come with me.”

  “What?” I ask, taken aback.

  “Come with me,” he repeats in a softer tone.

  “You mean to visit?” I ask, immediately mollified. “I guess I could take a few days off.” I could take my entire life off.

  “No, I mean to stay.”

  “Stay?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve been thinking…you could do your writing or editing from wherever, right? We could come to Chicago every month and stay here at your place for three, four days, even a week if you have business to do in the city. My partners would be happy to see me more often, and…I don’t know. I think we could make things work…”

  “You want me to move in with you?” I repeat, incredulous. This is too good to be true.

  “Anna, I love you. I’ve been in love with you from the moment you pushed me in the lake. I’m not losing you again. I want to move in with you, I want to marry you, I want to have babies with you…”

  I can almost feel my ovaries do a victory dance, but nothing is comparable to the party going on in my chest.

  “Anna.” Connor gets up, comes around the kitchen island, and gets down on one knee. “Marry me.” It sounds more like a statement than a question.

  I look at him, unable to speak. For a brief moment, I think about Liam’s proposal. How everything was perfectly orchestrated, proper, expected…and how this is so the opposite, abrupt, improvised. We’re barely wearing any clothes, there is no ring, and there are no instructions to follow…just my heart to listen to…

  “Yes, yes, yes…a million times yes,” I shout.

  I launch myself into his arms and knock him down. I lie over him and press my lips on his.

  “I love you,” he says, staring up at me from the kitchen floor.

  “I love you too.” I kiss him again. I pull back almost immediately. “But we’re driving to Canada for the honeymoon…”

  Connor roars with laughter. “As the lady commands.” He tucks a loose lock of hair behind my ear. “Now shut up and kiss me.” He tugs me toward him and I happily lose myself in his embrace. I don’t feel lost anymore. I am finally home.

  48

  The Last Page

  143 Days into the Wilderness by Joanna Price

  Dedication

  To Connor. Thank you for teaching me how to brush my teeth with a twig. For getting a very bad case of red eyes after spearing lobsters for me for a week because I refused to talk to you, and for fishing naked when you thought I was asleep. Thanks for rescuing me from poisonous spiders--both real and imaginary. For building me a lopsided shelter and for being my refuge. Thank you for making me laugh when all I wanted was to cry. Thank you for saving me in all the ways a woman can be saved.

  Take care,

  Anna

  ###

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed A Sudden Crush. If you loved or hated my story--I value every opinion--please consider leaving a review on Goodreads and/or Amazon. Reviews are the biggest gift you can give to an author, and word of mouth is the most powerful means of book discovery.

  If you’re craving some more romance and humor, keep reading for an excerpt from my debut novel I Wish for You.

  Thank you for your support!

  Love,

  Camilla

  I Wish for You by Camilla Isley

  1

  The Day After

  I abruptly wake up thanks to the racking sound of my alarm clock piercing deeply into my skull. I come to a sitting position and silence the damn thing, slamming my right hand on the off button.

  My head is spinning, I feel kind of ill, and as soon as my comatose brain regains consciousness I remember why, which definitely isn’t a good thing. In fact, as my memory comes back I experience a stream of increasingly awful emotions. It starts with a choking pain, imm
ediately followed by fear, anguish, and a strong wave of nausea. Ouch, heartbreak sucks!

  I lie back on the pillows, trying to abate my squeamishness. Sugar, my black and white rescue cat, decides this is a good moment to jump on my belly and meow for his breakfast.

  “Not now, baby,” I say, pushing him aside. “I need five minutes before I get up.”

  No. No. No. I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to go into work either, not today, please, not after what happened. I’m not ready for it. I will look awful, and I’m being optimistic.

  I spent the whole night crying. My eyes are going to be horrendously red and puffy, and my skin will probably be ghastly, in-between a putrid mustard and greenish coloring. There will be no mistaking my utter state of distraught. Damn! I can already picture the evil grin of triumph on her face. Of course, she’s going to mask it as one of her best I-want-world-peace beauty pageant smiling faces, pretending nothing’s wrong.

  Don’t you hate it when you know someone to be vicious, but you’re the only one who can see it because they pretend to be the most kind and caring person in the world? Well, she’s the kind of two-faced poser who manages to make you feel like the wrongdoer even when it’s her delivering a sucker punch to your stomach. She does it with such grace and poise that you don’t even feel entitled to argue or be angry.

  I have a horrible feeling she knows exactly how badly this hurts for me. Now that I think about it, many of the little nasty remarks she’s been making in the past months about the guy she was dating begin to make sense. I had a feeling that she was taking my unconcerned responses as a personal affront. Maybe she thought I knew! Well, from my reaction yesterday it must have been pretty clear that I didn’t. Wait a second, how long has she been doing it? When did she start? Did she say dating? Did she use the word boyfriend?

  Oi.

  At the thought, my heart skips a beat and I gasp for air. Wow, this hurts…this physically hurts! I have a huge ball of pain in my chest that expands all the way down to my stomach. I can hardly breathe and I feel terribly dizzy. Lying back on the pillows is not helping. My heart is beating so fast I can’t suck in air, and I feel trapped. Yeah, trapped in my horrible, disastrous life.