With love from rose bend, p.31
With Love from Rose Bend, page 31
Breathing is.
Then she’d wake up, heart pounding, humiliation a cold, wet slick over her skin, bitterness dirty in her throat, as she tried to convince herself it was a dream and not her real life.
But it was her real life, and her bogeyman—still handsome—stood not three feet in front of her.
“Derek.”
He stared at her, as if he expected her to say more. Anger flashed inside her, a struck match flickering to life. Well, he would have a long wait. He’d obviously followed her. He’d cornered her. She didn’t have a damn thing to say to him.
And yes, the situation so merited that curse.
“I noticed you in the reception earlier. And I... Well, I didn’t want to cause a scene or be the source of any more pain for you...” He paused, but she still didn’t say a word and a small frown creased his brow. He shifted forward, a hand outstretched. “But I wanted to speak to you. Needed to speak to you.”
“And it’s all about what you want, yeah?” A new but now familiar voice joined the conversation. “Forget that she’s working right now and they’re not paying her to have a reunion with you. She also doesn’t need your bullshit or drama.”
Both Korrie and Derek stiffened, but for different reasons.
Derek, probably because an unwanted interloper had intruded on his planned ambush. That had always been Derek. A planner. Which was why his abandoning her had been such a twisting knife in her heart. He’d have known for at least days in advance that he had no intentions of showing up to the church. And he hadn’t had the decency to give her a heads-up.
Her, because... Well, because Israel’s scent, like freshly washed sheets and sun-warmed skin, enveloped her in its own ephemeral embrace.
“Excuse me,” Derek said, glaring at Israel, who stood just behind Korrie. “But this is between Korrie and me. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Thank you for that update.” Israel snorted. “And yet, I think I’ll stay.”
“Derek,” Korrie gritted out, irritation toward both of them sticking to her chest wall like burrs. “Now is not the time. I’m on a job. If—and that’s a big if—I decide to talk to you, it will be on my timetable. Not yours. Now, you’re obviously a guest of either the bride or groom, and I can’t do anything about you being in attendance here. But I can do something about you being near me. Which I prefer you not be. Goodbye, Derek.”
“Keke—” he murmured, using his nickname for her. As if that would, what? Soften her? Tug on old memories? A cheap trick that wouldn’t work.
“Good. Bye. Derek.”
Frustration crossed his face, but he dipped his chin, pivoted and walked off down the hall, back toward the main room of the restaurant. As soon as he slipped back through the doors, she turned and faced Israel, the irritation brewing inside her flaming into anger.
Her first glimpse of him in the light tightened her belly like a screw. Pulling. Coiling. Aching. It echoed in her chest, constricting her airways so her breath squeaked past. It pulsed in her nipples, tautening the tips into beads. It spasmed in her sex, tugging hard, leaving her hot and so wet.
He was younger than she’d first assumed. Maybe five or seven years junior to her thirty-four. But...
Good God.
The man was beautiful.
Not in a traditional or conventional way, not like Derek. But with an almost brutal, raw magnetism that fairly emanated from him in waves. In the dark, she hadn’t fully appreciated the wide breadth of his powerful shoulders and chest that were barely constrained in a white dress shirt. The sleeves, rolled up to just below his elbows, exposed sinewy forearms covered in colorful tattoos that reached to his wrists. More ink peeked from the open collar of his shirt and crept up the side of his neck. How far did that gorgeous artwork extend? The question popped in her mind as she scanned a flat abdomen, lean waist and thick thighs encased in slim black pants. What did it say about her that even as she debated strangling him with the belt on her dress—her only option since she couldn’t possibly get her smaller hands around that strong neck—she wanted to seek out every tattoo on him with her fingers, mouth...tongue.
What. Was. Happening?
Not only was he tattooed, rude and much too wildly beautiful for her comfort, but he was too young. She already had “jilted bride” on her résumé, she didn’t need to add “cougar.”
Sucking in a much-needed breath, she stepped back. And to be on the safe side, took another step.
Yes, she was angry at his high-handedness. At assuming she was weak. Focus on that.
“In spite of what you think you saw out there—” she jabbed a finger toward the porch “—I’m no damsel in distress, and I don’t need a knight in shining armor riding to my rescue.”
His full lips tightened at the corners, and lightning flashed in his denim eyes.
“Good. Because I’m no knight to the rescue and have no desire to be one for anyone.”
“Then it seems we’re in full agreement on something for the first time.” Embarrassment fed her anger. Embarrassment over him witnessing her initially freezing at the sight of Derek. Embarrassment that for a brief moment, relief had trickled through her like cool water over hot skin, when Israel had appeared and spoken up for her. She didn’t need his pity. Hated it. “I can take care of and speak for myself. I don’t need saving.”
“Duly noted, Ms. Korrie Noel.” He saluted her, the gesture as mocking as the tilt of his mouth, then stalked away in the opposite direction Derek had disappeared.
Damn him for looking as good going as he did coming.
And yes. That curse was merited, too.
CHAPTER TWO
ISRAEL POPPED THE caps off two bottles of Sam Adams and set them down in front of the two women perched at the end of the bar. They both thanked him, and the brunette flashed him a flirtatious smile, giving him a heated look he had no problem recognizing from under her lowered lashes. At any other time, he probably would’ve picked up that gauntlet.
Instead, he rapped his knuckles on the scarred wood top and moved on to take the order of the next customer waiting on their drink. Road’s End, the dive bar where he worked, was packed on this Thursday night. As usual, since Maddox Holt, the owner and Israel’s best friend, hired a live band on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. Not that business wasn’t respectable the other days of the week. As the only dive bar in Rose Bend, most of the stools and tables were usually filled, but there was something about the weekend—or coming weekend—and men and women rocking it out onstage that brought people in droves even from the next towns over. Which meant more tips for him.
Usually, that had him looking forward to the last days of the week. After all, they kept him so busy he didn’t have time to think on anything but serving drinks, chatting up customers and collecting tips. Definitely no time to dwell on how much longer he intended to hide out here in a small town in the southern Berkshires pretending to be a late-twentysomething bartender with no other ambition in life but to master the perfect pour. Yep, as long as he could keep occupied, he could make believe he’d never had a life outside of Rose Bend, a completely different career he’d once loved, a wife he’d divorced...
Yeah. He was stellar at pretending.
Or at least he had been until last week and a certain wedding.
It figured it’d be the kind of occasion he avoided like the plague that would be the catalyst for this restless itch that refused to go away.
If Doug, one of the bartenders here, hadn’t invited him to his wedding, and Maddox and Cherrie, Maddox’s wife, hadn’t guilted Israel into going, he’d have never met a certain wedding planner out on a deserted patio. Wouldn’t have engaged in verbal sparring that equated to the hottest foreplay of his life. Wouldn’t have been so distracted by a certain planner that a blatant invitation from another woman didn’t entice him at all.
Distracted, hell.
Fascinated. Enraptured. Fucking whipped.
He shook his head. Talk about an exercise in futility. If he laid out a map and penciled in his name on one side of the country and her name on the other, it still wouldn’t begin to describe the divide between them.
Pastor’s daughter. He hadn’t stepped foot in a church in years.
Rose Bend native and town good girl. He was a transplant who worked in the local dive bar.
Wedding planner. He’d rather walk over live coals and then frolic in a pool of alcohol before having anything to do with weddings or, God forbid, love.
She hated the sight of him. He wanted to fuck her until neither one of them could move.
See? Different.
“Iz?” Maddox nudged his shoulder as he built a Guinness. “You’ve been requested at the other end of the bar.”
The gleam in his eyes should’ve been enough of a warning before Israel set the shot of whiskey down in front of a customer and turned in the direction of the entrance.
Yeah. Nothing could’ve been proper enough warning.
Korrie.
He stared. Wasn’t even any point in denying it. He openly stared at the woman who’d refused to get the hell out of his head this past week.
In his other life, he’d been a wordsmith. Words had been the tools of his trade and arranging them to paint literary pictures had been his absolute pleasure. But after the hellscape of his divorce, they’d abandoned him. Like a lobotomy, that part of him, that almost magical, creative stirring he’d always counted on had been sliced off. He hadn’t written a word in two years. Yet now, as on that dark patio, that stirring returned. Just a mere whisper. But when it’d been absent for so long, that whisper had nearly knocked him on his ass like a lion’s roar. And the common denominator?
Her.
He’d heard musicians talk of muses before. And yeah, whatever worked for other people, but he’d never bought into that.
Until a week ago.
Until her.
No, he still hadn’t written a word. And the thought of opening up his laptop again, sitting in front of it and pulling up a blank document had a cold sweat breaking out over his skin. But it couldn’t smother the embers of hope from burning.
What if...
He squashed those cinders, extinguished them before they could take spark. How many times had he wished—even went so far as to pray—that the words would return? But they hadn’t. He wasn’t setting himself up for that again. And no face, no matter how beautiful, could return that gift to him.
He forced his feet forward, because part of him yelled he should wheel his ass around and head in the opposite direction. The woman disturbed him.
But he headed toward her anyway. Because he’d always been a stubborn shit.
“Korrie Noel.” He added a drawl to her name guaranteed to send irritation flashing in her dark brown eyes. Just. Like. That. “What brings you to my world? Slumming it? Or are you out here to evangelize to us sinners?”
Another bolt of annoyance flickered in her gaze, but she simply arched her dark brows and leaned forward on her crossed arms. “That depends. Are you willing to turn from your wicked ways?”
He propped his arms on the bar top and met her halfway. This close, her delicate scent of lavender and something sweet like almonds teased him. Tempted him. He curled his fingers, pressing the tips hard into his muscle. “Why would I ever do that, when my wicked ways are so much fun, Barbie?” he murmured. “Don’t knock ’em ’til you try ’em.”
She didn’t immediately reply, but stared at him, her eyes meeting his without flinching. Goddamn, those eyes. Pure, melted caramel with shards of a darker chocolate. He could peer into her gaze and, like a chameleon, always find something different. Something intriguing.
Clearing her throat, she straightened, breaking the taut silence that had descended between them. Tension hummed through him, alive, loud and demanding. He mimicked her action, slowly straightening, edging away from her lest he do something ill-advised. Like wrap his hand around the back of her neck, haul her forward and take that cock tease of a mouth.
“Speaking of trying them...” she said.
Israel frowned. “Trying what?”
“Your wicked ways.” She cleared her throat again, glanced to the side. Down at her hands, which twisted a napkin. Then back up at him. “I want to.”
“I’m lost.” Like Hansel and Gretel meeting a cannibal witch in the woods lost. “You want what?”
She inhaled a breath and splayed her fingers wide on the bar top. “I want you to teach me to...to...”
“To?”
“To not give a fuck.”
He blinked.
Shock rippled through him, its waves like sonic booms that rocked him. Surely, he hadn’t... She couldn’t have said... No, she wouldn’t have...
And at some point, he was going to complete a sentence.
Spinning on the heel of his work boot, he strode over to Maddox and clapped his shoulder. When his friend turned around, he didn’t waste any time. “Hey, can you get Daphne to cover me while I take a fifteen-minute break?”
Maddox scanned the crowded bar and the tables and dance floor beyond. But when he returned his narrowed gaze to Israel, he gave him a sharp nod. “I got you covered. Make it fast, though, yeah? We’re only going to get more swamped.”
“I promise. And thanks, man.”
“Sure thing.” The corner of Maddox’s mouth quirked. “Are my eyes deceiving me, or is that Pastor Noel’s daughter?”
“Don’t trust your lying eyes, Maddy.”
Clapping him on the shoulder again, Israel strode to the bar hatch, lifted it and passed through. In moments, he stood next to Korrie, cupping her elbow.
He lowered his head next to her ear and tried to ignore the tickle of her dark brown curls on his cheek and nose. “Come with me outside?”
After a brief hesitation, she nodded and slid from the stool. He guided her through the throng of people, putting his body between her and them until he reached the entrance and pushed through the door. As soon as he stepped outside, he dropped his hand as if her skin burned through her long-sleeved white shirt. He was half-convinced his palm carried a brand, but he refused to look.
Moving far enough away from the door so they wouldn’t hinder anyone from entering, but close enough to remain in the light so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable, he leaned his back against the brick building, crossing his arms and studying her.
And damn, did he like studying her.
They might not have officially met before that night on the patio, but he’d immediately recognized her.
Or his dick had.
Hell, all it took was one look at that smooth, gorgeous skin only a couple of shades darker than her eyes, those striking cheekbones sharp enough to etch glass, a patrician nose with flared nostrils and a wide, sensual mouth that God surely couldn’t have had anything to do with. Nothing holy or innocent about those plush lips. Thank the Lord.
His gaze dipped lower to the simple white cotton shirt and dark jeans that her petite, curvaceous body transformed into elegant couture straight off a New York Fashion Week runway, sexy as one of Victoria’s Secret’s newest fashions. Full, firm breasts that pushed against the top. Hips that enticed hands to grip, hold on to...bruise. An ass that made him want to drop to his knees in prayer. And thighs. Jesus. Thighs so thick and toned, he ached to sink his teeth in before wrapping them around him.
In a word, she was...flawless.
Inhaling a long breath through his nose, he mentally withdrew from the temptation of her even if he couldn’t physically distance himself.
“I have fifteen minutes for you to convince me I didn’t hear what I think I just heard.”
She heaved a sigh and thrust her hand through her tight curls, and he flexed his own hand. Jealous. Yeah, he wanted to sift those strands through his own fingers and discover their texture for himself.
“Let me start over because that came out wrong back there.”
He snorted. “You think?”
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our meeting last week.”
Join our illicit club of two.
Bending his knee, his pressed his foot against the building and waited.
“More specifically, I can’t stop thinking about how you described me. How you...perceive me.” She frowned, and Israel stiffened, his stomach cranking tight at the uncertainty that wavered across her face. “Perfect. Pastor’s kid. Town darling. Uptight.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Her mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. “You didn’t have to. It was more than implied.” When he parted his lips to object, because dammit, he was going to object, she held up a hand. “No, you’re right. I am uptight. I am all those things you called me—or I’ve tried to be. Or tried to make people believe I am. It’s...exhausting. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” She huffed out a dry chuckle, her gaze shifting to the ground between them. Several moments passed, and then she lifted her gaze to him, spearing him with those toffee-colored eyes. “I’m thirty-four years old and I’ve never made a decision based solely on my needs, my wants. I’ve always weighed how my choices will reflect on my father, his church, my image, on my marriageability and later, Derek. And when Derek...”
She wrapped her arms around her waist and a fire seethed inside him. He itched to hunt down her coward ex and kick in his balls to show him where they were located.
“When Derek left, it became important to show everyone I wasn’t affected. That I wasn’t broken. So I was—I’m still—making decisions for others and not for me. And I’m done with that. At least for tonight.”
Another laugh, but this one more real. And goddammit, why did his arms ache to hold her? He wasn’t the holding type.
