The Running Series Complete Collection: 3-Book Set plus Bonus Novella (118 page)

“My high school calculus teacher?” I jest.  That was the only class I ever got a C in.

“Worse.”

“What’s worse than calculus?”

“Not what – who!  Dickhead called me.  He’s started his own web design company and he’s trying to drum up some new business.”  She laughs as she tells the story.  She loves calling my ex-boyfriend David “Dickhead”.  “Does he honestly believe I’d do business with him after the way he treated you?  What a dumbass!”

“Did he know you’re working in
my
restaurant?” I ask, stunned.

“He tried to play dumb, but it’s pretty common knowledge, Jette. If he’s so damn good at web design, he could have easily figured it out by checking out my Facebook page alone.” 

“He must have known you’d turn him down and I’d never be able to work with him.  So what do you think he wanted?” I ask.

“You.  He was asking tons of questions about you and Evan, and none of them had anything to do with your webpage.”  She stands there staring at me, waiting for a reaction.

“How long did you talk to him?”  I can’t believe she didn’t just hang up on him immediately.

“I let him talk for a while.  I wanted him to show his hand.  And he did.  He couldn’t care less about our web design needs, if you know what I mean.”

“And what did you tell him?” I can’t stand the thought of David inserting himself back into my life.

“Only what he needs to know,” she assures me.

“Which is what, exactly?” I demand.

“Only how happy you are and how Evan is the best thing that ever happened to you.  I told him how Evan takes care of you emotionally, financially, and physically.  And how he’s so devoted to you that he would take a bullet for you.”  She pauses for a moment to let that sink in before adding, “I had to tell him how happy I am that you finally found someone to love you the way you deserve to be loved.  And do you know what he said?”

I shake my head.

“He said he agrees.”

“Do you think he’ll call again?”  God, I hope she says no.  I closed that chapter a long time ago and I have no desire to walk down that particular memory lane.

“Not a chance.”

Spill the Beans

I
awake with a start to the music of my alarm. In a sleeplike trance, I silence it and lie back in bed.  Breathing out slowly and gently, I let my eyes flutter open and the bare white ceiling comes into a softly blurred view, the rising sun transforming its blank color into a beautiful, illuminated glowing canvas.

It is still early in the morning, and far too soon for me to be waking up from my very pleasant slumber. But today is Thanksgiving and there’s much work to be done.  I’m not ready to get up.  Every time I close my eyes I can still see visions from last night.  Evan lustfully looming over me, his weight and sight of his muscular form making me squirm and writhe.

Breaking my reminiscence, I slowly rise, the silken blankets falling from my body as I prop myself up on my hands, leaving me completely exposed. I idly glance at the window, where beams of early morning sunlight escape through the thin fabric, highlighting the bedroom walls with radiant light and dark shadow.

I look at the slumbering mass lying next to me, his angelic face turned toward me, eyes closed, his face without emotion but clearly content.  The blanket only covers his perfect form from the waist down, his strong hand resting on the firm yet soft skin of his belly.  I watch the hypnotic rise and fall of his chest. 

I just gaze at him in awe, reaching out to twirl his smooth chestnut locks between my nimble fingers. I rest my head back on the soft pillow beneath me and move closer to him, just enough that I can feel his warm, gentle breath pan across my face.

Staring down at him, I am left with one thought.  He is perfect – more than perfect.  He is mine, and I adore him with every ounce of my being.

I lightly rest my hand on his cheek and trace the outline of his gloriously prominent jawbone, all the way down to the magnificent hollow of his neck, which I grace with feather-light kisses.

Suddenly I feel the mattress dip as he shifts his weight, instinctively moving closer to my touch. I freeze in position, staying as still as I can, wanting to prolong my pleasurable explorations for as long as possible before he wakes.

Once he settles, I snuggle close to him, resting a hand on his broad chest, and sigh as I brush my fingertips across his glorious pectoral muscles. I lie there, making my fingers dance with dainty steps over the defined contours on the surface of his chest. I wish we could just stay like this; no one disturbing us, a deliciously comfortable silence that I can hold on to forever.

Evan fidgets again and for a moment my heart stops, fearing that I’ve awoken him from his lulled dreaming state. With his eyes still closed, he stretches out his long arms, obviously searching for my sleeping person.  I crawl closer to him as he circles his arms around me, pulling me tightly in to him.  The wicked smile that spreads across his perfect lips makes my heart melt. I cuddle up to him, basking in his gentle silence, listening to his slow, deep breaths.

I bring my lips to his ear and whisper in the smallest voice I can muster, “Good morning, future husband.”

In one swift motion, Evan flips me onto my back and hovers over me, brushing kisses up my neck and stopping when he reaches my ear.  My skin burns from his touch.  Eager to feel more of his sweet torture, I arch my neck to give him greater access to the tender flesh beneath my ear.  Evan whispers sweetly, “Mrs. Evan McGuire.”  He nibbles my ear.  “Juliette McGuire.”  He nuzzles my hair.  “Juliette Evangeline McGuire.” 

I grin as my name leaves his lips.  It sounds right.  I think I will like wearing his name and leaving mine behind.  The thought of him wearing my ring makes me glow with hope and joy.

The longer I allow Evan to play, the more difficult it will be to tear myself away.  So I do the only thing I know that will make him stop dead in his tracks.  With both hands, I run my fingers through his hair and softly drag my nails along his scalp.  He yields immediately, tipping his head so I can reach even further back while he hums in satisfaction.  “I love the noise you make when I do this,” I tell him.

When I slow to a halt, he complains, “Don’t stop.”  He wiggles his hips and looks down at me with a salacious grin.  “The turkey can wait,” he growls. 

Screw dinner.  Who can think about food when you've got the most beautiful man in the world looking at you with lustful, heavy eyes that make you melt?

S
tanding at the kitchen counter, I fill the turkey cavity with the stuffing Reese and I prepared yesterday at work.  Evan walks up behind me, pinning me in place with his long arms.  He brushes the hair off my shoulder and runs the tip of his nose up and down my neck.  I plant my arms firmly on the counter to balance my wobbly legs.  This is the effect he has on me.  “I need your help,” he drones in my ear.

“I’m a little busy, Chief,” I complain, holding up my hands covered in turkey dressing.  “What do you need?”

“I can’t find my shoes,” he whines.

“Seriously?  They’re in the laundry room drying off.  You got them all wet when it rained on Monday.” 

With a chuckle, he kisses me on the cheek and heads toward the laundry room to retrieve his shoes.  “See, we already sound like an old married couple,” he calls to me as he walks away.  I can’t help but smile, mostly because he’s right.

Now that the turkey is properly dressed and placed in the oven, I begin to gather the ingredients for my mother’s green bean casserole.  It’s far from gourmet, made completely with frozen and canned ingredients, but for me, it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without this special treat.

I grab the lid of a can at just the wrong angle and it slices the flesh on the tip of my finger in a deep, clean cut. “Ow!  Dammit,” I curse under my breath.  I don’t have time for this.  Evan has me all distracted today.  It’s a big day and I need to be on my game.

Evan comes rushing back into the kitchen.  “What’s wrong?  Are you okay?”

I look down at my hand as tiny droplets of blood trickle down and fall into the sink.  “I cut my hand on this damned can of soup.”

“Let me see,” Evan demands.  He runs my finger under the cold water to remove any residue and a tiny cut appears, still oozing blood.

I pull it away and wrap a paper towel around it.  “It’ll be fine.  I don’t have time for this,” I grunt.

“Juliette, stop.  Look at me.”  He takes my chin in his hand and tilts my head back so I have no choice but to look directly into his eyes.  He places a soft kiss on my lips and releases me. “What’s wrong?”

“This is our first Thanksgiving together and I want everything to be perfect, Evan.  I’ve never done this before.”  I wrap my hands around his waist and squeeze.  “Suppose I screw up?  Have you thought about that?  It’s not like we can just order a pizza or something.  We have guests coming.”

“Let me ask you something.”  Evan releases me and steps back.  “Isn’t Thanksgiving about being thankful for what you have?  Isn’t being with the people you love enough?  So what if you screw it up,  as long as we’re all together?”

He’s right.  So what.  I know my pies will be perfect and my cheesecake is to die for, so the worst possible outcome is that we drink lots of wine and eat nothing but dessert.  I grab Evan’s shirt and pull him down to my level, kissing him with everything I’ve got.  He immediately responds by placing his hands roughly on my ass and lifting me off my feet.  Gently, he places me on the counter as his tongue invades my mouth.  I twist my fingers in his hair as his tongue swirls with mine. 

Slowly, we break apart.  Evan sweetly demands, “Stay right there.  Don’t move.”  He walks toward the bathroom, checking over his shoulder to make sure I’m not budging.

He comes back holding a bottle of Neosporin and a fingertip Band-Aid for my injury.  He places a sweet kiss on my finger, and then treats it and wraps it expertly.  “Does this remind you of anything?” he teases.

“Like what?” I ask, stumped.

“When we first met.  You hurt your ankle and I took care of you, even then.  I’ll always take care of you, Juliette.  Forever.”  He brings my hand up to his lips and kisses my engagement ring.

I repeat, “Forever.”  Evan helps me off the counter, swats me playfully on the ass and demands that I finish making him his special dinner.  With a smirk on his face, he retreats to his office before our guests begin to arrive.

At noon there’s a knock on the door.  Rather than wait for an answer, Reese swings it open and walks in, calling, “Evan?  Jette?  I’m here.  Put your clothes back on and come help me with my bags.”

I call out to Evan, “Baby, come help, please,” as I take the bag from Reese.

“There’s more in the car,” she tells him as he comes bustling from his office.  Evan dutifully runs outside and grabs the bags.  Reese brought all sorts of fresh vegetables and appetizers.  She heads directly to the oven for inspection.  She checks her watch and the temperature of the meat thermometer, making calculations in her head.  She gives a simple nod, seeming pleased with the progress.  I breathe a sigh of relief.

Now that Reese is here, I can focus my attention on the table settings.  Last night Adam stopped by to help Evan move our kitchen table into the garage.  We rented a farm table and bistro chairs for today.  Evan wanted to buy a table, but I talked him out of it.  Where would we store an eight-foot-long wooden farm table?

Again the door swings open, and in strolls Derek, carrying a case of beer and several bags of ice.  Evan takes the beer and ice out to the cooler on the deck while I welcome Derek.  He’s nearly as tall as Evan, and when I wrap my arms around his waist, my head barely reaches his shoulder.  He returns my hug and gives me a friendly pat on the head.  “Thanks for having me over today, Jette.  I haven’t had a real Thanksgiving meal in a very long time.”  My heart melts.  “Anyone else here yet?”

“Just Reese.  She’s right there.” I point toward the kitchen.  “You should go say hello.”

I watch as Derek confidently strolls into the kitchen and pulls Reese into a friendly hug.  They are obviously very familiar with the feel of the other’s bodies.  She’s a few inches taller than me, and I notice how his lips nearly brush her forehead. Reese closes her eyes and takes a slow, deep breath as she returns his greeting.  He releases her nonchalantly and peeks under the lid of a few pots and offers compliments to the chef.