Page 2 of Twelve Days of Temptation (Temptation 1)
Kate closed her eyes and told herself she’d do better the next day. Tomorrow, she would pick herself up, dust herself off, and start looking for a job. Or a realtor, if she decided not to stay in Rhode Island. So many decisions, and all of them would have to wait until her head stopped pounding every time she tried to make one.
Which will be tomorrow.
Or maybe the day after that.
Did it matter? She had enough money from her mother to coast for a bit. She could have gotten alimony from Wayne, but she’d wanted to sever all ties with him. She’d kept the jewelry he’d given her over the years, not because of the value—some of the pieces would have paid a normal person’s rent for a year—but to remind herself to never again be taken in by sparkle.
Kate opened her eyes and took a gulp of her wine. She tossed her cell phone on the coffee table in front of her. It had beeped, announcing a message, but she wasn’t going to listen to it. At best, it was her friend Wendy trying to explain for the fourth time why her having sex with Wayne shouldn’t mean their friendship should end. Kate drained her wine glass and leaned forward to refill it. It might also be Wayne announcing their divorce papers were complete and ready to be signed. She wasn’t in the mood for that conversation, either.
Why am I here? I could be sunning myself in the South of France. I could be drunk in Key Largo. Why did I think coming back to a town where I have no friends and now no family would be a good way to spend the holidays?
What the hell is here that I think I need?
If you’re up there watching me, Mom, look away for the next three weeks. I’m not handling Christmas without you well. I promise to do better next year.
God, I wish I did drugs.
She made a face at her freshly poured second glass of wine. I don’t even like alcohol that much.
She put the glass down on the coffee table and buried her face in her hands. No wonder I couldn’t keep Wayne satisfied—I don’t have a single fun bone in my body. What did he say when I said no to a threesome? A man could have better nights alone with his hand than with me?
I’d like to think I showed him by leaving him alone with that appendage—but I’m pretty sure he’s with Wendy now. She’s too dumb to understand that, thanks to caller ID, I know she’s calling from my old house.
Kate placed kindling in the room’s large marble fireplace and started searching through her purse for the letter she had every intention of burning. I should have fucking thanked Santa for Wendy, too. No, I suppose my poor taste in friends is my own damn fault.
When she didn’t find the letter in her purse, she checked the pockets of her coat. Then she ran outside and scanned the interior of her car.
Oh, fuck me. Tell me I didn’t mail that letter. No. No. I remember deciding not to and putting it in my purse.
Did I drop it? Oh, my God, I dropped it. What if someone reads it? Or, just as bad, mails it? With my luck someone will submit it to an editor of a newspaper just to screw with me. Yep, this town loves me as much as I love it.
I never should have signed it.
Fear over where her letter could have ended up was enough to send Kate back out into the cold to see if it was on the ground near the mailbox. Of course, it wasn’t. That would have been too easy. Too kind.
Too much like anyone’s life but Kate’s.
She returned home, closed all the curtains in her bedroom, and pulled the covers over her head, even though it was still early in the day. Some days were so bad they should end at noon. She fell into a fitful sleep that only left her feeling more tired when she woke early the next morning.
***
Brock carried Kate’s letter with him the entire day. He met with his subcontractors who were halfway through turning an old textile mill into luxury condos. They were right on schedule, and the news put Brock in a very good mood. Next year would be his company’s best.
It was definitely a reason to celebrate. He thought about calling his friends. But many of them had families now and had to ask their spouses for permission to go out during the week. Poor saps.
He could call his parents, but he already had plans to see them over the weekend and too much time with them, even though he loved them, made him a little crazy. Especially because, since their conversation this morning, his father was now hiding out at the main office with him, pointing out every change he’d made in the business.
Everything he considered doing paled in comparison to the one thing he really wanted: Kate Hale.
Every time he read her letter, he came close to charging over to her house and offering to fuck her as many times and in as many ways as she wanted. He didn’t imagine that would go over well. Life tended not to mirror what would work in a porn movie.
Still, he had wanted Kate for as long as he could remember. If he had a nickel for every time he’d masturbated while imagining her sucking his cock, he wouldn’t have to work another day in his life.
God, I masturbate too much.
Sex for a man wasn’t as simple as magazines made it sound. At least not for a man living in a small city where most people knew each other. By the time he found out if the woman shaved or not, she was telling her friends they were serious, and he was considered off the market well before he’d decided if he wanted to be.
In theory, he had nothing against relationships. One day, he’d meet a woman he wanted to wake up next to every morning, but for now, all he wanted was what Kate had described: a good old-fashioned, down-and-dirty fucking.
Unlike her, he was more particular about with whom. There was only one woman who could make him hard just by thinking about her. One woman he wanted so much he couldn’t think about anything else.
That night, he read seven how-to articles online about giving a woman the best orgasm of her life. He watched a video about giving better oral sex, and just to be thorough, he read a romance novel his friends had joked portrayed every woman’s fantasy sex.
Like Rocky preparing for a big fight, Brock readied himself for this challenge. It wasn’t just about having Kate. He had to make her come so many times she couldn’t remember her name. That would take skill.
When he woke up the next morning, he smiled into the mirror. He’d had the most delicious dream about Kate, and his subconscious had worked out the perfect way to get her into his bed.
You’re a nice guy, Brock, but nice guys have nice sex.
This kind of opportunity comes along once in a lifetime. You need to up your game.
You know what she wants.
Make it happen.
This is not creepy—it’s sexy.
Just do it.
Chapter Three
Early the next morning, Kate carried a large cardboard box into her mother’s bedroom. She told herself that, regardless of what she decided to do with the house, leaving her mother’s room in a shrine-like intact state wasn’t healthy.
She laid the box in the middle of her mother’s bed and took a fortifying deep breath. She held back the tears that threatened to spill. Her mother had never liked tears. Ladies kept their composure.
Kate walked around the room, picking up photos her mother had kept on her bureau and nightstands. She knew people thought her mother had come from money, but the photos told the real story. Even when she smiled, her mother looked tired. She’d raised Kate by herself, determined her daughter would have a better life than she’d had. Her mother hadn’t spoken much of her own childhood or her family. She’d only said that moving far away from them and Kate’s biological father had been a difficult, but necessary, decision.
Growing up, Kate had been very aware of how hard her mother worked to pay for her private school and music lessons. The amount of money she’d left Kate in her will was testament to her determination to provide for her daughter.
Holding up a picture of her mother holding her in her arms and smiling down at her, Kate sat on the corner of her bed. Do you regret the choices you made, Mom? Do you ever wish you’d come home early to take me to
the park or read me bedtime stories instead of working extra hours to pay for my private tutors? In the long run, does it matter if I can speak three languages?
She could almost hear her mother telling her to stop letting her emotions control her and just do what had to be done. Get in. Get out.
I wish I could, Mom. I know holding onto your stuff won’t bring you back. I know you didn’t want me to return to this house, this town. Why do I feel like I need to be here?
Kate placed the photo back on the table and tossed the cardboard box on the floor near the bed. She stood and smoothed the bed sheets before walking out of the room and closing the door quietly behind her.
The doorbell rang and she jumped in surprise. No one visited her house. No one ever had.
