Six Month Rule (Kingston Ale House) (16 page)

She wasn’t sure who rolled the condom down his length, her or him, because it happened so fast. All she knew was that he was up on his knees, spreading her wide and lowering himself so he could tease her clit with his tip and then nudge the warm, wet opening where she ached, so ready for him to plunge inside.

And that’s exactly what Will Evans did. He sank deep, with zero resistance, not that she was surprised. Her sharp intake of breath had nothing to do with how ready she was with zero foreplay. It was because something about tonight was different, something she couldn’t articulate.

“God, Holly,” he whispered between kisses, pulling out slowly and thrusting back in.

All she could say in return was, “I know.” Because aside from the sweet agony of her need to take him deeper, harder, something squeezed in her chest, and she was afraid if she said anything else, she might burst into tears.

What the hell was the matter with her?

She squeezed her eyes shut and hooked her legs around his, hands firm on his hips. She pulled him deep, thrust her pelvis into his, increasing the speed of her movements until a growl tore from his throat.

“Christ, Holly. I’m not going to last.”

“Don’t hold back,” she eked out between gasps, but he stilled inside her.

“Open your eyes, then. I want you to see what you’re doing to me.”

He pulled out, rubbing her wetness against her swollen center, and her eyes flew open. She
wanted
to see, even if it meant the reverse was true, that he would be witness to what was happening to her. She’d never say it out loud, because that’s not what they were in this for. It wasn’t part of the agreement. But somewhere in between several pints of green ale and Brynn’s visit and Will’s early arrival, Holly Chandler had fallen in love.

She got it. She finally freaking got it, and it was the best worst feeling she’d ever had. And the only way she was able to watch that same realization spread over Will’s face as he rocked inside her, making sure she came inside and out while he came harder than he ever had with her before, was to remind herself it would all pass by the time he left in January.

It had to, or Holly wasn’t sure she’d survive the fallout.

They never ate the pizza. After they’d made love—that’s what it was this time—Will had fallen asleep so fast and so soundly, Holly didn’t bother trying to feed him. She had showered and put the pizza in the fridge, saving it for lunch the next day. On her own, of course. In the morning when he woke, she felt the weight of him leave the bed but feigned sleep, not ready to put words to what had happened the night before.

“Holly, love. Are you awake?”

He’d sat down again beside her after she listened to him dress. She said nothing.

“I’m an arse for saying it like this, when you won’t even hear me, but I think maybe it’s better.”

She listened as he let out a breath, silently pleading with each thrum of her heart for him not to say any more. But he didn’t hear. He was going to say what she already knew, what she felt deep in her core. And as much as she wanted confirmation that he was in as much trouble as she was, she couldn’t stop the shudder in her breath. Nothing had ever scared her more than lying in her bed with a man she loved—because Holly had never known love before.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
I’m
not supposed to want for myself anymore, not now that I’ve got Sophie.
Shite.
” That last word was under his breath. “But I want you, Holly. And I know this wasn’t part of the arrangement, but I love you.”

He kissed her on the back of her head, and Holly held her breath. She wouldn’t be able to hide the tremors otherwise. She didn’t exhale until she heard the door close behind him. Then she sniffed, swallowed back the tears, and told the absence of him, “I love you, too.”

November

Chapter Twenty

Will slammed his laptop shut and collapsed onto the couch in his office. He loosened his tie and then rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. It was only Monday, but the Monday of Thanksgiving week, and he’d learned the hard way that the city basically shut down for the holiday by noon when he’d received a mountain of out-of-office email replies to contacts he’d just messaged that morning.

He’d scrambled to track down the reporter from the
Sun-Times
who would be covering the fashion show. He’d luckily caught her on the phone and solidified details of how and when she’d interview Tallulah Chan and made sure she would be accompanied by the photographer he had hand-picked from their staff. He was able to cram in a breakfast meeting with the jeweler and sunglasses designer who’d be contributing to the gift packages they’d be doling out to the representatives from Macy’s, Nordstrom, and Neiman Marcus who’d be attending the show as well as those from the smaller, independent boutiques. With the industry basically going on hiatus completely in the next two weeks until after the holidays, he’d planned to nail down as many of the final details as he could before Thanksgiving. He’d just thought Thanksgiving happened closer to Thursday—the day of the holiday—but Monday it was.

“You’re the last one here,” Holly said, and he looked up to see her leaning against his open door. Even in jeans and an oversize sweater, she still took his breath away. Not that she knew how he really felt. Since the crap move he’d pulled a month ago, professing his love to her while she was asleep, he hadn’t brought up the subject again. What would be the point? He was in love with a woman who didn’t do relationships, who put work first, and who lived thousands of miles away from him. And she didn’t seem to be banging down his door to sign up for moving overseas and becoming a stepmother.

Yes, Will Evans. You are a right handful.

“You’re here, too,” he informed her.

He’d wondered since showing up at her door on Halloween if she’d felt the same shift he had that night. He’d already crossed some unspoken boundary telling her he missed her when he was in London, one she’d balked at, just as he knew she would. But when he’d laid her down on her bed the next day, and she’d admitted to missing him, too, he could have sworn there was something bigger in those words.

And when they had sex? His chest tightened now just as it did every time he thought of that night, because he couldn’t remember feeling that way about anyone before her. Yes, he had loved Tara, Sophie’s mum, but he’d been young and stupid and way more in love with being William Evans, rising star in the world of publicity for the most high-profile clients in England. She was his first love, but the younger version of himself hadn’t known the first thing about what that meant or how to be a proper boyfriend. Now that he was older, though, had anything changed? Did it matter if he loved Holly if he still couldn’t give her what she deserved?

“Yeah,” she said. “But it’s…” She hissed in an exaggerated breath. “It’s twelve thirty. Even the cafeteria is closed, and I’m starved. Buy you lunch? I know this great place that has beer—or lager, if you want to get all British on me—and really great pub fare.” She finally stepped into the room, making herself comfortable in one of the ergonomic chairs and swiveling to face him. “In fact, I know the owner. We could probably get the lager for free.”

She gave him an exaggerated wink, and he chuckled. Yet he couldn’t help noticing how in the past four weeks, Holly had chosen a chair rather than the spot next to him—or
on
him—like she used to do when she swore they wouldn’t get caught. Hell, she’d pleasured him on that couch enough to make him sentimental about the thought of leaving it, since it was the location of some of the best oral sex he’d ever received.

Whatever happened between them on Halloween night, spoken or not, had elicited small changes like this in Holly’s behavior. They still spent two to three nights together each week, and the sex was phenomenal, but she was holding something back, and Will was too much of a coward to ask what and risk messing up whatever it was they had for the final weeks they would have it. Holly claimed her feelings never lasted past six months with anyone before, and he wasn’t ready to hear her say her feelings for him were already waning. Things
would
end four weeks from now, but he wanted to believe they still had four stellar weeks left to enjoy.

“Yes,” he said. “One of Jamie’s pints and a burger sounds absolutely brilliant right now.”

He put his laptop in his leather case and stood, slinging it over his shoulder and then extending a hand for Holly. She accepted and stood, letting him pull her to her feet. When she went to let go of his hand, he tugged her closer and leaned in for a quick kiss. She melted into him, parting her lips and inviting him to take more, and he breathed against her.

“What?” she asked, and he could feel her grin.

But he didn’t answer, kissing her again instead. She didn’t ask another question, and because neither of them liked to waste opportunity, especially when they were the only souls left at Trousseau until after the holiday, they added a bit more sentimental value to the conference room couch before heading to Kingston Ale House.

Will had thought today would be like the day Holly made her six-month proposition—the two of them enjoying an intimate lunch laced with tension they released soon after sealing the deal. But Brynn sat to his right and their friend Annie to his left. Holly was across from him flanked by Jamie and Annie’s boyfriend, Brett, and after depositing another pitcher at the table, Jeremy had taken up residence as well. There was nothing intimate about this gathering.

“Does no one work the week of Thanksgiving?” Will asked, reaching for the pitcher to refill his pint.

“Not if they can help it,” Annie said, passing a plate of fried pickles across to Holly.

Jamie leaned back in his chair and took a sip of beer, his other arm stretched across the back of Holly’s chair. “Speak for yourself,” he told her. “Kingston’s is open every day this week
except
Thursday. I only get to sit with you slackers because business is slower this week.”

“Hey,” Annie said with a fake pout. “The bookshop is still open. I’m just taking a long lunch. I’ve gotta conserve my strength for Black Friday. Plus, that’s what employees are for—to hold down the fort while I spend extra time with you lovely humans.”

Jamie lifted his pint glass in Jeremy’s direction. “I can usually get this one to do my bidding, but he’s got the balls to take vacation time to go visit a buddy in L.A.”

Jeremy nodded. “You’re just jealous I’m heading to your little love nest while you and Brynn are stuck here in the cold.”

Brynn raised her brows. “While L.A. might be the place where Jamie
finally
realized I was the one for him, I think we’ll find a way to stay warm here, Jer.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes, and Jamie grinned as he sipped his beer.

Annie cleared her throat. “What are you doing for the holiday, Will? Spending it with the Chandlers?”

Will coughed, a dribble of lager leaking from his lip to his chin. Bloody charming.

Holly had assumed he’d be heading back to London this weekend, and he hadn’t corrected her. If they couldn’t have a conversation about how they felt,
if
they felt, or what to do with any feelings that didn’t make sense or were, at best, inconvenient for their situation, he certainly wasn’t going to insert himself into her family’s Thanksgiving dinner.

“He’s going home to London for the weekend,” Holly said, a strained smile on her face.

Will shook his head and then cleared his throat.

“I’m not, actually,” he said.

“Not what?” Holly asked.

“Going home. To London.”

Holly crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look.

“You’re
not
going back to London when the work portion of this week has already ended at”—she examined the nonexistent watch on her wrist—“half past one in the afternoon?”

He shook his head, enjoying watching her get a little flustered—knowing
he
was flustering her.

“We don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in England.” He sipped his pint. “Sophie has school all week long. If I was home I’d just be sitting there, waiting to have a quick meal with her after dance class or before her football game.”

“She plays football?” Brynn asked, eyes wide.

Holly closed her eyes and shook her head. Will’s eyebrows drew together until the lightbulb went on.

“Soccer,” he explained, laughing. “We call it football.”

Brynn’s face went red as everyone laughed, but she didn’t join in.

“What?” she asked. “Why couldn’t a little girl play football if she wanted to?
American
football?”

“I don’t know, Chandler,” Jeremy said. “But you’re the one who seemed so bent out of shape if that’s what she
was
doing.”

She pushed back her chair and stood.

“Aw, come on, B,” Jamie pleaded. “Don’t be mad.”

She huffed out a breath and then focused her gaze on Holly.

“I’m not mad,” she insisted. “But I do have one more question for Will.”

His brows rose as he focused his attention on Holly’s sister.

“Do you like turkey?” she asked.

“Sorry. What?” he asked, lowering his own pint back to the table.

“I know Thanksgiving is far from a British holiday, but if you actually
like
turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, and maybe even pumpkin pie—it wouldn’t be a total loss, right?”

Will mustered the last of his resolve. He knew where this was going, and he also knew what his answer would be. “Yes, of course. I enjoy turkey, but—”

Brynn slapped a palm down on the table. “Well, then it’s settled. Of course you’ll be having Thanksgiving with the Chandlers.”

Holly gasped, then coughed, and he wasn’t sure, but a bit of lager might have leaked from her nose.

“Brynn,” Jamie said but didn’t follow up with anything else.

She looked at him, wide-eyed and innocent. “What? He’s here in the city alone on one of the biggest holidays of the season. We’re just going to leave him in a hotel?” Her gaze fell on Will again. “Our parents live right by a Metra station. You wouldn’t even have to worry about transportation. What do you say?”

Holly sat there, mouth half open, but she said nothing.

Saying yes, of course, was a terrible idea. Holly was a temporary part of his life. He already felt like an interloper here with her sister and friends. It didn’t matter that they’d welcomed him into their fold. The closer he got to Holly—to the people who were permanent fixtures in her life—the more he felt like they were heading in a direction they simply couldn’t go.

This was why he’d kept Sophie—everything from photos to text messages to Skyping Holly when Sophie wasn’t around—independent from his life in Chicago. He didn’t mix the temporary with the permanent. Never mind that she and Holly would adore each other if they ever met. He was protecting them both by keeping them separate, which was quite noble if he did say so himself.

But maintaining the wall between him and everything that rooted Holly to Chicago? He couldn’t put a selfless spin on that. He was protecting himself as much as he was them, not that he cared to admit it. When it came down to it, the more he infiltrated Holly’s inner circle, the more difficult it would be to extract himself.

The whole table was staring at him expectantly, and Holly, despite the whole lager-out-the-nose reaction, wasn’t protesting.

“I’d love to,” he said. Because as much as he told himself that
no
was the correct answer, he couldn’t form the word. Not when it meant more time with Holly.

Holly’s eyes widened, and she smiled nervously.

“That’s a great idea, B,” she said, her voice a bit uneven. Then her eyes fell on his. “Of course you shouldn’t be alone on the holiday.”

Brynn clapped her hands together while the rest of the table stayed silent.

“Well, now that that’s settled, I’m going to run to the restroom. Holly?”

Holly turned to her sister. “What?”

“You wanted to go, too, right?”

He watched as Holly’s brow furrowed. “Oh, yeah. Right.”

She pushed her chair back and stood. “Excuse me,” she said, the waver in her voice still present. “I guess we’re heading to the restroom.” And with that the two women were gone.

Will couldn’t help but laugh. His nerves were getting the best of him, and he was sure the same held true for Holly. But he’d said yes. And just like that, he’d stepped far over the line of safe into the most dangerous territory yet—the Chandler family.