On Dublin Street (9781101623497) Read online

  She liked that answer.

  “Are you a student?”

  I shook my head. “I just graduated. I work Thursday and Friday nights at Club 39 on George Street. But I’m really just trying to focus on my writing at the moment.”

  Ellie seemed thrilled by my confession. “That’s brilliant! I’ve always wanted to be friends with a writer. And that’s so brave to go for what you really want. My brother thinks being a PhD student is a waste of my time because I could work for him, but I love it. I’m a tutor at the university as well. It’s just . . . well it makes me happy. And I’m one of these awful people who can get away with doing what they enjoy even if it doesn’t pay much.” She grimaced. “That sounds terrible, doesn’t it?”

  I wasn’t really the judging kind. “It’s your life, Ellie. You’ve been blessed financially. That doesn’t make you a terrible person.” I had a therapist in high school. I could hear her nasally voice in my head, ‘Now why can’t you apply the same thought process to yourself, Joss. Accepting your inheritance doesn’t make you a terrible person. It’s what your parents wanted for you.’

  From the ages of fourteen to eighteen, I’d lived with two foster families in my hometown in Virginia. Neither families had a lot of money and I’d gone from a big, fancy house and expensive food and clothes, to eating a lot of SpaghettiO’s and sharing clothes with a younger foster ‘sister’ who happened to be the same height. With the approach of my eighteenth year, and the public knowledge that I would be receiving a substantial inheritance, I’d been approached by a number of business people in our town looking for investment and to take advantage of what they assumed was a naïve kid, as well as a classmate who wanted me to invest in his website. I guess living how the ‘other half’ lived during my formative years and then being sucked up to by fake people more interested in my deep pockets than in me were two of the reasons I was reluctant to touch the money I had.

  Sitting there with Ellie, someone in a similar financial situation and dealing with guilt (although a different kind), made me feel a surprising connection to her.

  “The room is yours,” Ellie suddenly announced.

  Her abrupt bubbliness brought laughter to my lips. “Just like that?”

  Seeming serious all of a sudden, Ellie nodded. “I have a good feeling about you.”

  I have a good feeling about you, too. I gave her a relieved smile. “Then I’d love to move in.”

  Chapter 2

  A week later I’d moved into the luxury apartment on Dublin Street.

  Unlike Ellie and her clutter, I liked everything to be organized around me just so, and that meant immediately diving into unpacking.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to sit and have a cup of tea with me?” Ellie asked from the doorway as I stood in my room surrounded by boxes and a couple of suitcases.

  “I really want to get this all unpacked so I can just relax.” I smiled reassuringly so she wouldn’t think I was blowing her off. I always hated this part of a burgeoning friendship–the exhausting hedging of one another’s personality, trying to work out how a person would react to a certain tone, or attitude.

  Ellie just nodded her understanding. “Okay. Well, I’ve got to tutor in an hour, so I think I’ll walk instead of grabbing a cab, which means heading off now. That’ll give you some space, some time to get to know the place.”

  I’m liking you more already. “Have a fun class.”

  “Have fun unpacking.”

  I grunted and waved her away as she flashed me a pretty smile and headed out.

  As soon as the front door slammed shut, I flopped down on my incredibly comfortable new bed. “Welcome to Dublin Street,” I murmured, staring up at the ceiling.

  Kings of Leon sang ‘your sex is on fire’ really loudly at me. I grumbled at the fact that my solitude was being so quickly intruded upon. With a tilt of my hip, I slipped my phone out of my pocket and smiled at the caller I.D.

  “Hey you,” I answered warmly.

  “So have you moved into your exorbitantly, overindulgent, pretentious new flat yet?” Rhian asked without preamble.

  “Is that bitter envy I hear?”

  “You’ve got that right, you lucky cow. I was almost ill in my cereal this morning at the pictures you sent me. Is that place for real?”

  “I take it the apartment in London isn’t living up to your expectations?”

  “Expectations? I’m paying through the nose for a bloody glorified cardboard box!”

  I snorted.

  “Fuck off,” Rhian grumbled half-heartedly. “I miss you and our mice-riddled palace.”

  “I miss you and our mice-riddled palace, too.”

  “Are you saying that as you stare at your claw-footed bath tub with its gold-plated taps?”

  “Nope . . . as I lie on my five thousand dollar bed.”

  “What’s that in pounds?”

  “I don’t know. Three thousand?”

  “Jesus, you’re sleeping on six week’s rent.”

  Groaning, I sat up to pull open the nearest box. “I wish I hadn’t told you how much my rent is.”

  “Well, I’d give you a lecture on how you’re pissing that money of yours away on rent when you could have bought a house, but who am I to talk?”

  “Yeah, and I don’t need any lectures. That’s the sweetest part of being an orphan. No concerned lectures.”

  I don’t know why I said that.

  There was no sweet part to being an orphan.

  Or having no one be concerned.

  Rhian was silent on the other end of the line. We never talked about my parents or hers. It was our no-go area. “Anyway,” I cleared my throat, “I better get back to unpacking.”

  “Is your new roommate there?” Rhian picked up the conversation as though I hadn’t said anything about my parentless status.

  “She just went out.”

  “Have you met any of her friends yet? Any of them guys? Hot guys? Hot enough to haul you out of your four year dry spell?”

  The skeptical laughter on my lips died when an image of the Suit popped into my mind. Feeling my skin prickle at the thought of him, I found myself grow quiet. It wasn’t the first time he’d flashed across my thoughts in the last seven days.

  “What’s this?” Rhian asked in answer to my silence. “Is one of them a hottie?”

  “No,” I brushed her off as I shoveled the Suit out of my thoughts. “I haven’t met any of Ellie’s friends yet.”

  “Bummer.”

  Not really. The last thing I need is a guy in my life. “Listen, I’ve got to get this done. Talk to you later?”

  “Sure, hon. Talk later.”

  We hung up and I sighed, gazing at all my boxes. All I really wanted to do was flop back on the bed and take a long nap.

  “Ugh, let’s do this.”

  * * *

  A few hours later, I was completely unpacked. All of my boxes were folded up neatly and stored in the hall closet. My clothes were hung up and folded away. My books were lined up on the bookshelf and my laptop was open on the desk, ready for my words. A photograph of my parents sat on my bedside table, another of Rhian and I at a Halloween party graced the bookshelf, and by my laptop on the desk, sat my favorite photo. It was a picture of me holding Beth, my parents standing behind me. We were sitting out in the backyard at a barbecue the summer before they died. My neighbor had taken the shot.

  I knew photos usually invited questions, but I couldn’t bring myself to put those photographs away. They were a painful reminder that loving people only led to heartbreak . . . but I couldn’t bear to part with them.

  I kissed my fingertips and placed them gently against the photo of my parents.

  I miss you.

  After a moment, a bead of sweat rolling down my nape drew me o
ut of my melancholic fog and I wrinkled my nose. It was a hot day and I had blasted through the unpacking like The Terminator after John Connor.

  Time to try out that gorgeous bath tub.

  Pouring in some bubble bath and running the hot water, I immediately began to relax at the rich smell of lotus blossoms. Back in my bedroom, I peeled out of my sweaty shirt and shorts and felt a smug liberation as I walked down the hall, naked in my new apartment.

  I smiled, gazing around at it, still not quite believing all ‘the pretty’ was mine for at least the next six months.

  With music blasting from my smartphone, I sank deep into the tub and began to doze. It was only the growing chill of the water that nudged me to wakefulness. Feeling soothed and as content as I could be, I clambered inelegantly out of the tub and reached for my phone. As soon as silence reigned around me, I glanced over at the towel rail and froze.

  Crap.

  There were no towels. I scowled at the towel rail as if it was its fault. I could have sworn Ellie had towels on there last week. Now I was going to have to drip water all down the hall.

  Grumbling under my breath, I wrenched the bathroom door open and stepped out into the airy hallway.

  “Uh . . . hullo,” a deep voice choked out, snapping my eyes up off the puddle I was making on the hardwood flooring.

  A squeal of shock got crushed in my windpipe as I gazed into the eyes of the Suit.

  What was he doing here? In my house? STALKER!

  My mouth hung open as I tried to work out what the hell was going on; it took me a moment to realize his eyes weren’t on my face. They were running all over my very naked body.

  With a garbled noise of distress I clamped an arm over my breasts and a hand in front of my vajajay. Pale blue eyes met my horrified grey gaze. “What are you doing in my apartment?” I glanced hurriedly around for a weapon. Umbrella? It had a metal point . . . that might work.

  Another choking noise snapped my eyes back to his, and a flush of unwanted and totally inappropriate heat hit me between the legs. He had ‘that look’ again. That dark, sexually avarice look. I hated that my body responded so instantly to ‘that look’ considering the guy might be a serial killer.

  “Turn around!” I yelled, trying to cover up how vulnerable I felt.

  Immediately, the Suit held up his hands in surrender and he spun slowly around, his back to me. My eyes narrowed at the sight of his shaking shoulders. The bastard was laughing at me.

  Heart racing, I moved to rush towards my room to grab some clothes—and possibly a baseball bat—when my eyes snagged on a photo on Ellie’s memo board. It was a picture of Ellie . . . and the Suit.

  What the hell?

  Why had I not noticed this? Oh yeah. Because I didn’t like to ask questions. Disgruntled at my own crap observational skills, I threw a quick look over my shoulder. I was gratified to find the Suit wasn’t peeking. Skittering off to my room, his deep voice followed me, rumbling down the hall to my ears. “I’m Braden Carmichael. Ellie’s brother.”

  Of course he was, I thought grumpily, patting myself dry with a towel before shoving my angry limbs through a pair of shorts and a tank top.

  With my dark blonde, brownish hair piled in a wet mess atop my head, I stormed back out into the hall to face him.

  Braden had turned around, his lips quirked up at the corner now as he ran his eyes over me. The fact that I was dressed didn’t matter. He was still seeing me naked. I could tell.

  My hands flew to my hips in belligerent humiliation. “And you just walk in here without knocking?”

  A dark eyebrow rose at my tone. “It is my flat.”

  “It’s common courtesy to freaking knock,” I argued.

  His reply consisted of him shrugging and then jamming his hands casually into his suit pants. He’d taken his jacket off somewhere and his white shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing tan, masculine forearms.

  A knot of need tightened in my gut at the sight of those sexy forearms.

  Shit.

  Fuckity, shit, fuck.

  I flushed inwardly. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

  Braden gifted me a roguish smile. “I never apologize unless I mean it. And I’m not apologizing for this. It’s been the highlight of my week. Possibly my year.” His grin was so easy-going–coaxing me to smile back at him. I wouldn’t.

  Braden was Ellie’s brother. He had a girlfriend.

  And I was way too attracted to this stranger for it to be healthy.

  “Wow, what a boring life you must lead,” I replied haughtily and weakly as I walked by him. You try being witty after flashing your girl pieces to some guy you barely know. I couldn’t really give him much of a wide berth and had to ignore the flutter of butterflies in my stomach as I caught a whiff of the delicious cologne he was wearing.

  Grunting at my observation, Braden followed me. I could feel the heat of him at my back as I entered the sitting room.

  His jacket was tossed across an armchair and a near empty mug of coffee was sitting beside an open newspaper on the coffee table. He’d just made himself at home while I was soaking in the tub, completely oblivious.

  Annoyed, I shot him a dirty look over my shoulder.

  His boyish grin hit me in the chest and I looked away quickly, perching on the arm of the couch as Braden sank casually into the armchair. The grin was gone now. He stared up at me with just a small smile playing on his lips, like he was thinking of a private joke. Or me naked.

  Despite my resistance to him, I didn’t want him to think that my nakedness was funny.

  “So, you’re Jocelyn Butler.”

  “Joss,” I corrected automatically.

  He nodded and relaxed into his seat, his arm sliding along the back of the chair. He had gorgeous hands. Elegant, but masculine. Large. Strong. An image of that hand sliding up my inner thigh crossed my mind before I could stop it.

  Fuck.

  I unglued my eyes from them to him. He appeared comfortable and yet totally authoritative. It suddenly occurred to me that this was the Braden with all the money and responsibilities, a vainglorious girlfriend, and a little sister he was undoubtedly overprotective of.

  “Ellie likes you.”

  Ellie doesn’t know me. “I like Ellie. I’m not so sure about her brother. He seems kind of rude.”

  Braden flashed me those white, slightly crooked teeth. “He’s not sure of you either.”

  That’s not what your eyes are saying. “Oh?”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about my wee sister living with an exhibitionist.”

  I made a face at him, only just resisting sticking my tongue out at him. He really brought out my mature side. “Exhibitionists get naked in public. As far as I was aware, there was no one else in the apartment and I’d forgotten a towel.”

  “Thank God for small mercies.”

  He was doing it again. Looking at me that way. Did he know he was so blatant about it?

  “Seriously,” he continued, his eyes falling to my chest before snapping back up to my face. “You should walk around naked all the time.”

  The compliment got to me. I couldn’t help it. The touch of a smile curled the corner of my lips and I shook my head at him like he was a naughty school boy.

  Pleased, Braden laughed softly. A weird, unexpected fullness formed in my chest and I knew I had to break whatever weird instant attraction thing was going on between us. This had never happened to me before, so I was going to have to wing it.

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re an ass.”

  Braden sat up with a snort. “Usually a woman calls me that after I’ve fucked her and called her a taxi.”

  I blinked rapidly at his blunt language. Really? We were using that word already in our short acquaintance?

  He n
oticed. “Don’t tell me you hate that word?”

  No. I imagine that word can be a total turn on in the right moment. “No. I just don’t think we should be talking about fucking when we’ve just met.”

  Okay. That came out all wrong.

  Braden’s eyes brightened with silent laughter. “I didn’t know that’s what we were doing.”

  Abruptly, I changed the subject. “If you’re here for Ellie, she’s tutoring.”

  “I came to meet you, actually. Only, I didn’t know I was meeting you. Quite the coincidence. I’ve thought about you quite a bit since last week in the taxi.”

  “Was that while you were out having dinner with your girlfriend?” I asked snidely, feeling like I was swimming against the tide with this guy. I wanted us out of this flirty, sexual place we’d landed in and into a normal, ‘he’s just my roommate’s brother’ kind of place.

  “Holly is down south visiting her parents this week. She’s from Southampton.”

  Like I give a crap. “I see. Well . . .” I stood up, hoping the gesture would usher him out. “I would say it was nice to meet you, but I was naked so . . . it wasn’t. I have a lot to do. I’ll tell Ellie you dropped by.”

  Laughing, Braden shook his head and stood up to pull on his suit jacket. “You’re a hard nut to crack.”

  Okay, clearly I had to lay it out clear and simple for this guy. “Hey, there will be no cracking of this nut. Now or ever.”

  He was choking on laughter now as he stepped towards me, making me back into the couch. “Really, Jocelyn . . . Why do you have to make everything sound so dirty?”

  My mouth fell open in outrage as he turned and left . . . with the last word.

  I hated him.

  I really did.

  Pity my body did not.

  Chapter 3

  Club 39 was less of a club and more of a bar with a small square dance floor beyond the alcove at the back. On the basement level on George street, the ceilings were low, the circular sofas and square cubes that acted as seats were low, and the bar area was actually built a few levels lower, meaning drunken people had to walk down three steps to get to us. Whoever added that little design to the architects draft had clearly been smoking something.