Prologue
“We shouldn’t have done it.”
Nina wanted to tell herself that she’d misheard. That James Foster, her brother’s best friend and her actual dream guy, hadn’t just said those words thirty seconds after making her come on his sofa. But he was sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, his massive shoulders slumped and his shaven head bowed—which was universal body language for Wow, I have so many regrets right now.
So, she definitely hadn’t misheard. Shit.
Her heart dropped, hit the floor, and cracked right in two. She probably should’ve stayed silent, should’ve maintained some sort of dignity—but Nina Chapman had been born mouthy, and her twenty-three years of life had only exacerbated the issue. So she leapt to her feet and demanded, “Are you serious?”
James’s head snapped up, surprise written all over his handsome face. “You disagree?”
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Like it should be painfully obvious that she was a bad idea, right after he’d licked her to orgasm? Face burning, Nina snatched her jeans up off the floor—where he’d dropped them. “At least let me get my clothes on before you start complaining.”
“Nina.” Now he had the audacity to look upset, his full mouth pressed into a severe line, deep furrows marking his brow. God, he was irritating. And worse, when he stood, she saw the hard-on tenting his suit trousers.
Only James would be wearing suit trousers and a crisp, blue shirt on a Sunday morning. Only James would get rid of a woman—after doing that filthy thing he’d done with his tongue while wearing said suit trousers!—and seem surprised when she didn’t want to leave. As if he honestly had no idea how attractive he was.
And only James could make her think fond thoughts about him even when she wanted to punch him in the face.
Yes, Nina definitely wanted to punch him in the face. Because not only had he made her come, he’d apparently—physically—enjoyed it. Yet even unfulfilled desire wasn’t enough for him to actually fuck her.
Honestly, it was becoming painfully clear that nothing would be enough to make him fuck her. She’d gone all out with this silly seduction plan, hoping he’d finally see her as Nina instead of the kid she’d been back when they first met. Hoping he’d stop treating her like a little sister or a best friend and start treating her like a grown woman. Well, he’d treated her like a woman alright, and look what it got her: battered pride and pitying looks.
At least, she thought that was pity in his eyes. It was something bleak and awful, anyway.
“I’m sorry Cupcake,” he said, and the childhood nickname just made everything worse.
“Don’t apologise to the woman you just slept with, James. It’s very déclassé.”
He winced. “We didn’t—”
“I recommend you shut the fuck up before I throw you out the window, okay?” It was an empty threat, of course, and not just because she’d never hurt him. Nina wasn’t exactly a lightweight, but he had at least a hundred pounds on her. There was no way on God’s green earth she could ever throw James fucking Foster out of a window. He knew that, and yet he nodded solemnly and kept quiet.
That was the kicker, you see. She didn’t just want to sleep with James. If she did, this rejection wouldn’t have bothered her. There were plenty of guys she could sleep with, plenty of guys she did sleep with. But none of those men were sweet and serious and generous and open and determined and protective and James. None of those men had gone from being her brother’s best friend, just part of the furniture, to someone she might actually—nauseatingly—love.
Maybe this whole thing had been doomed from the start, anyway. Nina knew very little about love, which was why her reaction to it had been a mortifying attempt at seduction rather than, say, a heart-to-heart.
She’d take this romantic failure as a sign, she decided. Clearly, this wasn’t meant to be.
Her expression grim, she shoved on her boots and patted her pockets, making sure her phone and keys were there.
“Don’t go,” James said. As always, his deep voice held a tone of command. Which, as always, made her determined to ignore him. “I need to talk to you, Nina. We—” He broke off, which was odd enough to make her pause. James usually spoke like a statesman. He did not hesitate and he did not stutter. But he recovered quickly, and she was too pissed to wonder about it. “We need to talk,” he finished, kind of redundantly.
“Don’t worry,” she gritted out. “I won’t tell my brother.”
He actually flinched at the last word. Then he shut his eyes and ran a hand over his jaw and sighed, “Ah, shit. Markus.”
Well holy fucksticks in a bleeding blue canoe. He hadn’t even thought about her brother. He hadn’t pulled the brakes because of anything to do with Mark’s protective instincts, or some weird, bro-code, don’t-sleep-with-my-little-sister thing, or because years ago, when Mark joined the Royal Air Force, he’d asked James to “look after” her.
James really just straight-up didn’t want her. At all.
Great.
She strode out of the room.
“Nina!”
“Nina, sweetheart, you’re so fucking wet, let me taste you, I need to taste you…”
She pushed the painfully fresh memory—the lie—away and practically ran through the flat. He followed her, of course. He’d never let her disappear when she was upset. He was way too fucking nice for that.
God, she hated nice.
She wrenched open James’s front door, then turned to face him. The sight of him was like a slap. Somehow, despite the fact that his actions had made her all cold and hard inside, he didn’t look different at all. He was still gorgeous, with his gentle eyes and strong jaw and full lips—God, those lips—and his soft, bear-like bulk that she wanted to sink into…
But wouldn’t, ever again.
“Nina,” he said, “I’m not explaining this very well. I’m sorry.”
The apology tore through her flesh like a blade. She blinked, her eyes stinging with something hot and prickly that surely couldn’t be tears. Surely. God, she couldn’t let him see that she was on the edge of crying. The only thing more embarrassing than what had just happened? Would be James knowing how deeply it hurt.
He could never, ever know how deeply it hurt.
Her words rapid and desperate, her nails carving into the palms of her hands, she lashed out. “If you really don’t want to upset me, James, then don’t talk to me. Ever. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear from you. Unless my brother’s home and we have to play nice, stay the fuck away from me. Please.”
He stared at her with a sort of devastated horror, his umber skin taking on a greyish tinge. He looked so unhappy, she actually had to fight the instinct to comfort him—which was ridiculous. He was a grown man, for one thing, seven years older than she was. And anyway, what the fuck did he have to be upset about?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Message delivered, she stepped out into the hall and slammed the door shut in his face.
Chapter One
Six Weeks Later