Dirty Little Midlife Mistake by Lilian Monroe
Candice
The full forceof Blake Harding’s charm hits me like a high-speed train. His eyes, which had been beguiling a moment ago, turn to molten chocolate. Wow.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, Hayley,” he says, and I don’t even care that he didn’t say my name. For all intents and purposes, I am Hayley. I’m the character in this movie. Candice no longer exists. I’m the object of Blake Harding’s desire. His voice is deep, rugged, and it pulls at the deep, feminine core of me. “I’ll never let you go. I’ll always be there for you, even if you push me away for the next hundred years.”
He leans toward me—
“Cut!”
His hand falls from my waist as he turns away from me. Disappointment slams into me, and it takes all my focus not to topple over onto the grass.
“You’ve never been one to forget your lines, Blake,” Mark calls out, one ear covered by a headset as he stares into a monitor in front of him. “‘I’ll always be there for you, even if you push me away for the next hundred years. I can’t stop protecting you, Hayley, it’s not in my nature,’” Mark reads out, then arches a brow at Blake.
“Got it,” Blake answers.
They call the commands to each other, snap the sticks, then Blake’s molten-chocolate gaze is on me again, the heat turned up to full blast. I’m going to need new panties after this.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, Hayley,” he says, and although he’s already said it once, my heart still jumps. No wonder he’s the star of every swoon-inducing romcom to hit the big screen. The man is a maestro. He hits his lines, then slides his hand around my waist, tugging me forward. My body is all too happy to comply. I crash into his chest, catching myself against the soft fabric of his shirt, curling my fingers ever so slightly against his strength. He’s all male power, and being so close to him makes me forget everything. His other hand cups my jaw, his face angled slightly. All I can see is him. His face. His chest. His hands on my body.
Holy mother of unholy acts.
It’s for the cameras. Right. We’re being filmed. Not for me. This isn’t for me. Still…
This is…a lot. I’m breathless, waiting for the next line to make my heart thump.
“Push me away, but I’m not letting anyone hurt you. Not now, not ever.” A voice that’s nothing more than a growl. Words that make me want to melt.
This man is hot as blazes, and his lips are close enough to kiss. I’m going to faint. How did I get here? How did this happen?
Then Blake’s fingers tighten against the nape of my neck, his other hand sweeping across my back, and he pulls me tight to him. A hard, male chest crushes my breasts, muscular biceps caging me in. My thighs brush Blake’s. His fingers curl into my hair, he tilts my head up, and he’s right there. Those famous lips are an inch from mine, and they’re gorgeous. Beautifully full on the bottom lip, perfectly formed, slightly open. His stubble looks raspy and delicious, and I find myself licking my lips.
Something changes in his gaze when I do. Dark chocolate turns heated as he watches the movement of my tongue, his body turning so, so still and hard against me. His hand tightens on my nape, his other arm pulling me impossibly closer.
Every inch of me is pressed against every inch of him, and let me tell you, it feels good. Better than good. I’ve never been so close to someone so incredibly masculine, so powerful, so damn hot.
The heat in his gaze flicks to my eyes, and another subtle shift happens. He makes a decision. I see it the moment it happens. Heat turns to want, and want turns to action.
Then Blake Harding kisses me.
I—
Whoa.
His lips are soft, demanding, perfect. He nips my bottom lip and draws a gasp from me, then sweeps his tongue into my mouth as soon as my lips drop open. He tastes faintly of mint, and it tastes good. Really, really good. I find myself softening, melting against him, my hands clutching his shirt as my legs wobble. But he doesn’t let me fall. He curls his fingers into my hair and holds me against his body, deepening the kiss like nothing else in the world is as important as my lips against his.
I’ve never been kissed like this. Never, ever, ever. Not like he needs to kiss me to survive, like he wants me so bad he can hardly keep himself together.
Being caged in his arms is heaven, as if nothing else in the world can get to me. The hand on my nape curls, fingers digging into my skin as he tugs my hair to pull my head exactly where he wants me. I’m putty in his hands. Moving how and where he pleases like I was made for that exact purpose. His other hand shifts higher, wrapped all the way around my back while his fingers brush the side of my breast. Another spasm happens down below. A low growl rumbles through him as my body turns pliant and needy in his hands.
This isn’t a kiss. This is a conquering. Blake Harding is kissing me like the world is ending. Like he’s been walking through the desert and I’m his first taste of water. Like he needs to kiss me in order to live.
I never want it to end.
But distantly, faintly, I hear rustling, voices. One word in particular said once, twice, three times—
“Cut! For the love of God, Harding, cut, damn you!”
We fall apart, gasping, and I stare at the perfect male specimen before me, mind reeling. His chest heaves, his eyes slightly bewildered as they follow the movement of my hand as it reaches my mouth. My lips are damp, swollen, thoroughly ravished.
I take a step back.
“Candice—” A pleading rasp. Blake reaches for me, then lets his hand drop.
That kiss…it rattled something in my mind. I can still feel it, taste it. My body’s burning. I’m going to fall over.
I want to do it again.
No, I don’t. I don’t kiss men. I’m not ready to kiss anyone. I can’t. It’s not right. Paul died three years ago. It’s too soon.
But my lips are bruised and my heart is hammering, and Blake Harding is staring at me like he wants to eat me. I tear my gaze away from him and stare at the director. “Are we done here?”
Mark Yelina, Golden Globe-winning, Oscar-nominated director, stares at me for a beat. “We got it.” He clears his throat, and I scurry back to the tent to put my own clothes on. When I exit the tent, I don’t look in Blake’s direction. I don’t want anyone to see what that kiss just did to me. Especially not him.
“You what?”Simone screeches after Fiona and I get back to the café, and Fiona helpfully informs the whole room of my quick but successful career as a Hollywood movie stand-in.
“It was hot,” Fiona says, eyes twinkling.
“He was just acting.” I ignore the heat building under my skin and stride toward the espresso machine. The Four Cups Café is busy for a Wednesday midmorning, and almost everyone in the shop is staring at me. Half of Heart’s Cove heard Fiona announce that I kissed Blake Harding, which means all of Heart’s Cove will know about it by sundown.
“Girl, that wasn’t acting. Did you see his face afterward?” Fiona turns to Simone. “Rattled to the bone. Like his whole world had just imploded. He was in shock.”
“Damn right he was.” Simone grins at me while I do my best to ignore her.
A weird mess of emotions rises inside me. Trying to tease them apart is like trying to unbake a cake. Add one part guilt for kissing someone other than Paul, one part pure, red-hot lust, two parts confusion over the violence of my body’s reaction, then throw them into a bowl with a pinch of vague embarrassment. Bake at three-fifty for forty-five minutes, and you get whatever the hell is going on in my head.
“I’m going to need the whole story,” Simone says, leaning against the counter as I grind some coffee into the portafilter. I need a double shot of sense knocked into my head.
“Same.” Jen emerges from the kitchen, a streak of flour across her cheek. “Blake Harding?”
“It was nothing. They asked me to stand in for a shot. No big deal.”
Yeah, no big deal that it was only the second kiss I’ve had in three years. No big deal that it was the first kiss that made my body feel like it was on fire. And when I say first, I mean first. As in, first of my life. No big deal that I want to do it again.
That’s some sort of betrayal, isn’t it? Paul passed away so recently. I shouldn’t be ready to move on. I loved my husband. We knew there was a possibility he’d die young, and we prepared for it. I still chose to make a life with him. How could I move on so soon? How could I move on at all?
I busy myself steaming milk, hoping the sound of the espresso machine will muffle the thousand questions being hurled my way.
“…and there was tongue. I’m telling you, it was too hot to put in the movie. Blake Harding looked shellshocked when they broke apart. The director yelled cut about a dozen times!” Fiona’s flushed, her eyes shining. “Blake. Freaking. Harding!”
A collective swoon washes over every woman in the coffee shop, and a few jealous looks are thrown my way. I keep my eyes on my jug of milk, swirling it a few times before pouring it into the waiting espresso. Coffee will fix this. Coffee fixes everything.
The thing is, Fiona is right. That kiss was insane. The way his hand curled around my neck. How his chest was so impossibly broad, so perfectly muscular, so solid and hard against me. How I felt like I belonged in his arms, and I never wanted to leave. I wanted more. When his lips were on mine, and his hands were splayed over my body, I wanted to tear my clothes off and beg him to take me. I wanted sex. Hot, sweaty, dirty sex.
It was a perfect kiss. It was hot. I’ll dream of it, I already know.
But I’m not supposed to kiss anyone.
My first sip of latte is delicious, and my shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. Coffee definitely helps.
Then the coffee shop door bangs open, and Dorothy rushes through. Along with her twin sister, Margaret, Dorothy owns and operates the hotel in town. She’s the definition of a free spirit, and I want to be her when I grow up…whenever that is. Sure as hell hasn’t happened yet.
Her eyes jump to me in an instant, and she throws her arms straight up in the air, screaming as she jogs in place. “Candice kissed Blake Harding!” Her flowy, giraffe-print wrap blouse flutters as she bounces up and down, a new streak of purple in her hair shimmering in the sun that streams through the windows. But it’s Dorothy’s smile that hits me most. With lips painted bright red, she throws her arms to the side and squeals again. “Just wait until Eli hears.”
“You don’t need to tell Eli,” I protest uselessly. She’s probably already called him. The two of them have been joined at the hip for nearly a year. “Eli doesn’t care.”
“Eli most certainly does care.” Dorothy giggles, hooking her arm through Simone’s and tugging her close. “This is the best bit of gossip since you and Wes tried to sneak around.”
“We weren’t sneaking around.” Simone rolls her eyes.
Everyone snorts. Even me. Simone just grins.
“Mom!” Allie crashes through the café door, eyes wild.
“Why aren’t you in school?” I put my hands on my hips.
“Study period,” she explains, then throws her arms to the sides. “Blake Harding?”
Oh, for crying out loud.
Groaning, I drop my head in my hands. Excited chatter fills the café, the door opening and closing as more and more Heart’s Cove residents make their way to where the action is.
The action being me and my traitorous lips.
Then, after I turn my back to the room to take another sip of my latte, wishing I had something stronger to drink, a hush falls over the room. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I stare at the wall, craning my ears.
I don’t like the sound of this. Not one bit.
Someone clears their throat. Dorothy. “Candice, honey, there’s someone here to see you.” Her voice is strange. Muted. I’ve never heard that from her before.
My heart thumps. No. No, no, no.
This can’t be happening. Today is a dream. A nightmare. I’m going to wake up any second.
But as I spin around, I know this feels way too real to be a dream.
Blake Harding is standing in my café, eyes of melted chocolate staring at me like I’m the only woman in the room. A thrill pierces my stomach at the sheer intensity of his gaze. He stares at me with such focus, like his entire existence depends on what I’m about to say.
“Hi,” I squeak. Lovely. Such eloquence. Hope he wasn’t too attached to his entire existence.
“Candice,” he says, and my ovaries do a little jig. How can he make my name sound like it’s the most beautiful thing in the universe? No wonder he has a new woman every week. The man is sex incarnate.
“You…want a coffee?”
He blinks, then looks at the huge espresso machine to my right. Recognition flits across his face as if he only just realized he’s in a coffee shop. Clearing his throat, Blake (freaking) Harding combs his fingers through his hair and causes a collective female apoplexy by the sheer sensuality of his movements.
“Sure. Maybe we could have a coffee together somewhere where we can…talk?”
“Do it!” Dorothy hisses in a stage whisper. “For the love of God, Candice, do it!”
I throw her what I hope is a withering glare. She just grins maniacally and gives me an encouraging nod. Simone gives me a thumbs-up from behind Blake’s back. I flick my gaze back to Blake and feel every muscle inside me tighten. He’s doing that thing where he stares at me and makes me feel like no one else exists. Dear Lord. I’m in trouble.
“Cappuccino,” he says with a slight, cheeky, sexy, playful grin. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Blake Harding is a player, and he’s set his sights on me.
I’m not going to fall for it. Oh, no. Not me. Sure, we shared a scorching kiss. I’ll share a coffee with him, too, but I’m not going to do anything else. I’m not a fool. It’s too soon.
Mechanically, I start grinding beans. This will all be over shortly. But when I lock the portafilter into the espresso machine and press the button to extract the coffee, the door bangs open again.
“Margaret!” Dorothy calls out. “Finally. You heard about this?” She jabs her thumb at Blake, then at me.
“Never mind that,” Margaret says, breathless. Her normally tidy hair is falling out of its bun, spots of red shining bright on her cheekbones. “Candice, you have to come. Your house is on fire.”
