Part-Time Lover (Part-Time Lover #1)(52)

The problem is I don’t want an arm’s length between us anymore.

I’ve fallen for the woman I made a deal with.

That’s why I touched her like a starving man at the club, but this potent need didn’t start tonight. It ignited when she proposed this arrangement. It took root when I saw what she’d be willing to do for me and for Erik. Marrying her in my hometown only sealed the deal, and all the emotions that raced through me that night in Copenhagen, the ones that seemed strange and foreign then, are crystal clear now.

The falling is complete. It’s here. It’s happened, and now I’m in love with the woman in my arms.

But this woman needs me to be the kind of man who doesn’t fall so easily. And I need her to save my brother’s hopes and dreams.

I segue to something else entirely as I press a soft kiss to her neck. “Mmm. You smell good. You should write about other smells you like. If you don’t write about perfume, write about other scents.”

“Maybe I will,” she says, snuggling closer to me.

With her soft and malleable in my arms, it doesn’t feel like there are any boundaries.

But there are. There most definitely are.





28





Elise





Today . . .



Stop and Smell the Days blog

July 5: Apricot flowers



My lovelies . . .



We must dispel a long-standing myth about tulips. There are some people who believe they aren’t fragrant. Isn’t that bananas? But we scentsual women know the truth.

Tulips are beguiling. They draw us in with their color, almost tricking us into thinking they won’t overwhelm our noses. But once we lean in and inhale them, we know the truth. They are fragrant in their own way. The tulip wants you to get a little closer, to understand its soft honey notes, to uncover a hint of apricot. It’s sweeter, softer, more floral, but with a touch of sex appeal.

That’s the tulip for you. Don’t let its pinwheel of colors seduce you into thinking it’s a one-trick flower. It has so much more to it.

This morning, I snipped some from my garden, brought them into my sun-drenched kitchen, and filled a pewter pitcher with water. I set the tulips in it and thought of why I sought them out today in the first place.

That brought a warmth to my heart.

By the way, it’s so nice to see you again. I’ve missed you all. I hope some of you can see me waving to you.



Yours in noses,

A Scentsual Woman





29





Christian





In the morning, I find her in the kitchen, wearing a camisole and knickers. She’s putting a plate of breakfast food together. There are no eggs in sight. “It looks great. Even without eggs.”

“Oh, are you an eggs-or-bust person?”

“Eggs are everything.”

She gestures to her purse, perched on her kitchen chair. “There’s a market around the corner. Let me go get you some.”

I step to her, cup her cheeks, and kiss her forehead. “No.”

“But I don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind going without. It’s just eggs.”

“It’s only around the corner.”

And I fall a little deeper because she wants to make me eggs. I’m so fucked. But if I let her get the eggs, I’ll be fucked royally. Yep, I have to chicken scratch a line in the sand. My new border comes from chickens. “Fruit and bread is perfect,” I tell her.

Over blueberries, a baguette, and a steaming cup of coffee, she takes out her iPad, a sheepish grin on her face. She taps on the screen then slides it over to me.

I read, and with each line about tulips, my grin grows. When I finish, I glance at the orange flowers on the table. “Happy?”

She nods, and there’s almost a childlike glee in her smile. I did this for her. I brought this feeling to her. “Very much so.”

After we eat, I help her clean up, then I nod to the door. “I should go.”

I don’t want to go. But I have to.

“Do you have to?”

My heart lurches toward her. I half wish she’d make this easier. The expiration date is so fucking far away, and I’m going to have to lie to her about how I feel for more than two months. “Don’t you need to bury yourself in work today?”

She shakes her head. “No. Do you want to bury yourself in me today instead?”

Like I’m resisting that.

I throw in the towel, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her up the stairs, two steps at a time.



*

Later that week, I meet her after work at a brasserie. We grab a table on the pavement, under the awning.

“Does this mean we’re on a new schedule? Since it’s not Friday or Saturday night?” I take a drink of my beer as a ragtag group of street violinists on the corner serenades us.

“Hmm. It seems we have graduated to a more multi-tiered arrangement.”

“I knew I could wear you down.”

Laughing, she raises her wineglass, and gives me flirty eyes over the rim. “Was that your plan when you flashed me your parts way back when?”

“Absolutely. I’ve been waging a war of attrition ever since you got the Christian Ellison full monty treatment.”