Breathe You In (A Sexy Romance) Read online

  Ruben smiled, the edges of his mouth tilting a fraction and the creases at the corners of his eyes deepening. “Me too. God, me too.” He kissed me, a gentle connection, his tongue dipping into my mouth the tiniest amount.

  I slid both my hands over his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around my body, and our chests touched. My breasts, through my top, squeezed up against his firm pectoral muscles.

  His kiss was tender and sweet, his lips a new shape for me to learn. I touched the tip of my tongue to his, drew in the slightly salty, masculine flavor of him and knew it was something I wanted more of.

  He pulled me closer still. I shifted, and next thing I knew he was resting me backwards. I unfolded my legs, stretched out and knocked away the pot of carrot sticks.

  The feel of Ruben over me, kissing me, was exciting, frightening, wonderful and painful all at the same time.

  He kissed across my cheek, to my ear. His breaths were loud, his weight carefully held on his elbows.

  I ran my hands down his smooth back, tracing the dips and rises of his spine and the planes of his shoulder blades, all the time staring up at the cloudless sky and the bows of the birches, their tiny leaves shivering in the breeze.

  “You smell like flowers,” he whispered into the shell of my ear.

  “I do?”

  “Yes, so pretty.” He lifted his head and looked down at me. “Kissing you here, now, it’s my top new memory.”

  I smiled; the smile grew and grew until it balled my cheeks and another giggle escaped. “I think it’s mine too.”

  He kissed me again. I shut my eyes, lost myself in the moment. That small shiver of desire was back. The need for more, skin-on-skin and getting closer was growing. Ruben had that certain something that worked for me. His smell, taste and the way he made me feel like everything would be all right, it was something I could get hooked on.

  I ran my hands over the waistband of his jeans, stroked his arse cheeks through the denim. Damn, what a cute bum, taut and the perfect handful.

  He dropped his weight a little more, our chests pressed harder together and his groin pushed into my right hip. The kiss deepened, and a fizz of lust sparked through me. It couldn’t be ignored. My nipples were tight, there was a tug in my lower abdomen, the start of a need—a need I hadn’t thought of for so long.

  I lifted my left leg, curled it over the back of his and squeezed up against him. It was then I felt a long, hard bulge.

  “Ruben,” I gasped into his mouth as a fist of something raw and primitive gripped me. Could we? Here?

  “Damn, I’m sorry, I…” He lifted up, completely off me.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He lay at my side, head propped on his hand. He wore a pained expression. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  “It’s okay,” I said, touching his cheek and squashing that first flame of lust that had a hold of me—a lust that since becoming a widow had been absent in my life.

  “No, I’m sorry, that’s too much for you. Too fast. I’m so sorry.”

  “Ruben, shh, I was enjoying it too.” I stroked his face, enjoying the slightly scratchy feel of his stubbled jawline. “You’re a hot bloke. Why wouldn’t I?”

  He huffed. “That’s kind of you to say.”

  “Kind?”

  “Yeah, kind, you know, with this.” He looked at his scar. “And I used to be a bit more muscled, you know?”

  “Really? You think that makes a difference to me? Your scar, how you used to be?”

  “I don’t know, you’re a beautiful woman, Katie.” He reached for a lock of my hair, twirled it in his fingers, studying how it coiled and hung there. “You could have any man you want.”

  “I don’t want any man, I want someone who can make me smile but understand if I don’t want to. I need someone who’s been to the same dark places as me and gets what it’s like to be starting over. For me, that acceptance is sexy and…” I hesitated then decided to just go for it; impulsive always had been my middle name. “And so are you, Ruben. Really sexy.”

  His gaze caught mine. “Damn, I got lucky when you walked into the museum that day.”

  A small kernel of guilt popped inside of me. I’d orchestrated our meeting, yet he thought it was coincidence.

  He adjusted his position, grimaced slightly as he moved his hips.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, pushing guilt into the locked box it belonged. I’d had enough negative emotions to last me forever. Guilt could bugger off and leave me alone.

  “Yeah, fine. Well, I will be in a few minutes.” He gave a wry grin. “Can’t exactly do anything about it here, can we?”

  I dropped my hand from his cheek to his chest, circled his taut, dark nipple. I was ready for some good feelings. “Maybe.”

  His smile fell. “Can we er…take it slow. This, us?”

  “Absolutely.” I stilled my movements.

  He frowned at my lock of hair hugging his finger, let it unwind then rested it on my shoulder. “It’s not that I don’t like you, that I’m not…” He paused. “Well, you know I’m turned on by you, you’ve just felt the evidence of that, but…”

  I rested my hand on his arm, studied the cute little mole on his cheek. It was small and flat, perfectly round. “What is it, Ruben?”

  He screwed up his eyes, wrinkled his nose.

  “Tell me.”

  “Fuck,” he said, staring at me. “It’s been bloody years since I’ve done it and certainly not with this new heart. And I don’t think public sex would do me any favors.” He gave a nervous laugh. His cheeks were flushed. “The thrill of it might finish me off.”

  Something very deep inside me melted for Ruben. He’d clearly been having a wild time before his illness; chasing races and the dreams that went with them. But now, here he was, picking up the pieces. Adjusting to a slower world and a new way to be in it.

  But he could do it. I was on that same path and managing to put one step in front of the other. It was beginning to make sense, this route, and I’d help Ruben on his way if he needed me to. I couldn’t carry him, I wasn’t that strong, but I could hold his hand. Let him follow me some of the way. Who knew, maybe one day we’d both run, sprint and leap again.

  “It’s been a long time for me too,” I said. “We’ll go slow, I think we both need that.”

  He reached for my hand, lifted it from his arm and turned it over, palm up. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t need to say thank you.”

  “I do, you’ve made me feel like a hot-blooded male again, and I appreciate that, but even more I appreciate your understanding.”

  He placed a gentle kiss in the center of my palm.

  “For me there was only ever Matt, he was my first love, my only love.”

  He breathed deep then let it out slowly. “Then you are very lucky. Matt was very lucky.”

  “He was fond of saying that.”

  “I can see why.” He paused, a new sparkle appearing in his eye. “I want to take you somewhere, somewhere really special to me, but it has to be tomorrow evening. Can you handle spending more time with me?”

  “Of course. Where?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “That sounds intriguing.”

  “It’s fun.” He pulled a face. “Loud though.”

  “Oh, no, not the blitz room again at the museum?” I smiled. “I can’t cope with that.”

  “No, definitely not there.”

  * * * * *

  I looked at Skin Deep from across the pedestrianized street. The sign was the same—pale green with pink writing—and the promotional poster in the window identical to the one in Leicester. But this was a different shop, new people, new customers, all part of the new me.

  I twirled my wedding band around and around in a fast, nervous gesture. What would I fiddle with when I wasn’t wearing it? What would keep my fingers busy?

  That morning, my first day at Skin Deep Northampton, I’d had the sudden urge to take my ring off. I’d been eating toast
and marmalade, staring at the news without watching, when the idea had rushed into my head all bloated with self-importance. Now I couldn’t stop paying heed to it, toying with the possibility.

  I stared at the ring; it was pale gold and the edges slightly beveled. I hadn’t taken it off since the day we were married. When Matt had slipped it on my finger in front of God and our family and friends, I’d truly believed I would wear it until my dying day.

  Yet here I was, standing on an unfamiliar road in an unfamiliar town about to do the unthinkable. Remove it.

  I spun it faster. It was a little big. It seemed my weight loss had even extended to my fingers. Maybe taking it off was for the best, it would only go missing now that it was so loose. If that happened I’d be crushed. This ring was the symbol of Matt’s love for me, my devotion to him, our promises to be true to each other for as long as we both lived.

  Yet he didn’t live.

  I stopped rotating it, lifted my hand and kissed the band. “I’ll always love you,” I whispered before sliding it off. There was a slight dip in my finger, an indent. I rubbed it, liking the feeling. It was as if I was still wearing it, in a way.

  Quickly, before I dropped the ring or changed my mind, I secured it in my purse, in a little zipped compartment. Maybe I’d find a chain to wear it on. Perhaps it would sit in my jewelry box. Whatever happened I would always keep it, it would always be my most precious possession.

  I took a deep breath, straightened my black blouse and checked the fly zip on my neat black trousers—standard uniform for Skin Deep—then stepped across the cobbles.

  Now, when I met my Northampton colleagues, I would be Katie the new girl or Katie from Leicester or Katie with the long, brown hair. Katie the widow had to become a much smaller part of who I was, it was the only way I’d find the happiness I knew Matt would want for me. The happiness I wanted for myself.

  * * * * *

  My first day flew by. The manageress, a Jamaican lady called Corine who only just fit between the stands of products her bottom was so wide, was lovely and welcoming. She smiled all day, flashing dazzling white teeth, and chatting about her life in the Caribbean and her daughter who lived there and was soon coming for a visit to England.

  There was one more girl front of shop with me, Janine; she was pretty and perfectly made up. She, too, was chatty, but mainly about her friends and the bloke she’d just split up with and the one she liked now. By the time mid-afternoon hit I knew the history of her love life in great detail. It was nice, freeing in a way, not to have her hesitating about telling me saucy snippets, worrying that she might upset me or sound insensitive to my situation. I smiled and nodded, answered appropriately and enjoyed the light feeling her flow of conversation had given me. Not being thought of as a sad widow was liberating.

  At five o’clock, I was in the back room, checking in some new stock, when Corine called through from the front of shop in her smooth drawl. “Katie, chicken, there’s a guy asking for you and he has got the cutest damn smile I have ever seen.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” She poked her head around the door. “Get your toosh out here before I jump your man.” She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Lucky thing, you.”

  I put the box of organic lipstick down and dashed through to the shop front.

  Ruben stood there with hands in his pockets and his cheeks a little red. He looked big and dark amongst the dainty, pink girly stuff surrounding him.

  “You can come and see us anytime,” Corine was saying to him. “And if you want me to help you sample any of our massage oils, just say the word.” She cackled loudly.

  Ruben shifted from one foot to the other. He appeared to clench his hands into fists in his pockets. “Thanks for the offer, might just take you up on it.” He grinned.

  “Oh, you should do that.” Corine held up her big, dark fingers and waggled them, the gold of her many rings catching in the light. “I could work magic on a body like yours with these hands.”

  I suppressed a giggle. She was outrageous, but it had all been said with a fun-soaked smile.

  “Ruben.” I stepped up to him. “Hi.”

  “Katie.” He’d been holding his own with Corine, but still, there was a flash of relief in his eyes that I’d arrived.

  “What are you doing here?” Not that I was complaining; a twirl of pleasure had wound itself in my stomach. Damn, the bloke was cute, I could see why Corine was having fun with him.

  “We said we’d go out this evening, remember? Mystery tour.”

  “Yes, but…” I glanced at my watch. “I have another half an hour to work.”

  “Oh, nonsense, chicken,” Corine said. “You get yourself out there now.” She waved at me then the door that was flung open to the street. “I don’t think there’s going to be a rush on Pebble Pink Lippy in the next half an hour. Go on out with your sexy man.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” She shook her head, and the bun of wild black hair on the top of her head wobbled. “You’ve worked your little socks off today with that inventory, and to be honest, we’re thrilled to have you. Been too much for just me and Janine, your arrival is a godsend.”

  A warmth settled inside me. I’d had a good first day, positive all round, and to know that I was wanted, appreciated, was like the icing on the cake. So why did my eyes feel tingly? Like tears wanted to form?

  “Katie,” Ruben said, touching my shoulder. “Are you all right?” There was concern in his eyes.

  “Yes, yes, fine.” I looked at Corine. “Well, if you’re sure.”

  “Of course I’m sure.” She waved her hand at the door again. “This isn’t prison, you know, and one day when a gorgeous guy turns up to whisk me off into the sunset, you can stay behind and hold the fort.”

  “Deal.” I blinked; the threat of tears thankfully had come to nothing. “I’ll just grab my bag from the office then.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. A sound that didn’t just make itself heard through my ears but through every cell of my body. From the soles of my feet to the tiny hairs on my arms. No part of me didn’t get blasted by it.

  As for seeing the Formula One car as it sped under us—we were standing on a black-and-white bridge over Silverstone racetrack—it was nothing more than a blur with wheels and a streak of blood red. How anyone could drive that fast and stay in control was beyond me.

  “What do you think?” Ruben shouted, spinning around to watch the car speed away.

  I did the same, and he slipped his arm around my waist and steadied me. A gust of wind dragging behind the car had whipped my hair around my face and caused me to falter. Every bit of me was still vibrating, and the roar echoed around my head and in my chest.

  “Really bloody loud,” I shouted. “Is there just the one?” I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if there was more I needed to brace myself for.

  “Looks like it. The McLaren team have arrived a day before everyone else. Clever move, it means they get a couple of hours on the track tonight, could put them a step ahead.”

  “Why are they here?”

  “It’s the Grand Prix next weekend. They’ve just come in from Japan.”

  “And that’s what you used to do?” I could just make out the car in the distance now, weaving around a set of snake-like bends. “Travel with the team?”

  “Yes, I was one of four lead mechanics working for Dean Cudditch, that’ll be him driving now.”

  “Dean Cudditch, I’ve heard of him.”

  “I should think you have, he’s won more Grand Prix titles than any other driver.”

  “Wow, and you were part of that?”

  Ruben gestured down at the track. “Yes, that was my home when we were racing in England, that pit stop there.”

  A layby gave way to a white building with a flat roof. Blue paint on the floor outlined a car-sized square surrounded by black electrical ropes and a white box, like a fuel dispenser. Several men
wandered about in red all-in-one outfits. A nervous-looking man in a suit glanced at the track then studied his watch then stared at the track again.

  “Come on,” Ruben said. “I’ll introduce you to the team.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really, they’re good fun. I haven’t caught up with them in months, so it will be cool to say hi.”

  “Er, okay”

  A sudden wave of anxiety crashed through me. Ruben wanted to introduce me to the men he used to live the high life with. The guys who saw him having fun with lots of women, glamorous, gorgeous, sophisticated women from all over the world.

  I frowned down at my black trousers and plain black shirt, wishing, for the first time, my work outfit wasn’t so widow-like.

  Ruben kept his arm around my waist as we went down the steps to the inner sanctum of the racetrack. It seemed he still had access-all-areas status even though he wasn’t working here. The two security men we’d seen had both shaken his hand, told him he looked well and smiled broadly at us.

  “Hey, it’s Strong,” a man called out as we approached the pit stop along a marked pedestrian walkway.

  “Jones, how are you doing, mate?” Ruben shouted.

  Jones gripped Ruben’s hand and clasped his shoulder at the same time. “You look great, life’s obviously treating you well.” He grinned at me and appeared about to say something, but the deafening rumble of the car pealed through the air.

  We all turned to see it popping down the gears, and then roll to a halt within the blue-painted square on the ground.

  “We’re just finishing up,” Jones said. “Dean was keen to try out a set of new high-traction tires since the track is so dry.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Ruben said.

  Four mechanics were around the hatch of the car, then suddenly, as the engine went silent, the driver jumped out. Tall and lean, wearing a red leather suit with McLaren written in white on the arms and legs, he tugged off his helmet.

  I recognized him. Even if Ruben hadn’t mentioned Dean Cudditch I would have known it was him. His jet-black hair, trademark crew cut and small dark goatee was known the world over.